blue girl

Good Thing Love Is Patient and Kind and Not Easily Angered

The Mother of All Insults

The Skimmer and I went to the Short North Gallery Hop last night. Not a dance. The Skimmer doesn't dance. The Short North Gallery Hop is an art walk with live music every few feet on the sidewalks, along with thousands of people.

After a few hours of gallery hopping we tried to find a place to get a drink. But, it seemed like the thousands of people we had been gallery hopping with had the same idea. Restaurant after restaurant was packed. The Skimmer spotted a bar with a large deck out front and although it looked pretty crowded he thought we might have a chance to get in. We crossed the street and I followed The Skimmer up the steps to the deck and into the crowd. A thirty-something guy with dark hair and glasses raised his beer at The Skimmer, leaned in and in a big booming voice said, "Well, helloooooo, Sir!"

The Skimmer and I smiled and be-bopped our way into the bar. Well, I be-bopped. The Skimmer just walked. It was dark, with soft, glowy amber lighting and lots of purple velvet. Once our eyes adjusted, The Skimmer leaned over to me and said, "I think we're in a gay bar."

I whispered, "We are?! Cool!"

He laughed, "The bar's packed. Let's go try to find another place."

Going out the same way we came in, the booming voice with the dark hair and glasses raised his beer at The Skimmer once again while he shimmied to the music. As I passed him, I shimmied right back. The Skimmer didn't shimmy. And not because he was in a gay bar. He can't dance. Can't line dance, can't be-bop, can't even shimmy.

I laughed, "I think he liked you!"

We finally found a place where we could sit down and order a drink. And as soon as we did, we got a call from Blue Kid that the concert he and his two friends were at was over. We chugged our drinks, paid the bill and drove over to the God-awful hole in the wall where the concert had been held. The three boys climbed in and I breathed a sigh of relief that I had made it through another night without someone calling children services on me.

"BraceWar was awesome, Mom! They're breaking up! We might not get to see them ever again.....you should have seen this huge fight!"

"I don't want to hear another word! La-la-la-la..."

The boys were hungry, so we drove back down to High Street to find a place to get something to eat. We found a nice, little restaurant on the corner and got our table for five.

The three boys were talking about BraceWar and Bad Seed and Coat Hanger and Ceiling Fan and Furrowed Eyebrow and whatever other weird bands they like when I noticed The Skimmer grinning.

"What are you grinning at?"

"I'm watching that blonde waitress looking at Blue Kid."

"What? No. She's too old for him."

"How old do you think she is?"

"I don't know. 25? No, she's not looking at him."

Just then the tan waitress with the long, blonde, floppy pony tail came over to our table, reached between BK's two friends, picked up BK's water glass, filled it up and asked only him if there was something else she could get for him.

The Skimmer leaned over to me and whispered, "I rest my case."

"Totally uncool!"

"What? That an older woman is hitting on your son?"

"No! That you guys keep getting hit on tonight and no one's hitting on me!"

French Lovin', Volvo Drivin'...

The Skimmer and I had a wonderful breakfast on the patio of a beautiful restaurant. It was a glorious morning. We drank our coffee, talking and watching people as they strolled the sidewalk, pushing babies and picking out fresh herbs that were for sale by vendors participating in Farmers' Market Saturday.

After breakfast, we ducked in and out of several shops on Main Street. Small antique stores, clothing stores and the candy store that sells 21 different colors of M&Ms. (Three shades of blue, Kathleen!) We sat on a park bench beneath a large oak tree for awhile until we decided it was time to leave.

While driving back, we were stopped at a red light of a large intersection. There were four elderly people standing on the corner. Two men and two women. The youngest was maybe in her early 70s. They were all gray-haired and stoop-backed. Each dressed in khakis and faded white polo shirts. And each were holding very large, homemade signs.

One side read: HONK FOR PEACE.

The other side read: SUPPORT OUR TROOPS. END THE WARS.

They looked good natured, smiling at cars that gave a honk as they passed by.

As we drove through the intersection, The Skimmer honked and I waved. One of the men smiled at me and flashed the peace sign. The Skimmer honked again.

I said, "Rush Limbaugh couldn't make hay with those four. What could he possibly say? He couldn't touch 'em with a 10 foot pole! But you and I are a different story, buster. Eating breakfast at La Chatelaine and then honking for peace in our Volvo? We'd be dead meat."

Number One Item on the To-do List

The Skimmer woke me up coughing this morning.

“You ok? Honey. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing that. I think sometimes I stop breathing for a minute.”

Well, that was a comforting thought. I tried to fall back to sleep. I glanced at the clock. 6:13. I willed that dreamlike state I fall into right before I fall back into a deep sleep to whisk me away. But, all I could will myself to imagine was the kitchen and the coffee and me. The three of us as one. As I walked out of our bedroom, The Skimmer said, “You gettin’ up?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll just sleep for another half hour, maybe 45 minutes. What time is it?”

“6:22.”

“Maybe another couple hours.”

“That’s fine. Just keep breathing.”

I’m happy to report that he managed it. An hour and a half later he was up, doing his typical Saturday morning shtick.

“Did you make coffee? I have so much to do. I’ve got to cut the grass, fix that part of the fence in the back. Wonder if we have gas in the lawnmower. Look at this moulding. Lego has destroyed it. Wonder if I should go to Lowe’s and get new moulding and replace it today. Have you checked the back door? Is it opening and closing any better now that the weather’s warmed up? The lock on it’s not working right. I need to replace it. Oh, man, I have so much to do. What are you gonna do today?”

“Nothing. I’m too exhausted by everything you say you have to do. I might have to take a nap.”

“I have to work today, too. Three projects. If I don’t get a jump on them, I’m gonna be totally screwed on Monday. What time does the bank close? We have to talk to that one guy there. Wonder if we still have those moles in the front yard. Have you noticed any? Are they back? I need to figure out a way to get rid of them.”

“Why don’t you just sit down for a minute and relax?”

“I have so much to do!”

“It’s only eight o'clock. Just sit down for a minute. Just breathe.”

And he did. And we talked about this, that and the other for more than an hour while drinking our coffee. While Blue Kid slept. While the cats danced around the living room. While the only sounds from the outside world that could be heard were the birds chirping in our lilac tree outside an open window.

It’s always the nicest part of the weekend.

Getting Fired in these Trying Times is Sometimes a Good Thing

I can never find anything when I need it. Two days ago I couldn't find the toothpaste. The toothpaste! Where does toothpaste go? I ended up having to go to the store to buy another tube.

Yesterday I needed to charge my cell phone. But, I couldn't find the charger that's been plugged into the same outlet for more than a year. I took a deep breath. Searched on top of the breadbox. Not there. Searched through the mail basket we keep in the kitchen. No. Looked in the cabinets, the food closet, the junk drawer, the oven, the freezer! No!

I tried to stay calm. Whatever! The Skimmer's phone is fully charged, I thought and got in the shower. We were going out to dinner with a friend and I needed to get ready.

An hour later, I was lying on the couch in my dress. Arm resting over my eyes with one leg hanging off the couch.

"What are you doing?!" The Skimmer half yelled, half laughed.

"I can't find my shoes!"

"Ok, what do they look like?" He laughed.

"They're black pumps."

"Have you looked..." And then he proceeded to name every possible place in the house that I had already searched.

"Yes, yes and a million times yes, I have looked everywhere!"

He started looking. "What do they look like?" He was in the front foyer looking through closets and I was in the mudroom, looking through closets.

"They're black pumps!" I yelled.

"Well, what are those? I don't know what you mean!"

Within an instant I had two thoughts, Oh my God! Who doesn't know what a black pump looks like! and Don't be mean, he's trying to help you find your black pumps!"

"They're high heels with a closed toe! Pumps! Black pumps! They're my new ones. I love them. And now they're gone forever!"

"They're not gone forever."

I heard him go upstairs and decided to follow him up. He opened the closet door in our bedroom.

"Are these them?!"

"Yes. Thank you."

"They were right in the middle of the floor! Not even covered up by anything! They were right there!"

Embarrassed, I said, "Well, thanks. Thanks for helping. I looked there but didn't see them."

"They were right there!"

Whatever! I was sweating by this time. I put on the black pumps and looked in the mirror. I turned to The Skimmer and said, "The top of this dress dips too low if I don't keep a check on it. You need to be on Cleavage Patrol tonight to alert me when it dips too low."

"Gladly."

I grabbed my purse and he grabbed the keys and said, "You want to drive?"

"Yes, I am so wound up that I know I won't be a happy passenger."

"And you'll be mean to me!"

"Shut up! Let's go."

As I got into the driver's seat and The Skimmer was about to get into the passenger seat he said, "Hold on. I forgot something."

I sat in the car waiting, for what seemed to be a thousand and two years. I was watching the time ticking away on the clock. Tapping the steering wheel, getting a neck cramp from turning to look so many times at the door he would be walking out of.

"What took you so long?!"

"It didn't take long!"

"Why are you looking at me like that?!"

"I'm not looking at you any way! What is your deal?! Last night, what did I say? Something and you bit my head off!"

I laughed, "I'm very sensitive!"

"You sound like Brian on the Family Guy! Rrr..rrr..rrr..rrr."

"Are you now calling me a dog? That's it! You're fired from Cleavage Patrol!"

The rest of the night went splendidly. We had a lovely evening with our friend. Talking and laughing at a fun Mexican restaurant.

On the way home I said, "You never mentioned my top. Must've been ok?"

"Well, you fired me! So, that meant I couldn't tell you. Good thing, too. It was the best part of the night."

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

The Skimmer has given me many beautiful and thoughtful gifts over the years. Pretty clothes, books, concert tickets, gels, creams, lotions. Fireplace mantles.

When we moved into this house ten years ago, I was disappointed that there were no interesting architectural details. So, our first Christmas here, he went to an antique store and bought an old, gorgeous, ornate fireplace mantle. Stripped it, refinished it and installed it in our bedroom. It's beautiful. And functional! Not for fires, but for books. He built a bookcase within it because I had also been missing the built-in bookshelves that were in almost every room of the century home we had just moved out of.

The Skimmer is an artist. And he's painted my portrait multiple times. Simple black and white line drawings and pretty pastels. Once, he worked on a large oil painting for weeks and I wasn't allowed to see it until it was almost done.

"Well, that's interesting!"

"What?"

"Are you serious?"

"What?!"

"Whattya mean, what? Is that me or Dolly Parton? And what's with that outfit?!"

"What?! I like it!"

"I bet you do!"

"And it's not Dolly Parton! I used this shot of Tyra Banks as reference."

"You've lost your mind. Cover me up! I can't get that framed!"

Yes, The Skimmer's been very thoughtful about gifts over the years, never thinking of himself at all.

The year before we were married, I took a weekend trip with my mom and sister. At the time, I was living in a very tiny apartment. I had complained to The Skimmer that I couldn't wait to move into a bigger place, because of the kitchen. There was no counter space whatsoever.

When I got back from my trip, The Skimmer had built a table that fit perfectly between the refrigerator and stove. Giving me space to, you know, open cans of green beans and frozen food packages.

When my mom saw what he had done, she hugged me, "He's a keeper!"

The Table that Love Built was definitely a sign that indeed he was.

But, none of this, not any of it, has stopped me from calling him Dual Bag for the last two weeks!

On my last birthday, he didn't get me a vacuum cleaner. He didn't get me extra memory for my computer. Or even an Absersizer.

He didn't get me anything at all!

Last May was tough times here at the Blue Manse. Big changes were occurring and my birthday got lost in the shuffle. Which was not only okay, in fact, I was and still am totally grateful for it.

"Honey? Honey? It's time to wake up!"

"Why should I? You didn't get me anything for my birthday."

"Honey? The game'll be starting soon. Do you want me to order the pizza with sausage or pepperoni?"

"What difference does it make since you never got me anything for my birthday."

"Oooh, I forgot. Your mom called earlier."

"Why am I not surprised you forgot. You know, because of my birthday and everything."

Last night we were in Macy's shopping for my mother-in-law's gift. I thought a piece of jewelry would be nice. Maybe something with her birthstone. She and I share the same birthday month.

I asked the saleswoman to take a very simple and elegant emerald necklace out of the display case.

"Oooh, this is pretty. Don't you think, Skimmer? And meaningful, too.

"Why?"

"Because it's her birthstone! May is emerald!"

"How do you know?"

"Seriously, Dual Bag?! It is totally the doghouse for you! Nothing but quiche and lattes. Ow-ow-ow-oooo! Ow-ow-ow-oooo!

I am grateful because it gives me something to torture him about for the rest of his life. No gold, diamonds -- or even emeralds -- could ever beat that.

It truly is the gift that will keep on giving.

You'll Get No Argument from Me

The Skimmer said something ridiculous the other day. Something so rotten and awful and ridiculous, I don't even remember what it was. It was that bad.

"Well, that was rotten and awful! Why would you say something like that?! Geez!"

"You have to give me a break. I'm just... just.... a.... man."

How could I argue with that?

The Skimmer and I Are So Dated

Dress for the occasion.

Easy on the cologne.

Be on time.

Go to the door.

Do not bring flowers -- it's outdated.

Now that is just ridiculous. Not the first four, the last one. It's outdated for a man to bring a woman flowers on a first date? Even a single daisy?

According to this Esquire article it is.

But what do I know?

Now that Blue Kid has his own car and a new girlfriend who has him reading books, it occurred to me the other day that he could and should take her out on a real date. You know. Because I am very helpful, most of the time, telling him all the things he could and should do.

"Why don't you call Ms. Great Influence and nicely ask her out on a date? A real date. Like a dinner and a movie-type date."

"Mom. Nobody calls anymore."

"Never?"

"We text."

"Asking someone out on a date by texting doesn't sound very romantic."

"Mom. Nobody dates anymore. We just hang out."

"Well, how sad is that? Dad and I still go on dates."

"You're old."

I guess we are. The Skimmer was out of town last week and called me Friday, and with his voice asked me to go out to dinner with him that night. I said yes with my voice! It was a date.

Friday night was probably our 600th date. I don't remember much about our first date. I don't remember if he walked at my pace, or played talk radio in the car or if he offered me his arm while we were walking. All I remember is that he paid for dinner with his American Express card. That year I had postage stamps and laundry detergent on my Christmas list. American Express? It's been a joke for 20 years how impressed I was that he didn't leave home without it.

He didn't bring me a daisy Friday night, but he did drop me off at the door of the restaurant because it was pouring the rain. After he parked, pretty far from where I was standing, all dry and warm, he ran through the parking lot of puddles and arrived only partially soaking wet. I opened the door for him. Because that's the kind of girl I am.

A girl who can open her own doors, pay for her own dinner, even buy herself some flowers just because. I'm a lot like my mother that way. Bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan-types. But also the types to love thoughtful gestures.

My mother worked for years just up the street from my stepfather's office. During the winter months, he would leave work early, drive to where her car was parked, clean the snow off her car and start it up so that it was warm for her by the time she got off work. The other women in her office were in awe of my stepfather. Their husbands? Not so much.

Sometimes when The Skimmer and I are out to dinner, he'll order for me. The List says that's a no-no. But, he's never presented a coupon to the waiter while saying, "And the lady will have something of equal or lesser value."

But, I think it would be funny if he did.

Friday night I was feeling liberated and ordered my own Portobello Marsala Saute. And I shared some of it with The Skimmer. It was my idea to share and he went along with it. Good thing, too. At least according to The List.

After dinner I got a text message from Blue Kid.

Him: Where are you?

Me: Still at dinner what r u doing?

Him: Hanging out with Ms. Great Influence

The Skimmer paid the bill and we walked to the door. It was still pouring the rain.

Another no-no on The List: The Drive: While amusing, avoid that bit where you go and then stop and pretend to drive away without her.

The Skimmer's done that 88 times between dates two and 599. You'd think it would get old, but it never has. Friday night, he offered to go get the car.

"Nah, let's make a run for it!"

And while tradition dictates that the man should walk on the outside of the woman to avoid puddle splashes and runaway carriages, we ran side by side through the parking lot of puddles, yelling and laughing.

The Skimmer needs to have a Father-Son heart-to-heart. BK doesn't know what he and Ms. Great Influence are missing.

Mr. Mourning Dove

Taking a break from hunting and gathering.

Mourning Doves

The Skimmer and I walked outside early this morning and a mourning dove flew from a pine tree on our left, over our heads against the blue sky, landing beneath a bush in front of us, in the shade. 

"Ah, there's my friend!  Wonder where the other one is?"

"I haven't seen the other one since the two of them sat together in the other tree in front of the porch a couple of weeks ago," I said.

We watched as he darted around surveying the area until he seemed to decide he had found what he'd been looking for.  A perfect, tiny twig gripped tightly in his beak, he flew back to the pine tree and disappeared within the branches.

We sat down on the front step and watched him fly from the pine tree to the shaded area beneath the bush and back to the pine tree several times.

"She's in there building the nest."

We sat for a few more minutes in the sun and then The Skimmer left to go get a paper.

I went back into the house to start the coffee and tidy up a bit.