And what better way to be reminded of our impending death than pictures of the past? Better still: pictures of your dead parents. The photo above shows Mom and Dad on their wedding night in 1945. I learned later that he conned her into a fake wedding (while his divorce was proceeding) so she'd put out, and they later made it legal. He does seem pretty pleased to have pulled it off, doesn't he? Mom is too busy trying to keep that fruit salad on her head to worry about anything else.
This will be a regular 'feature' here at EF. And this weekend evoked DEATH, on numerous levels. But then most of my weekends do, that's just the special kind of life I lead. First, there was scarrrry Halloween: usually a favorite holiday, but I just wasn't feeling it this year. A lot of it has to do with employment worries, but I got a good word today on that front, so I can cross out one thing at least to be spooked about. I had dear, dear friends over for dinner on Saturday and it was a complete debacle and instead of just being a good little hostess and let it go unremarked - which I did, the evening of, more or less (and that's saying something, when a guest is so pissed they repeatedly piss all over your bathroom floor), felt the need to tell the parties what I REALLY thought on Monday. DEATH. I am the personification of esprit d'escalier, only with me, it is the retort on the staircase. Days go by and some stupid something that someone said and I responded to in a entirely benign fashion will bob back at me, like that turd that won't flush, DAYS later and then I will see their stupid remark in a new light, or just see it illuminated as the stupid remark it was or perceive it in the opposite way it was intended and I'm off, with this mad, internal jibber-jabbing. And now that I've quit drinking, it seems to be getting worse rather than better. Oh, peace, where can I find you? Yeah, yeah, I know: DEATH!