Last May when we were leaving a big festival near Asheville called LEAF (think an artsy, creative, love fest of an event), we hopped a van/shuttle with some other festival goers. In the shuffle of us all grabbing a seat and playing musical chairs, I ended up in the very back row with two people not in our group. That’s not a bad thing, meeting new folks is good, except maybe these folks hadn’t bathed much and they had definitely “altered their psyche” a bit.
However, I can’t not talk to anyone standing or sitting beside me, so before I knew it we were discussing some remake of a song playing on the radio. Somehow in that conversation, I ended up describing my distaste for Stevie Nicks’ rendition of the Dave Matthews Band classic “Crash”. After a bit we discussed other remakes gone bad and determined that there were some premises necessary for a good remake. And before I knew it, the patchouli smelling guy beside me confessed that he felt a certain passion for the cover albums recently released by Rod Stewart.
As I absorbed this true confession, I bit my tongue and refrained from telling him that my mom loved both of the CDs.
I tell you this little story because I have a few confessions of my own that I need to share and I hope that you will treat me with the same kindness.
- We’re having a yard sale this weekend and even though I pretend to be an organized person and profess that I am not a packrat, this event alone is proof enough that I am a poser on both fronts. Where does all this stuff come from? Didn’t I just participate in a yard sale? And why can’t I find anything? How did I end up with so many black shirts and odd holiday decorations? Do I ever need tacky pumpkin candle holders?
- I don’t have a green thumb. Seriously, I want to be able to grow things. “I wanna touch the earth, I want to break it in my hands, I want to grow something wild and unruly.” But darnit, I don’t have knack for it and I certainly don’t have the energy. Our poor little herbs are shameful and those daisies are pathetic. I need help or just a good weedeater, which would put me and the plants out our misery.
- I am completely unfamiliar with all of the new music playing on the Top 40 stations. Seriously, I haven’t listened to real radio in over a year. I have become such an NPR nerd. Cynical was singing lyrics recently that I had never even heard. I recall a time when I could quote the top 20 list from any genre. Now I am just old and know way too much about farmers and carbon sequestration thanks to “Fresh Air”.
- I’ve gotten cheap and indecisive as I’ve gotten older. I talk myself out of purchase after purchase. Seriously, I spent way too much time contemplating toilet paper at Target yesterday and finally went for the middle-of-the-road stuff. I mean, don’t I deserve the good stuff? And I cannot, for the life of me, make a decision on where to hang artwork in our house. What’s the worst that could happen? We patch the wall and hang it somewhere else. Is someone really going to come into the house and say, “Really, Ragged, you shouldn’t have hung that there.” And we will never, I mean never, decide upon a side chair for the living room. Our guests will forever be doomed to the floor or a very uncomfortable wicker chair in the corner.
Whew. I feel better. Do you?