double identity

After an evening of worrying about various stuff (tornado sirens, sick cat, insomnia, my idiotic mortgage company), I decided to check my e-mail.

I noticed that Obscure Object of Desire* had sent me an answer to an automotive question I'd asked earlier in the day. I also noticed that he changed his e-mail name (not his email address, just the user ID). Now it's  down to a single initial, but it doesn't stand for his first, middle or last name. It's not the title of a Thomas Pynchon novel or a book by Matthew Beaumont, either.

I initially thought he might have wanted to go incognito, but his first name is still part of his email address, so that doesn't work either.

Eventually I broke down and sent him an e-mail, asking him about the change.

20 minutes later, I'm wishing that I hadn't sent that e-mail. (No, I can't recall it.)

I should have played it cool. Damn.

* See Key to Characters at left.

cash and carry

Whenever I see this phrase, I'm always reminded of how the media used it to describe the Cary Grant/Barbara Hutton marriage.  Although when the marriage ended, Grant was not interested in taking any of his ex-wife's $42 million fortune with him. (None of Hutton's seven marriages lasted more than five years, and she died with only $3,500 left of her inheritance.)

Sunday I spotted this phrase on the sign at Dr. Delphinium's, a florist I like. I had been shopping at a garden center nearby and was on my way home. It was if the management had read my mind:

Cash and Carry Special - Belgian Peonies - 6 for $20

I ended up with two white, two pink and two magnificent dark red ones. And even though it's easier to arrange odd numbers of flowers, I managed to make them look presentable.

Traditionally, I stink at flower arranging and am always embarrassed with the results. As I stand there wondering what the fork I did wrong, I can't help but be reminded of that Monty Python character stuffing flowers into a vase and then pounding them with a brick. 

I can't remember the character's name, or what he was supposed to be, but here he is anyway:

guilty floral pleasures

One facet of the human personality that I've always found particularly interesting is the difference in budgeting ideas.  To be precise: some people are happy paying for things that others would never, ever pay for.

I tend to be this way about bottled water. It didn't take me long to figure out that buying a pitcher and filter, instead of cases of bottled water, would save me a considerable amount of money. (Putting in a permanent system under the sink would make even more sense. Perhaps one day I'll get around to it.) But my otherwise budget-conscious friends drag the cases of water home on a weekly basis.

Until recently, I felt the same way about cut flowers. Usually I had some roses I could bring indoors. Once in a while I'd buy flowers at Whole Foods if the price was right, and if freesias were in season I'd buy a bunch.

But then I spotted some peonies in an upscale florist a few days ago, and I was smitten. I don't know what it was, or is, about peonies. I even Googled them to see if I could grow my own, but it seems to be similar to growing your own asparagus. You have to wait a couple of years to get a reasonable harvest, and peonies don't really like Texas weather.

Finally I went online, thinking what the hell, I'll order my own. I found some beautiful peonies at a place called Flowerbud.com. But they were $89.00. I was ready to pay $30-$40 for some, but $89.00 stopped me in my tracks.  

Whoever writes the copy for the Web site has definitely signed a pact with Satan:

Peony season will always be fleeting, demand is always strong and quantities are always limited.

 And if you're wondering what peonies look like, here's a photo:

just an observation

When leaving the oncologist's office a couple of weeks ago, I spotted someone driving past smoking a Marlboro.

When I smoked, I always smoked Marlboros. The Industrial Strength ones that came in boxes. It was like sucking on a car's muffler, but I still get nostalgic now and again.

As I got into my car, this thought came to mind:

If this biopsy turns out to be really bad news, at least I can start smoking again.

weekend pursuits and Fromm

Even though it's been a long time since I read Erich Fromm, I still remember his definitions of having versus being. Even though it's not impossible to live well with some possessions, and for your possessions to have some meaning, it's easy to let your craving for stuff take over.

This is why I prefer my coffee drinking friends to my mall raiding friends.

And one thing I liked about being over 30 is that some of your former shopaholic friends gradually realize that they can't buy anything that will make them feel fulfilled.

I spent a large chunk of my 20s shopping for fulfillment. I was shopping for that rare prize: an outfit that would make me appear perfect, i.e. thin.  This particularly embarrasses me when I look at photographs from that time, as it's clearly evident that I was deluding myself. I wasn't fat and I was never going to find that perfect outfit. My real problem was having a boyfriend/husband who, for reasons unknown, disliked women with any hint of a curve, combined with my naive belief that if that's how he saw the situation, I had better do something about it.

But back to Fromm. I took a break from plumbing repairs to look through one of his last books. Much of Fromm's work had to do with how a lot of us spend our lives avoiding choices. We're scared of making the wrong choice, so we're always looking for escapes from having to choose. Subconsciously, we're trying to get someone else - our boss, our spouse, our parents - to take action for us. (Perhaps this was why Fromm married women who were both his senior by 10-15 years.) Fromm said "The avoidance of choice alienates us from our own power and responsiveness". It also spoils our chances of adventure.

I think one reason why most of us consider a relationship a necessity is that, when you're in a fairly serious relationship, your anxiety about choices decrease. Life as half of a couple looks attractively simple and economical. You'll have a person around who can give you a ride to work, walk your dog when you're working late. And you get more friends (although the downside to this is that you probably won't like some of them).

This gradually led me to wonder if I'm making the right choices. And if that isn't a recipe for insomnia, I don't know what is. Sigh.