Aug 16, 2012 |
Every time I walk into my mother’s house, it’s fresh. Revitalizing. Clean.
My mother doesn’t live on a dirt lot or have five cats. She doesn’t have any cats, but for the sake of drama in this post, I’m emphasizing the five cats she doesn’t have… and we do.
My mother’s house is the house my house aspires to be.
For the last ten days, I’ve been intensely deep cleaning Bedford Manor. And even the cats are sleeping better because of it.
I’m changing the name of my home to Catford Manor.
Two days ago, I received the best compliment ever. Dot and I went to lunch at my mother’s, and Dot said, “Our house feels this clean, too!”
It’s not that our house was dirty. But it certainly had plenty of hidden dust bunnies. I’d show you… but I chose to not document that portion of my efforts. Let’s just say I could build five new cats with the fur I’ve discovered recently.
It smells good. It looks good. It feels good. And because I’ve had several requests to show it off (and because I don’t want to be a fictitious magazine contributor like Elizabeth Lane in Christmas in Connecticut), here are just a few authentic reasons I love my Bedford Manor:
Welcome
Brownie Bear
Window Seats
Breakfast Nook Decor
My Old Dollhouse
Spar Oom
Narnia Room
Spar Oom Entrance
Hall Bath
Dot’s Room
Pinocchio’s Corner
Clean Floor
Clean Enough to Eat Off Of
Laundry Room Sign
And by the time you’re reading this, I’ll be watching this as my reward:
Lonesome Dove
Happy housing!
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
May 21, 2012 |
Louie, a fellow creative writer, would be upset if I used his death as an excuse to not keep with my self-promise to blog every day.
We’re still working our way through the pain. Dot’s best friend had his graduation party today, which helped. Except that he, too, was good friends with Louie. At any given moment, one or more of the seven graduates in the room could be found crying, surrounded by the rest.
It’s an extremely surreal experience and I never wish this agony on anyone.
I don’t want to write. But Louie wouldn’t want me to use him as an excuse to stop.
He came over after church, over a year ago. It was a snowy day and I’d made two dishes of pasta and sauce. I’d learned that it’s true what they say about teenage boys and their appetites. So when Louie came to eat, I’d make double, and give him his own casserole.
This is the sauce leftover from his dish. As I was cleaning the table, I found him practically drinking the sauce and laughed at him. He took the serving spoon and drew in it.
I told him to stop playing with his food. He walked away smiling. When I looked in the dish, this is what I saw.
He liked the dinner so much, he made me a house.
That’s the kind of humor he had.
God, I miss that boy.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Oct 22, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Will Power and the Haunted House
This is the true story of Will Power. Will was given to me by my mom one year. I keep Will with me at all times, always within arm’s reach. Even so, sometimes I forget about Will Power.
I used to take Will Power to work with me every day. Will would keep me company as I drove to and from errands, took care of the house, spent time with my family, and faced things I’d rather run away from.
Will Power Close & Personal
This is Will. No, not the ghost who looks a bit like Casper. Look again. See, there he is: a tiny thing, to be sure. But just like Jiminy Cricket, his little presence certainly packs a punch.
Will is my reminder that I can do anything, be anyone, take care of whatever needs taking care of… and if I can’t, I can find someone who can!
This particular day, Will Power faced a deep internal struggle. There was a very scary place that he didn’t want to go to, but knew, for his healthy future, he had to… it was that Haunted House of a place known as
The Dentist’s Office. (insert terrifying horror-movie scream, here.)
As with any terrifying upcoming event, Will Power began to shake and wonder if maybe there was a way out of it; if perhaps, going to the dentist wasn’t as necessary as he was being told. Past experiences being what they were, this wasn’t the treat he was looking for. It didn’t take long before Will’s Hallowe’en costume resembled that of an ostrich with his head buried in the sand.
“Sand is okay,” he thought. “It’s earthy. It’s beachy. I can live with sand.” Until it got in his mouth. And aggravated him. A lot.
It wasn’t long before Will Power was faced with the determination that two hours in the chair was better than three months of endless pain. So he bit the bullet… or, would have, if his teeth had let him.
Will Power and I set the appointment. He thought it was apropo that, upon entering, there were cobwebs and scaries about. Yes, it had been a while since our teeth were professionally cared for. But we fought our way in and decided to stay. At least for a while.
We were asked to come back, and while I didn’t care to, Will Power told me it was necessary, and he would not leave me alone. He went with me. He sat with me in the chair of noise, under the bright lights and creepy things. He whispered in my ear and held my hand; assuring me it would be over soon. I listened to nothing but him, saw nothing but him, and hummed a lullaby, just for him.
Until finally, the cobwebs were cleared out and we could exit the Haunted House with a feeling of conquering, of accomplishment.
Like any good Haunted House, we’ll be back next year. But at least next time around, we’ll know what to expect. And we’ll floss out the cobwebs before we get there. We may even go in the off-season, only to find there’s nothing to really be afraid of.
