Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
I met her just after my thirteenth birthday when I began to attend our shared summer camp. Since that moment she has been in my life. She has always been my friend yet, I do not remember meeting her. Her family has always been an extension of mine and she is more than a best friend. She is my sister.
"All the kids are in the dorms from General Swim. We better get to the chalet to take showers if we're going to make it to dinner on time," a wicked grin spreads across her face. She yells, "I'll race you," as she shoots out of the pool gate, leaving me to lock the gate of the pool. She scampers across the street, and scrambles up the outdoor, rusty, iron staircase. When she reaches the top of the stairs she rips her towel off in a pseudo striptease, waving it over her head, she yells "Yeah-ahhh!"
She turns her attention into the chalet. Yelling through the open door and down the hallway, "Hey you Bitches, I get dibs on the the next shower!" She hangs her towel over the deck's banister then disappears into the chalet followed by uproarious laughter.
She can be abrasively jovial. She is mischievous. She is wildly sensational. She exudes adventure. You can tell that whatever her plan is with the slightest twinkle in her eyes it is going to be righteous.
Our friendship has lasted through always living at least five hours away from each other, being middle school pen pals - I still have those letters, high school, sporadic weekend visits, shopping trips on Forbes, our Grandmothers lighting candles for our protection, spending summers together, cars breaking down on the interstate, colleges, transferring colleges across the country, her overseas adventure with college abroad, countless Mr. Wrongs, road trips, concerts, changing cities, and her spectacularly lively country RamCat wedding and marriage to her equally rambunctious, audacious, thrill-seeking husband. Our most recent reunion occurred this month when she and J2 secretly planned a hurried visit on a two-night stopover from a cross country drive. After seeing each other five years ago at her RamCat One Year Wedding Anniversary we were back together.
She is exactly as my memory holds her. One moment she debates the latest methods of pedagogy and in the next moment she is masterminding saving the world through activism and the benefits of recycling. Two minutes later she is proudly expressing herself in the lyrics of 1980's rock anthems at the top of her lungs. She lives in the moment and loves wholeheartedly.
This is Chelsea.
Although we rarely see each other, when we do, we pick up exactly where we left off. That is damn fine friendship.
|Jeep riding through the ghettos and barrios of Memphis. Alright, this was taken in Bartlett.|
|We stopped for lunch Downtown. Can you guess where?|
|Gus's World Famous Fried Chicken.|
|The extremely polite and sophisticated Ladies Who Lunch at Gus's World Famous Fried Chicken.|
|If only I had known!! We got a giggle out of the posted signs in Tater Red's Lucky Mojos.|
|Figuring out our Blues Names upstairs in A. Schwab.|
|Chelsea is a Nordic Goddess, trying on hats in A. Schwab.|
|EAT, incase you forget. Phaedra at the old-timey soda fountain and ice cream parlor in A. Schwab.|
|Chelsea and Phae on Beale Street.|
|Chelsea on Beale St.|
|Yep, it is Chelsea and I on Beale Street.|
Chelsea tells me a story over a beer or two at Young Avenue Deli in the heart of the Memphis neighborhood Cooper Young.
|"Are you taking my picture?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because you are beautiful."|
Sunday, August 24, 2014
The little sister The Silver Fox promised me was born a week late with a penis. I was eight years old and devastated, but she let me put him in dresses and hair bows anyway. Trey and I told him he was adopted - his real parents are Aliens. I dared Trey he could not fit in the dryer, Blaise begged to try it himself and climbed in and held on for dear life as I let it roll with the door open, "That was fun!" he laughed as he lunged out of the spinning dryer. He happily tied ropes around his waist to fling himself off the top of our two-story deck. He holds a spirit of adventure matched by no other. He is always a prankster, quick-witted, and spontaneous with laughter, but he is even more noble and swift to help when someone is in a bind. He completed our family in perfection. Happy birthday to my favorite brother, Blaise!
I hope your day is filled with tickles and delight!
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
On Saturday evening I play wrestle with J2. I crawl up the bed from his feet towards his face. He stops me by hip checking me off the bed and saying, "Get off of me; I can see the rape in your eyes."
I laugh uncontrollably until I snort and lose my breath.
The second time I try to wrestle him I sweetly cuddle up and locked my arms around his neck. As he stands up with me attached to him like a little money he says, "Your eyes are rapey."
Plenty of giggling ensues.
Tonight, I am the last one to bed. I turn the tv off and switch off the lamp on my nightstand. As he is gently snoring in the pitch black of night I cuddle into him, rest my lips near his ears, and whisper in the tone of nightmares yet to be had, "You can't see the rape in my eyes now."
Sweet dreams, y'all!
Monday, August 4, 2014
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Since J2 and the kids are out of town I've been practicing my future lifestyle of living in a nudist colony.
I am falling asleep in the bedroom this evening when someone starts banging on the front door. It's a real Police about to break down the front door style of pounding.
I'm dazed. I'm naked. Where do I keep the towels? Or wait, what if it's Mr. Mike from next door? That's inappropriate. Do I own a robe? Can I escape through the window? Who should I call to let them know I'm answering the door at night? I've watched too many Investigation Discovery shows. Oh yeah, my hot pink fuzzy robe is in the back of the closet. But that's a winter robe. Put it on anyway, I tell myself.
The banging continues in conjunction with the doorbell ringing in continued succession. "BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG! BANG! BANG! Ding-Ding-Ding-BANG! Ding-Ding-Dong! BANG!
Are you kidding me? The person at the door is trying to hurry and confuse me. Since the dog is not even home to protect me I'm surely about to be murdered in a spinster alone at home manner.
I hear multiple people yelling on the other side of the door. I pull up my phone keypad and type in 9-1-1, so I can easily hit send. You know, just in case.
I open the door and I'm bombarded with the words of no less than six neighborhood teenagers, "Did you lose your dog?"
These damn children have no home training or manners.
The ring leader, who has a bandana tied around her head in an adventurous lady pirate-style is large with her t-shirt slit too far down the center. The sleeves of her t-shirt are removed in the manner of a Bartlett country boy who cuts the grass. She is standing on the front porch with her hands tightly wrapped around the collar of a furry dog.
Why is she holding the collar of our Fuzzy Buddy?
"Did y'all lose your dog?" she yells. Her tone sounds like a accusation instead of a question.
He looks like our Mayor McCheese, but that is not him. He is having a spend-the-night party with Pandora.
"No. That's not our dog. That's the neighborhood stray that looks nearly identical to our dog."
The gang of teenagers in the driveway are still hollering, "Is that your dog? Is that your dog? Is that your dog?"
"Are you sure this isn't your dog?" the ring leader questions.
I am not what you might call an animal person. That is an understatement, but the dog's face is not Mayor's, "No. He's not ours."
The ring leader leans her head to the side and back towards her friends. She screams, "Shut up! It's not their dog!"
Still yelling she turns her head towards me, "Do you know whose dog it is?"
"Sorry, nope. He's just the neighborhood stray that happens to look exactly like ours."
Lesson learned, next time I'm not answering the psycho knock, Mayor McCheese is staying home with me, and there will not be a nudist colony in my future. Okay, still possibly a nudist camp, but I'm definitely changing the channel when I get back to the room. No more 'Murders' tonight.