Life has sort of gotten back to normal, more or less. I’ve consciously moved away from writing about Mom, in part because I don’t want to be macabre blogger obsessed with her own sadness, in part because, let’s face it: Life is for the living. That being said, there are a couple of things that are a little bit about her – or a lot. This house hunting thing. She would have loved it. She was big about details, so whereas I can’t keep track of which house has the most square feet, she would have had a notebook with neat columns for comparison. Me? This house is the one with that awesome original 1950’s skylight in the bathroom, and that one is the one with the disastrous original kitchen and the radiant heating. Do I want the skylight or the radiant heating?
The housing, she would have loved. The tattoo? Not so much.
I started out with one… she didn’t like it. As I’ve gotten older, I ended up not liking it so much either. It wasn’t really proportionate to my body, it wasn’t that well done. Of course, she didn’t like it because she didn’t like tattoos at all, so the fix I had done at the Baltimore Tattoo Convention wouldn’t have made her any happier. It turns out I was too hasty in picking a guy. It’s a solid tattoo and I like it, but then there was this guy and he was AMAZING. My roommate got the tattoo of her dreams from him and, had there been time, I think I would have just let him doodle on me. If I ever do the ink thing again, he’s definitely my man.
Which is a long way around to get to what I’m really trying to say, which is that I’m thinking about the lady. Just not saying that much.