Photographic shrines to the rescue

So I’ve been dealing with my grief in a variety of ways. The most popular being, of course, crying into my pillow at night, but I’ve also discovered a project that was a bit more cathartic than I had thought it would be at first. I had settled on creating a photographic shrine to Oliver last week, and settled into the task of finding the right images and frame over the weekend. I scrolled through my phone and computer and found a buttload of images to print out, and then went about the business of finding the right frame. Home Goods struck out, but Target had the ideal frame for me. I had to decide which images I wanted blown up into an 8x10 and two 5x7s, but once that was figured out, I had hit pay dirt with the whole enterprise.

But in the process of creating the remembrance, I realized that our sweet Daisy really deserved one, as well. I played around with the idea of using a different frame, but in the end, decided that two of the same frame would really go together better on the wall, and pay the proper homage to them both. So my task today has been to choose the right 8x10 and two 5x7s for Daisy and order them to be printed, and I’ve done that. The only real hitch in my get-along would be for Target to not have another one of the frames, but I think I should be okay there. There were plenty on Saturday. I doubt they’ve had a rush for them.

So in the next couple days, I’ll have them both properly memorialized in the home (aside from where their ashes sit, of course). I’m pretty happy with that, and like I said, this project has made me feel a bit better. Now every time I come up the stairs, I’ll see their happy faces, and that is a good thing.

I'll have my usual, please

I’ve reached peak AJ’s awesomeness. Sydney and I stop at our local AJ’s every weekday morning on our way to school (for the Pokestop) and work (for the iced tea). We’re always there between 7:45 a.m. and 7:55 a.m., and I always order the same thing: a large pineapple iced tea. We get no food items, and no other drink. It costs me $1.50 for my tea, which is larger in volume than a venti tea at Starbucks, and that makes me happy. AJ’s in the morning is not a secret to anyone, and there may or may not be a line of one to nine people on any given day. If I can walk in to no line, I’m a lucky person.

This morning, I wasn’t so lucky, and I pulled number 23, while they were helping 14. Not a good sign. But in practice, the bakery counter at AJ’s is super quick as far as helping people. Nine ahead of me in line wasn’t too distressing. But as I was standing there next to the case, and the attendant was helping number 21, she picked up a second tea that she had just filled and set it down in front of me. “Your pineapple,” she said to me, and smiled as she stepped away to deliver the other tea. I was, quite simply, blown away at how awesome that was.

I picked up my tea and followed her to the register to purchase the tea, and thanked her profusely for taking such good care of me. This is, no question, one of the better things that’s happened to me this week. I would sell it short and say that it’s a silly thing to be excited about, but so few fantastic things have happened lately, that I’m going to celebrate this as a personal win all day.

The tea, of course, is delicious. And I’m savoring it.

I wrote this last Friday

I don’t have a whole lot going on at work today, so I might as well do some blogging, and tell you all what’s been going on the last couple weeks.

Well, in short, my emotional well-being has pretty much been destroyed, as I had to say goodbye to my sweet, wonderful, brilliant, adorable, loving and amazing Beast, the incomparable and unforgettable Oliver. We had to make the terrible, tough decision to say goodbye to him at a time of our choosing, as he had fallen into such physical shape as he couldn’t walk, was getting disoriented and restless, and had lost control of his bowels. He was miserable and he deserved better than to have to continue in that shape. We did what was best for him.

Having said that, these past two weeks has been my own personal hell without him, and I honestly find myself unable to function as a person. All I want to do is sit in a dark corner and cry. Once I do that, I’m okay for a day or whatever, but then the sad creeps in again, and the horrible emptiness becomes overwhelming. I knew that this would be super awful. He’s my first baby, and the heartbeat I’ve been focused on for 15.5 years. He was everything for so long, and continued to be among my top everythings for his entire life. Remember, when the baby was born, it was all about how Oliver would handle her? His well being was always, always my priority.

And now he’s gone, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Where he is in the house is a weird, empty bubble of nothingness that should be him, but isn’t. The bubble follows me everywhere: into the kitchen, onto the sofa, into bed, on our walks, out to the backyard, in the car. He’s everywhere, but nowhere, and it’s killing me. I miss him so much, you guys, and I’m so helpless and incapable of straightening myself out when it hits me. I know it’s going to take a long time to get through this, and I told Sydney the other night (after one of my crying fits that made her cry too), that I’m just going to have my Ollie Moments, and they’re going to make me very sad. And that’s all there is to it. I’m just so very, very sad to be in a world without him.

I’m missing him every minute of every day, and his loss is a huge crater in my heart.

Sun's out, penis out ... wth?

I would like to thank Twitter, the internet, and Orlando Bloom for giving me the opportunity, nay, responsibility, of explaining to my mother what a "dick pic" is. For those of you who weren't online today, Orlando Bloom was photographed, penis out, while he was enjoying a vacation with his girlfriend, Katy Perry. The photos, obviously, made their way to the internet, and therein Twitter, and the social media world exploded.
Bloom apparently decided that board shorts were too confining for the day, and that paddle boarding was the ideal sport to engage in naked, but with a hat on. So he stripped down, kneeled on the board, and paddled Katy around the water wherever they were. There also were photos of him wandering around in the foresty places near the beach.
Anyway, I managed to bring this up over dinner tonight, and Brian managed to speak the phrase "dick pic," and I got to explain to my mom what that was because she'd never heard the phrase before. Oh, don't think for a second that I would explain the words later and not show her the pics. They were very easy to find. I have posted the blurred versions here for your reference. The internet is a wondrous place, my friends, where we can all learn how big Legolas's penis is.
I also had to explain that this is what happens, on a zoomed-in scale, when a woman is on some dating apps, and guys think that texting dick pics is the way to a woman's "heart." I have a friend who had a folder on her phone full of all the unsolicited dick pics she received while she was "dating" online. It's gross, for certain, that a man would think that sending an image of his penis would be a motivator to date him ... but that's a conversation for another time. Tonight, I got to show my mom Orlando Bloom's penis on Twitter.

Aromatherapy scrub and rub, and the gold

The Summer Olympics begin Friday, or at least the major coverage of them does, as that's the night of the Opening Ceremonies. After that day, I will be Olympics tied and proud of it, though I'll avoid almost all spoilers as best I can. I will hope beyond hope that Facebook and Instagram will be decent to me; though I have no such wish with Twitter. Twitter is a deep crevasse of hopelessness, rage and anonymity, so I don't believe for a second that it will be decent ... ever.
In light of the Olympics, and my aspirations for the Games, I chose this avatar. Because I believe that if I could win gold in any sport, it would be Olympic Spa competition. I believe that I would enjoy a massage, scrub and facial much more than anyone else, thereby, obviously, earning me a gold medal in congeniality of some kind. I would be on time and in my robe for any spa service, garnering me high points for promptness. I would sit in the sauna and steam room to prepare for my contests, just like any other athlete. And then I would take on the awesome responsibility of subjecting myself to spa conditions, thereby proving my endurance.
I'm telling you, this could be a thing. Cue the national anthem.