LETTING GO

It has been long enough for the shock to have worn off. Not completely, but enough so I am not overcome with hopelessness and anger. I suppose letting go is a variation of realizing you have no power over someone. And actually, you really do not want that type of power after they reach the age of 18.

Then they are on their own. Even if this means you stand on the sidelines and are only allowed to cheerlead, pick up broken pieces, lend money, provide a safe house when needed, and a car, feeling as if you are going to have a heart attack or a seizure from frustration.

She did it right after I bought the wedding dress.

It could have been worse, she could have refused to enter the church. The scene could have been straight out of The Graduate...(hmmmmm maybe not).

Anyway, she decided he was not the one and some other guy she met interested her. I am still flabbergasted. So is S.

It has taken me quite awhile to accept it.

That one day in the dress shop is all I am going to get for the time being. That was a great day, and I will cherish that for a long time.

I have been so upset about everything that I have not seen her since that day in June! Fathers Day. We took her Dad out for dinner, there was a violent thunder storm and the computers got knocked out and I could not pay with a credit card so he paid the bill. More memories from that great day.

I will see her this Sunday. I do not want to meet the new boyfriend. I was very attached to S. (four years for God's sake) and he was part of the family. But there is no way around it, I think.

Life is a Bitch sometimes, isn't it?

MAGIC CARPET RIDE

Finding myself in the rare circumstance of having no one waiting for me and no particular place I needed to be, I was humming down I-64 with the window's open and the music loud when the next exit sign came into view, "Simpsonville".

Ah, Simpsonville. I do not know you well, but I do know that directly after the off ramp is the most funky and downtrodden of dark, dank, smelly, cornucopia of surprises lies the most magnificent Flea Market in the area! So full of people that it reaches the point of busting which necessitates a  spilling of the overflow into the bright sunny outdoors.

So, I exited and entered.

I went directly to his booth, as I always do when I arrive.

I use to head to the bread maker who had the most heavenly smelling cranberry bread in a mound....no longer, no longer there. A great loss.

So now I head right to back of the building, noting as I walk with purpose past the enticing booths of cowboy hats and boots, past Mexican rugs, (a young girl, not more than 14 or 15 on the cusp of developing into a woman, lounging against the mountain of carefully folded Mexican blankets, dressed in purple, one plump leg crossed carelessly and effortlessly over the other, feet clad in black well worn flats....how I wished for my camera....as her father shouted at her, "MARIA!!" she jumped to attention), discounted and most possibly out of date food and health products, past the pictures of velvet framed, the candles, the tapes and cd's, the knives and cigarette lighters, jewlery and shoes. I worked my way through the aisles thick with the  Mexican  emigrants, arrived in Kentucky to find a better life cutting the tobacco and working in the hundreds of Mexican kitchens that seem to be everywhere anymore, on the horse farms, cleaning the hotel rooms, and working all the hot and sweaty construction jobs they can find and snap up, doing all the labor intensive farm jobs that no one else wants to do because it is too hard, they mill about the Flea Market speaking to each other in their romantic language and eying you out of the corner of their eyes, seen below the lowered brims of their large cowboy hats.

The air thick with the aroma of grease. It smells like the vast amounts of fried chicken which is being gobbled up as quickly as the it can be drained from the hot oil baskets.

I round the corner of Building D and there it is. As always and I dread the day it is not there and waiting for me. The Record Booth. The last of the great record collectors who sets up every week-end with his weekly catch of magic.

He stand over the crates that house his immense collection with a cigarette bobbing out of the corner of his mouth. His sandy dirty blonde hair looking as if the gray does not have the heart of take possession, laying in an untidy flop of bangs brushing across the top of his thick black horn rim glasses. His face is thin and lined. The beginnings of a melt down into that place that separates middle age from old age.

He looks up as I enter the "restricted" area behind the initial tables honoring the beloved albums. I am heading towards the "good" stuff on a special rack in the back. The $10 stuff. I pick up "Layla" and smile. I put it back. I pick up "Exile on Main Street" and open the album and slip out the record to check for damage.

"Their best ever album" I murmur, maybe to him.

"I have a better copy at the store."

"The store?" I thought this was his store.

"In Louisville. On Bardstown and Bonnycastle".

I struggle to see it. I see Leatherhead, I see the old Rexall Drug store, which I know is long gone now. My mind walks up to the Doo-Wop Shop. I blurt out, like a fool, "Ear-X-Tasy"

"That's on the next block, mines called "Better Days." He flicked the ashes from the cigarette. "Been in the business for 30 years."

I ask him, knowing 30 years is legend, "Remember the shop on the corner, they would paint different artists on the building wall. One year it was Hendrix."

"Phoenix Records." He answers.

"Yes" I could close my eyes and go straight back as if on a magic carpet to that time, that era of the 12 inch disc.

"My collection was stolen years ago in the late 70's. I sold what little I had left at a yard sale. Now I am determined to collect them all back."

In my hand I held Cat Stevens and Crosby, Stills and Nash.

He smiled knowingly as he took my $10.

"Good Luck"

DANCING UNDER THE DIAMOND SKY

With one hand waving free...

(Because the other was clutching a beer can)

Due to unavoidable  life issues interfering with well laid out plans, it  appeared that I would be attending the Dublin Irish Festival (DIF) all by my  lonesome this year.  Not that I gave it much thought, I knew I would just do it and enjoy it even though I would just be with Me.

Imagine my delight Saturday morning when my husband came roaring into the hotel parking lot, straddling his Honda and looking exactly like the Hero come to save the day. Only then did I realize I was inwardly holding my breath and longing for a companion.

He looked pretty hot too on that motorcycle.

Brilliant. That was the word. Brilliant performers, brilliant new Celtic Rock Stage and area, brilliant sky, brilliant white heat, brilliant crowd, brilliant time. Just brilliant!!

The crowds seemed larger than before, perhaps because we were now cut off from the main pedestrian area and had our Celtic Rock world on the West Side of the Festival. Brilliant move!!

Other than that, everything else was the same. Lots of festival food Celtic style. The melt in your mouth Fish and Chips from the Old Bag of Nails. The same icy cold cans of Killian beer drawn from gigantic chests of ice. Sneaky Pete had a new location directly on the path to the Rock Tent. The Irish Canines also had new digs, under the cover of a canopy of trees. The Capital City Pipe and Drums still made my eyes tear up and bring a lump to my throat. The Irish thunder stage was still a hell like pit that could toast you to a crisp. The baby buggies and strollers seemed to be everywhere. As did Red hair. Tattoos were shown off by many, the real kind and the henna kind. Young girls still strolled around with their hair twisted up in those torturous looking rollers awaiting their big moment to dance the Irish jig. It was still very risky to enter the port-a-john trailers after a certain time...The buses rolled from 8am till 130 am Saturday carrying back to their vehicles the intoxicated revelers and their dedicated drivers. We still sang on the five minute trip. This year it was Hang On Sloopy. We continued to wander around the parking lots, walking in the wrong direction to the hotel. I awoke with a headache on Sunday morning...again.

The Saw Doctors blew everyone away as was expected. Only this year they played before their largestOhio crowd ever! This was Joes first time seeing them on stage. I believe he came away impressed.

A year came and went so quickly. Now I look forward to next year, the 20th anniversary of the DIF!

FINALLY - THE HAIR ENTRY!!!

Most recently submitted for a Sunday Scribbling entry on Hair.

 

The Ultimate Segue

I'm certain most of you all know that J-land is nearing the 3rd year anniversary this month. Go check it out here! Our beloved Vivian has returned to head up the celebration (not an award competition, but a Birthday Bash!!)

This got me to think back on when I first began to write Alphawoman's Blog in September of 2003. My first reader was Trish from Journey to Peace. The first time I got "pimped" was in her journal. Then the readers and comments began.

I was addicted.

Then I received THE E-MAIL. From HIM. I thought I was so special to receive an email from HIM. It was wonderful. He told me what a refreshing writer I was. So different from rest of the no-brain dribble that prevailed AOL-J land. He told me that he was so tired of reading entries about HAIR!!

From that moment on I wanted, I was dying to do a hair entry. But I could not. He might read it and then I would join the ..... well, you all know.

I know you know, because in time I realized I was not the only one to receive such an e-mail. He must have been legendary with his B.S.

So, my hair entry went untold until now.

And you know what I have discovered? A picture is worth a thousand words. Nothing, no matter how I could try to string the words together, nothing gets my point across as this menagerie of my unrelenting quest to look .....hell, I guess sexy.

Baby hair, 4th grade hair, High school hair, Hippie Hair, Shaggy Hair, 80's hair, Oh My God That's Short As A Little Boy Hair, and pass that Red Wig Hair...

What was I thinking? I don't know, but this feels so gooooooooood!

 

Someone's boring me. I think it's me.

 

Repetitious Rubbish

As this blog nears the Three Year Mark I'm experiencing a type of cycle emerging. Next week end I am going to The Dublin (Ohio) Irish Festival. I have written about that twice.  I am seeing the Saw Doctors who will be performing there (this will make the 5th time I have seen them and the 3rd time this year!!) God knows I have written about that before! In August I will be attending the annual MidSummer Night Run. Been there, done that. The week after will be the Woodland Arts Festival. My pocketbook can attest to that repeat performance!

In the famous words of Dylan Thomas, "Someone's boring me. I think it's me".

For example: My week-end. Nothing out of the ordinary. A typical two days of predictable occurrences and behavior.

I went to the Southside Farmers Market early Saturday morning and bought delicious vegetables and these beautiful gladiolus. I was there early enough to snag some! They normally have disappeared by the time I arrive.

I have been hitting the New Haven Nature Trail, dodging the beastly bicycles and have pushed myself to just about 2 1/2 mile run. I am walk/running close to 5 1/2 miles. Sweaty stuff.

I have fallen off the Healthy Food Wagon earlier this week. My boss made me by taking me to a Mexican restaurant where those chips and salsa were calling my name so LOUD that it was all I could do not to devour them entirely while he watched me astonished at my ravenous behavior. After that it was a blizzard. After that it was a sub sandwich.

Living the Healthy life is not all it is cracked up to be...so I tell myself. So I have hit the trails again.

I have been working in the garden trying to keep it alive. When we first moved up here, last spring, so many people told us we were going to enjoy the mild summers. What mild summers? They have been torturous!! 90 degrees or more is not unusual! My poor flower beds are burnt up!

After an hour of weeding and snipping I drank a beer and passed out for two hours.

I then went to the local nursery and partook in their "wagon sale" where you fill up an entire wagon with whatever you can fit into it ....all for $20!! Last year it was $15 and they allowed you to double deck...not this year and the lady had her eye on me. I guess I have the look of someone who would cheat in a heartbeat!

I came home with tons of stuff to replace the dead stuff.

Today will be more of the same. Cooking, cleaning, boring, boring, boring.

But then again...next week-end!! The Irish Festival and The Saw Doc's!! I'm counting the hours!!!!

HAY!!

OH NO BIMBO'S IN PINK AND I'M FEELING BLUE

For almost thirty years my parents have lived in the last house on a lovely dead-end street. It is a very mature 1970 era area with beautiful brick homes. Most everyone on the street has been there since the early days of the neighborhood and only leave their homes in the back of a hearse.

At least that is the way it use to be. Next to my parents home is an empty lot. Not exactly empty, it was owned by a gentleman on the next block, and backed up to his property. He has a garage, very nice brick building, that sat at the very back of the property.

He passed away in the past year and his heirs put the property up for sale. Naturally they wanted a pretty penny for the lot as we inquired because...well, we were just use to having all that open space for soccer games, football, volley ball etc. It would have been nice to keep it, but it was not to be.

No...Bimbo bought it.

I have never blogged about Bimbo before. In a nut shell, he has been my mechanic for years back when I did not have a company car and had need for a mechanic.

I love the name Bimbo. I love saying it. Just like I love saying Pink. I just can't think of a combination to put Bimbo and pink together unless it was, "I asked Bimbo if he could paint my car pink..."

When my mother told me that a Bimbo ****** had bought the property, I was thrilled for them! Why? Bimbo is a terrific guy, let alone a superb mechanic. He will be very good to my parents, who are elderly and need a lot of looking after these days.

"Do you think Bimbo is a family name?", my Mother asked

For some reason the neighbors across the street have taken an intense dislike to Bimbo. Maybe its because he is building a beautiful new home, very much in the tradition of all the other homes on the street, right down to a similar color of brick. Maybe because they have noticed he is hooked up to my Mom's water line?.....and paying her water bill.

I think that is what triggered the apparent attack of yesterday.

The Angel caregiver for my Dad informed me of a terrific uproar on the property next door yesterday. The guy across the street had his finger in Bimbo's face....Naturally The Angel had to get in the back yard to see if she could over hear the details.

Lots of cuss words and threats from the neighbor. "My nephew is chief of Police and I will have you arrested."

For using my Mother's water? For cutting down the diseased trees that bordered both properties?

For agreeing to keep on eye on Mom and Pop and knock on their door if The Angel is not there between 8-830am and call 911 if the door is not answered?

Bimbo came over and was hotter than hell.

"I'll call the police on that So & So  if he ever gets in my face like that again! By the way, does your visitor (my SIL Laura) need any help painting the trim?"

Drama on the Dead End.

Wonder if Bimbo would paint the trim Pink?

MERMAID CONVERSATION

It seems that I have been in a certain place at a certain time,  the opportune time, to overhear some juicy stuff from total and perfect strangers.

At my favorite consignment shop, (which I made a bee-line for the moment I landed in Lexington), in the changing area, which is actually four stalls in the middle of the store, protected from prying eyes by cloth curtains....

All was quiet and solemn, as it must be when trying on sizes too small for you, two girls burst into the dressing area.

Giggling, talking like they had not a care in the world about who might over hear them.

First part of the conversation:  "He can't tell me who to be friends with and he can't block me from messaging him because he is mad and does not agree with the friendship!! And I told him so after work....in the parking lot on the way to our cars"

Delicious stuff.

Suddenly the other one screamed in amusement, "I look like a Mermaid"

The other countered, "I look like a Mermaid too!!"

They ventured out of their dressing rooms to admire each other. This was followed by more giggling and more exclamations of how beautiful they looked when a third party entered the conversation.

"You two girls look like  you have somewhere important to go."

"Oh no", one of them replied, "We just like to come in and put on the dresses!"

With that they exited the dressing area in pursuit of more.....I can only guess.... Mermaid dresses.

They returned and resumed their exuberant chattering.

"Quick, let me look at you."

"Wait a minute, this has sooooooooooooo  many buttons!....Oh, Oh, I  look so corporate!"

"You look special!"

"I feel special!!"

What I was feeling was the over flow of their fun. I felt special too.

I only wish that when I was their age that I would have had the brilliant idea to go play dress up at the consignment store with one of my best friends.

Big Girl Dress Up.....how much fun is that!?