Spending time at my parents’ house always puts me at ease, but there is always an onset of anxiety. I am not sure why, but this has nothing to do with my parents themselves; they are very cool people that I brag about more often than complain about, and at times my friends prefer my parents’ company over mine. I cross my fingers that whoever I am dating brings up my parents, and or has the curiosity to inquire when meeting them may take place. I tell the women that my parents aren’t people to sit around their house all the time–they are doers; they like going out and doing things.
My mother and I were talking about vacations the other day, and we were throwing ideas out there on where they (my parents) would like to go, and we talked about where I would like to go. Our family is full of Adirondack Mountain junkies; we’ll take spontaneous rides up there for a couple hours, for the day, or for a handful of days on end. My mom said they were planning a trip to the Ozarks or the Blue Ridge Mountains. This time around there wasn’t talk about anywhere abroad despite my father’s desire for Greece and Italy (for a second) time. My trip to New Orleans got me excited for more United States travel and exploration; everywhere is on my list. In all seriousness, Chicago is up there with Portland and Seattle. I would like to go to San Francisco and drive up or down the coast (as my brother and his girlfriend did–I cannot live vicariously through them, because I have to do this).
We’re doers, and an ocean can only bore us. Before embarking on my personal trips abroad, over a handful of friends asked me why my adventures didn’t take me to a beach location. I’d get bored. Lakefront is different; they offer seclusion and a tranquil environment. Sitting by a like is unfathomably peaceful, and I could sit and read or meditate for hours upon hours. In the back of my mind, it’s obvious that hiking, shops, fishing, canoeing or kayaking, or filling my belly can be accomplished. At beaches: there is sad everywhere, the ocean gets loud, you go to hokey and gaudy tourist traps, sand gets everywhere, there may be night beach parties (which could be fun), but then there is the sand that you still find weeks after your vacation is over.
I’ll come across tidbits and knicknacks that will bring me back to some moment and time. For instance, take this shoe brush holder:
I know! Fucking terrifying, right? I cannot decide whether the red eyes, the teeth, the expression, the stance, the disproportionate head to the body, or what. My mom is obsessed with clowns, which I’m not completely fine with, and pictures and statues have been hanging around since before I was born. This is something of itself, which is unsettling to me.
My mom also came across a bunch of pictures, and I cannot resist sharing them with y’all.
This first picture is one of my grandfather. I have another picture of him, which is hanging around somewhere, but he was a great man. It cannot be seen in this picture, but he and I look a lot alike, which is cool with me to get some Italian genes in there. He passed away a month before I was born, which probably adds to the notion that people say that I have an old soul. Hopefully, something transpired.
I have a reading this Wednesday, with a medium who I know and trust, and I will probably keep you all posted on how my session goes.
How could I not throw in pictures of my mother and father? This is probably circa 1985-1986.
I like robes. Pimpin’.
And now, here are the funnier pictures. Keep in mind my childhood was awesome, and I feel my parents did a great job raising me aside having different and somewhat similar personalities, saving the notion that they are both Aries. I cannot write an angst song or be a great rockstar, because my parents have not divorced or tortured my brother in some way, shape or form during our childhoods. This needed to be made clear before I show you these pictures.
This is a baby picture of me. Please note the picture of the hammer next to me. Upon discussing this picture yesterday:
Mom: “Oh, here’s a cute picture of you.”
Me: “Yeah, it is…” I trailed off, because I did notice the hammer and didn’t want to say anything.
Mom: “Did you see that there is a hammer in the picture?”
Me: “Yeah. I did see that, but I didn’t want to say anything.”
Mom: “Oh, it’s just a little hammer.”
Me: “Yeah, it is, and I am just a little baby.”
In the above picture, my brother is in the foreground with a stuffed animal. He’s a cute kid, but now he is grown up. In the background, I am passed out with a pair of comical glasses/big nose/moustache glasses on my face. I don’t know whose idea it was to pull that move on me, but it’s classic. If this wasn’t me, I probably would have pulled the same move; ergo, there is no complaining but laughing on my end.
This is my brother with his anatomically correct snowman. It was his idea to endow the snowman with that wooden penis.
This is all for now.
I play with words and invisible objects.
A mind, a pen and a piece paper have the best relationship ever.
"Remember this--if you shut your mouth, you have your choice."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald