Fact or Fiction?

Some stories, like the ones about my elderly and slightly crazy mother, can't be made up. No matter how hard I try, I can't invent anything more wacky and outrageous than the stuff she comes up with. Nevertheless, I've recently been toying with the idea of writing fiction just for the fun of it. I keep track of story ideas based on funny incidents or quirky people, with the thought that someday they will fit into a novel.

It is entirely possible that I've invested a bit too much time in concocting off-beat and absurd stories. And I might have just the slightest problem keeping my imagination and reality in check.

For lack of anything better to do, Parker joined me on a trip to the grocery store the other day. Steve was out of town and as often happens when he is gone, I was channeling my inner Mother Hubbard. That day, however, when I looked in the refrigerator and found only ketchup, an egg, and a bottle of Aloe Vera juice, I decided to break down and buy some food. We were at the store when Parker mentioned he was craving chocolate cupcakes. I, being a cheapskate frugal, suggested we look on the bakery mark-down shelves.

Sadly, we didn't find chocolate cupcakes on sale but I did notice Parker grimacing while he peered at a small sheet cake on the top rack. When I asked why, he said it was a sad cake. Sad as in mangled or sad as in it had something sad written on it? He told me the cake had, God Bless You, Westin, written on it. I grimaced too.

"Do you think Westin died?" I asked.

Parker said, "I think so." 

We stood near the bakery rack feeling a little sad and a lot concerned.  I mean, if you're going to have a cake made for a dead person, shouldn't you pick it up rather than letting it get put on the bargain rack? How would that make a dead guy feel?

Parker and I spent the next few minutes theorizing reasons why Westin's family wouldn't have picked up his death cake. Just as our imagined scenarios were venturing into the much too macabre, it occurred to us that maybe Westin wasn't dead at all. Maybe Westin's family got mad at him and decided not to pick up the God Bless You cake. Maybe there was a whole different story.

And the next thing we knew, the non-dead Westin story was off and running.

As we gathered our groceries, Parker and I made up a whole drama about how the God Bless You cake had been ordered in anticipation of Westin's catechism, which was happening much later than the traditional age for a religious instruction ceremony because Westin had dragged his feet and found excuses for not following through. Westin's father, being an overbearing and manipulative type (which might be somewhat loosely based on a certain little 85-year old woman we know) had made such a fuss about it that Westin obliged, just to get him to be quiet. The reason Westin hadn't wanted to follow through, however, was because he was secretly gay and he knew neither the tenants of his religious tradition nor his father would approve. So, he chose that day to come out to his family, and upon hearing that his son was gay, Westin's father, being a God-fearing patriarch and all, insisted that Westin's Biblically obedient mother not pick up the God Bless You cake. Instead he demanded that she order one that said, Goddamnit, Westin!*

The sad little God Bless You cake was relegated to the bakery mark-down shelf.

I admit we were rather zealous in making up the story and then discussing how delightful it would be for Parker and his friend, Taylor, to make a short movie about it because, together, they are ridiculously funny and creative. We talked about it until we got home and Parker said we should have bought the cake. By this time I was so enthralled with the whole story that we got right back in the car and drove to the grocery store to buy it.

We were excited when we got there and made a beeline right to the back of the store where the marked-down bakery items live. We knew it would still be there. It had only been about 20 minutes since we first encountered the cake and who was crazy enough to buy an abandoned cake that said, God Bless You, Westin on it? Besides us, I mean.

But, when we got there, the cake was gone. Gone.

After a quick jog through the first four stages of grief, I said there had to be some mistake and set out to consult with our friend, Grumpy Cake Lady. True to form, she treated me with disdain and explained that if the cake wasn't on the bargain shelf anymore, someone else had bought it. 

I was crushed. And then I saw Parker, not yet ready to accept the truth, trying to nonchalantly gaze sidelong into the carts of other shoppers. After reminding one another that stealing the cake from another shopper's cart (should we find it) was not an appropriate response, we eventually had to accept the truth and leave the store without the cake.

The next day, however, Anna and Parker were planning a trip to see an outdoor movie with friends and she asked if I'd go to the store with her to get snacks. When we entered the store I impulsively decided to get a cake and have, Goddamnit, Westin! written on it for her to give to Parker.

This, of course, meant I, once again, had to encounter Grumpy Cake Lady.

She was busy airbrushing a sheet cake a rather unpleasant shade of green when she stopped and asked what I wanted. I cheerfully told her to go ahead and finish, giving her a flippy little wave of the hand. She pressed the trigger and finished spraying the cake ugly green while I contemplated what that color must do to one's digestive system. Again she humorlessly asked what I wanted. I offered her my very cutest, most adorable self and asked, "How's your sense of humor today?" Without a smile she glared at me and asked, for the third time, what I wanted.  I asked if she would write a naughty word on my cake.

No.

No, she wouldn't write, Goddamnit, Westin! on my cake.

And that was that.

I was relegated to buying ready made frosting in a tube and attempting to write my inappropriate message on the cake myself. It lacked the professional flair of a really mean and grouchy cake decorator.

But Westin's father liked it.

*In the spirit of happy endings, I'm happy to report that Westin's father (after the cake incident) came to terms with who Westin is and their relationship was restored to its former condition.

Making Lemonade...with Salt...and Tequila

I've always liked the trite little saying about what to do if life gives you lemons. Although, I admit, I like the one about adding salt and tequila better.

We had the opportunity to put all this lemon business to good use when we were planning Anna's graduation party recently. We've known Anna was going to graduate from high school for some time. Eighteen years to be exact. But we didn't start thinking much about having a party to celebrate her graduation until spring. When she asked if she and her friend, Anna, could have an Anna x 2 party I was, of course, more than happy to throw it. It was a party, after all.

 

We assumed most of the party would be held outdoors in the backyard, but you can't always count on the weather so we knew it might also end up being held indoors. Either way, the party was good motivation to do something about the dreadful, old, carpet that remained in our hallway and stairs. This was very old carpet. Very old carpet that needed to go away a long time ago. It hadn't, because we couldn't decide what we wanted to replace it with. But, the party was coming up so we finally decided to just replace it with new carpet.

 

The plan was to have the new carpet installed in time for the party. As the party date drew closer, however, the plan started to unravel, a little like the nasty old carpet in the hallway. It wasn't going to happen. At all. The carpet delivery had been delayed and the installation couldn't happen until the week after the party.

 

Well. Dang.

 

We considered what to do. We could cancel the party. (Cancel? A party? Are you kidding?) We could postpone the party. But the invitations for June 1 had already been sent. We decided to weave the lack of carpet into the party.

 

Recently I wrote a blog post about writing our family story on the floors of each room as we replace the carpet. You can read it here.  Anna suggested we modify our tradition and use the ill-timed carpet mishap as a way to include the party guests in our family story. 

 

What a great idea!

 

I immediately went to work removing the carpet and pulling out the tacking strips. I put a fresh coat of white paint on the floor and stairs, bought a package of 12 colored Sharpie pens, and wrote a little explanation in case party guests wondered why they were invited to write on the floor in permanent marker:

 

"Ours is a house in transition. At any given time there is a renovation project in process. The plan was to have new carpet for the graduation party. But, plans don't always happen the way they are supposed to. Our new carpet it somewhere in the United States. Just not in our house.

Plan B.

As we have replaced flooring in our home I have written a bit of our family history on the sub floor in each room, which has later been covered up but creates the story of our lives within these walls.

It is our belief that a house is a dwelling, but the soul of a home is created in the lives and relationships of those who both live here and come in as our guests.

So...about the carpet...

...since there isn't any, we are inviting our graduation party guests to take liberty on our stairs and hallway floor. If you would like to, we would love to have you write your name, a message, a thought, or whatever on the floor. Next week, when the carpet is installed, your message will be hidden but will become a part of the soul of our home.

Thank you for sharing our joy at the Anna x 2 Graduation Party.

And thank you for adding to the story of our family...and the soul of our home."

 

Our friend Spencer got things started by declaring the date of the party. Debbie added that it was also her birthday.

 

 

And people kept adding things. Some messages were simple.

 

 

Some more wordy.

 

 

Some drew pictures.

 

 

Some were random.

 

 

Some strategically placed.

 

 

Some wrote for others who were halfway around the world.

 

 

And after a while some started responding to what others had written.

 

 

When the party was over, we had a sweet masterpiece that, even covered with carpet, we'll always know is there. Expressions of love and friendship grace every step.

 

 

And exist outside every bedroom door.

 

 

It turned out that not having carpet was a blessing. The guests had fun and I'm pretty sure ours was the only party this graduation season that included floor writing. I think that might make me cool. Finally. I've always wanted to be cool.

 

Or, maybe it doesn't. I'm not sure.

 

Regardless, we loved reading every message over and over. We spent the next couple of days savoring the words friends had written because we knew it would be just a few days before it was all covered up; like a secret hidden message only our family would know was there. Well, plus the 50 or so other people who wrote things. But anyway, the point is we loved it.

 

Although it was a fun and creative way to have a party, I am ready for the carpet to be installed. We are expecting guests for a long weekend and it will be nice to have new, plush, carpet when they arrive at the end of June.

 

Except it has now been two weeks since the party and we still don't have carpet. It seems it got lost. And then found. While our new carpet was off having some sort of religious experience the days kept ticking by. Today the installation company told me it won't be installed until July.

 

So much for having things nice for our guests. I guess they'll have to sign the floor too. 

 

Pass the Sharpies.

 

And the tequilla.