Wherefore art thou, Romeo?

For about two minutes I was behind this cute little white doggie trodding up the street until it finally got home, tumbling into the front yard. But as I walked past the yard I discovered the cute little white doggie was actually a plastic bag blowing in the wind. I think I might need glasses. 

Oh Banksy, you clever devil. Did you mean for ‘Girl With Balloon’ to be worth more when it self destruct? You realize only in death will it actually become your pièce de résistance. We must all die first to be recognized as masters of our craft. The more horrible the death, the bigger we become. It is why I’ve instructed all those who own any of my drawing to violate my corpse immediately upon my death to increase the worth of my art. 

There is a Russian born artist named Alexander Volkov. His brilliant paintings  remind me of my childhood, the parts I chose to remember that is: trees, winter landscapes, cold, flowers, green lawn, sunsets, rivers, creeks, autumn, innocence, pioneering, peaceful. 

“There’s no place like home, Dorothy”

Especially when it comes to men.

Can you ever go home again? 

All the boys I dated in my youth looked like a young Aaron Eckhart. Even my 7th grade art teacher who I was madly in lust with looked like Jack in the movie ‘While You Were Sleeping’. So naturally when I moved to San Francisco at the tender age of 20, I fell hopelessly madly in love with a man ten years my senior who is half French/half Native American. 

You never forget your first love. Your first heartbreak. It destroys you a little. Shapes you. Even now an old woman almost 50 years old, I still pine for my first love, indirectly.

He’s everywhere 

And nowhere 

Like a dream. 

I’m a huge fan of Mathew Macfadyen. ‘Pride & Prejudice’ is still one of my favorite films since it’s release in 2005. Macfadyen’s version of Mr Darcy would have been on my walls as a teenage girl. You can see Macfadyen in ‘Ripper Street’ now on Netflix. Brilliant series. And Macfadyen even played a Musketeer. I have the DVD. All women want a hero. Mine are swordsmen and hopeless romantics from eras long past. Long gone.

Next Thursday I fly into Los Angeles for the day. I wish I didn’t have to. My affections for LA have severely cooled. Not that I’m in love with Las Vegas, it’s just, I’m not that person from Los Angeles, anymore. I’ve shed that skin. 

Phil, a lifelong childhood friend, the boy who lived across the street from me, our parents were friends before we were born, recently text me a photo of my old house. It’s weird for me knowing there’s now a stranger sleeping in my old bedroom.

I’m going home to MN in the spring. I’ll visit my dad’s final resting place, and Rick’s, see my old friends, and feel sad when I leave them all. Again.

I miss my dad. His birthday is on the 25th. Dad was a Scorpio. I’m a Capricorn. And as different as dad and I were, we were also very much alike. Wandering. Aimless. Searching. 

In five years I can move into senior housing. It’s strange being this old. Not awkward. Just strange.