To this day a little too emotionally invested in House, MD to be able to rewatch the episodes involving Cut-Throat Bitch’s death.
Lately my Mom’s been regaling me with stories of all the amazing people she knew growing up in Durham. Like Dr. Roll, the parapsychologist, who was a neighbor. Dr. Arena, who came up with the idea for Poison Control and child-proof safety caps (and got St. Joseph’s Aspirin to implement it.) Stories about seeing Buddy Hackett and James Coco hanging around the Duke campus because they were there to lose weight on the Rice Diet.
The impulse to tell all sorts of stories about my Dad, ones that I realize in the telling are almost tall tales, like that old SNL sketch about Bill Brasky.
An older black dude standing outside the train station was talking on his phone as I walked by. I heard him say: “Well, that’s right. You want to get them for littering, you take away all the trash cans.”
So I had occasion to meet up with old friends last weekend. And besides being tipsy and making a fool of myself, my one pal and I talked about academia and how I didn’t go that route (he did, and several other folks we know) and I expressed a measure of jealousy and how I felt I had wasted my life and gotten on the wrong path and here I was seeing these folks I know and they’re on the path. Not really even the path, they’ve actually got it made. And he said something really interesting about that.
He turned it around on me. He said, they’ve got it made, yeah, but what that really means is “they’ve got it all sewn up.” That’s the phrase he used. Sewn up.
And he made me see that I can keep sewing. I can embroider and I can add darts or let out the waist, I can let the hem down or I can take it in at the shoulders. It isn’t all sewn up for me. I’m so grateful for those moments when you spin the board around and all of a sudden you see the moves you could make, and not all the moves you can’t make.
Tomorrow I’ll be 30 and a half!