Sounding off on Kim K

Alrighty then..... nothing like returning to blog with an ax to grind.

Here's the thing.... I'm your average American girl.  Really.  I'm from the south, went to public schools, briefly participated in the Girl Scouts and later a sorority (which shall remain unnamed as i depledged and caused great family shame).  My father served in the Army.  My mom raised three kids until her divorce (VERY american) and had to go to work.  I pack my kids' lunches for school and cut my own grass.

I may veer a little off the Garden Path (I travel.  A lot.  I own a "few" pairs of Prada shoes.  I consider reading in the bathroom socially unacceptable.  I have sterling place settings for 12).... but when it comes down to it, I'm pretty middle of the road.

HOWEVER

Let me tell you.... if there was anything close to American Royalty, it would NOT be Kim Kardashian.

Are you freaking kidding me?  For real?  I don't care if she spent $20 billion MORE than Wills and Kate, KK is, has been, always will be, absolute TRASH.  Now, does that mean that I believe that ROYALTY connotes manners, sophistication, class?  Not necessarily, but I do believe that Kate Middleton is infinitely more regal, sophisticated, mannerly and classy than that Calfornicated trollop otherwise known as Kim Kardashian.

Wow.  So over 400 people got to witness the circus that ensued over a Video 'Ho marrying a B'baller 4 years younger than she.  Impressive.  So during one of our countries most dire financial moments, some classless tart with Sex Tape notoriety saunters down an aisle in one of her three $20K custom made dresses?

Bravo.  Kudos.  Well done, Kim.  Just when I thought Ray J might have been the only one present to witness your most classless moment, you let the rest of the world in on the action.

Felicidades.

Time passes

"There are places I remember, all my life, though some have changed.  Some for forever not for better, some have gone and some remain.  All these places have their moments, with lovers and friends, I still can recall.  Some  dead and some are living, in my life, I've  loved them all.  But of all these friends and lovers, there is no one compares with you, and these memories lose their meaning, when I think of love as something new.  Though I know I'll never lose affection, for people and things that went before, I know I'll often stop and think about them, in my life, I've loved you more."

I danced to this song, by The Beatles, at our wedding.  Some sentiments never change.

Who knew at 40 I would love my husband more than when I married him?  Who could have suspected that after 4 decades, my personal hero would still be my gran?

Battle after battle with depression.... losing my focus, finding my way, gaining friends, saying goodbye more than hello... such a circus this life.

December 18th came and went.  Kristen, steadfast and true, remembered.  Candice asked how I was doing.  Angie Jackson, bless her sweet soul, reached out.  13 months now without Gran.  Does it get easier or did I get tougher?

I have fallen on my own sword so many times I am gouged through.  Didn't I say I would live up to her memory?

In the end, I was left a better person for knowing her... better, but forever grieved.

The best of times

There are moments you will remember the rest of your days... your first kiss, your wedding, the birth of your first child.

There are moments you wish you could forget.... 9/11 chief among them.

There are the uncelebrated hallowed moments which might even go unrecorded, yet will come back to you in the best of your dreams.... your child's first steps, your first paycheck, your first date with the person you eventually marry.

Then there are the unexpected glimmers, the shining moments in life when you stop and realize that you shouldn't be waiting for heaven, you should be relishing every moment on earth.

I turned 40 this year.  I've never dreaded this age, never feared turning older... in fact, I have spent most of my life longing to be older.

40.  My God.  How did we get this far?

My 40th birthday was celebrated 2 days before I actually turned that age.  It was supposed to be a surprise party, but I've never dealt well with surprises.  Sometime around October, convinced that my husband was not equipped to throw a suitable party, I began planning my own celebration.  Foolish.

Tim had it covered.  Actually, months before he had advised 18 friends to keep January 8th readily available.

In life, there are also those moments, meant to be celebrated, which are so stingingly anti-climactic, you swear your skin was left in welts... Prom, Graduation... in my case, the reception to my wedding.

40 was a coming out party, a Prom, a wedding reception, a birthday all in one.  It was the most magnificent event I have ever had the privilege to attend.

Staged at the most exquisite hotel in Washington, The Jefferson, my 18 dear friends and me and Tim ushered in this newest decade in my life.  We began the evening in the Library with Prosecco, tuna tartare, vichisoiyse, and goat cheese beignets.  Dinner was served in the wine cellar... a stellar 3 course meal accompanied with the most delectable wines.

It was an intimate, decadent event.  I felt feted, celebrated, and loved... and moreover, I felt blessed to share it with so many cherished friends.

None of us, the healthy, the sick, the wealthy, the poor, the pitiful, the brilliant, know how much time we have on this earth.  Each birthday should be a celebration, an homage to a life well lived.

I have been blessed to see 40 birthdays.  I am honored that my husband saw fit to regale me with such a lovely 40th birthday party.... it has inspired me to relish each and every moment.

I hate election night

Yup.  I hate it.  I remember being so proud after voting in my first election.  I remember enjoying the whole process... the campaign, the self-education, the pomp and circumstance of presenting my i.d.

Then I met Tim.  And even those first 8 years or so, I still was proud to be a voting american... proud to be part of the process, even if my vote was in direct opposition with my soul mate's.

Now.  What an arduous process.  Ugh.  Do I really have to listen to one more incredibly juvenile ad on TV?  Do I have to suffer yet again through a night filled with phone calls and website updates?

It's not that Tim has beaten me down... I haven't succumbed to the dark side.  It's not that I am less passionate about certain issues... maybe I am even more passionate now.

It is simply the displeasure in going through the process alone.

I refuse to answer the phone if I recognize a Republican's (in-law, former college buddy) phone number.  I blog... unrelenting to cnn.com.

The thrill is gone, folks.  I don't feel the need to convert my husband anymore.  As much as his ideology can confound and infuriate me, frankly, my dear, I just don't give a damn.

So, there it is.  I hate election night.  I think I will go blog on Holcombgraydecor.blogspot.com  about something I do care about... like paper versus cloth napkins.

What Grace afforded me

Like being enveloped in fog, or trying to breath under water... trying to keep my wits about me is an extraordinary feat these days.

Scheduling, school, new job, subconscious... wherever, however you want to assign the blame, I lost track of time and my appointment with my psychiatrist and I have been off my medication for a month.

Life's little hiccups have become major obstacles.  My best friends are whispering about me behind my back.  I can't hold back the surge of tears at every touching commercial, every time I think of how fast Annelise has grown up.

But I've got this tiger by the tail... I'm holding tight.  I'm still answering the phone and keeping appointments and brushing my teeth.  I even managed to drag myself to Dr. Rahman and got back on my medication.

The gym, the shower, blink, make dinner, go to bed and start over.  I can do this.

I'm doing this.  We're doing this... my patient husband and me.  Our health insurance and us.

Lucky me.

Do you know the percentage of homeless people who suffer from a debilitating psychological affliction?

There but for the grace.... go I.

Defining yourself

Today, I completed an exam which will hopefully earn my a certification in decorating.  Hhhhmmm.  About 20 years ago, I thought I would be earning a Ph. D.

Where did the road diverge?

Was it somewhere between manic episodes?  Changing majors?  Changing boyfriends?  When did I aspire to, well, what I aspire to today?

All of a sudden, fabric swatches and paint colors are pertinent.  Does that make me vapid?

I've learned that interior decor is directly influenced by the fashion industry.  I can't help but feel a little shallow poring over Vogue and Traditional Home.

Somewhere a long the line, Juvenal and Iambic pentameter began to mean less to me.

Does that make me less?

Does what you "do" define who you are and if so, do you want it to?

to the people who got me here

It was like putting on slippers, or slipping into you favorite sweater come winter.  An easy fit.

Some say you spend your whole life looking for friends.  What if you made them without trying?  What if it just happened and you were almost a spectator in your own life?

Sometimes it happens.  Maybe you are 5 and you are both thrown into kindergarten, away from your mothers for the first time, still sucking that thumb.  Maybe you are 18, away from home for the first time and scared to death.  Maybe you are 30 and have just had your first child.  You being plural.  You and this new friend.

Maybe you are both from catholic families.  Or maybe one of you scrambled across a border to begin a better life while the other one of you was living it.

I have known these.

I spent Friday night with old dear friends and saturday night with friends made during my adulthood.

I could not, would not change a moment in my friendship with any of these people.

You spend your first 18 years thrown into social situations.  To some degree your friends are already made.  If you are one of the lucky ones, you go to college.... and start to make friends on your own.  Afterwards, work should bring new friends.  Then children.

What a lucky girl am  I.....

My old shoes, my new shoes, they all fit.  I treasure the vintage finds and relish the new.

Here's to you:  Buck, Missy, Rebecca, Ceily, Nestor,  Lori, Susan, Liz V., Liz w., Dusty, Wendy, Rich, Leah, Tom, Pam, Winthrop, Candice, Bill, Tanya, Kristen, Bruno, Michele, Angie Jackson, Heather, Jennifer, Melissa, Lisa, Blaire, Jenny, Annelliott, Drewry, Jack, you countless others who have made me laugh, sing, dance and cry.  And most especially to Tim.

Life isn't what you think you have accomplished... its the people along the way who got you there.

Thank you.