Oh dear…
Reading over my blogs, I’m sounding like a very nice person…..which I’m not…..
And to prove to you what a wretched, awful, self-centered person I truly am, let me share the first celebration I remember, of Christmas--which in my family has been renamed (after this event) to, “It’s not Christmas unless Jayne cries…”
It was Christmas, 19s-- oh not going to tell you that. Suffice to say, that all I wanted for Christmas was The Budding Beauty Vanity. Remember how you’d make a list of everything you wanted? How the list would go on, page after page? How if you totaled it, the total was somehow always equal to the Annual Gross Profit of a small country? Well, at the age of 6, my list was short. The only thing on it was…The Budding Beauty Vanity.
Perhaps some of you remember it: Wonderful, shiny French Provincial high quality plastic. The mirrors lit up, so you could see your beautiful face. You could store all those beauty products that every six-year old had to have in the drawers. There was even a hidden compartment in the button-tufted Styrofoam seat that came with the vanity.
So week after week, it was the only thing on my list. Trip after trip to Santa, it was all I asked for. Letter after letter—well, you get the idea. I figured if there was only one thing on my list—
Now, let me interrupt to explain that I’m from a rather large family. I am one of six children, my father was in the military, and my mother was a stay-at-home-and-work-harder-than-you-should-have-to-Mom. Money was often short. My folks did the best they could, but Christmas was often creatively done. My parents were both very handy.
So for weeks, after we children went to bed, my dad spent hours down in the workshop, making vanities for my sister JoJo and I. Jo’s would be a sweet jewelry version that sat on a dresser or such. But mine, well mine would be the Budding Beauty version, according to my Dad. He measured, cut, watched the commercial, and looked at the picture so that he could get it just right. He decided to make it out of maple, because he thought it would look the best. He finished them on Christmas Eve, and placed both vanities under the tree.
I think my Father was as excited as I was that Christmas morning. I had come down early—and spied the box! Oh my goodness, could it be? I could hardly stand sitting through breakfast and the opening of stockings. “Please, please, please, hurry,” kept repeating in my head. Finally, it was my turn. I tore off the paper…..and began to cry. No, not tears of joy…instead they were the tears of a disappointed 6 year old.
“What’s wrong, Missy?” my father asked.
“It’s,” sniff “not” sniff “the right” sob “one,” I responded, and then proceeded to bawl. “I wanted the Budding Beauty Vanity! Not a homemade one!”
“Oh but honey,” my mom said, “look how nice the one your Dad made. And look sweetie, it has a stool—“
“But there’s no hidden compartment! And….it’s brown!”
How my father (and my mother, for that fact), kept from beating me that day, I do not know. I don’t even remember the rest of that Christmas day. I do remember that my friend got the Budding Beauty Vanity…..and her brother used the secret compartment as a toilet…..I remember the legs breaking off her vanity shortly thereafter when she leaned her elbows to heavily on it…..I began to slowly appreciate my homemade version.
But my Father did get his revenge. Over the years, he made sure the vanity always moved with us (a daunting feat as many times as we moved). It was always carefully oiled and refinished when needed.
All in preparation for the Christmas I was pregnant with Erynn…….a package arrived from my parents in Nebraska…….a rather large package…….containing my homemade Budding Beauty Vanity……
Christmas 1984, was again “Christmas,” because “Jayne cried.”
Showing posts with label Jayne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jayne. Show all posts
Friday, July 6, 2007
Jayne and a present too
I hate surprises. Well, I love the idea of surprises: people jumping out and yelling, unexpected packages, etc. Getting to say such lines as, “Oh, my! You shouldn’t have!” and “Wow! I never expected this!” But the reality of it all…Nope, nada, not for me. If I think there’s gonna be a party, I’ll try to find out beforehand. If there’s a package, I’ve gotta at least shake it. Erynn thought it was normal to open “a present a day” for a week before Christmas. Even now, I’ve got to open at least one present a few days before Christmas! It got so bad for my folks while I was growing up, that my Mom and Dad had to become very sneaky and clever with wrapping my presents. Like the Christmas of my junior year.
The first week of December arrived, and because my Mom shopped all year, I knew all the presents were bought. And wrapped. And in the closet. I could almost hear them calling me.
“Jayne”
“Shut up. I want to be surprised this year.”
“No you don’t. You really want to see us now. You’re an actress! You can ACT surprised! Come on”
“Shut up! Really! This year—
“Oh you shut up! Now, you can come now or later. Come now or later, noworlater, noworlater, now, now -- "
“Oh fine. I’ll just shake ya. I don’t have to open any more—“
“That’s right. Come on up and shakeshakeshake…..”
And so up the stairs I went, and into the closet. The packages were all there, wrapped and stacked: it looked to be three presents for each of us six kids. Mom and Dad always tried to make it even – in numbers and dollars!
Hmmm…so I shook the first one. “Oh, this is easy!” I informed the other presents, “It’s a skirt. Hmm….probably a homemade one, so it can’t be the biggie!” So I grabbed the next package. That’s when I realized it was the only other package for me. “Only two?” I asked the packages.
“Well,” a rectangular present for sister JoJo answered, “ maybe there’s something else in it.”
“Good thinking! Thanks boxy!” So I shook….and could hear something inside…something chainy sounding. “Piece of cake!”
“Ohh, I don’t think even your Mom would wrap cake—“
“Oh Boxy, I didn’t mean it literally—oh for Pete’s sake, what am I doing talking to a box?! But it’s obvious: It’s a jewelry box. And it must have an expensive piece of jewelry inside….”
I showed an amazing amount of restraint by not opening the box right there. Actually, it wasn’t that amazing, because my Mom had started using that cheap tape – the kind that tore the paper. The kinda tape that made it almost impossible for me to unwrap my presents. I could wait….after all, it was only 22 days….
22 days! Almost a lifetime. At least twice that first week I found myself answering Boxy’s call to come and shake it. Each week the call grew stronger and stronger, but amazingly, I remained strong -- and so did the tape. By the 20th of December I was shaking the box on a daily basis. (Yes, I know….I had it bad.)
Finally, Christmas morning arrived. I could hardly stand it as we went in a circle, each opening our first package. I, of course, started with the skirt – and yes it was a skirt – and yes, it was homemade. (Yes, you’re right: I am that good.)
The anticipation was almost too much to bear. By this time, I was convinced that the Hope Diamond, or its equivalent, was in that box. As the paper came off, yes, I was right again! Jewelry box! Score! Come to me Hope Diamond! Lifting the lid ever so slowly, savoring each moment, slowly, slowly, until the necklace was revealed. A very nice……but plain…….inexpensive……necklace.
“There must be something else,” I thought, panickedly looking in the jewelry box for something I missed, when I heard a square sounding giggle. Looking up, I saw JoJo opening “Boxy,” which turned out to be a very nice, EXPENSIVE stereo. “Got to be—nothing!” the thoughts flew through my brain. “Calm down, don’t cry,” I silently comforted myself, “after all, Christmas is for the little ones. Maybe there wasn’t enough money…”
“What’s wrong, Jay-ne? Why aren’t you opening a present?” Mom asked.
“Looks like I’m done.”
“Oh….I’m sure there’s a present left. Did you look on the backside of the tree?”
“Oh, it’s okay, Mom. I love the skirt. And the necklace is sweet….and thanks for the jewelry box.” But silently I pleaded, “don’t tear up, don’t cry – it’s okay…”
“Oh, Missy…I’m sure there’s another package. Why don’t you look again,” reassured my Dad.
“Really, Daddy, it’s okay! There’s nothing else under the tree….but I love my presents, really I do,” blink, blink, keep the tears from showing.
‘Oh, maybe I left it upstairs” answered Mom, quickly getting up, as if she suddenly realized how grossly unfair the number and dollar value was
(--helLO! JoJo’s stereo, Jason’s bike, need I say more? And all I’ve got is a stupid--).
“Let me go upstairs—“
And the dam burst.
“Oh Mom! Stop it! You know there’s nothing else up there! You know I’ve been up there for weeks! You don’t—“
But she ignored my cries, and up the stairs she disappeared. I knew she’d probably come back down with some trinket….some dumb gift put aside for those forgotten birthdays and events, some stupid—
But wait! Everybody was grinning….I mean everybody: all 3 brothers, 2 sisters and my Dad. What did they all know that I didn’t know? And Mom was coming around the corner, dragging something big…something she was still trying to hide. –something that couldn’t possibly fit in the trinket box--
“Jay-ne, we knew you’d know what this was as soon as you saw the box. And we know that you can’t stay away from the presents. Sooooo, we hid this package over at the neighbors house. It’s been there all month. Hope you like this….”
And as soon as I saw the box – as tall as my waist, and kinda slanty/square in shape…yes I knew. The tears welled up in my eyes…..and as my entire family cracked up, because they all knew that I knew that they knew that I had been shaking packages for weeks. So they all laughed…..I cried….
Yes…it was another "Christmas because Jayne cried"
because my mystery present was...
a new guitar.
The first week of December arrived, and because my Mom shopped all year, I knew all the presents were bought. And wrapped. And in the closet. I could almost hear them calling me.
“Jayne”
“Shut up. I want to be surprised this year.”
“No you don’t. You really want to see us now. You’re an actress! You can ACT surprised! Come on”
“Shut up! Really! This year—
“Oh you shut up! Now, you can come now or later. Come now or later, noworlater, noworlater, now, now -- "
“Oh fine. I’ll just shake ya. I don’t have to open any more—“
“That’s right. Come on up and shakeshakeshake…..”
And so up the stairs I went, and into the closet. The packages were all there, wrapped and stacked: it looked to be three presents for each of us six kids. Mom and Dad always tried to make it even – in numbers and dollars!
Hmmm…so I shook the first one. “Oh, this is easy!” I informed the other presents, “It’s a skirt. Hmm….probably a homemade one, so it can’t be the biggie!” So I grabbed the next package. That’s when I realized it was the only other package for me. “Only two?” I asked the packages.
“Well,” a rectangular present for sister JoJo answered, “ maybe there’s something else in it.”
“Good thinking! Thanks boxy!” So I shook….and could hear something inside…something chainy sounding. “Piece of cake!”
“Ohh, I don’t think even your Mom would wrap cake—“
“Oh Boxy, I didn’t mean it literally—oh for Pete’s sake, what am I doing talking to a box?! But it’s obvious: It’s a jewelry box. And it must have an expensive piece of jewelry inside….”
I showed an amazing amount of restraint by not opening the box right there. Actually, it wasn’t that amazing, because my Mom had started using that cheap tape – the kind that tore the paper. The kinda tape that made it almost impossible for me to unwrap my presents. I could wait….after all, it was only 22 days….
22 days! Almost a lifetime. At least twice that first week I found myself answering Boxy’s call to come and shake it. Each week the call grew stronger and stronger, but amazingly, I remained strong -- and so did the tape. By the 20th of December I was shaking the box on a daily basis. (Yes, I know….I had it bad.)
Finally, Christmas morning arrived. I could hardly stand it as we went in a circle, each opening our first package. I, of course, started with the skirt – and yes it was a skirt – and yes, it was homemade. (Yes, you’re right: I am that good.)
The anticipation was almost too much to bear. By this time, I was convinced that the Hope Diamond, or its equivalent, was in that box. As the paper came off, yes, I was right again! Jewelry box! Score! Come to me Hope Diamond! Lifting the lid ever so slowly, savoring each moment, slowly, slowly, until the necklace was revealed. A very nice……but plain…….inexpensive……necklace.
“There must be something else,” I thought, panickedly looking in the jewelry box for something I missed, when I heard a square sounding giggle. Looking up, I saw JoJo opening “Boxy,” which turned out to be a very nice, EXPENSIVE stereo. “Got to be—nothing!” the thoughts flew through my brain. “Calm down, don’t cry,” I silently comforted myself, “after all, Christmas is for the little ones. Maybe there wasn’t enough money…”
“What’s wrong, Jay-ne? Why aren’t you opening a present?” Mom asked.
“Looks like I’m done.”
“Oh….I’m sure there’s a present left. Did you look on the backside of the tree?”
“Oh, it’s okay, Mom. I love the skirt. And the necklace is sweet….and thanks for the jewelry box.” But silently I pleaded, “don’t tear up, don’t cry – it’s okay…”
“Oh, Missy…I’m sure there’s another package. Why don’t you look again,” reassured my Dad.
“Really, Daddy, it’s okay! There’s nothing else under the tree….but I love my presents, really I do,” blink, blink, keep the tears from showing.
‘Oh, maybe I left it upstairs” answered Mom, quickly getting up, as if she suddenly realized how grossly unfair the number and dollar value was
(--helLO! JoJo’s stereo, Jason’s bike, need I say more? And all I’ve got is a stupid--).
“Let me go upstairs—“
And the dam burst.
“Oh Mom! Stop it! You know there’s nothing else up there! You know I’ve been up there for weeks! You don’t—“
But she ignored my cries, and up the stairs she disappeared. I knew she’d probably come back down with some trinket….some dumb gift put aside for those forgotten birthdays and events, some stupid—
But wait! Everybody was grinning….I mean everybody: all 3 brothers, 2 sisters and my Dad. What did they all know that I didn’t know? And Mom was coming around the corner, dragging something big…something she was still trying to hide. –something that couldn’t possibly fit in the trinket box--
“Jay-ne, we knew you’d know what this was as soon as you saw the box. And we know that you can’t stay away from the presents. Sooooo, we hid this package over at the neighbors house. It’s been there all month. Hope you like this….”
And as soon as I saw the box – as tall as my waist, and kinda slanty/square in shape…yes I knew. The tears welled up in my eyes…..and as my entire family cracked up, because they all knew that I knew that they knew that I had been shaking packages for weeks. So they all laughed…..I cried….
Yes…it was another "Christmas because Jayne cried"
because my mystery present was...
a new guitar.
Jayne and the tumor
Okay, so here's the latest adventures of "Chords de Vocalle de AirplaneJayne."
Friday found Jayne in the office of a very nice (but very married...darn!) Doctor F. Doctor F explained that he was going to rest an instrument called a videostrobe on my tongue. This instrument had a little camera that would peek over my tongue, and shoot pictures of my vocal chords. This entire event should take no longer than 15 seconds -- as long as I didn't gag......
"Oh Great!' I thought. "As long as I don't gag? How can I tell this very handsome (but very married...) doc that just thinking about gagging makes me gag?"
"Okay, Doc." I respond jovially, "I'll do my best."
So without much ado—
--great play at Woodward Park, by the way—
--Again, without further ado, cute Doctor F inserts his instrument into my mouth, and yes-- I gag.
“Sorry,” says the handsome (but married) Doctor F “My fault.”
Fantastic! Finally a man who’ll admit that it’s his fault when I gag!!!!
But (again), darn! He’s already married!
So, with much grace and at a slower pace, Doctor F. rests the instrument on my tongue, and tells me to say the letter “E” without stopping--
--Hey, I ain’t gagging, so if the letter “E” makes him happy, fine with me.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
About 8 seconds later (which is all that’s necessary for a bull ride, thank you very much), cute (but married) Doc F is done. I think I need to repeat that: In 8 seconds. Doc F is done. 8 seconds. Done.
“Well done Jayne. Let’s take a look at the movie.”
So I look at the screen, and voila! My chords! In all their glory!
But ewww! What is that big thing on the side?
Doc F points out that lump runs from the bottom to the middle of my left chord. He feels that surgery is necessary, but tells me that he and Doc W (nice, but not as cute) will consult before my meeting on Monday.
Monday morning arrived, even though I made every attempt to stop it. I found myself (again) at the Doctor's office.
“Well, Jayne” says Doctor W, “This is not a normal nodule--”
Hello!?!? Normal? Jayne? This guy shoulda figured out that there’s nothing NORMAL about ME by now….
“--But it doesn’t look cancerous. I’d be flabbergasted if it was cancerous. Now, I have been flabbergasted before – but not very often.”
So – to conclude: Totally un-normal Jayne has an un-normal nodule on her left vocal chord. Cute (but married) Doc. F apologized for making Jayne gag, but took pictures anyway. Nice (but not cute) Doc. W wants to have Jayne over (to hospital) for sleepover (during the day) next week to remove flabber from chord.
The Gast is going to be that Jayne can not talk for 10 days after surgery.
Please stop laughing…..that’s not funny…..really – stop laughing!!! This is serious!!!
Okay, after you have gotten yourself under control, please help me figure out how to get us all set up on Yahoo IM so that I can talk –err I mean type at you during my recovery.
Friday found Jayne in the office of a very nice (but very married...darn!) Doctor F. Doctor F explained that he was going to rest an instrument called a videostrobe on my tongue. This instrument had a little camera that would peek over my tongue, and shoot pictures of my vocal chords. This entire event should take no longer than 15 seconds -- as long as I didn't gag......
"Oh Great!' I thought. "As long as I don't gag? How can I tell this very handsome (but very married...) doc that just thinking about gagging makes me gag?"
"Okay, Doc." I respond jovially, "I'll do my best."
So without much ado—
--great play at Woodward Park, by the way—
--Again, without further ado, cute Doctor F inserts his instrument into my mouth, and yes-- I gag.
“Sorry,” says the handsome (but married) Doctor F “My fault.”
Fantastic! Finally a man who’ll admit that it’s his fault when I gag!!!!
But (again), darn! He’s already married!
So, with much grace and at a slower pace, Doctor F. rests the instrument on my tongue, and tells me to say the letter “E” without stopping--
--Hey, I ain’t gagging, so if the letter “E” makes him happy, fine with me.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
About 8 seconds later (which is all that’s necessary for a bull ride, thank you very much), cute (but married) Doc F is done. I think I need to repeat that: In 8 seconds. Doc F is done. 8 seconds. Done.
“Well done Jayne. Let’s take a look at the movie.”
So I look at the screen, and voila! My chords! In all their glory!
But ewww! What is that big thing on the side?
Doc F points out that lump runs from the bottom to the middle of my left chord. He feels that surgery is necessary, but tells me that he and Doc W (nice, but not as cute) will consult before my meeting on Monday.
Monday morning arrived, even though I made every attempt to stop it. I found myself (again) at the Doctor's office.
“Well, Jayne” says Doctor W, “This is not a normal nodule--”
Hello!?!? Normal? Jayne? This guy shoulda figured out that there’s nothing NORMAL about ME by now….
“--But it doesn’t look cancerous. I’d be flabbergasted if it was cancerous. Now, I have been flabbergasted before – but not very often.”
So – to conclude: Totally un-normal Jayne has an un-normal nodule on her left vocal chord. Cute (but married) Doc. F apologized for making Jayne gag, but took pictures anyway. Nice (but not cute) Doc. W wants to have Jayne over (to hospital) for sleepover (during the day) next week to remove flabber from chord.
The Gast is going to be that Jayne can not talk for 10 days after surgery.
Please stop laughing…..that’s not funny…..really – stop laughing!!! This is serious!!!
Okay, after you have gotten yourself under control, please help me figure out how to get us all set up on Yahoo IM so that I can talk –err I mean type at you during my recovery.
jayne and throat one
I know that many of you think I like to have drama in my life, so that it must remain "all about me." Let me start off by stating the obvious:
It IS all about Me......always.......Just accept that and move on!
Most of you don’t know this, but I went to the Doctor last week. I lost my voice around the end of April/beginning of May. I thought I was talking too much (Jayne? Talk too much? Go figure!) and had probably damaged my vocal chords. I figured it would be better when school got out. It didn't (get better), so I went (to the doctor).
Okay, as you know, most doctors thrive on finding new ways to freak you out. Here is one of their new ways: Doc stuck a tube up my nose. Hmmm, picture one of those cans of compressed air that you use to clean your computer keyboard...with a tube about twice that size. Doc squirted nasty bitter tasting stuff up my nose and instructed me to swallow said nasty bitter stuff.
Just as an aside: Why would a doctor make stuff that has to go down your throat taste bad? If YOU were that doctor, wouldn’t YOU try to make it taste better!?!?!?
But back to my story: At this point, I was a good patient and swallowed the nasty/narpy tasting stuff. Throat proceeded to get very numb; so numb in fact that it became quite difficult to swallow my own saliva. Saliva which was being mass-produced, probably because saliva glands knew I couldn't swallow and they thought it would be fun!
So now, Doc returns into room, with something that looks like a miniature vacuum attachment....or maybe some high-tech computer accessory: Long skinny (about half the width of a pen), sectional, firm-but-bendy cable-y thing with a light on the end.
Jayne's eyes get big as she realizes that Doctor intends to send that snake down her throat.....
Jayne's blood pressure increases when Doc informs her that he will be going down her throat -- VIA HER NOSE!
Yes and still, Jayne remains the perfect patient.....
Doc snakes tube down left nostril causing a feeling similar to someone dragging a finger along a sunburn: very uncomfortable, but not painful enough for you to haul off and hit them.
Doc snakes tube down right nostril -- and still, Jayne behaving and not kicking or hitting anyone....
"Hmmmm, yes," says Doc (either to me or my tonsils -- oh yeah! I don't have those anymore, so I guess he was talking to me), " Yes. You have a lump on your left vocal chord. It looks benign. But I do want you to come in for specialized test. A videoscope. We'll set that up for you."
Okay, let's review the words I heard:
lump. vocal chord. benign. specialized test.
As usual, Jayne plays research/doctor upon arriving home. According to what I have learned, most lumps on vocal chords are not cancerous. And the Doctor did use the word "benign" which is good. Most Doctors are pretty non-committal in diagnosis until they have test-data, so I don't think he'd use that word unless it looked pretty good. But it is a lump (not a polyp or nodule), and I don't want it there.....even though I'm getting told I sound like Lauren Bacall (older audience) or Kathleen Turner (a bit younger audience).
So, videoscope (or videostrobe?) is set for 7/29 at 9:00 in the morning. Results consultation witll be on 8/1 at 9:00 in the morning. Yes, I am nervous, but I am fine. I'm concentrating on the words and research of the doctors and myself, the kind words and prayers of my family and friends, and trusting that it'll all be fine. I just figure it's my turn (again) for some surgery. I don't want you worrying about me. You know I do this Doctor thing okay. But please keep me in your prayers. Never, ever, ever underestimate their power.
I promise to let you all know what's going on and soon as I know what's going on.
Love,
the Queen of the Spotlight,
Jayne
It IS all about Me......always.......Just accept that and move on!
Most of you don’t know this, but I went to the Doctor last week. I lost my voice around the end of April/beginning of May. I thought I was talking too much (Jayne? Talk too much? Go figure!) and had probably damaged my vocal chords. I figured it would be better when school got out. It didn't (get better), so I went (to the doctor).
Okay, as you know, most doctors thrive on finding new ways to freak you out. Here is one of their new ways: Doc stuck a tube up my nose. Hmmm, picture one of those cans of compressed air that you use to clean your computer keyboard...with a tube about twice that size. Doc squirted nasty bitter tasting stuff up my nose and instructed me to swallow said nasty bitter stuff.
Just as an aside: Why would a doctor make stuff that has to go down your throat taste bad? If YOU were that doctor, wouldn’t YOU try to make it taste better!?!?!?
But back to my story: At this point, I was a good patient and swallowed the nasty/narpy tasting stuff. Throat proceeded to get very numb; so numb in fact that it became quite difficult to swallow my own saliva. Saliva which was being mass-produced, probably because saliva glands knew I couldn't swallow and they thought it would be fun!
So now, Doc returns into room, with something that looks like a miniature vacuum attachment....or maybe some high-tech computer accessory: Long skinny (about half the width of a pen), sectional, firm-but-bendy cable-y thing with a light on the end.
Jayne's eyes get big as she realizes that Doctor intends to send that snake down her throat.....
Jayne's blood pressure increases when Doc informs her that he will be going down her throat -- VIA HER NOSE!
Yes and still, Jayne remains the perfect patient.....
Doc snakes tube down left nostril causing a feeling similar to someone dragging a finger along a sunburn: very uncomfortable, but not painful enough for you to haul off and hit them.
Doc snakes tube down right nostril -- and still, Jayne behaving and not kicking or hitting anyone....
"Hmmmm, yes," says Doc (either to me or my tonsils -- oh yeah! I don't have those anymore, so I guess he was talking to me), " Yes. You have a lump on your left vocal chord. It looks benign. But I do want you to come in for specialized test. A videoscope. We'll set that up for you."
Okay, let's review the words I heard:
lump. vocal chord. benign. specialized test.
As usual, Jayne plays research/doctor upon arriving home. According to what I have learned, most lumps on vocal chords are not cancerous. And the Doctor did use the word "benign" which is good. Most Doctors are pretty non-committal in diagnosis until they have test-data, so I don't think he'd use that word unless it looked pretty good. But it is a lump (not a polyp or nodule), and I don't want it there.....even though I'm getting told I sound like Lauren Bacall (older audience) or Kathleen Turner (a bit younger audience).
So, videoscope (or videostrobe?) is set for 7/29 at 9:00 in the morning. Results consultation witll be on 8/1 at 9:00 in the morning. Yes, I am nervous, but I am fine. I'm concentrating on the words and research of the doctors and myself, the kind words and prayers of my family and friends, and trusting that it'll all be fine. I just figure it's my turn (again) for some surgery. I don't want you worrying about me. You know I do this Doctor thing okay. But please keep me in your prayers. Never, ever, ever underestimate their power.
I promise to let you all know what's going on and soon as I know what's going on.
Love,
the Queen of the Spotlight,
Jayne
Potty problems
A recent post on Lelly 's site showed what could possibly be one of my worst nightmare’s come true –
--no, not the one where I actually get the chance to meet Brad Pitt in person and as soon as I shake his hand all my teeth fall out
--I mean my potty nightmares.
Ah yes, I can see you scratching your head, “Potty nightmares? APj has nightmares about toilets?”
No, not about toilets….more about the lack of them.
You see, I have potty issues, primarily:
1. Have trouble going on OPP. No, you nasty Rogue’s, not “that” OPP, for me it means Other People’s Potty’s.
2. Can’t do certain potty things on toilet other than my own.
This of course, has worked its way into my subconscious mind, and into my dream world. I don’t want to tell you how many dream interpretation books I’ve bought trying to figure this potty thing out. Perhaps one of you can help. Here’s some of my
Prevalent Potty Predicaments:
Dream #1
I am cleaning my house. I decided to make it a very thorough cleaning, and I’m taking everything out of the closet.
“Heyyyy….I don’t remember this door here….what the fu--?”
I open this forgotten door in the back of my closet, to find a forgotten bathroom. It is amazing! It has a separate dressing area, a vanity, toilet, sink, tub and separate shower. It is a beautiful room – but it is covered in mold, dirt, and scum because of non-use. I get the cleanser and start scrubbing, but when I turn on the faucet, brown water and spiders come out. But I’m determined to reclaim this room. “How could I have forgotten a room as lovely as this?”
Dream #2
I am refinishing my bathroom. It is a wonderful bathroom, with a flush toilet, sunken tub and roman sink. There are trees planted around the tub, and birds perch above and sing. Of course, it will now be perfect, since I am building four foot fence across the front, so that no one will be able to see me when I sit down for a pee. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you: the bathroom is located in the breezeway next to my house.
YIKES!!!!!!!
Dream #3
I have to pee. I have to pee so bad, but there is no toilet in my house. “I know!” I think to myself, “I’ll go over to _______________ (insert Linda, Edwina, Steve, Donna, Mom, Cindy, BeeBop-a-Loo-Loo) ‘s house and use their Loo.”
On the way to ___________________(insert name from above) ‘s house, I am delayed by looting robbers, crying children, flying aliens (that one was very interesting), Brad Pitt (that one would have been very enjoyable, but please remember, I had to pee), or just plain faulty memory: “where was I going?” “Hmmm, there was somewhere I was heading that was important….damn, I gotta pee….Oh yeah! That’s where I was going!”
I finally arrive at _______________________(okay, you should get this by now: insert name, yada-yada…) ‘s house, only to find a line for the toilet – or a cue for the Loo. So I wait….and I wait. “Finally!” I sigh, after waiting for minutes/hours/days (hey, depends on the dream). I step into the bathroom, to find
1. The door won’t close
2. There is no door
3. There is a man standing in the bathtub watching me (that one was very strange)
4. The person that used the Loo before me has taken the toilet.
NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay, so there you have it: APj has potty issues. Please keep this in mind when I come to visit……
My birthday
Drew and Ryan threw a lovely birthday for me last year, complete with champagne and other lovely spirits, lovely food, and absitively-poslutely lovely little waiters serving all. Of course, anytime that the party elements are involved, the conversation turns to sex.
“Airplane Jayne,” announced Drew, “we are tired of you being dateless. So we bought you a date.”
“I hope it’s Martin, the cute blonde waiter” I responded excitedly.
“No,” retorted Drew, “he’s gay. You can’t have him.”
“Stop it Drew!” admonished Ryan, “we don’t know if he’s gay. We just know you want to--!”
Drew interrupted, “Yes he is if I say he is! Anyway, PBj, err I mean APj, we bought you a man, and he’s naked – here!”
Without further ado, he presents me with a 6 inch man.
--yes that’s a 6 inch man – imagine the length of his pe—
“Just what am I suppose to do with him?” I asked.
“Well dahling,” cooed Drew, “throw him in the water, and he GROWS….to FIVE FEET”
I quickly calculated in my head the new anticipated height and length of his body parts – and threw him in the hot tub.
“Can I get you something?” asked Martin, the cute blonde waiter.
“Well, can you find me a towel for my date?”
“Date? Where is your date?” Martin alarmedly asked.
“Oh, that’s him, the 6 inch guy in the hot tub. I’m waiting for him to –err—expand.”
Martin, a bit confused, smiled sheepishly, and went in search of a towel….
“APj!” called Superman Steve, “Kajsa and I have a special present for you.”
I turned away from my hot-tubbing date, because...well, because a present is a present!!!
“Presents! I love presents! But make it quick! I’ve got a man in the tub waiting for me!”
“Yes, yes, APj. We’ve bought you something special—“
“Yes, “interjected Kajsa, “very special – and useful. But there really wasn’t time to wrap them”
Steve handed me a lovely green silk jewelry box.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” I gushed.
“But wait!” teased Steve, “We’ve put some –well, some jewelry inside.”
Okay, now every girl loves jewelry, right? I began to quiver in excitement. I do so love the anticipation. I slowly opened the lid. What could it possibly be? Earrings? A necklace? A bracel—
“Jayne?” came Martin’s soft voice in my ear, “here’s the towel for your date.”
Of course, a soft male voice in my ear slightly startled me
–hey, what do you expect after a long dry spell?
-- and I dropped my jewelry box --
--and all the lovely jewels came tumbling out.
--all forty of them.
“FORTY WHAT!?!?!?” I hear you screaming.
The room erupted as I embarrassedly bent to retrieve all my jewels, scattered across the floor. Drew retrieved my date, still only 6 inches tall with miniscule other parts, from the hot-tub.
“Oh PBj, I mean APj sweetie, I don’t think the jewels will fit on your date’s jewels!”
So Steve is picking up my condoms. Kajsa is picking up my condoms. Edwina and Pat are laughing and picking up my condoms. Martin, ever the gentleman, grabbed as many as he could. As he placed the twenty-or-so condoms in my hand, he said, “oh, by the way: I’m not gay”
“Airplane Jayne,” announced Drew, “we are tired of you being dateless. So we bought you a date.”
“I hope it’s Martin, the cute blonde waiter” I responded excitedly.
“No,” retorted Drew, “he’s gay. You can’t have him.”
“Stop it Drew!” admonished Ryan, “we don’t know if he’s gay. We just know you want to--!”
Drew interrupted, “Yes he is if I say he is! Anyway, PBj, err I mean APj, we bought you a man, and he’s naked – here!”
Without further ado, he presents me with a 6 inch man.
--yes that’s a 6 inch man – imagine the length of his pe—
“Just what am I suppose to do with him?” I asked.
“Well dahling,” cooed Drew, “throw him in the water, and he GROWS….to FIVE FEET”
I quickly calculated in my head the new anticipated height and length of his body parts – and threw him in the hot tub.
“Can I get you something?” asked Martin, the cute blonde waiter.
“Well, can you find me a towel for my date?”
“Date? Where is your date?” Martin alarmedly asked.
“Oh, that’s him, the 6 inch guy in the hot tub. I’m waiting for him to –err—expand.”
Martin, a bit confused, smiled sheepishly, and went in search of a towel….
“APj!” called Superman Steve, “Kajsa and I have a special present for you.”
I turned away from my hot-tubbing date, because...well, because a present is a present!!!
“Presents! I love presents! But make it quick! I’ve got a man in the tub waiting for me!”
“Yes, yes, APj. We’ve bought you something special—“
“Yes, “interjected Kajsa, “very special – and useful. But there really wasn’t time to wrap them”
Steve handed me a lovely green silk jewelry box.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” I gushed.
“But wait!” teased Steve, “We’ve put some –well, some jewelry inside.”
Okay, now every girl loves jewelry, right? I began to quiver in excitement. I do so love the anticipation. I slowly opened the lid. What could it possibly be? Earrings? A necklace? A bracel—
“Jayne?” came Martin’s soft voice in my ear, “here’s the towel for your date.”
Of course, a soft male voice in my ear slightly startled me
–hey, what do you expect after a long dry spell?
-- and I dropped my jewelry box --
--and all the lovely jewels came tumbling out.
--all forty of them.
“FORTY WHAT!?!?!?” I hear you screaming.
The room erupted as I embarrassedly bent to retrieve all my jewels, scattered across the floor. Drew retrieved my date, still only 6 inches tall with miniscule other parts, from the hot-tub.
“Oh PBj, I mean APj sweetie, I don’t think the jewels will fit on your date’s jewels!”
So Steve is picking up my condoms. Kajsa is picking up my condoms. Edwina and Pat are laughing and picking up my condoms. Martin, ever the gentleman, grabbed as many as he could. As he placed the twenty-or-so condoms in my hand, he said, “oh, by the way: I’m not gay”
I AM
Okay....everyone has done this... but I have stolen it from Lime and Cosima. Of course, I made a few changes....cause, after all, "rules-schmules." But I'm happy with the end result -- I think it's a good reflection of me.
I am from salt, ordinary and plain.
Like Morton’s girl, always prepared for rain,
From laughing, sunny Kool-aid days
To tragi-comedic Shakespearean plays.
But I’m from simple salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from the Midwest,
Common-sense stained,
From Cornfields wind-dancing
Seeming classically trained.
Ah…I am from seasoned salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from Sunflowers, seeds and all,
Ever striving….ever tall.
And iris and crocus
Fighting winter’s chill to be
The new Spring focus.
Yet still, I am from salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from peeking at packages
(And feigning surprise),
spiders in boxes
from (clever foxes) Dad, Mom and John
for me, Lady Jayne.
Hah! Challenge me not!
for although I am salt, ordinary and plain
I am also from fists that fly to defend, and hands that hold and heal hurt.
From “a thousand times no” songs to
“I can’t let you go…..but I will.”
I am tear-stained salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from a Man who died on a cross for me, and a God who will always run to pick me up when I fall.
Embarrassed, yet (somehow) proud, to be from salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from Oz and Kansas, and every Military base between
From fruit loops, air sandwiches, and chocolate ice cream.
Yes, even though salt I am, ordinary and plain
I am from stock that is truly unique. From my brother who rose above addiction and shame and whose song makes the angels weep. From my sister whose love took us halfway around the world to bring my niece home to sleep.
I am salt, perhaps not so ordinary and plain.
How could I be?
When I am Airplane Jayne?
I am from salt, ordinary and plain.
Like Morton’s girl, always prepared for rain,
From laughing, sunny Kool-aid days
To tragi-comedic Shakespearean plays.
But I’m from simple salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from the Midwest,
Common-sense stained,
From Cornfields wind-dancing
Seeming classically trained.
Ah…I am from seasoned salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from Sunflowers, seeds and all,
Ever striving….ever tall.
And iris and crocus
Fighting winter’s chill to be
The new Spring focus.
Yet still, I am from salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from peeking at packages
(And feigning surprise),
spiders in boxes
from (clever foxes) Dad, Mom and John
for me, Lady Jayne.
Hah! Challenge me not!
for although I am salt, ordinary and plain
I am also from fists that fly to defend, and hands that hold and heal hurt.
From “a thousand times no” songs to
“I can’t let you go…..but I will.”
I am tear-stained salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from a Man who died on a cross for me, and a God who will always run to pick me up when I fall.
Embarrassed, yet (somehow) proud, to be from salt, ordinary and plain.
I am from Oz and Kansas, and every Military base between
From fruit loops, air sandwiches, and chocolate ice cream.
Yes, even though salt I am, ordinary and plain
I am from stock that is truly unique. From my brother who rose above addiction and shame and whose song makes the angels weep. From my sister whose love took us halfway around the world to bring my niece home to sleep.
I am salt, perhaps not so ordinary and plain.
How could I be?
When I am Airplane Jayne?
truth or dare
uh-huh, I said Truth-or-Dare -- see why the young-uns luv me?
I picked truth. I picked truth, 'cause the dares (so far) had consisted of singing from the outhouse, using someone else's toothbrush, eating 16 marshmallows, and witnessing to strangers from other campsites....
Yeah, I picked truth (big deal. like you didn't already know I was a big woosie, eh?)
"Teacher Jayne -- tell us about your most un-Christian moment."
Well....it is a church group....and a youth group at that, so I tried to think of something "lessoney." You know -- something that taught by example. In light of that, I shared about moving out to California at nineteen, and alienating myself from my mom for a year.
"Geez, Teacher Jayne," lamented one of the other adults, "I was expecting something better from you...."
::Jayne wipes hands on concrete/dirt/mexico-stained jeans:: "Okay....okay -- here ya go:"
I remember seeing the ground rush towards me, and thinking, "Dang! This is gonna hurt like a fothermucker!" I tried to get my body straight -- straight as I could, and stiffened for the impact.
I remember seeing the ground rush towards me, and thinking, "Dang! This is gonna hurt like a fothermucker!" I tried to get my body straight -- straight as I could, and stiffened for the impact.
Witnesses say I bounced three times. I vividly remember the first hit, and maybe the second. But then I just remember sitting up, and pulling my parachute under my bum, so I wouldn't get dragged away.
Brain: move left arm
::left arm moves:
Brain: good! move right arm
Brain: move left arm
::left arm moves:
Brain: good! move right arm::right arm moves::
Brain: great! move left leg
Brain: great! move left leg
::left leg moves::
Brain: awesome! move right leg
::nada ::
Brain: aw, hell! Right leg! Move!
::nada::
::nada::
Brain: Must be my knee..
About this time, I found myself surrounded by all my skydivin' buddies.
"APj!" inquired Andy (an EMT), "Are you okay? Where do you hurt?"
"Andy, I'm okay -- but I think I blew out my knee. I can't move my leg"
Andy picks up my right leg......
and that's when my femur hit the skin -- and I....I began speaking in tongues!
"Sonofafuckingtruckingdrivingbastardcheatingbitchlickingshiteatingmotherfucker!" I screamed. (Hey....my mother always said if you're gonna do it, at least make it effective....)
Andy carefully laid my leg down, and when to get supplies other than bandaids....
I, never being one to know when to stop, proceeded with my verbal diatribe, "AsswipingmotherbitchbastardsonofaDONUTFUCKERgawd--"
Somewhere in the middle of this verbal assault, the group that we shared the dropzone with came up to me. Uhhh... the Christian Skydiving Team.......who were already flinching at the hellaciousness spewing forth from my lips. (I'm sure I saw one visibly shaking, and another making the sign of the cross)
"Jayne.....Jayne.....we just want you to know.....that we're praying for you."
"Praying!?!?!?!?" I retorted, "PRAYING.....for ME!?!?!?!?!?"
::here it comes.....Teacher Jayne's most Un-Christian Moment......::
"DONTCHA THINK THE FUCKING TIME FOR FUCKING PRAYER WAS, LIKE FUCKING TEN FUCKING MINUTES AGO!?!?!?!? THANKS A-FUCKING LOT!!!!"
::hangs head in shame::
Amen
My Interview
Lecram: here are your questions. Envision the interview taking place in a cozy Dublin p
ub.
1. What is the one thing in your life that you really wanted and never happened that you are now actually glad about
3. What are 2 things that "make your head spin" in a good and bad way?
2. If you were to pick the opposite qualities between 2 sitcom characters that represent you who and what would they be?
4. If an all knowing spirit in a tree offered to be your "spirit guide" in one area in your life... what would that be?
5. Guinness or whiskey?
I hear his sing-song brogue before I can see him –(gawd, I’m such a sucker for an accent)
“Oh Lassie, ya’ got dat farr away look, in yer eyes”
“Oisin, I keep telling you it’s Jayne…or Airplane Jayne….or even APj….but not Lassie, please. Makes me feel like barkin—
“Oh, darhlin’, - if ya’ feel like hurrlin’—“
“That’s barking, not barfing! Silly bucko….now…” patting my knee and winking at him, “come have a seat.” He sits close,“Ah, me Bonnie Lass,” he whispers, “what is the one thing in your life that you really wanted and never happened that you are now actually glad about?”
Taking a deep breath, and a swig of my Rosie Lee, I turn and look into those eyes (“Dear Sweet Jesus,” I say to myself, “His eyes are so blue I swear I could swim in them”). “Oisin, I know you don’t like to hear about Voldemort-”
“-that gobshite! I’d give him a toe up da hol-"
“Shhh” I gently place my finger on his lips, silencing his curse, “…..silly boy…..I was just going to say that, although I spent many years wanting that marriage to work, wanting it to succeed, it never happened. I only realize now that I’m happy….yes, and even glad I didn’t get it. Because……well, because I realize now that the only way it would have ever worked would have been for me to completely lose my very being, my very soul. I would have ceased to exist. As it was and is, I lost huge amounts of me….it is taking a long time for me to heal. A lot longer than I thought….” My eyes tear up, but I’m not sure whether it’s from the smoke-filled pub, or the gutwrenching confession.
“Cor! Damn that Fecky the Ninth!” declares Oisin as he pulls me up out of my chair. “I know tha’ wanker spun yer head in a bad way,” his coarse shaven face brushes my cheek, “But if ya’ let me take you home,” his lips nibble my neck and his hand wanders southward, “I’m sure a little Aussie kiss will spin back ‘round in a good way!”
With the red rising past my cheeks, “Come on little boy,” I slide my shaking hand between my arse and Oisin’s hand, “I could use some fresh air and a stroll.” “And then,” firmly leading him towards the exit, “we’ll talk about what makes my head spin.” The damp, cold, Dublin air hits us dead-on as we leave the warm, but smoke-filled Horseshoe Bar. We walk in silence for half a block when he quietly says,
“Yes, I kno"
"Know what?" I ask.
“Kno' da’ answer…” Oisin pulls me closer, “da' answer....is...yes.” And his arm drops and drapes casually, but protectively around my shoulders.
I whirl out in front of him, “that’s what makes my head spin!” I squeal. His alarmed eyebrows make me continue quickly (before he bolts away), “but spin in a good way. I love when someone can get into my head, and know what…or how…..or even why I’m saying/feeling/doing things…..sometimes things I’m not even sure of. Makes me feel like the earth is off it’s axis”
Oisin pulls me back in towards him, wrapping me tightly, “and…” he continues, staring intently into my eyes, “wot makes it spin…in a bad way?”
My eyes cloud over, “jealousy,” I reply, “my jealousy……like…..like when the green genie strikes me! Then….well, then…I also feel….like….like the earth is spinning and I’m trying to hold on! I hate that the root of the same emotion, my attraction or feelings can lead to my head spinning out of control in either a good or bad way.”
Feeling excruciatingly vulnerable, I toss out, “Guess that means I’m crazy, right? I mean, how can you do or be such polar opposites? I mean, it’s kinda like being Phoebe and Monica all rolled into one!” “Hu-huh?” Oisin stammers.
“You know,” I gush, happy to be off of the head-spinning topic and onto neutral, T.V. sitcom territory, “from the sitcom Friends. I’m kinda like Monica, in that I love everything to be neat and orderly. Dressed proper and acting properly. But….” I glance slyly over my shoulder, “ I love to…..run freeeee like Phoebe!!!!”
And with that, I charge forth, arms flailing freely and wildly.
The Dublin air is crisp as I run through St. Stephen’s Green. Shrieking and laughing, I duck beneath hanging tree branches and slid on damp leaves, but I hear Oisin’s footsteps gaining, coming ever closer. Vacillating between speeding up or slowing down, my decision is made by what stands before me.
“What is that?” I gasp.
“Ahh…,” Oisin answers from behind me, “me ma’ tol’ me ‘bout tha’ tree. She said tha’ if you give it a gift, it will guide you.”
Pulling the scarf from my neck, I drape it on the tree’s proffered branch. “Gracious Tree spirit,” I entreat, “Please guide me.” Self-consciously I drop my voice to a whisper, “Gracious, gracious Lady of the Tree: I am too fearful in love. I am fearful to make a bad choice again, and so I stand frozen, making no choice at all. Which is still a choice, albeit a poor one. Kind, gracious and loving Lady of the tree, give wings to my feet of clay. Give sound to my tongue of sand.”
“Jayne”
“Oisin…”
“Jayne….are you done?”
“Darling,” I say, patting the tree bark as I turn, “I’m just getting started.”
“Wot ya’ mean?” he stammers, as I place myself in the crook of his arm.
“Oisin…..do you have any Jameson at your place?”
ub.1. What is the one thing in your life that you really wanted and never happened that you are now actually glad about
3. What are 2 things that "make your head spin" in a good and bad way?
2. If you were to pick the opposite qualities between 2 sitcom characters that represent you who and what would they be?
4. If an all knowing spirit in a tree offered to be your "spirit guide" in one area in your life... what would that be?
5. Guinness or whiskey?
I hear his sing-song brogue before I can see him –(gawd, I’m such a sucker for an accent)
“Oh Lassie, ya’ got dat farr away look, in yer eyes”
“Oisin, I keep telling you it’s Jayne…or Airplane Jayne….or even APj….but not Lassie, please. Makes me feel like barkin—
“Oh, darhlin’, - if ya’ feel like hurrlin’—“
“That’s barking, not barfing! Silly bucko….now…” patting my knee and winking at him, “come have a seat.” He sits close,“Ah, me Bonnie Lass,” he whispers, “what is the one thing in your life that you really wanted and never happened that you are now actually glad about?”
Taking a deep breath, and a swig of my Rosie Lee, I turn and look into those eyes (“Dear Sweet Jesus,” I say to myself, “His eyes are so blue I swear I could swim in them”). “Oisin, I know you don’t like to hear about Voldemort-”
“-that gobshite! I’d give him a toe up da hol-"
“Shhh” I gently place my finger on his lips, silencing his curse, “…..silly boy…..I was just going to say that, although I spent many years wanting that marriage to work, wanting it to succeed, it never happened. I only realize now that I’m happy….yes, and even glad I didn’t get it. Because……well, because I realize now that the only way it would have ever worked would have been for me to completely lose my very being, my very soul. I would have ceased to exist. As it was and is, I lost huge amounts of me….it is taking a long time for me to heal. A lot longer than I thought….” My eyes tear up, but I’m not sure whether it’s from the smoke-filled pub, or the gutwrenching confession.
“Cor! Damn that Fecky the Ninth!” declares Oisin as he pulls me up out of my chair. “I know tha’ wanker spun yer head in a bad way,” his coarse shaven face brushes my cheek, “But if ya’ let me take you home,” his lips nibble my neck and his hand wanders southward, “I’m sure a little Aussie kiss will spin back ‘round in a good way!”
With the red rising past my cheeks, “Come on little boy,” I slide my shaking hand between my arse and Oisin’s hand, “I could use some fresh air and a stroll.” “And then,” firmly leading him towards the exit, “we’ll talk about what makes my head spin.” The damp, cold, Dublin air hits us dead-on as we leave the warm, but smoke-filled Horseshoe Bar. We walk in silence for half a block when he quietly says,
“Yes, I kno"
"Know what?" I ask.
“Kno' da’ answer…” Oisin pulls me closer, “da' answer....is...yes.” And his arm drops and drapes casually, but protectively around my shoulders.
I whirl out in front of him, “that’s what makes my head spin!” I squeal. His alarmed eyebrows make me continue quickly (before he bolts away), “but spin in a good way. I love when someone can get into my head, and know what…or how…..or even why I’m saying/feeling/doing things…..sometimes things I’m not even sure of. Makes me feel like the earth is off it’s axis”
Oisin pulls me back in towards him, wrapping me tightly, “and…” he continues, staring intently into my eyes, “wot makes it spin…in a bad way?”
My eyes cloud over, “jealousy,” I reply, “my jealousy……like…..like when the green genie strikes me! Then….well, then…I also feel….like….like the earth is spinning and I’m trying to hold on! I hate that the root of the same emotion, my attraction or feelings can lead to my head spinning out of control in either a good or bad way.”
Feeling excruciatingly vulnerable, I toss out, “Guess that means I’m crazy, right? I mean, how can you do or be such polar opposites? I mean, it’s kinda like being Phoebe and Monica all rolled into one!” “Hu-huh?” Oisin stammers.
“You know,” I gush, happy to be off of the head-spinning topic and onto neutral, T.V. sitcom territory, “from the sitcom Friends. I’m kinda like Monica, in that I love everything to be neat and orderly. Dressed proper and acting properly. But….” I glance slyly over my shoulder, “ I love to…..run freeeee like Phoebe!!!!”
And with that, I charge forth, arms flailing freely and wildly.
The Dublin air is crisp as I run through St. Stephen’s Green. Shrieking and laughing, I duck beneath hanging tree branches and slid on damp leaves, but I hear Oisin’s footsteps gaining, coming ever closer. Vacillating between speeding up or slowing down, my decision is made by what stands before me.
“What is that?” I gasp.
“Ahh…,” Oisin answers from behind me, “me ma’ tol’ me ‘bout tha’ tree. She said tha’ if you give it a gift, it will guide you.”
Pulling the scarf from my neck, I drape it on the tree’s proffered branch. “Gracious Tree spirit,” I entreat, “Please guide me.” Self-consciously I drop my voice to a whisper, “Gracious, gracious Lady of the Tree: I am too fearful in love. I am fearful to make a bad choice again, and so I stand frozen, making no choice at all. Which is still a choice, albeit a poor one. Kind, gracious and loving Lady of the tree, give wings to my feet of clay. Give sound to my tongue of sand.”
“Jayne”
“Oisin…”
“Jayne….are you done?”
“Darling,” I say, patting the tree bark as I turn, “I’m just getting started.”
“Wot ya’ mean?” he stammers, as I place myself in the crook of his arm.
“Oisin…..do you have any Jameson at your place?”
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