John-isms

I constantly have random memories of John floating in and out of my mind. Some of them make me laugh. Just felt like sharing this one.

John loved to tease. And he especially loved to tease me because of the way I reacted to it. But everyone now and then, I zinged him back.

We were at a Shadow Lane party years ago. In this particular hotel, the elevators sat in an alcove off of the main hallway, and between the two facing banks of them, there were a couple of very comfortable chairs. One day when John and I were going to the elevator, we saw a member of our party sitting in one of those chairs, knitting. Why she chose to knit there, I don’t know, but whatever.

We said hello, and John said, “Are you making something for me?” She smiled and answered, “Sure! What would you like?”

Before he could answer, I popped in with, “Can you knit him a cock-warmer?” (pause) “Of course, you’ll need a lot more yarn.”

John was speechless. She didn’t even blink, just looked at me and asked, “What color?”

Ah, we were a fun group. 🙂

A spanking startle… and more

Yeah, I’m still here. Things are complicated and sad. But for once, I’m going to stay on topic. The weekends have been especially hard, so I’ve been taking up some of the time watching/streaming a lot of old movies… and I mean old. I recently watched “Nothing Sacred” from 1937, which contained a single bottom swat and a spanking threat. But it also contained a scene that would never, ever fly now. I’m curious what people will think of it.

I have to give spoilers, for context. This film is one of the genre known as “screwball comedies,” which had a lot of physical comedy, usually preposterous plots, and a little romance thrown in. Hotshot New York newspaper reporter Wally Cook (Fredric March) is desperate to redeem himself with the boss after a terrible reporting gaffe busts him to the obituary column. He finds a story about a young woman named Hazel Flagg (the sublimely funny Carole Lombard) who lives in a Podunk tiny town in Vermont and is dying of radium poisoning. Wally gets the bright idea of bringing Hazel to New York and making her final weeks spectacular, showing her the town, making her into an interest story that everyone will read. So he goes to her small town to offer this to her. She loves the idea of being able to get out of Podunk-ville and have some fun. There’s just one tiny little detail… she’s just seen her doctor, and he told her he was mistaken, that she’s not dying, she’s as healthy as a horse. But she keeps that detail to herself, and becomes the toast of New York, a cause célèbre, getting the key to the city and with people falling all over her, talking about how brave she is. And Wally falls in love with her. Hazel is ditzy as hell, but she’s endearing.

Cut to later in the film. Wally has asked her to marry him, and he’s also arranged for a team of specialists to come look at her, just in case they can come up with a cure. Uh oh. Hazel then has to confess that she’s not dying, and that this whole angle of human interest is a farce… and Wally realizes his career is going to be shot to hell. When his editor is through with him, he won’t be able to write a grocery list. Needless to say, he’s quite annoyed with her. And with the doctors about to arrive, he comes up with an idea to make her seem sick — get her hot and sweaty and her temperature elevated in a very short time. What follows is this scene.

Warning: This scene is absolutely NOT P.C. Not in the slightest. It could not be filmed in today’s climate. But remember — it was a different time. None of us were around in 1937 (no, not even me). This was considered broad physical comedy. And Ms. Lombard, despite her elegant look, was actually quite a good sport with a bawdy sense of humor and the mouth of a sailor, and she claimed this was one of her favorite films. Plus, look for that single bottom swat at the beginning.

Hey, at least she gave as good as she got!

In an earlier scene, before Hazel comes clean, she is feeling guilty about deceiving everyone, so she writes a suicide note and then goes to a pier to jump into the water and fake suicide (she has someone in a boat waiting for her to take her away). Which is played for laughs, since she can’t bring herself to do it, and keeps squinting, holding her nose, counting to three, etc. Meanwhile, Wally finds the note, thinks she’s serious and goes tearing off to the pier, sees her there, yells at her to stop, runs at her and tackles her… which knocks her off the pier and into the water. After he jumps in after her (and discovers that she’s just fine), he confesses he can’t swim… and she has to pull him to the ladder. When they’re back on the pier, he’s all bluster and male toppiness, saying she scared the heck out of everyone and he’ll spank her if she ever tries that again. (Never mind that he’s the one who knocked her into the water.)

That’s more like it, Freddie. More spanking, less punching.

Yeah, I’m twisted, but I can’t help it; this all made me giggle. Come on, admit it: “Say goodnight to Papa, now,” was sexy AF.

A side note: Fredric March was no stranger to suffering for his craft. In 1931’s “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” his Hyde makeup got more deranged as the film progressed, and by the end, it was so extreme that when they tried to remove it, it removed a bunch of his face as well — he was in the hospital for three weeks. Thankfully, he fully recovered. At least he got a Best Actor Academy Award out of it.

So, what do you think, kids? Is anyone willing to admit they liked this scene, even though it’s not PC to do so?

(By the way, if you hated it, that’s okay too. But I hope you didn’t. :-))

And now for something completely different

For those who have been with me for a long time, you know the story of John and peach roses. The first time he came to my place, he brought me a single long-stemmed peach rose. It was kind of a cute spanko double entendre, as bottoms are sometimes referred to as peaches, and a spanked backside often gets that rosy peach color. From that point on, I got peach roses on every occasion — birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day. With a couple of rare exceptions (like white roses when my father passed away), he never sent anything else.

I don’t have any tattoos. Neither did John. He admired them greatly on others for their art and personal expression, but he didn’t want one himself. Many years ago, I toyed with the idea of getting a salty one — a tiny pair of red lips and a small downward pointing arrow, positioned slightly over one butt cheek. (You can figure out the message in that.)

When I shared that idea with John, I’ll never forget his comment. (I know I’ve mentioned this before at some point.) “You really want that on you when you’re 70? the only thing I want on you when you’re 70 is me.” Okay, so I scrapped that idea.

Cut to the present. I am seriously thinking, at this ripe old age, of getting my first and only tattoo. To honor John, to have a reminder of him on me all the time, one I can readily see. A single peach rose.

I sent away for a temporary tattoo, just to get an idea of what it would look like. This is too small and too orange, but the gist of it is there. On my left inside arm, because I’m left-handed, and it’s the same side as my heart.

If I were to get the real thing, I would want something delicate and detailed like this, on a smaller scale:

Of course, I know absolutely zip about tats or where to get good ones or what to expect. If anyone has thoughts to share, please feel free.

I don’t think John would have minded this. And I can’t think of a better way to pay tribute to him in a personal way. ♥ Something to put on the to-do list when the dust settles.

Update

Another month already. I figured for the six or so of you who still look at this, I should probably post something. My days have been very busy, very stressful, but progress is being made.

I finally got the official executorship papers. And then lots of work began — calling about his bills, trying to chase down his bank accounts, cancelling this and that. And becoming responsible for a lot of back payments on things. Fortunately, I was able to close out his checking account and got money to pay for all this. I think the most reprehensible bill I got, 2 1/2 months after his passing, was a bill from the paramedics who picked him up and took him to the hospital. For $2414. Yeah, I know they have to get paid too, but really?

The house is sold. Done. After discovering how much work needed to be done on it, my realtor and I decided to sell it “as is” and market it more toward investors. We found one very quickly, had inspections, went back and forth with the price — turns out my realtor is a whiz at negotiations and she got them to split most of the costs of renovations with me. And then it happened. We closed escrow last Wednesday. Talk about feels. Relief, but also great sadness. John loved that house so much. And I grew to hate it. It broke my heart.

The condo is in the midst of renovations. Because everything there was cosmetic, we decided to put some $$ into it, really spiff it up, and then we can ask a higher selling price. Should be ready to put on the market in a couple of weeks or so. I hope so, anyway. I’m so tired of getting texts and emails every day about what else needs to be paid for. As I write this, I got a text from the handyman, who needs another $2500 for electrical work. (sigh)

I had a birthday. Friends did their very best to give me some joy. I got gifts, sweets, flowers, texts, emails. But it was still my first birthday in 27 years without John. I really can’t say it was happy. But I was grateful for everyone’s kindness.

I went to a local munch two weeks ago. This particular one is five minutes from my apartment, so there was no excuse. A couple of my friends showed up and I sat with them for a few hours, didn’t really mingle. But still, it got me out. And I put makeup on for the first time in three months.

My friend Mr. Woodland says I have an open invitation for a play date whenever I am ready. He says he owes me both my birthday spanking and his, since his birthday was a week after mine. I have been so distracted and overwhelmed with things to do that I don’t feel like I’d be able to fully relax and let go, but I am hoping that will change soon. I miss playing.

Oh, and I’m still working. Because I need to. Because it gives me some sense of being normal and not having my life thrown in a blender and switched to puree. I also got a flu shot and have an appointment for the latest Covid shot. I am practicing self-care to the best of my ability.

Onward. Hope everyone is hanging in there. ♥

September already?

Time flies, even when your life has been blown to smithereens.

But I’m not going to talk about probate, houses, condos, spending a ton of money, legal documents, the parade of contractors and repair people, and all the other crap my days are filled with lately.

This weekend I got to take a break. Friends came from out of town to visit me. I will be discreet and private about details; they know who they are.

I didn’t have to do a thing. They were simply here to be with me, as much as I needed. They got an AirBnB five minutes from my apartment, and all I had to do was drive between us. We went out for meals at places I love and that I thought they’d like (and they did), watched YouTube clips and a movie, talked, shared laughs and many hugs. Yes, I was able to laugh.

And… I played. One scene, but quite thorough. Hand, hairbrush, strap. I wasn’t sure how I’d react. I wasn’t sure how my tolerance would be after all this time. But that all melted away a couple of minutes into it. I trusted him, felt his compassion, and I let go and cried.

Oh, damn, I’ve missed that. I didn’t realize just how much.

Last week would have been John’s and my 27th anniversary. You all know the significance of peach roses with us… he gave them to me for every occasion. It was our personal signature flower.

So imagine my shock, delight, and tears when my friends showed up with a bouquet of peach and white roses for me.

I am not fishing for compliments here, just being honest. I don’t care for this picture. I look at it and see a smile that doesn’t radiate in my eyes, which are swollen. But I’m posting it anyway, because the flowers are so gorgeous. And I’m so grateful.

Tough times ahead. My birthday. His birthday right after that. The holidays. And so, so much work with his estate. But at least for a couple of days, I got to have a break. I got to play, I got to laugh, I got to be hugged. And I didn’t have to travel for it or do much of anything… which is good, because I just don’t have it in me to put out much effort right now.

It’s good to have friends. ♥ Also, it’s good to know that this thing I love so much still works for me. Now, I just need to find a local trusted play partner.

Almost two months…

Fortunately, even when everything sucks, time does fly.

It’s been quite the odyssey. Still waiting for my executorship to be granted. My probate attorney has a hearing with the courts a week from Wednesday. If all goes well, I should get the official papers in early September. After that, I can list John’s properties. In the meantime, I’ve been trying to get repairs done.

I thought John took good care of his house. He cleaned and vacuumed every week. He swept all the leaves off the decks, had the front deck rebuilt, repainted the balcony. He treated the flowering bushes up front with Miracle Gro. At first glance, the house looked neat and tidy. However… hidden within were various disasters.

There was a leak in the roof, which came through to the dining room ceiling. And within that portion of the ceiling and wall, there was mold. The automatic garage door opener was broken. The water main out front needed to be replaced. The back gate won’t latch. The AC stopped working.

Then there was the matter of his ongoing bills. I cancelled the cell phone, the cable, and the natural gas. I need to keep water and power going. Also internet, because without Wi-Fi in John’s house, there is absolutely no phone reception. And every individual company has their own way of dealing with closing out/transferring accounts. There have been a lot of phone calls, meetings in person, and sitting on hold.

So. This week, a portion of the wall and ceiling were cut out, and all the mold was cleaned out and everything was scrubbed down. Today, the mold inspector is returning to retest and give us the all clear (I hope!). On Monday, the roofer is coming to patch up the roof and replace a vent. When he first went up there to look, he said, “This roof is really old and needs to be replaced.” Yeah, that’s not an option.

Oh, and the mold guy told me that, along with the mold, they found rat droppings up there. So I have to call an exterminator. Also, the mold guy was just for remediation; his company doesn’t do restoration. I have to schedule a contractor to come in and restore the wall and ceiling. The good news (if you can call it that) is that the mold wasn’t widespread; it was concentrated in a relatively small area.

John’s former brother-in-law (he is divorced from one of the witch sisters) is a retired handyman. He replaced the water main and didn’t charge me. ♥ I’m going to have him replace the garage door opener and fix the fence (and I will pay him for those). I also had a tech come fix the AC. Fortunately, despite it being a very old unit, it was still repairable.

And then, after all these repairs are done, I’m having an estate guy come in to clean out the house completely. If there is anything that’s worth selling, he’ll add it to one of his estate sales. We determined that because of the remote location of John’s house, the lack of parking, etc., there’s no way people would come to an estate sale there. So he’ll donate/junk/sell things after he takes them out of the house. Whatever he sells, I get 65%.

I won’t be gauche enough to quote all the money that these things have been costing and will continue to cost. Suffice it to say that things were scary for a while. I couldn’t get to John’s bank accounts for nearly two months, and I had to borrow money from an emergency savings account I have.

HOWEVER — finally, some relief. After the bureaucratic merry-go-round with various forms and affidavits and notaries and so on and on, John’s three accounts at B of A were closed out, and this morning via UPS, I received three cashier’s checks. Now I can replenish my emergency fund, pay for all the upcoming repairs, and draw a proper breath.

And we haven’t even gone to John’s condo yet… but that can wait. His 20-year-old, manual transmission Toyota Tacoma truck is sitting there in the parking space, and I can’t find the pink slip for it, so once I get the executor papers, I can apply for a replacement slip. And then I think I’m just going to donate it.

As for the house, my realtor and I determined that because everything is so old and dated, we’re going to list it as is, once the repairs are done and everything is cleaned. It will be a fixer upper, but someone will want it. It’s a very popular area. Plus, there is zero parking up in that freaking canyon, and John has a two-car attached garage, which is considered golden.

I’ve been so consumed with all this, I’ve barely had time to grieve. But every day, in a quiet moment, it hits me.

I have not socialized, aside from one dinner with a friend and coffee with another. As it happens, the local spanking munch group is having a play party/barbecue tomorrow and invited me, which I appreciated greatly. But I had to say no. I am not ready for anything like that now. I wouldn’t be any fun and I’d just bring others down. Regarding play… every now and then, I do crave it. Eventually, I think I’d like to find another play partner, just to have the stress release now and then, scratch that itch. But I think my big party days are behind me. I think they were anyway, even before any of this happened.

And that, my friends, is what’s going on. Some people will likely find what I’m about to say offensive, but I’ll bet a whole lot more will totally get it. And FFS, with all I’ve been through, I’m allowed a little gallows humor.

If you are in a loving relationship for life, besides telling you to treasure your mate every day, I just have one piece of advice.

Be the first one to die. Because the alternative is a living hell.