Christmas comes but once a year…

Standard

Saturday’s are an important part of anyone’s diet. You need it to relax, to finish weekly agendas, chores, trips, sleep overs, parties, shopping, etc. Saturday’s are important…

image

Today my dear cousin and I set out to purchase some sleds for the coming winter, outlet shopping and stroll downtown New London for small business Saturday.
If you’re ever in the neighborhood of bank street stop by the Bean & Leaf Cafè. It’s modern and vintage, homemade and local, anything you’d want in a small town coffee joint.

image

Winter does funny things to people, for some it causes muscle pain, for some it’s excitement for the holidays and for me it’s nostalgic.

There are memories that float in the icy breeze through my sweater and up my heart. And although usually good, they are now bittersweet. This will be the first holiday season without my daddy, and my first birthday without his card, altogether.

image

My wonderful favorite cousin and best friend lets me crutch on her so much without her even knowing. She off-key sang Christmas songs with me while helping me decorate my house…my daddy’s house…the one that every year he, my brother and I would put together our very tattered artificial Christmas tree and decorate while listening to a mix of Country and Christmas music on the radio.
…before my parents separated I remember being small, very small, and wandering around while my parents and siblings would decorate the tree. I was too small to really do much but I would help hand the ornaments off to my brother and sister. I remember there was one ornament that was a real waffle cone with a scoop of soap ontop covered with glitter. My brother dared me to bite it and I did (since toddler me thought it was edible) and I’d quickly wince. But every year I’d always bite it, and when my parents went different ways and it was just us I’d wait until I was alone and I’d bite that inedible ice cream imagining if I would think of that memory I had from so long ago when it was a loud house with life and love time would turn and my family would be together again. It’s not sad because I’m happy I got that time with my dad alone, more so now than ever. But now, I think if I knew where that ice cream ornament from over a decade ago was I’d probably crawl upstairs in my old room, into my old cubbie hole of a closet and chin-to-knee take a small bite with a couple tears and wish my daddy was here. That I was back at that Christmas where we have a picture of my daddy holding me high, putting the star on the top of the tree. A genuine Linskens Christmas with Donald Bonnie Jennifer Christopher and Monica…like it was always meant to be.

Cavernous

Standard

May 11, 2014 was the last day I felt alive…
Later that day I found out the first man to love me, to hold me, to buy me my first scooter; bicycle, to bring me fishing, four-wheeling, mudding, and given me his last name…had passed away.

My daddy was gone.

Life turned into a kaleidoscope of emotions and pain ever since. And 3 months and 20 days has felt like a naked walk lost and confused on the Sahara.

Autodrive is what gets me through my days but the smoke is still in the engine clogging and making it sputter. Over time this should clear up…allegedly.

There are so many things I want to express, so many things I want to say and promise and fulfill but it’d be irrelevant to anyone who doesn’t live in my head. But the nonsense is radical and confusing at most.

So now my Noni who has been plagued with dementia and Alzheimer’s for over half a decade is in the hospital. She’s 82 and adorable and is an oasis to the center of my mother’s family. Things don’t look bleak but I can’t help to consider the obvious and what kind of effect it would have on the peanut of sanity I have left.

I try to escape and temporary distractions feel like ice to a burn, soothing and pleasant. But what amount of work or play will fill in these holes that have cut deep into my belly?

I don’t want sympathy or pity, honestly I don’t care if you pray for me or not. I just want to exhale the thoughts that have sat stagnant on my chest to make room for a new load.

I want my Noni to be healthy and be able to talk and share stories about how she learned to sew. Why she did what she did and didn’t do what she didn’t do. I want to show her the antique sewing machines I got and have her teach me how to properly oil and care for them.

I want her to be proud of her great grandchild for graduating high school and getting his license. I think about the last visit I remember having before her mental health went south. I was such a brat as usual, but it’d eat all the soup she offered me if I could go back. Noni’s house was always fun growing up and the memories I have are warmer in my heart than if I try and show them to the world; you just wouldn’t appreciate or understand.

In a way it’s like she’s been gone for a long time to me. It’s hard for me to visit her the way she is now. I prefer to remember her in front of her makeup mirror, or on her couch with quilting projects about, or cooking. It hurts to see her in the convalescent pool of crazies; she doesn’t belong.

I don’t know how I’ve made it through each day but sometimes there’s a glimmer of, not hope, but anxiousness to keep moving. Maybe not forward but to keep moving.

I’ve gotten melancholy in my blood and it’s been comfortable there for the past month. It’s the safest I’ve felt in ages. I want to stay docked here for a while…

image

Snow day at the cemetery

Standard

In the Northeast we’ve had a snow storm literally every other day for almost an entire month now. Which stinks for driving (unless you have a Subaru) but is wonderful for pictures. We live in the middle of a trifecta of a school, a park, and a large cemetery; all of which look gorgeous with a 4 inch sheet of white lain over (that might be a made-up word). I’m a geek for creep and love the old headstones and crypts of the cemetery and thought it would be nice to troop over in our winter boots and take some pictures. Let me tell you, walking through layers of snow-ice-sleet-ice-dirt was not easy but I think well worth it

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

One of the crypts was open and was making creaky scary movie sounds…like-zombies eating you because no one can hear you scream-sounds, no lie

image

Oh and we got 2 bunnies the other day. So here’s a picture of them humping, you’re welcome.

image

Dumpster Frame To Crafty Bulletin Board

Standard

image

I have to confess an utter addiction I have and you may have already guessed it…dumpster diving!
About 1.7 billion dollars of products are tossed by retailers each year so why not capitalize on all that free?
I’ve been doing this for a few months now and let me tell you, I wish I had started this years ago!
This lovely frame was tossed behind a craft store, it held a certificate for best store or something. After a few coats of my favorite coral spray paint it had a whole new life. I originally intended on doing a chalkboard with the center but there was this corkboard I had found from a separate dive that was throwing sideways comments at me. So I decided I’d chop it up and show it who’s the boss (always him).
After much mess of particle board and paint here she is:

image

I can’t wait to start pinning my to-dos, shopping lists, love notes and random balls of fur I find lying around… just kidding or am I? ;)
Happy upcoming St. Valentines Day!