Marty On His House

Oncoming Storm

It was raining this morning when I got up, which was just as well because I had a lot of indoor work to get done. In the livingroom there's an old cedar chest that I'd put a bunch of photos in back in 2005 and then promptly forgot all about them.
My former-former house sat on a hillside overlooking a hollow and them more hillsides. The thing was, when a storm was rolling in I could see it for miles before it finally hit. The eeriness of it, the stillness in the air before the wind picked up, all so tangible.

Here, Hold This

Here, Hold This

Junior, my sister, learned the other day that her boyfriend of 9 years has been serial cheating on her for quite some time now. Basically with any woman that he can pick up. I never liked him, but I have a very low tolerance for male bullshit, and D-man is a champion bullshitter. I don't mind an unreliable narrator, but I prefer that he not live with my sister.
Still and yet, this might not be the end of their relationship as D-man has suggested that they go to counseling. Yeah, like that's going to work. I know that couples therapy can work, and in theory should be effective most of the time, but the stumbling block that trips up most people in this instance is honesty. Can a bullshit, skank ass liar cheater be honest enough with himself and everyone else to actually get the help they need and mend their relationship with their partner? I have low hopes on this one. Low, low hopes. I don't know. I've never understood why someone stays with a cheater, or indeed why someone cheats. When I was a kid my Dad ran around with cheap barfly floozies, and the suffering this caused at home scarred us all. It's probably why I'm so harsh on cheaters. They just don't take the time to stop and think about how their actions impact all of the other people in their life.
Ah well, as I've said before, always, people are just gonna do what people are gonna do. We're idiots that way.

6 fast Years

Graffiti Scream 2

In my neverending quest to remain irrelevant, if not irreverent, I would like to dedicate today to my #1 Swee-Tea, MK. Six years ago today she took a chance on a rudderless goof who seldom combs her hair and wears her sons' cast off pullovers. Somehow MK believes that she's the winner in this relationship, but I know the truth, and the score. Giving foot rubs can't tilt the scales that much in my favor.
Which reminds me of a funny story. One morning a couple of weeks ago my nephew Adam and I were visiting Dad at the nursing home, mom was there too. Mom was pretty exhausted and had been on her feet waaaay too much, making them swollen and sore. I offered to give her a foot rub and in a flash her feet were in my lap. About halfway through the first foot mom said, 'You know, there are erotic zones on your feet.' These are words no child wants to hear from a parent in this situation, or under any circumstances. I stopped what I was doing and looked at Adam, who stood there gape-mouthed and wide eyed.
Suddenly, as if a guttering candle managed one final bright flame, Mom added, 'But not MY feet, so keep rubbing them, please.' Then Adam and I burst out laughing like crazy people. Mom tried to get me to promise not to tell the story, which was just silly on her part. The evening after Dad passed and the entire family gathered at Mom's for dinner and support, I told the story. I only wish I'd taken the time to craft a diorama to illustrate the shock and horror that Adam and I both experienced. As it was he and I both played it out as best we could without mock ups or pie charts. Then, after everyone stopped laughing and teasing Mom, Mom turned to MK and asked, 'MK, you don't have any erotic zones, do you?' It's really difficult to make MK blush, but blush she did. Furiously.
Oh, Mother, that sweet, clueless woman.
Happy Anniversary, MK! Now, let's find those 'erotic zones' ;)