Get Lost

You disappeared without a trace. As if I meant nothing to you. As if we meant nothing to each other.
At first I wasn't sure if I really lost you. If you were gone for good. I tried calling you, again and again, walking from room to room. I'd think he's here, he's got to be in here. Just one more time, please, answer me and be here.  Of course, you never picked up. How could you? I was devastated. I am devastated, still, even though anyone with eyes would think I never cared, that you had been easily replaced. But if you showed up tomorrow I'd gladly return what I have to get you back. What I have now looks better, shinier and new, but it's not the same. So much was lost when I lost you, the images, the memories. The agony of your betrayal. I put you in my world, an all access pass, whoever I knew, you knew. You were with me all the time, we were together all the time. How did I become so careless? I took my eyes off of you for one minute and....

Everything we had was lost in that instant. I must have replayed that night in my head a hundred thousand times. I can never figure it out. It makes no sense. You were there and then you weren't.

But I should have seen the signs You stopped taking my calls as often, you started dropping off as if you couldn't quite hear me anymore. When I grabbed you, you'd freeze and I'd have to backtrack, massage you to get you to act normal again. When our time together used to typically be so easy, now it was strained. I see that now. I didn't want to then. I wanted it to work.

Oh, cell phone. I miss the way you buzzed in my purse. The way you took pictures and videos so easily, capturing all of my favorite moments, moments with my family, friends, pets, clothes, the new bathroom. It had been so long since I backed you up, again, I know that is my fault. I got careless, took you for granted. And now all the pictures of the boys with the new baby are memories in my head, never to be seen in a frame other than my mind. Oh me oh my. Why? Why? Why?

But you know what? I'm done with you anyway.  I've got a newer version, that can actually work in the dark, unlike you, who stammered around half blind, missing everything.  Plus, my case is better, its a hard one and way better than that floppy rubbery thing you used. Who needs you anyway? Not me. I'm glad you got lost, stay lost! "Lose" er!

Please leave a comment here. And if you like what you read, pass it on. Thanks!

Apaco Lacooney

It's the tenth anniversary of one of my favorite shows, Antiques Roadshow. Monday night I watched maybe one of the greatest episodes ever, Jackpot! AR is on the short list for a few reasons.
                  1. The people.
                  2. The appraisers.
                  3. The finds.
                  4. The dramatic stories/history behind each piece.
The people (and me) are rarely aware of what they possess.  It's this innocence juxtaposed against the appraisers expert knowledge that makes each segment unendingly endearing and intriguing. It gives me hope everytime.

"Where did you say you came into possession of this pot?" **
"I bought it at a yard sale in 1986."
"It's a fine example of American folk art. Maybe the best." The appraiser rubs the pot. "See there's no glaze? Glaze didn't start happening until the eighteenth century."
"You're kidding." The pot owner looks at the pot with new eyes, seeing it, like us, for the first time as something more akin to magical than something to hold loose thumb tacks.  "I knew it was special, I just had to have it."
"This pre-dates glaze." The appraiser says, gravely.
"Pre-dates glaze..." The person mouths the words without sound, her eyes transfixed on the pot.
"How much did you pay for this?"
"Oh, maybe two dollars." The person looks embarrassed.
"Two dollars." The appraiser says expressing a burst of air,with a bit of a chuckle indicating that the pot maybe worth three hundred times that. I get a butterfly. I can't take my eyes off the screen.
"Look here, underneath see this mark? This is the mark of Apapo Lacooney." He puts his hands through his hair. "Apapo Lacooney almost never worked in pottery. This is so rare." My heart skips a beat. I have to know. What is it worth?!
"So you paid two dollars."
"I think so, five is my limit, so..."
"Well, you do have some condition issues, there are some scratches in the interior, but that said." He looks at the owner. "Conservatively. At auction. I'd say this Apaco Lacooney is worth at least. $25,000."
"uh, oh my. I um." The person, like me is dumbstruck. Flabbergasted. "I uh, had no idea, I, hahah! That's great. phew."
"Without the scratches I'd say $30,000. Still, not a bad return on your investment?" The appraiser asks.
"No, not at all. I'm speachless. Thank you." They stare at the pot. "My husband said it was ugly. Now how'em gonna get it home."
They laugh together, we laugh together. That idiot husband, she's rich!
** the story is entirely made up from my imagination, if there is an Apaco or Apapo Lacooney, its a coincidence. And I want ten percent.

This week there was a man who had inherited a letter to an editor of one of the most famous and often reprinted newspaper editorials.

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

The response to this little girls letter was so inspiring I cried real tears. It is as true then, September 21, 1897 (this week 114 years ago), as it is now. I hate to rush the seasons, but couldn't we all use a little Christmas in September?

God Bless Antiques Roadshow, may they have decades more for us and of course love love love PBS.







If you like what you read pass it on.  Thanks!

Astronomy Lesson

A snippet from the day that I thought was pretty cool/ironic/funny.

True story. Tonight around 7pm.

"Mama, come quick!" Julian, the three year old hollers from somewhere not in the tub where he is supposed to be with me and Colbert, almost six.
Luckily, I find him. (dry humor, bc our house is not big.)
"You rang?" I asked.
"Mama look!" he said, standing naked by his bedroom window. I come up behind him.
"The sun made the sky red," he whispers, in a voice that could be the cutest thing I've ever heard and an expression to match.
"Yes," I said.
"Why it be's like that?" he asked. "Why the sun do's that to the sky?"
"That's the sun doing what it does," I said. "It's called a sunset."
"It do's that everyday?" he asked.
"Yup, whether we watch or not, or like it or not, the sun is doing her thing." I said. I can't grasp science so I attempt profound.
"Like me, Mama." he said still looking at the sky "I do mine."
"Yup." I said. Containing myself. "And I do...mine."
"Can I see Mama, can I learn?" Colbert comes in, a wet noodle from the tub. These are words I've never heard him ask, I don't want to lose momentum.
"Sure, look." I said. "It's the sunset."
"It's beautiful red." Colbert said.
We are having a moment like real people. It's almost like walking through a gallery with cohorts. I almost don't recognize them as my children. It's surreal in a way.
"Yup, we were saying that the sun is just like people. We are what we are whether anyone watches us or likes us or not. We could beg the sun all day not to rise or set but it will. We simply be what we are."
 "Colbert be's a jerk." Julian said. Here it comes, "And you, Mama."
Zing.
"Sometimes, sometimes we can all be jerks." I said.
"I not! I not a jerk!" He screams and starts a sweltering meltdown shattering our reverie.
Thar she blows.
"No, shhhh, of course not. Just me and Colbert." I said, eyes up to heaven, I wink at Colbert.
"Julian's a big fat jerk." Colbert adds.
 "Okay, Let's get your pajamas on." I said. "And no more name calling or you'll both be on the naughty step."

Said the sun to her sons.

Collection

Cleaning out my old bedroom.  Top dresser drawer, pictures, key chains, costume jewelry, letters, everything addressed to Sue McMahon, my maiden name. Then, address books, a Filofax. I take a look in one of the address books, it has the characteristics of Latter Day Saints women, its Laura Ashley floral and puffy and it ties with a satin ribbon, like their dresses and hair.  I look under C to see if a certain C is there, it seems I put the D's where the C's should have been. Chris Dunne and an address at Fairfield University. It's his handwriting, he put his address in there, probably at a high
school graduation party. I'm happily surprised but it's bittersweet. I can't remember that I ever wrote him. We were more acquaintances in the collective of a big group of middle and high school friends than penpals.

Was it Septemeber 11th? or 12th? Beth's house, she and her husband Alex have an open house for anyone who want to be together in the wake of the attacks. Lists of names of people missing come in. We're from a white collar commuter town. The lists are long. Chris Dunnes on one, he was in one of the towers, along with a bunch of others. Friends seem optimistic in an eyes glazed frenzied sort of way. I go to the bathroom and get sick.  When I look in the mirror I think that my body knows something my brain can't comprehend.

Years earlier, (or was it just one year earlier? just months?) Beth and Alex's wedding. I wear a navy and white striped sleeveless Ralph Lauren full length dress and a broad rimmed white hat with navy sash. I think I look like a knock out, KO. Walking into the ceremony I see my friends mom, I know she gets a kick out of me and my hat. We both start laughing as much as you can in church. I step into a pew, Chris Dunne and Jimmy Horn are standing behind me.
"Looking good Sue..." Jimmy said.
"Why thank you, Jim" I reply with a wink. I think I notice Chris snicker so I squint at him and turn around.

I spend the rest of the ceremony imagining my own wedding.
"Do you Susan Marie, take James Horn..."
"You bet I do." The congregation laughs, our wedding is upbeat, we're a blast. My hat's a veil.

Later at the reception, a tremendous summer evening, cocktails at sunset on the lawn of a mansion. Chris Dunne saunters over.
"Thought I saw you giving Jim the eye in church." He said.
"Thought I heard you laughing at me."
"Yeah, I whispered to Jim, "Someone tell McMahon to get the collection basket off her head." He said.

My eyes turned to slits, even though I'm laughing inside. Bottom line, nothing is less sexy then calling a female by her last name especially when her last name ends in the sound "man." And turning my fab hat into a collection basket... There goes being Mrs. Horn.

"Good one." I call, "Bartender!"

Blink and You'll Miss Me

SO. My mom is selling her house. Our house. The home we six grew up in, the one we eight lived in for the better of thirty some odd years, those two for a full thirty seven. To the hoarders picking at our junk parked by the curb its a frame with flat tires, to me I see a shiny red ten-speed, the double upper case RR's intertwined at the base of the curly handle bars, my first wheels, a Rolls Ross. I remember when my dad agreed to buy it for me at a bike shop in South Hampton. That sounds very daddy's little rich girl, we weren't rich and it wasn't like that. That's why I remember it. I'm not sure who's face looked more shocked as he paid, me or my mothers. My brothers and sisters weren't even jealous. If this could happen to me, what could happen to them? Don't mess with a miracle. Bite the insides of your cheeks and act like your heart isn't beating out of your chest or it might disappear. But it didn't. My first bike. I rode it to Jen DeSimones house around the corner, she had the same one in blue. We hugged, O.P. shirt to O.P. shirt.

A few days ago my sister brought me an envelope full of pictures, a picture of me on my bike amongst the pile. My face, you'd think I had scored a Gold Medal, I look as proud as if I had done something, actually trained and prepared for years for the gold medal moment and in retrospect I guess I did. Getting Johny G. to part with a hundred bucks was as sure a feat as any 100 yard dash, a triple lundy off the high dive, no splash.

I miss him.

Then today a friend from the beach sent me pictures via Kodak Gallery thereby connecting me to a whole world I knew and forgot about since I no longer remember to even download my pictures.  I found an album on there I uploaded in 2009. I can't believe how much has changed in two years. I especially can't believe how much my Julian has changed, that I actually started questioning why we called him Butterball. I remember being confused when anyone including (especially) strangers would come up to me and tell me he was huge.  I have long suffered from a reverse anorexia, where in my mind's eye I'm as hot as humanly possible and then I see pictures and I'm like, who's the fat chick? oh, sh*t never mind, move on, its me. Anyway, I guess I see my children the same way. I remember making a video called Baby Fat in answer, everyone seemed so jazzed at how fat my baby was I thought "Well, you can have one too! Fat suits for babies!" it was to poke fun and say who cares but now I see the pictures and think I may have taken those comments a tad too personally. And more distressing see the pictures from when I was 23-28 and wonder why those people weren't around then to tell me I was shorty 140. Could have helped things. A lot. 

I have downloaded the slide show yes, that's what this blog has been reduced to. Come watch my slides:) It's set to music. Unfortunately, the photo's my sister gave me aren't digital, big darn there, SO bummed I can't show you how fat I was. But please enjoy these. As if there weren't enough ways life is showing me how fast it all goes this year...My dad was here and now he's not, there were two and now there's three and he's teething and first grade starts next week, and my younger sister became a mother yesterday and it will be the tenth anniversary this September 11th, and, and. All the ands.  

I hope it will help me and you to slow down and enjoy the ride and maybe make your own album (it was only $4 dollars:). Although I feel like I am constantly pulling myself to stay "in the moment", after finding this album and having no recollection of any of those days (did I really make cupcakes with buttercream frosting and a variety of toppings?) these days I'm going to try not to blink. I don't want to miss a thing.

Good Week all!! xx!