something for the ages

there's nothing really to report, yet i feel like i should write. like i have to. it's one of those things that just... needs to happen. i have had some excellent ideas the last couple of days, where "gee, that would make a great blog topic", but alas, no blog, so the topic was forgotten.

i've been more creative recently [again], and i've modified some of the pictures my mom had given me over the years. you know the kind i mean, the ones you buy at linens & things for like $80, of a farm on a hill somewhere you've never been. but the matting is pretty, and the frame, so i make the new pictures, and clean the glass, and now it be some abstract shite. what?

and i made one of those collage picture things that most middle-class white families have in their homes, the ones with the oval matting, the squares, the oblong shapes. i'm sure you know the kind i mean. it happens that we have more pictures of Ezra's family around than mine. [so this struck my mom as odd why? she had all of the photos from forever. the only pictures i have are the crappy ones when we were allowed to bring a disposable camera to school like the last day of the school year. the pictures of my family are either in my sister's posession, or my dad's, like i'll ever see them now!] so the collage thing is really cool, pictures from burning man, Ezra's grandparents, a family photo from when he was young, some of us when we first met. just a sappy memorial i suppose.

i was on the phone with Heather last night, and we touched on the subject of what we were and weren't allowed to do as kids. i remember baking, only when my mother wasn't home. i remember she didn't want me making a huge mess in the kitchen. which taught me to clean as i go. i mean even one fluff of flour would make me feel like i was going to be beheaded. i wasn't even really allowed to vacuum, because i wouldn't do it "right". there would be lines in the carpet when i was done. or little triangles. we were supposed to vacuum the lines away, apparently. these days i chase Olivia around the floor with it, so often times there will be weird vacuum spirals on the carpet. i mean, does it really matter?

it's strange, the things that we keep with us as we grow into "functioning" adults. i was remembering back to right before i moved out of my mom's house. that was such a strange time in my life. i'd broken up with a fellow i'd been dating for just shy of six [yes, 6!] years, and i was spending a lot of time with a new friend in San Francisco, so it just seemed logical to move there.

my mom was starting to date a new man, and she'd found sobriety. it felt right to leave. "they" advise not to make any huge life changes in the first year of sobriety, but i don't know, i guess i didn't think it was that drastic. i guess it didn't dawn on me that she'd then be an "empty nest"er.

the chaos that followed my move is probably best left for another time. just know that i wouldn't have changed a thing.