D Selby Designs

Just got a quick e-mail from Jeff. They had a great trip and didn’t fly with the TB guy, so that’s good. Can’t wait to see all the lovely pictures.

I had a required TB test each year I taught in public school, and my arm swelled bigger and bigger each time. I finally skipped the test, did not collect two hundred dollars, and went directly to the x-ray machine. They wanted to give me a long course of pills to prevent my positive reaction, but my internist, good ole Dr. Rankin, said avoidance of the test was sufficient to prevent a positive reaction! The course of pills had been responsible for several deaths. I had a lung infection as a youngster and that is what causes the reaction.

When we lived in Wales, Zach flew to the US by himself once and upon his return, Gatwick officials quarantined him in a little office until I personally took responsibility to see that his injections were up to date. Sure, I could have left him to the government to raise, but he hadn’t gotten surly by that time. His injections were so up to date that they exceeded Britain’s requirement, so I think we were being jerked around. DWA–driving while American. Anyway, at the clinic where he got his clean slate reinstated, they urged me to let them vaccinate him for TB since so many people were (and are still) traveling to Asia. Sounded like a good idea to me. Two months later, when the spot was still sore and oozing, Zach was royally ticked at me.

Took Mom with me to Louisville today on a Workroom run. I had lots of work orders to go over with the magic curtains lady and thought Mom would enjoy a break from mind-numbing daytime television. I made a commitment to not say, “Yeah, you already told me that,” because I realized that she doesn’t say things to entertain or enlighten a listener. She simply has an overwhelming need to vocalize every thought that runs through her mind, even though some of the thoughts are 80-yr old reruns. She didn’t take a breath between Lex and Lu-vul, and really seemed to enjoy observing the workings of the Workroom. The ladies there are so nice, and were very patient with her.

On the way home, we had a late lunch at Claudia Sanders’ Dinner House, a restaurant in Simpsonville started by the Sanders after Harlan sold the KY Fried Chicken chain in the late sixties. I remember going there when Carey was a toddler. The Colonel was walking his dog between the house and the restaurant, and patted Carey on her curly blond head. Maybe he thought she was his pup. He was wearing the full regalia–white suit with black string tie, and carrying a walking stick.

Back on the road after lunch, Mom was a bit more pensive and selective with her words. Just when I think I’ve heard it all, she pops out with a gem. Right after she (age 18) and Dad (age 26) were married, he hopped a train to Michigan where he had a big-band gig, and she went back home to her parents’ house. A month later, she joined him in Michigan and immediately became pregnant with my brother. Okay, this I knew. Then she said that after two months, they came back to Ashland and moved into a tiny bedroom at his mother’s house. The telephone was on the landing right outside their door, so she heard his mother negotiating rent with some prospective boarder–for the room they had moved into! This cracked me up, because my paternal grandmother was a character like no other.

That night, Mom moved back in with her parents. Dad had a job in Huntington, and he would sleep in the attic at his mother’s house, and visit Mom every other day or so. Don’t get me started on my dad. Let’s just say, the acorn didn’t fall far from the oak.

In my life at this time are four women with husbands who are physically–and mentally–failing. My heart goes out to them as much as to their spouses. Dealing with a man who used to be powerful and in control (’control freak’ would not be an inappropriate term) and is now a shell of his former self, is hellish. I just told my sister that I wouldn’t trade Greg’s health for an Italian mansion on Lake Como, even if it came with hired help and a hot masseur, and I mean it.

All the petty little material things, even the not-so-little, become entirely inconsequential when health is gone. I’m not even all that worked up about saving for retirement. Blasphemy, you say? Nah. Give me a heavenly day now while Greg and I are still cognizant, rather than a future with a limitless supply of Depends, my friend.

Let’s say you’re playing Monopoly and you have hotels on Park Place. After you win, it all goes back in the box. Life’s a moment. Grab it.

Finally, a break in the grindstone rotation. Greg and I went to an afternoon showing of the new Pirates movie–what fun! Sure, the dialog’s not as wink-wink-clever as the first, but other than the extensive fight sequence at the end, I stayed tuned for the whole of the show. Then when watching credits, I saw that the assistant sound director was Dee Selby. Well, there you are, then. What more could you want? Just be sure and stay ’til the end of the credits.

We chose the afternoon showtime to be out of the house during the hottest hours of the afternoon. Our air conditioner is puny, and we can’t get a service person until Tuesday. Happy Hot Holiday. I’ve been hard at work on a client’s new house, not only doing the drapes but helping her with rug selection. She is very loyal to good service. The store with the best informed and most helpful sales person got the entire job. It’s so rare these days to find someone who provides pleasant customer service and knows her business and product. Shout out: Laura at Carpet Works in Southland.

Talked to Georgene Kujawa yesterday, and Jennie is engaged and living in Chattanooga. That’s what I get for not keeping in touch. Wedding in October.

Zach starts his new job with the Caribbean travel agency on Tuesday morning. He’s planning a trip to Africa for September, but may have problems getting the time off considering he’ll have only 3 months under his belt. Maybe it can be work related!

Sally and Jeff Rogers are in Italy as I type. Wonder if they have any good food over there? Happy thoughts to the young lovers.

I took Mom to visitation on Monday night and to Uncle John’s funeral yesterday in Ashland. He had just celebrated his 93rd birthday with his family, and stated to his kids that he was more than ready to go. It had to be hard for a tough guy, who’d always been a fighter, to shrink into a puny incontinent invalid. His wife Sally is a 4-insulin-shots-a-day diabetic, and has survived 16 years longer than most patients with her condition. She is 85. Was it pure determination to outlive him?!

We aren’t all born to the most loving of fathers, but I thank God that He is more loving than we can imagine. One of these days . . .

How time flies when you’re making money! I’ve been working on the biggest job of my short career in drapery design, and it has been a delight, as has the client. But so many details! I’ve changed the contracts so often, I’m now just running a tab as we giddily choose fabrics, trims, applications, hardware, rugs. I’ve never worked quite like this, but we’re having fun. So many times, clients like to make me their whipping post so it’s nice to be appreciated.

This was a most excellent Mother’s Day. It started out with a coffee shop training session at church. I’ve been needing to volunteer in some capacity, and this is a Starbuck’s product operation with a hefty espresso machine, so count me in! Carey sent the cutest red lipstick tube–no, wait, it downloads music from the computer and has earphones, so it must be Ipod-ish. All I know is, it fits nicely in my cleavage and I shall be taking it to the gym–which I re-joined this week. When I went to LAC to check out the renovations prior to signing up again, the kid (I declare, the sales agents must still be in middle school) asked how long it had been since I’d been there, and I said, “Ten pounds ago!”

Zach came over with groceries today and fixed a delicious Sunday dinner of salmon cooked in parchment paper with couscous, onions, parsley, lemon slices, and artichoke hearts. He even grilled asparagus and tied up the little bundles with grilled scallions. Who knew?

While dinner was cooking, I whipped Mom at Scrabble. In the after-dinner game, I beat her by only 5 points. Hey, she may be 87, but she’s a real competitor.

I received two e-mails this morning. One made me laugh so hard, I cried–and I’m posting it here. The other made me cry so hard, I laughed–knowing that God, The Great Author, will put an eternally happy ending on my friend’s sad but heroic battle with the vile disease, cancer.

She is the bravest of the brave, a walking definition of ‘dignity’. There could be no one facing this challenge who has fought harder, or maintained a more positive attitude. All through this battle, she and her husband have trusted and believed and never let go of the hope that God would heal her during her walk on this earth, so she is taking the latest negative report to Italy so she can drop it in the canals of Venice. The couple are celebrating their 20th anniversary this month with a trip they’ve always dreamed of. Join me in sending Bon Voyage prayers their way. Here is the quote at the end of the e-mail that so moved me:

You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength. -Marcus Aurelius

This next bit is so evocative of Carey and our first cat, Gandalf. He would walk around patiently on his front paws as Toddler Carey lifted him by his tail. Here’s the Chapstick story. I hope you laugh, too. The art is a composition of a photo I took of Mocha superimposed on an altered background. I call it, “I Love the Smell of Chapstick in the Morning.”

So, we had this great 10 year old cat named Jack who just recently died. Jack was a great cat and the kids would carry him around and sit on him and nothing ever bothered him. He used to hang out and nap all day long on this mat in our bathroom.

We have 3 kids and at the time of this story they were 4 years old, 3 years old and 1 year old. The middle one is Eli. Eli really loves Chapstick. LOVES it. He kept asking to use my Chapstick and then losing it. So finally one day I showed him where in the bathroom I keep my Chapstick and how he could use it whenever he wanted to but he needed to put it right back in the drawer when he was done.

Last year on Mother’s Day, we were having the typical rush around and try to get ready for Church with everyone crying and carrying on. My two boys are fighting over the toy in the cereal box. I am trying to nurse my little one at the same time I am putting on my make-up. Everything is a mess and everyone has long forgotten that this is a wonderful day to honor me and the amazing job that is motherhood.

We finally have the older one and and the baby loaded in the car and I am looking for Eli. I have searched everywhere and I finally round the corner to go into the bathroom. And there is Eli. He is applying my Chapstick very carefully to Jack’s . . . rear end. Eli looks right into my eyes and says “chapped.” Now if you have a cat, you know that he is right–their little butts do look pretty chapped. And, frankly, Jack didn’t seem to mind.

So, the only question to really ask at that point was whether it was the FIRST time Eli had done that to the cat’s behind or the hundredth! And THAT is my favorite Mother’s Day moment ever because it reminds us that no matter how hard we try to civilize these glorious little creatures, there will always be that day when you realize they’ve been using your Chapstick on the cat’s butt !!!

I had the best walk this morning–sunny, bright, and cool. The weather, not me. As I rounded the corner for the last third of my route, a family of blackbirds took exception to my presence and dive-bombed my head for 1/2 block. Hitchcock shrugged. I, on the other hand, ran along the curb fanning my arms over my head and screeching. I’ve got to get Mocha used to a halter leash, so he can walk with me.

I was pumped from my walk, so while the teakettle was doing its thing, I slung my leg up on the back of a kitchen chair for a stretch. My trainer got stuck in the back of the chair and we tumbled. Another chair flipped over in sympathy, and I almost pulled the table over on myself. I lay there thinking, ‘what’s broken, and how long will Greg be gone?’ Mocha and I decided I could get up, and that I was fine, just rattled. And that his bowl needed filling. I blame my 11th year, when I grew 5 inches. I’ve never recovered my center of balance.

Here’s my latest Photoshop creation. It only took donkey’s years. I WILL get faster!

Could any jockey have been more ebullient than Calvin Borel? Congratulations! More congratulations are in order: Edgar Prado rode a fine last-Derby. Happy retirement, this summer. And the Queen looked lovely in her watermelon green-and-poppy ensemble. I didn’t plant flowers, after all. The rain that kissed Churchill Downs sent its ugly stepsister to Lexington with buckets. Greg mulched all day, and I worked on a client’s job. There are SO many details–fabric, style, lining, inner lining, trim, pin set, returns, hems, and don’t get me started on hardware!

Tomorrow, I plan to enjoy this KY spring after a neighborhood ‘do’. Our next door neighbor had to put down his 16-yr old blind and diabetic dog , so we’ll be attending a memorial service by the creek that runs through both backyards. Hello, Paducah. I baked cookies for after.

Oh! I almost forgot, though it will surely be a big part of my dreams tonight. While I was cooking dinner, Mocha the cat came in and kept rubbing around my legs. That is not the big deal. The big deal was that I stepped on something suspiciously slimy and when I saw it, I nearly jumped up to the beams that go across our kitchen ceiling. I screamed for Greg (the thought, ‘in-tes-tynes’ from Waking Ned Devine came to mind), and he took his sweet time coming in. Mocha had carried in a frog from the creek. Well, most of a frog.

If I’d thought of it sooner, I’d have driven to Bluegrass Field this afternoon with my teapot commemorating her 50th year on the throne, and my mug noting her 80th birthday and waved them at Queen Elizabeth. The real one, not Helen Mirren. Though Helen Mirren might find my small collection more amusing.

Here’s a true story. When we moved from Wales to Newburgh, IN (real town slogan: “Come to Newburgh, Where You Can Be Somebody”; I’m not making that up) our friend, Dennis Shaffner, came for a housewarming visit. We hit the local antique shops and I found an overpriced mug bearing the likenesses of Prince Charles and his first bride. “Ten dollars?!” I laughed. That night, Diana died. Something tells me the price on that mug skyrocketed. I don’t regret passing on the mug. It was tacky, whereas my fine china (though not Royal Doulton) with hand-painted periwinkles is quite lovely. Tea, Elizabeth?

Derby plans: I shall put on my garden hat and plant flowers–if the rain abates. Sink-O De Might.