Ack! I totally forgot, until this second, that I have to post today. I used to be in the habit of posting later in the evening for the next day. Recently, for some reason I cannot remember, I have fallen out of that habit. It may be time for another "21 days to a new habit" excercise.
Along with forgetting to post, I have forgotten to finish the knitting that might have been a Wordless Wednesday post. Now, Wordless Thursday? Friday? They don't have quite the same ring do they? I guess I'll go with Random for today.
Going by comments left to yesterday's post and talking around, Spring around the country is one of two things: First, a period of time marked only by calendar days, but possibly not by any other sign or indication, except maybe mud. Second, a creation of romance, poetry and art that is not verifiable in life, except as Maryse states, that one afternoon in May. Apparently Utah is the lone exception, where Margene invites us all to come and witness. Personally, I think she is just making promises she can't keep in the hopes she gets company. I'm not fallin' for it.
Work continues to be blah, and today I think I figured out what is bringing me down. Neutrals. It turns out that homes everywhere are turning beige or black and white. Recently there has been some burgandy thrown in. Where is the color? If I cut another cream/beige/tan/light brown fabric into boring old curtains or blah valances I think I'll deliberately pin prick my fingers and let the bright red stay on the fabric. (Yes, I do it all the time, but I do remove the blood stain. You should see what happens when those industrial machines sew through a finger. Not.Pretty. Unless you like that color, then it could be a design element.) If I had remembered my camera, there would be photographic proof. Beige, brown, cream. UGH. I'm dying of boredom in a world of neutrals.
This weekend I'll work on my bedroom treatments and take photos of color. You might be surprised at what the color is, but I really can't wait to finish them and get them hung.
This next story is for Sandy, for reasons she and a few others will get. I was a little Catholic school girl for most of my elementary years (we moved a lot and where we moved to when I was in the 5th grade, the local Catholic school had no room for me in the 5th grade so I got to go to PUBLIC! My brother and sister went to Catholic, but I.Went.To.PUBLIC! But that is a different story). I was a beyond painfully shy and quiet little girl, I remember one day when we were reading aloud in class and when it came to my turn Sister. Whatever Her Holy Name Was said, "Turn your hearing aides up everyone, Teresa's coming from the basement!" Or something like that in a snarky tone that was unwarranted and mean. I was just a shy little seven year old that moved every year or two and had hardly any friends. I'm proud to say that a little glimmer of spunk showed through in that moment and I shouted my reading at the top of my tiny little vocal chords. That same nun yelled at me during First Communion practice. She was playing priest with corn flakes for the hosts and I didn't respond "Amen!" loudly enough for the priest to hear and he'd skip over me. I'm pretty sure JESUS could hear me, and wanted so badly to say that to her, but, too shy. Anyway, that isn't the story I started to write either. One morning I was getting ready to take the long walk to school. I had to walk about a mile, all by myself, I must have been in the second grade, and as I was leaving, my mom, having the perception that only mothers have, asked me if I needed to go to the bathroom. I lied and said no. I remember very clearly thinking that I hadn't gone at all since I had gotten out of bed, but was too lazy or in a hurry or whatever and didn't go before I left the house. Off I went in my little plaid jumper and white peter-pan collar blouse and green neck tie with those snaps, remember those snaps that had a white plastic top with a metal ring around it? I used to think that the white stuff inside looked like throw up and it grossed me out to wear it. Like they collected throw up and put little bits of it in snaps for the poor little Catholic school kids, because being one of those, having to wear a uniform and live in a neighborhood full of Publics wasn't bad enough, the powers that be were going to add throw up to your day too. Again, I digress. Off I went, book bag in tow, on my long walk to school. When I arrived, I was just barely on time and had to rush to my seat. I really needed to pee. Like, a lot. Sister. Whatever Her Holy Name Was had pretty strict rules. Anyone that broke the "don't you dare ask to leave the classroom to use the rest room you will hold it until recess and not one second sooner shall you pee" rule was usually humiliated in front of all the other kids. And I was so shy and was so sure that these kids that I barely knew were always looking at me anyway and would laugh if I raised my hand to use the bathroom so I just sat in my chair. I'm sure the yellow was in my face, like a cartoon character whose bladder has overflowed into the rest of her cartoon body and starts to float away on it. My heart was beating fast and the pain was unbearable. And then, not being able to stand it a second longer, I let go. Right in my desk. Not just a trickle, not just enough to relieve the pain, but an entire Niagara Falls of yellow liquid, through my panties, soaking my plaid jumper, down the sides of my desk, into my books and papers that were stored there and all over the floor.
Yes, let's take that moment of shock and silence.
What I felt then was a confusing combination of comical relief and sheer panic. I just knew that I would never move from that spot. I would not get up and let anyone see my soaking self, no way. I didn't know how I would manage to sneak this by Sister WHHNW, but the pee was like a glue, sticking me to that spot forever. Then I heard a voice behind me. "Sister. There is a puddle of yellow water all over the floor."
Shock. Silence. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Paralysis.
I have never wanted the ground to open up and swallow me, pee and all, as much as I did at that moment. Unsure at first, of the pee perp, Sister WHHNW took both me and the snitch out into the hall. My mom was called and off she took me to the doctor, because who pees in the classroom unless you are sick or have a UTI or something? All because I was l.a.z.y. I have only one memory of the rest of that year actually. I've probably blocked out the abuse and we moved again at the end of that year. Thank God! A blessed chance to start over where nobody knew me as the kid that peed in her desk.
The one memory I have was when Sister WHHNW came to me before the May Procession of the Blessed Mary that was held every May on Mother's Day. It was out on the front of the church stairs, an 8th grade girl was chosen to place a crown of flowers, carried by the shortest 1st grade girl, on a statue of the Blessed Mother. Sister said, "In the meeting they asked who was the shortest first grade girl and I said that I knew just the right one!" Remember, I was in second grade. I got to wear my First Communion dress again, it was lace, made by my mom, a mini-dress with bell sleeves. Very sixties and flower childish. I processed out with the crown on a blue pillow and took my spot next to that oh, so grown up eighth grade girl, standing straight and true. We lived in Maryland at the time, so May was not a cool month and the sun was beating down on us so brightly that I had to close my eyes in protection. In the heat, with my eyes closed and my knees locked I kept slipping in and out of consciousness. I remember feeling it, falling asleep and then jerking slightly back awake and trying so hard, but not being able to open my eyes at all. At the end of the service I was frozen to the spot, eyes cemented shut, unable to move a muscle. My mom had to carry me home and soak me in a cool tub. Man, I'm so glad we moved after that!
Two hundred ninety-four to go. Talk about your lessons learned. I am now the woman that knows where every single bathroom is in every mall, on every highway, at every fairground. I still scope them out first. And if you need any evidence of how often I use them, ask my kids, Pete, even Cheryl, who has spent some time with me, can tell you how often I make sure my bladder is empty.
