Even tattoos aren’t permanent, you know.
People always warn you about getting that gnome on the inside of your wrist; that maybe you won’t want to be holding your grandchild someday and reminded of the night you took those awful shots and then thought it was a good idea to get inked. And that somehow you found the one tattoo artist who specializes in gnomes. Specializes. As if gnomes are special.
But what’s the big deal?
Things change.
Because I knew a guy who had a naked lady tattooed on his bicep. But then he met Jesus and, I’m not sure if it was Jesus who said something or the other people he knew who had also met Jesus, but he suddenly didn’t feel so comfortable with that poor lady, exposed for all the world to see like that.
So the next time I saw him, the tattoo was different. And although it wasn’t exactly Amish approved, a bikini was something, and all the unfortunate people in the world who were walking around with gnomes on their wrists suddenly felt some hope that they, too, could find some kind of redemption.
Although I’m not sure that putting a bikini on a gnome is the answer.
But see? Things change.
And you know what is just hilarious in all this mess?
I’ve never dealt so well with change.
Not when I was twelve and skinny with legs that were too long for the length of my jean shorts and went off to Chautaqua, New York for a summer dance intensive.
By. My. Self.
I remember the small wicker basket of plastic flowers that I picked out at my parents’ suggestion; something to make my dorm room in which I’d be staying a little more homey. But if you’re trying to make something homey, then it’s all too clear that you’re not at home.
You’re just not.
And that change hurt.
The kind of hurt that had me ducking into the bathroom for a good cry enough times to probably make my mom wonder if she should pick up some cranberry juice for my obvious bladder infection.
And then there was the change that happened every time one of my brothers moved out of the house. Like lemmings, they went until it was just me and my sister left on the second floor; they went until it was just me walking home from church late Sunday nights all alone, my brother Jonathan no longer making the trip across the yard with me.
And I’d sing a song from Les Miserables, On My Own, to the stars and I know, can you say dramatic?
But those changes?
Oh, they were sweet changes, by comparison. Changes that make me think of soft bunnies, dolphins swimming, and slippers that are fluffy and bright yellow and basically perfect.
I didn’t know about the changes that could make you realize that nothing on this earth, not even tattoos, is actually permanent. That you can bet your life on a few words, even nail them to your wall, painted on a piece of wood so all the world can see:
I will always go to sleep with your name in my prayers and you in my heart.
And then it’s the world’s best and worst joke.
And it’s old and timeless because you’ve heard the story before. You know about Arthur and Guinevere and then along comes Lancelot who sucked then and sucks now. Not to mention the way that Guinevere fell from grace in her own sucky manner too.* But it’s not like the kinds of betrayals that end relationships are original or anything. It’s not like Tiger Woods tried out something brand new.
But well, it’s new to me. It’s like life is a knock knock joke that I thought I knew. And I thought I’d laugh at the punch line again, just like all the other times, but I wasn’t prepared for knock knock, who’s there? nobody.
That was shocking.
And a big um, effing, change.
Can I say effing?
Or should I try to make it better with a bikini, just like that guy did after he met Jesus?
No, probably saying effing while wearing a bikini would not improve my situation.
But I guess I’m still reeling from the change. I guess going into our old place, seeing some good guys carry my piano from our old home to my parents’ home once again, was symbolic of this change.
And that’s why I was once again ducking away into a room for a good cry tonight. Only this time there was no little wicker basket with fake flowers, no attempt to make anything even feel more like home because why even try?
Things change.
At least they do here on earth; at least they have for me.
*I’m sorry, but I must point out how in just two sentences I used three different versions of the word suck. Somebody get me a gold star. An effing gold star.
I should hope that effing stands for fantastically, or faithfully, or some other such approved word. Oh well, I suppose after what you’re going through you’re allowed a few random effings and maybe even a stray sexy. But anything more would just be subhuman.
I hope the slipper reference was to the ones I bought you. Since I cannot end up in your tags by name with such close friends of yours like Guinevere, Arthur, and Tiger Woods, at least a mention of a gift is inscribed in these pixels.
yep. I figured I’d throw you a bone with the yellow slippers. It’s the least I could do since you’ve been there for me like once or maybe a thousand times lately.
And yes, subhuman.
I am definitely on the slippery slope to becoming subhuman.
Must. Walk. Carefully.
Huh I just realized that effing could not possibly stand for fantastically and faithfully because it’s eff-ing… not effly. So maybe it stands for friending or falling.
it stands for FUN, actually. I’ve had a lot of FUN recently.
Oh, let me rephrase that cause I didn’t quite catch your drift.
I’ve really been FUNNING around lately. What a hoot.
LOL@Jason! Change can be amazing boo! Effing is a great way around saying an amazing swear word! I know your friend is a sinner! LOVE YA!
ha! love ya too, JR!!! Misssssss you!!!!!
AAAHHHHAAAA!!!! I am so sorry…this blog is terribly sad with your piano and your life changing in ways you never ever wanted it too..but somehow I find myself cracking up at your “effing” blog!!!
‘cracking’ seems to be the word of the hour, huh, Mandy???? If I start failing to see any humor in life at all, then I think that is when I might as well just start reading vacuuming blogs and you can all just put me in some kind of communal home….:)
oh wait, Mandy–you probably had no idea what I was talking about! I thought you were another friend of mine named Mandy!!! You were probably like, When the heck did we talk about cracking?!?! But you can still put me in a communal home, if you want. Just keep feeding me candy and cookies, is all I ask…!
Hahaha. I appreciated the “cracking” thing, Jess.
i cried, sorry.
effing reminds me of some of the words i used when i read about your divorce, but they didn’t have bikinis on them, so to speak.
it’s just all so wrong that you should be treated so.
I know. It’s okay, I cry too. But there’s redemption somewhere on the other side of this mess. For all of us involved.
I am so sorry you had to move your piano, but so glad you have it again…does that make sense? Come to think of it, I guess it makes about as much sense as a lot of things do right now, huh? A lot of unforeseen, unpleasant, but necessary things that shouldn’t be happening are. I know saying this is probably hard for you to believe right now, but it won’t always be this way. And while you are waiting for the good changes you have people who truly love you and care about you to pray and walk with you through the changes you would rather do without. And even better than that, you have an amazingly tender and kind Abba who is carrying you through…but you don’t really need me to tell you that. Bless you, Jess.
yes, yes, yes, I will take that blessing and I appreciate it. So much.
Jess, during your cry the piano confided to me that its (his/her?) new place of dwelling is merely temporary. That, it knows, it will one day fairly soon be hoisted again onto the back of its strong truck friend and transported to wherever you, its most melodious friend, end up next. Faithful and true companion, that piano.
Well now, did the piano happen to mention to you where I put those lyrics I last had when I was with it????
who needs snow and foxes for magic? we apparently have talking pie-anos.
exactly!!
Prophetic Talking Pianos.
this just keeps getting better…
Now, if you only had a wardrobe…
But I do!
your blog… is now one of my favorite blogs.
girl…thank you…:)
You deserve a lot of effing gold stars–and as many “effings” as you need–after what you’ve been through and the grace with which you’ve handled it. I think of you all the time, Jess, and miss seeing you. Brighter things are certainly ahead!
dear anna, I miss seeing your pretty face and hearing your sweet, kind words…yes, better and brighter things for the future–I’ll agree to that…:)
I think you deserve to use as many “effings” as you want, as well as any other choice words you’d like to use. You’ve earned them. And an effing gold star.