Thursday, May 24, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
How long do you think I should wait before sending love letters to Alan Rickman and that guy from Dirty Jobs? A month? Maybe two? I’d hate to appear crass.
I’ve told Jackson that next time I’m marrying for money. This love bit is ok, but I figure I need to try wanton fiduciary gain before I make any sort of judgment as to which is better - love or money. I’d hate to make an uninformed judgment without having fully experienced both sides of the issue.
Things worked out rather well this weekend – we hibernated around the house, something the three of us really needed. Then on Sunday, Jackson went to work in the back yard with copious amounts of power tools, chunks of trees and a bottle of spray paint. I lazed about in the house, making the occasional and rather ineffectual attempt at laundry. I think I also ran the dishwasher. I went outside once and offered him a coke, which made me feel very helpful.
Perhaps next weekend, he’ll be able to finish the regular deck and get started on the ramp. My mom will be happy once that’s finished. She hasn’t been able to get in my house since last summer!
Once he finishes the backyard construction, I’m going to have Jackson bbq a truck-load of ribs so I can eat ‘em after he’s checked out. I might share a few of them with you at the funeral after-party, but not likely, since my supply will be limited at that point. Instead, I will be serving Crunch-n-Munch and Doritos. Maybe a few Oreos, too. And I make a mean pitcher of sun-tea! (And did you know that Fritos mixed in Blue Bell Pecan Praline Ice Cream is ab-so-lute-ly sensational?)
Now I just need to decide on the entertainment…
Thursday, May 17, 2007
My photo software and I are not seeing eye to eye today, so that's why you only get this picture of a really cool monument. I have a thing for the Gothic arch/window shape, which forms the main part of stone. Add in the symmetrical urns and the bored woman and you have an almost perfect tombstone.
I think maybe Mr. Manziel and I would have gotten along really well. If nothing else, we could have agreed on the decor.
P.S. I fixed this so you can leave comments now. Dunno why you couldn't before.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
“When is your five years up?”
There must have been some sort of telepathic wavelength that we were both tuned into because he said, without hesitation: “August.”
“Really? You only have three months left to live? That’s a bit of a shame. I certainly hope you finish building the backyard deck by then.”
He grunted something - something I found to be rather rude, actually - and turned his attention back to his online class or his online girlfriend. Whichever.
Well, ok, not really the end.
The reason Jackson only has three months to live is because he was diagnosed with colon cancer about five years ago. It was in one of those nasty later stages where it sort of explodes out of the confines of your lower gut and hooks up with a few friendly lymph nodes. The hippy-dippy surgeon took out a large chunk of his guts and told him to live fast cause he was sure as hell gonna die young.
Perhaps not in those exact words, but that’s what he meant.
They gave him five years. They also gave him radiation, chemotherapy and several other surgeries which eventually resulted in the removal of basically all of his guts. I like to refer to him on occasion as The Gutless Wonder. He is not nearly as appreciative of that as you’d think he might be.
Anyway, after realizing he only had three months left to live, I told him he ought to start planning his funeral now. I didn’t think he’d really want me doing that for him once he’s cashed in his chips and bought the farm. Sometimes we don't see eye to eye on those sorts of things. Although, I think most of us could agree that my dead party would be a lot livelier than anything he would plan.
His only plan is to be cremated so he can make sure can make for damn sure doesn't get stuck with this body again in the afterlife! He also has plans on what he wants done with the ashes, but I ain't tellin' ya that, because it's just gross. (Suffice it to say, don't eat the potato salad at the funeral meal.)
I hadn’t realized how much he’s changed in the past five years. I was going through some old photos, looking for more tombstone and I came across some snapshots of him that I’ve taken over the past five years. (I do occasionally take pictures of humans, and he’s used to me sticking a camera in his face.)
Here is what he looked like not long after we hooked up, which was two years before he became Cancer Boy:
This is him while he was on chemotherapy.
This is Jackson on steroids. Lots and lots of steroids. Not long after this, they finished ripping his guts out.
This is him a few weeks ago at a redneck wedding. (Don't ya love those kinds of weddings?)Notice the Crocodile Hunter hat. He is still in mourning for that guy.
So, you'll have to make plans to come for Jackson's funeral, sometime in August. And, provided he finishes that damn deck before he keels over, we might even have an after party in the backyard!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Have y'all noticed how eternally bored the angels are in cemeteries? You never see a happy one. I guess that would be considered bad form.
They remind me of the poor highway patrolman who gets stuck working in the driver's license office for the entirety of his career. Some of 'em, both the angels and the driver testers, are downright surly.
Maybe it's the rain. I find myself hanging my head out of doorways and car windows, just to taste and smell the stuff. I really, really, really like rain. And clouds. And drippy plants. Drippy cats - those I don't like so much.
So, the rain is supposed to end today and perhaps that will force me to actually think up something mildly entertaining to post.
Until then, here is a picture of Jackson and Katie for yer viewin' plehzure:
Thursday, May 03, 2007
1. If you could only read one blog, which blog would it be? What a horrible choice! I guess, if I were limited to one, it might be WaiterRant. I adore his writing style - it is absolutely beautiful. His is one of those mondo-blogs that has gotten all wicked famous. I never leave a comment, and now I find myself missing a lot of his writing because my feed-reader doesn't pick up the site. But when I'm there, I am totally wowed.
What was the first blog you ever read? Mine was Real Live Preacher. I'd never even heard of blogs, but a friend told a friend who told me about him. I came, I read, I was hooked. Sort of a six-degrees of separation kind of a thing.
2. Sock sock, shoe shoe? or Sock shoe, sock shoe? It depends. Whatever the fancy strikes me. Sometimes its sock, sock, shoe, shoe. Sometimes its pant leg, sock, shoe, pant leg, sock, shoe. Sometimes its... I'm just wildly unpredictable that way. Living on the edge. Flirting with danger. Yessirreebob.
3. What has been the *photo that got away*? Wow. I originally thought this would be an easy question to answer, but now I'm drawing a blank. Two things I regret about my photographs in general: I never label them. One of these days I'm gonna be dead and gone and some poor soul, probably Katie, is going to be stuck with all these photos and no idea of what or where or when they are. I could kick myself for that. I've tried to rectify it. But nothing bores me more than trying to go back and label the durn things. The second one is not actually a regret, just something I want to do differently. I almost never take pictures of people. (I do photograph carnies, but that's a whole 'nuther story.) When I go on vacation there are tons of scenery shots, but no happy folks. I always feel a little bit embarrassed about photographing people, and I have no idea why. It feels sort of intrusive, I guess. I'm working to change that, because I really love portraits (especially candid ones) that tell a story. So, smile everybody!
4. If you could give me something nice (besides anti-paranoia meds) what would your gift to me be? Hmm... maybe a trip around the world. We'd go to all sorts of art museums and do our "15 Minutes of Culture" thing. Then we'd write a book, a la Sister Wendy, except our book would be horrifically misinformed yet terribly funny. Then we would parlay our rednecks-at-the-Louvre shtick into a long-running PBS series and we'd never make any money but we'd be nerdy icons, known the world over, and we'd make occasional appearances at County Fairs and Star Trek Conventions.
Which reminds me - the student art show at the Abraham Gallery only runs through the end of this week (I think). Which day are we gonna go? (We usually go during the lunch hour. Anyone else want to come and play?)
5. You are given the chance to earn $5,000,000.00 for one years work. The catch? You have to be a tour guide for the Precious Moments Museum and Factory and you have to be NICE and say NICE and POSITIVE things about Precious Moments for that entire year. You cannot utter not one bad or negative thing (or write it) Do you take the job or forfeit? Why or why not? You are such a bitch. I withdraw my offer of an around the world trip. You know I would totally take the job, certain that for that kind of moolah, I could keep my mouth shut. I would try really, really hard. I would keep telling myself that I could write all about it once I finished my year of purgatory. And then two days into it I would be caught drawing mustaches and leftist T-Shirt slogans on the murals with my happy Sharpie. By the third day, I would have hit someone. Then I would be unemployed and possibly incarcerated.
Thanks for ruining my life!