Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Well, April is Happening

The past few weeks have been a blur of hospital visits and single mom duty and the weird sideways days recovering from that tangle of activity in bed, medicated into a haze.

Aunt Pea got sick five or six weeks ago, and though she was treated for pneumonia she was still struggling to breathe. Finally my brother took her to the emergency room and by the end of the day we learned that she has congestive heart failure. After more than a week of testing and consulting, she had stents installed and got to go home with a temporary defibrillator. (A bunch of you followed the developments and were so supportive- thank you so much. She's like a parent to E and me. It was a really scary week.)

Eric and I had intense déjà vu about these clocks, which are
the model we had in our elementary and junior high schools.
While this was going on, Shane was out of town on two back-to-back business trips, because Murphy's Law is an infallible truth. And Molly had to get braces that week, of course. She did remarkably well with the procedure and hasn't had much discomfort at all. We were all happily surprised that she doesn't need them on her top teeth and doesn't need the spacer thing we assumed she'd get. The problem is a tiny baby mouth but big adult teeth, so the braces will help guide the bone growth in her jaw to make room. And also make those perpendicular teeth and shark teeth line up.


Meanwhile, I battled my stressful week with retail therapy, including this find that made me squeal in the pharmacy:


Yes, I already own several purple shades, but none of those inferior bottles have a label invoking The Chosen One. She Who Walks in Cemeteries at Night.

The retail therapy wasn't a very effective treatment, sadly. Later that night, Finn waited until I was slayerizing my fingernails and then climbed up onto the hearth to find some soot and smeared it all over his fluffy white fur. I just broke down and sobbed. Shane happened to call during the freak out so he talked me down. I stopped frantically trying to wash the squirming puppyface and just let him go to sleep on a blanket because blankets don't squirm when you wash them.

The end of the goddamn world, obviously.
One of my quirks is rerouting stress from huge upsetting things to trivial things. So I didn't really lose my shit about Pam, but I freaked out about Finn's mess. Then that weekend I cried through the entirety of "Noah." The storyline was pretty emotionally charged but I was crying because the movie struck a cord in my creative brain. It was like the few times that a piece of art moved me to tears. Specifically, it felt like standing in the dark inside a James Turrell installation at the Mattress Factory years ago. The imagery touched on a deep, primal symbolism. The film was loaded with so much visual metaphor and absolutely gorgeous composition that every frame could be a painting. Apparently the plot is a serious stretch from the bible's narrative, but I'm as ignorant of Christian mythology as it's possible to be in America, so I have no idea what came from the source material and what was invented.

Later that week I took time to catch up on TV and watched the finale of How I Met Your Mother. I sobbed so hard Finn and Molly were both in my lap trying to comfort me during the last few minutes. I loved it, though I read later that it almost broke the internet. I might get into why I liked it later, but I have my own projects that need attention now.

I'm hoping to still get a couple of  "smallscapes" drawn for the Earth Day exhibit next week at Apartment Earth. I'm so far behind I may not try to push it, but I need to see how my back behaves today before I make a call either way. Right now I'm having a lot of insomnia fallout and I probably need to nap through a couple of Molly's Scooby episodes before I start crying about the heartache of Fred's oblivious ignorance of Daphne's crush.

Happy springtime, bl'eaders.