…oh how time flies when you have a blog that you haven’t updated in Lord-only-knows-how-long! It’s 6:10am on a Tuesday morning and I have been awake–save for the one-hour-long nap I’d FORCED myself to take yesterday afternoon–for the past 37 hours…and yes, I’m still counting. To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m here right now…I haven’t blogged in so long. I obviously have something to say but it’s such a clusterfuck (I love that word) that it probably wouldn’t make sense to either of the two of you that may actually be reading this nonsense. But at least I can somewhat blame it on my lack of sleep. I surely wouldn’t want y’all to think that Zan’s slice of cheese (mmm, cheese…) has finally fallen off the cracker, huh? Yeah, you already do, I’m sure. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Refer to the title of my blog; letting friends and some “strangers” have a peep inside my head is rather cathartic, you know. Oh, and while I’m thinking about it, please ignore that previous reference to myself in which I referred to myself in the third person.
Totally random and apropos to absolutely nothing (that should be the title of this blog)…well, not really because the holidays are coming up soon…ahem…anyway, I will share with y’all a memory from Christmases of some years ago, when I was a little girl living with my widowed grandfather. My grandfather was a preacher with an interesting sense of humor, which, looking back, is a requirement when you are a 60-something year old man raising a toddler practically on your own. I have many good stories to tell about my upbringing with him, but I digress.
Okay. Do y’all remember those stuffed doves that used to adorn Christmas trees way back when? Let me see if I can find a picture…
Okay, this is very similar to the one my grandfather had, except his had these reddish-orange-rimmed eyes and it was a little bit bigger.
Scared the living crap out of me.
Every year, my grandfather would take that thing and put it on top of our Christmas tree, and every year, family members and friends would wonder why I wouldn’t voluntarily go within 10 feet of the tree and why I’d scream bloody murder if someone picked me up and carried me over to it. When I was finally old enough to voice my fear of the thing, my grandfather seemed to take pity on me and when it came time to decorate our tree, the bird stayed in the box of decorations while I eyed it warily as if it would come to life and attack me.
When I was about eight years old, our house caught afire and we had to move while repairs were being made. It turned out that the thing had survived the fire and followed us over to our temporary abode. I didn’t figure this out until one day my grandfather came out of the garage storage area with something held behind his back.
“Daddy,” I said sweetly, “what is that you have behind your back?”
He continued to approach me while smiling from ear to ear. Spoiled child that I was, I smiled also, thinking that he’d decided to surprise me with a new little trinket. I walked closer to him and he withdrew his right hand from behind his back, and in it was…the thing. *cue Psycho shower scene music*. What did I do? I ran. I’d thought that there was no way he, a 70-odd-year-old man, would give chase to a frightened 8-year-old who was very quick on her feet, but I was wrong. I looked behind me and he was close on my heels, laughing all the while. I screamed and cried because I could just feel those red eyes on me. Finally, he gave up and picked me up and put me on his lap and told me that it was about time I’d given up on such childish fears and that was his way of showing me that life sometimes throws curveballs and–unpleasant–surprises our way and that the last thing we should do is run from them.
…but 20 years later, I’m still scared of those birds.