Lazy Sunday

It all started with Rob Lowe.

Well, that isn't exactly true. It started with peacocks. A picture of a peacock, actually. A picture of the peacock that tried to attack me in Taos. The picture is on my refrigerator, and I was adjusting it while on the phone with my sister. I was having trouble due to all the magnets and what-not on my refrigerator.

"I think I have too much shit on my refrigerator," I said to Jenny.
"I can't even see it, and I know that's true," she replied.

She was right, of course. I treat my refrigerator like a giant cork board, with tons of magnets and pictures and postcards. It's like a scrapbook you can look at everyday, without the worry of buying acid-free paper, special scissors and fancy doo-dads.

Here it is in all its glory:



Here's the top:



And here's the bottom:



It's a lot. I know. There are some who would love it. I have a friend whose refrigerator is so covered, I don't even know what color it is. And there are some that would just gasp in horror. Chris' ex-roommate was one such person. He considered any magnet on the refrigerator to be "low class." Because when I think of the epicenter of class, I think this boy's hometown of Aynor, S.C.

But, like I said, it's a huge scrapbook. There are magnets from all the states I've been to. The Atlanta skyline magnet I bought at the airport the first time I went back home after moving to Florida. The postcard Chris sent me from Paris, and the one Mat (just one "t") sent me from London. The picture of me and Jenny and the one of me and my girls! The magnet to remind me to feel my girls. The banner I stole from O'Shea's on St. Patrick's Day, and the Steelers flag I stole from some bar in Coca Beach (your keys can work as well as a knife in cutting those things free in a hurry...) All my Beatles magnets. And my hotties! Sting! Ryan Reynolds... you just want to rub that belly like he's Buddha. And both the George's. Bob Barker! And the peacock that tried to attack me, with it's tail all spread out.

And then, in this week's Entertainment Weekly was this picture. I knew I had to somehow add it to the mix.



You see, it did all start with Rob Lowe. Way back when, I got a subscription to 16 magazine. Not to be confused with Seventeen, 16 was full of pull-out posters of all the hotties. And all the hotties were in The Outsiders. My closet doors were covered in posters of Rob, Tommy Howell, Emilio Estevez, Matt Dillon and Ralph Macchio. Oh, and Tom Cruise. (This was way before he was so creepy.)

So, to get Rob up, some things have to go. I took every thing off:



Blah! How boring!!! And EWWWW! How dirty!!! OK, so first a good scrub (each magnet got a wipe with my counter wipes, too). Here they all are in a stack.



Oh crap!!! There are more on the side!!



OK, now here they all are. It's not so many. Is it?



I know. Not all of them will go back up...I started placing things with a bit more restraint. Although somethings most definitely stay. I cut back on the states, now only using the three that mean the most, New York, Georgia and Florida. I said good-bye to the St. Patrick's Day banner, and the second picture of Ryan. The Sting and I will go in a frame. And there is no more fun with Dick and Jane (I think I want to white out the "e's" on those and send them to Dick and Jan...). And so, here is the result. Still fun, but not as cluttered.







Maybe next Sunday, I'll tackle the inside.

And, because I like to whistle while I work, here is the "Rob Lowe's still got it" playlist!

Taxman The Beatles
Just a Friend Bizz Markie (this was one of our sorority songs...except we sang "You! You got what I need. Too bad you're just a TKE. Too bad you're just a TKE.")
Sweet Dreams Patsy Cline
Take Me to Heart Quarterflash ("I'm the chill that never left your spine.")
Love is a Battlefield Pat Benatar ("We are young....")
Push Sarah McLaughlin
Unfinished Barenaked Ladies
Ain't No Other Man Christina Aguillera
Let Love be Your Energy Robbie Williams
Summertime Barenaked Ladies
Surrendering Alanis Morissette
Money Can't Buy It Annie Lennox
Every Woman in the World Air Supply (not embarrassed at all!!!)
Home Sweet Home Motley Crue (Although Vince Neil should be with all that botox!)
Joy in Repetition Prince ("Four-letter words are seldom heard with such dignity and bite.")
All my Loving Paul McCartney (Live, from the tour I saw in the ATL with Kara!)
Ruby Tuesday NOT the Rolling Stones (I wish I knew who did this cover. It was on a mix sent by a friend, and he didn't list the songs.)
Way Out Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Girlfriend Matthew Sweet (Also someone I saw in concert in the ATL with Kara!)
Leather & Lace Stevie Nicks and Don Henley
Jerome Barenaked Ladies (Kevin wrote this song. He told me about it when we chatted.)
Cry Little Sister Sisters of Mercy (From The Lost Boys. RIP Corey. OH, he had a Rob Lowe poster too!!!)
The Sun Always Shines on TV A-ha

Musings on Margaret

When people talk about their grandmothers, they tell stories of little old ladies who don't do much or are even in homes, saying, "well, she is 80."

I've never thought of my grandmother, Margaret, as old, even when she was 80 (she's 88 now). I actually think she's pretty fabulous. And, if Betty White's appearance on Saturday Night Live shows us anything, it's that 88 might just be the next.... well, at least 75.

Margaret has been on her own for 20 years. My Grandfather, Jack, died from pancreatic cancer when I was a senior in high school. I say "on her own," but that's not really true. She's been surrounded by groups of friends ever since. She's gone on cruises, and is always out, playing cards, going to lunch or the movies. It's rare to actually find her at home if you call. Margaret has shit to do.

I have been thinking about my gram a lot lately, remembering things and smiling at her fabulosity.

Crescent rolls. When we were little, our parents went to Europe, so Jenny and I stayed with our grandparents. Every morning, there would be the pop of the can, and then the smell of Pillsbury Crescent Rolls. That smell always reminds me of her.

So does sandalwood. Grandma had this owl incense burner, and I would always ask her to light a cone of incense. I don't know why I was so obsessed with it, but she would always light one for me. A couple years ago, she gave me the owl incense burner. I have it in my living room (And, of course, sandalwood cones).

Margaret likes hair to be neat. She is forever saying she wishes people's hair was neat. (I think I get that from her, because I'm forever looking at people's hair and rolling my eyes.) I can only imagine what she thinks of the unruly mop on the top of my head. She probably rolls her eyes behind my back. That's okay, Gram. I roll mine right at my reflection.

She loves to play games. Scrabble, pinnacle, rummy, Monopoly. And she's cut throat at it. She plays to win, my Grandma, and she doesn't care if you are her loving granddaughter. If you don't have the money to pay the rent on her Boardwalk, she will laugh and say, "Give up??" She's in our football pool, and not this past season (which I won, thank you very much), but I believe the season before, she won. She didn't just win. She kicked our asses from the beginning of the season on. And just try to keep her away from a slot machine.

She also loves her vodka martinis. On the rocks. With olives. Stirred with a small, white, plastic spoon. She brings her own olives when she visits, because when she buys a jar, she drains out the brine and fills the jar with water, to cut down on the salt.

When I call her, or when she sees me, she stops herself before saying my name. There is always that little pause where she wants to call me "Shelly," like they did when I was little, but knows I go by Michelle, now. Sometimes, she stops herself mid-name, so she ends up calling me "Shmichelle." Again, that's okay, Gram. You can call me anything you want.

And, she can be brutally honest. We were in Vegas (again, just try to keep her away from the slots) for my cousin's wedding. In August. She made a comment on the heat and it being August. I said, "Don't worry, Grandma. If I get married, I promise not to do it in Vegas in August." Her reply, "Well you'd better get a move on, I'm not getting any younger." Ouch. I blew that part off and said, "What are you talking about? You have 20 more years before Willard Scott will even think of saying your name on the Today show."

Unfortunately, though, that might not happen. You see, we found out that Margaret is sick. Although she has not smoked in more than 30-some years, she has lung cancer. We're all remaining positive, though, and sending out good thoughts and prayers her way, because she's a strong lady and we all love her so much.

I've been afraid to call her. Afraid that as soon as I heard her voice, I would start crying, and I didn't want her to be upset. But today, I took a deep breath and pressed SEND on her number, so I could wish her a happy Mother's Day. And when she answered, and I heard her voice over the din of her TV, I just smiled and said, "Hi Grandma." And there was the familiar pause before she said my name. She'd just got home from Mass and brunch with her friends, and was waiting for Sharon and Joe to come over for dinner. She sounded just like Margaret, strong and sure, and busy with plans.

I told you, my Grandma has shit to do.

UPDATE: Today is March 7, 2011, and Margaret is 89. HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA!!!! Her treatments are going well, doing their job and keeping her cancer at bay. She's a little tired, and now a bit short of breath, which she is getting checked out today. I called her this morning to wish her a happy birthday. She sounded a bit scratchy, but said she was doing OK. If it means we get to celebrate 90 next year, I'll take OK every day.