If I worked on this mayor’s staff, I so would nominate myself to be the fake maid of honor. I could give one stellar bogus toast.
First, let me tell you how much I love my new iPhone, which allowed to me sneak tons of photos at the Cincinnati Art Museum (it’s easy to trick the docents into thinking you’re sending a text message). So, I got a great close up of this stunning painting by Henry Mosler.
I have been painting since high school and drawing since I was knee-high to a grasshopper (I love saying that). Yet, I see paintings like this and think, “How is that done?” Yeah, I sort of stand there with my mouth hanging open while people pass me and the painting by.
Then, I want to race home and paint before my head explodes. That’s a less poetic way of describing how inspiring it is.
“There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why… I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?” - Robert Kennedy
“Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.” - Barack Obama
After two grueling months of being screamed at, infrequent 5-minute privilege phone calls home, and physical training drills (which cost him 12 pounds and a bum knee), my beloved big brother is back home. Greeting him at the airport this afternoon was the first time I can ever remember him hugging me so hard that he picked me up off the ground (well, in the non-violent-sibling-rivalry-sense).
Maybe I should have thought twice about coming down from the hug, taking a step back to take a look at him and saying, “You look scary.” You should see his stern military photo that mom showed me the night before. This is definitely a different look for my goofball, moutain biking, Slayer-loving bro. At least I said it with a smile and he found it laughable.
Ahhhh, it’s good to have him back.
I had a housewarming party last year that turned into a friend appreciation party. I told my guests that I brought them together to thank them for their support through my move and a rough life transition. Then I gave them the chance to do the same thing for some of their friends via photo message. I set up a tripod, camera, and lights in front of my favorite blue chair. On the coffee table in front of the chair was a stack of blank paper and Sharpie markers. They could write an “I’m-thinking-of-you-note” to anyone. That night I posted the photos to my flickr account and sent my guests the link so they could forward their message to the recipient.
I got a little carried away and sent the joking message above to residents I was an RA for my junior year of college (yeah, we’re still BFF).
I was expecting some sort of comical response, but not what I got: a care package showed up on my doorstep soon after the party. The contents consisted of a box of brownie mix and the reply photo message above. I later found out that the girlfriend of the guy on the right willing wrote my name on his ass. That’s true love.
The bare-bottom-duo now grace my fridge’s collage-style wall of fame/shame. It is a frequent source of smiles and spurts of laughter.
“Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off your goal.” - Henry Ford
It was kind of eerie to have leftover fortune cookies from Cafe Mimosa after it burned (I literally ordered carryout 2 days before my beloved “Egg Roll Machine” went up in flames). I was hanging on to the sweet little mementos as a sentimental reminder until the fruit bowl they were in began to look like a compost pile (3 fortune cookies, 2 potatoes beginning to grow roots and a couple pieces of over-ripe fruit). The bowl was purged and the tidbits of cheesy-superstitious-goodness were undressed from their cookie shells. And voila! I’m at least comforted by the fact my last interaction with Cafe Mimosa (hopefully I can later say “the original Cafe Mimosa”) gave me a sincere belly laugh.
Whatcha goin’ do with that one “Fortune Cookies Guide My Life?”
Why does the thought of regressing to being a little girl seem comforting sometimes? Well, I definitely don’t have a bike with a banana seat, streamers on the handlebars, and a basket anymore. Wearing my hair in pigtails isn’t so hip these days (yet I still do it from time to time). And no one sings lullabies to me, although I bet my grandma would if I asked. Eh, it’s just not the same. But who other than Ingrid Michaelson could remind me of how great it felt? I heart this song and especially this live version.
Yes, I did say that. But it was my mom’s birthday and what did she want to do? A 5k at 8am on a Saturday morning (just what every normal person wants to do on their birthday). The funny thing was that I never found her before the race, so plan A: brisk walk with birthday girl turned into plan B: the first time Ashley ran more than 2 miles in maybe a month. No, I didn’t like it and I had to run through stinky Butchertown (who on route committee thought that was a good idea?), but blah blah blah. I did finish a 5K, in under 30 minutes nonetheless.
Eh, the really happy part about this supposed happiness-blog-post-story was breakfast at Lynn’s Paradise Cafe promptly afterward with my lost mother, who I obviously found, and this really cute guy from Cincinnati. Yay for ugly lamps, yummy omletes, and useless 5k shirts used for oil painting rags (which I have a secret affinity for, kind of like fridge magnets and post-its).
