The Closet Clean Out

Earlier this week I arrived at Mom and Dad's house during a very rare occurrence. Mom had convinced Dad to go through his clothes and deem things worthy of keeping, tossing, or donating. For a person so inattentive to fashion trends, Dad sure has tons of clothes. The sheer volume of shorts he owns could clothe a small army of lawn care professionals. 

"Well these are my work shorts," he said, searching for the required hole, grass stain, or protruding clump of plaster that qualifies an article for the designated pile. "Are these too tight?"

Mom monitored things from just behind him. She offered her commentary as well as some disapproval, but overall she gave encouragement as the pile of throw away items grew ever larger. "How about these? You never wear them?"
"Those? I like those. They're my golf shorts."

"But you already have so many golf shorts."

"But these ones are blue!"

I sat in the corner as a giddy bystander. I love listening to them process the other's ideas. Dad can effortlessly dismiss Mom's thoughts, while Mom grants him no wiggle room.

"What's that pile? Throw away?"

"No, those need to be washed. Go wash 'em for me."

"Why do I always have to be the one to wash things."

"You like washing things."

"No I don't! It's just that you do it wrong. Hey wait, put that in the give away pile."

"I like that shirt!"

"It has a hole in it!"

"So?"

We made our way through shoes; 

"Should I keep these?"

"No."

"I'm going to keep them."

To suits and dinner jackets;

"Oh now this, this is a nice jacket. I'm keeping it."

"No, they're all nice jackets. You have to get rid of some. Look they're all the same color!"

"But this one is really nice. It's Jos A Bank!"

"Just one, get rid of one navy blue suit. Come on! You can do it!"

"That one is a little bit outdated," I added. Suddenly Dad paid attention.

"Really? Ok, well let's get rid of it. Oh wow, look at this one. Now this is a nice suit."

"It covered in stains."

"No it isn't."

"Dad, we can see the stains."

"Really? Ok. You can take it."

And finally to neckties;

"No no, I need my ties!"

"You have way too many! And you never wear them!"

"But what if I need them?"

"You think you'll need 50?"

"Listen, I wore a tie every day for years!"

"Well, lets just pick out a few you could let go of."

"No!"

"Come on Dad," I said, "Look at this one. It's pretty tacky."

"Yeah, I guess that is tacky... ok, you can take it."

"Great, now how about this one? Pretty bad huh?"

"Not that one. I love that one!"

"Oh Chris, it looks like a tie for casket viewing."

"It's my only green tie!"

The best part about the green tie was that I looped back around to it after he had gotten into the purging spirit. When he saw that tie, that precious green tie he just had to keep, he said, "Oh that tie is awful!" 

"That's the same tie as before."

"No it isn't. I wouldn't have tried to keep that one."

I witnessed this scene for a good half hour and the giant grin never left my face. Dad did a wonderful job letting go of clothing articles from 40 years ago and even relinquishing a few pairs of enormous shoes. Mom was elated. I was tickled. Dad moved on to his next task as though nothing monumental, endearing, or interesting had happened at all. 

I could watch them all day. 

Cosmic Sabotage

An early winter's morning at Oak and Palm Acres.

There some kind of phenomena in my life whereupon I notice something, observe, ruminate on, or endure it for some time, and when I finally declare it to another human being it suddenly ceases to be true. 

Some examples:

Two years ago my heart was hurting. Sometimes it felt like it would forget to beat for a second. Other times it would beat real quick for no reason for just a moment before going back to normal. Sometimes, it just felt sharp in there. This was disconcerting to me of course, but because medical things can make me unreasonable, I just endured the beatings. Brett didn't seem as concerned about my heart's mutterings as I wanted him to be, and since medical things can make me unreasonable, I just kept waiting to die. Finally, I compiled a list of rapid-fire health questions and made an appointment to see my doctor. 

"Does this bone feel weird?"

"No."

"Is this normal?"
"Yes."
"Is this broken?"
"Possibly. Does it hurt?"
"Only sometimes."
"Wouldn't worry about it."
"Should I be able to do this?"
"No."
"My heart hurts sometimes..."

A chilly beach venture.

She was also not concerned with my heart, which should have been a relief but since its my heart and all, it seemed more like the opening dialogue to the documentary film of my life that interviews all the people I spoke to leading up to my untimely demise by a rare heart condition.

"Didn't seem out of the ordinary," my doctor would say from the mirrored interrogation room at our local precinct, handcuffs searing into her wrists. My parents would be devastated. It might even tear up their marriage. Ellen would be bummed out. Brett, precious Brett, he's the one who hired the film crew. Avenge my name, Bubba!

My doctor told me to "pay attention to it for a while" which seemed like what I had already been doing. "If it keeps up we'll give you a heart monitor." Presumably so they could pay attention to it for a while. Meanwhile my aortic walls would be dissolving into tissue paper. Sure hope there isn't a timeline on this sort of ailment. 
Anyways, it stopped hurting and dancing around after I proclaimed its presence to my doctor.

Christmas Cuddle Trap.

Similarly, there was this very sharp pain deep down in my brain for a while - mostly when I exercised or tied my shoes. I figured it was some kind of pre-aneurysm but I didn't want to be unreasonable so I waited around until I got scared enough. Then I went to my doctor.

"Well, pay attention to it for a while and then we can do a brain scan."
"But I have been paying attention to it. That's why I'm here. How long do I confirm that it's still there before it kills me?"
"Come back when you feel very concerned about it." 
I went home angry, and my brain never did that sharp aneurysm thing again. 

"So-and-so is coming to the party!" I'll declare. They'll go on to not show up.

"This restaurant serves the best dinner rolls." They've switched to breadsticks.

"I'm going to go for a jog today!" Existence will wear me thin.

Things like that. 

If I really want something I have to keep it to myself - but I suppose if I want it to go away, I just have to spend the money to tell it to a professional. Consider it a convenience fee.

This is all Preamble to telling you that I've changed my school project because I foolishly declared it in this public forum and then all the ends refused to meet (so to speak) and now I've had to change it. It's hard to make yourself wad up an idea and throw it over shoulder when you already spent a whole big bunch of time working on it and you could see exactly how you wanted it to go. I still want to do it, but I've got more things to learn first. Bleh. I can't tell you what I'm doing instead or else that'll go up in flames. 

It's almost like the world wants me to stop talking about myself.

Fruitless efforts - The early stages.

In fun news, we've continued our home improvement efforts to thrilling outcomes. We took our sad, empty living room wall and turned it into an abundant book display, with accompanying decorative accoutrements. It makes our living space feel much larger than before, which was an unexpected outcome. Second, EisenEars made some fake beams to cover the tension rods in our ceiling and it really cozied up the place. 

If I had been able to take pictures of how we hung those things...