Image 01


You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

Archive for the ‘tellin secrets’ Category

consider the situation handled

Saturday, November 11th, 2017

I have a favorite dog.

I’m only writing that because I’ve confirmed over and over that Maida, Agnes and Dean can’t read by leaving secret messages on pieces of paper all over the house. They all say ‘if you can read this, please don’t eat this piece of paper’.

Spoiler: all paper gets eaten. (Like, honestly, all of it. I had to switch to lidded trash cans everywhere because the number of tissues that were just fully consumed cannot have been healthy.) So, the notes also got eaten. Ergo: the dogs can’t read.

(What’s that you say? Literally everyone knows dogs can’t read? My friend J-‘s bird sings and yells at wild animals who live outside her house, so, you know, animals. (This is where I shake my head like ‘you know what I mean’ instead of continuing to explain what is, let’s be honest, is a nonsensical point.))

I love Dean the most. I just DO. He also loves me the most, which might have something to do with it.

Agnes is pretty fond of Crockett (and he gave her two kongs the last time he put the dogs in their forts – the second kong belonged with Dean so Crockett also obviously has favorites). My college friend C- is also a big Agnes fan. Agnes might be the favorite of people who want their dogs to be DOGS, you know? She’s only 25 pounds, but she’s as close to a lab as you’ll get in this house.

Maida … oh, Maida. Maida is a disaster area who wants to go on walks but hates walking, who needs meds every eight hours, and who loves anyone who is willing to sit still long enough for her to climb up and settle down on a lap, back, chest … whatever. She’s not picky. (She is – she hates almost all men. In my life she’s not exposed to many new dudes, though, and the ones who’ve known her for awhile just sit still and try not to talk too loud when she’s around. There are maybe seven men she doesn’t bark at, so if you’re one of them, congrats!) Maida is the favorite of anyone who loves a good snuggle.

Deaner. Oh, my baby boy. He just thinks I’m the tits, and you cannot underestimate what that’s worth. He likes me, and it’s really nice to be reminded you’re likable sometimes. Plus, he loves adventures and cookies, and also the couch and walking around the same block we always walk around. He jumps at the door every time I get the leash, and climbs up on anything that’s available to climb on. He’s … ugh, he’s my favorite.

Do people with kids feel like this? If they do, they don’t write it down on the internet. Key diff between kids and dogs even I know – eventually kids CAN read! Imagine finding an old blog post where your mom says ‘eh Emma’s ok but her brother is just the BEST’. Right, parents do not do that.

I love them very much, all three of them. They’re my pack.

(But at heart, I might be a one dog kind of girl, and Deaner is my guy.)

and, let’s go again

Wednesday, November 8th, 2017

I know, ME with the yoga ALREADY. For someone who had never tried it eighteen months ago, I’m kind of a pain in the ass about it, right? “Oh, I can’t, I have yoga.” “Oh, I’m sorry I’m wearing tights and a very visible bra at a bar, I just came from yoga.” “In yoga today we peaked with baby caterpillar and my hip did this thing …” … etc.

BUT (c’mon, you knew this was going somewhere yoga positive).

There’s two things that have come up recently that are both like duh and also like woooooaaah.

The first is more of both duh and woah, and came from one of the teachers I see at least once a week and love as a teacher but am sort of overwhelmed by as a person.

– You don’t have to be the person you were ten years ago, ten months ago, ten days ago, or even ten minutes ago. –

Yes, duh. You don’t. But also, like, lean into that a little bit? Think if it were genuinely true. If you could be honest about how you change from moment to moment, and everyone around you would roll with it because they’d be doing it too. Am I overstating this? Am I the only one who spends a fair amount of my time doing my next thing because it’s my Emma thing, that everyone knows I will do? I’m not talking about going to work – I can’t *not* go to work, but more like … I don’t even know. Like, I don’t like it when strangers touch me, so I don’t really get massages or manicures and stuff. What if that’s not even true anymore, because it’s been so long since I tried and everyone knows I don’t do it? (I don’t want to try, because … I don’t like it when strangers touch me.) What if I don’t want to be a dog person anymore? (I DO.) You get the point, though. (If there is a point in here.)

The second is just a goofy thing that never occurred to me. When I was at a yoga retreat a little more than a month ago in Moab, it happened to be during the full moon. The instructor said something along the lines of never understanding why people use New Years to check in and course correct, when there’s a new moon and a full moon every .97 months.

!!! (This is not three exclamation point information but I don’t care, I really like it.)

I just find that very personally satisfying, the idea that you do what you can for ~four weeks, check in, see how it’s going, set new goals, and just keep it going. There will be many many fewer sweeping resolutions, this way, but maybe a higher overall status.

Or I’ll quit things a lot faster knowing I can pick them up again at the next full moon. But, you know, having a positive attitude is one of the things I’m working on this moon cycle. Also running and going to yoga when I say I will (so far: check), not putting off chores (check), and not crying in traffic (we all have stretch goals).

Learn something new every day, etc etc. I love yoga. And you guys, of course.


if you build it

Tuesday, November 7th, 2017

When I was a kid, my parents took us up to vacation in Breckenridge a couple of times. (Until Crockett and I got a condo in Breck, I thought the location of those childhood vacations had been Steamboat Springs for no apparent reason, but that’s neither here nor there.)

One of those vacations, we went to see Little Shop of Horrors at the Breck local theater.

I love that play so very much.

The man who played Seymour (main LSoH guy) also played Kevin Costner’s ghost dad in Field of Dreams. His name is Dwier Brown, and what he was doing in Breck, CO, is totally unclear – this would have been a little after the movie came out, so maybe he had some time to kill before his next things started? I have a program floating around that confirms it was him. He was great in the show, obviously, and afterwards my mom introduced me to him in the lobby and told him I wanted to be an actress.

He was super in real life too.

I was 12 or 13.

He asked me what I was doing as an actress (being a local yokel in the high school production of ‘Lil Abner, but I didn’t tell him that), what I wanted to do going forward (follow him to Hollywood, but I didn’t tell him that), and what my favorite play was (Little Shop of Horrors from that second and forever, but I didn’t tell him that – also, Grease). He verbally patted me on the head and wished me luck, and I left starstruck and convinced I’d missed my big chance. If I’d been clearer, more verbose, more like the woman I was inside (oh, 13 year old girls, I remember being us and man did that shit suck), he would have seen my potential. He would have introduced me to his agent! Adopted me! Married me! (Again – 13. Sucks.)

Anyway, I don’t know what he’s done since. It took  me a few years, but I realized that meeting a minor but hugely memorable movie actor doing local theater (as a favor? again, no idea) couldn’t have changed my life.

I still think of him every time someone references that movie, though, and man, he was a good guy. I just adore him for being so kind that a young woman *could* get so damn confused.  He’s made grown men all over the world cry for coming up on 30 years, and I will never forget meeting him. Dwier Brown is a pretty cool dude.

that one time I was psychic

Wednesday, November 1st, 2017

I had this fella when I was in college and for a couple of years afterwards. (I believe I potentially referred to him as Jumpsuit here previously, but let’s just go ahead and pretend this is a new grown-up woman’s blog (one where the blogger doesn’t give men she planned on marrying stupid ass nicknames – we’ll call him M-, like the mature adults we now are, right, guys?)). His name was M-, and I loved him and invested in him like WOAH.

Like, we lived in a house his parents owned, and my little brother and one of my best friends were our roommates. I managed at a liquor store his brother owned while I was waiting for pastry school to start. I had my car, and our dog was pretty definitively mine (luv u 4ever Clo), but if I’d walked away that’s basically all I would have had.

This ^ is unnecessary backstory, because at my most psychic moment, M- and I were doing super duper and my reliance on him and his family were very far from my mind.

It was Friday evening at the liquor store. We had these random busy times, and I hired my mom and dad to come in for a few hours and help me out to avoid having to do big real part time hires. Also because when it goes unchecked, nepotism is real and thriving. My mom had come at 4 and was supposed to leave at 6 when M- arrived from his full time engineering job, and then he and I would work the Friday night close together. At about 5:15, I started getting … twitchy? Nervous? Panicked? I tried to call him a couple of times, because for whatever reason it felt like he was very late.

Not late, guys. Wasn’t even supposed to be on the road yet when I made these calls.

Didn’t answer, didn’t answer, didn’t answer.

Cop answered.

M- had been in a car accident a few miles from the store. He’d left his other job early.

He was fine, but I drove my ass to where he was and to this day am pretty sure I was actually aware that something bad was happening to him.

On the morning of the eclipse, this year, I had the same feeling. Twitchy. Nervous. Panicky. Like someone was very late for something. I called my mom, my brother, texted my dad, I had eyes on Crockett – everyone was fine. No one later revealed that the morning had been a disaster in some way.

So, like. How reliable do psychic powers have to be? Is 50% good enough, like baseball, or do we have to write the first off as a fluke?

Also, I know you don’t believe me and that’s fine. I love you anyway. Welcome to NaBloPoMo.


Thursday, July 6th, 2017

Oh hai I got a new tattoo.

So did my mom – same thing, opposite arm.

Our reasons were manyfold (not a real word probably? But didn’t get spellchecked plus language is a constantly evolving medium and anything’s a word if you get enough children to clap while you say it.)

First, I wanted a tattoo. I was just feeling that itch. I wanted something major, and I also wanted something simple. I’m a big fan of words and I was ready to commit to ‘patience’ along my collarbone, but … things went a different direction. Obviously.

Second, my mom is going to be 70 in four years, and she’s going to be fully covered in tattoos by the time that happens (citation needed).

Third, she and I had actually discussed this after my grandfather passed away eight years ago, and then again after we lost my grandma, and somehow it just seemed like time. We had only two blurry pictures of what we wanted, but we took it to an artist I’ve used before and he squinted out his best interpretation.

Image-1 (2)

Here’s the deal as I understand it. (Grandma and Grandpa, if you’re fact checking from the afterlife then … I’m sorry but probably you should have told me the story yourselves instead of trusting the telephone game that is your twelve children to tell it for you.)

They got married when my Irish grandma was a mere babe (in more ways than one *wink* (ew)) and my grandpa was in the Air Force (or the US Army Air Forces, at the time, because there wasn’t an Air Force yet). He’d been stationed in Egypt and she went back with him after the wedding, and he bought her the necklace you see above from a dealer in Egypt named Maguid Sameda. I know this because I’ve got a terrible photo of the paperwork Sameda gave my grandfather on purchase. Here’s what it says, medium (it’s an old school form so some is printed and some is handwritten in a brutal script, I’ve transcribed it as well as possible):

I the undersigned, Maguid Sameda, guarantee that the necklace with the cat of goddess Isis sold by me to Mr L W P- (ed: L Wildman!) on 11 (September?) 1943 is Genuine.

The object is of the 16th Dynasty BC 1600.

Found at the (?) of the (?, ?) of queen (?), 1943, and was added to my collection of antiquities on 1943.

Interpretation of art or heliographic inscription

The cat represents Goddess Isis Goddess of love who is worshipped by the greeks as venus There is a great resemblance in Cat and a woman for that they made the Cat her sacred animal

This guarantee is given to ensure that the above described object can be examined at any of the world Museums.

No 1 Fouad Street, Maguid Sameda, Egyptian Museum License No 108

So, my original understanding of the story was that at some point our family had been like ‘heeeeeyyyy is this a real thing from 3600 years ago orrr…..?’ and shown it to someone, but I think we actually have just been trusting this paperwork. Which is not unreasonable, because it turns out that a huge amount of Egyptian antiquities that are currently totally legit have passed through Maguid Sameda’s hands. (Ex: this wacky statue and this codex, among many others.)

Crucially, also, this relief from the tomb of Akhtihotep.


So, the first word that I couldn’t identify above looked sort of like nelly. Or … belly. Rally? Then there was something about a table, maybe? Here:

the words

The first word starts with a … n? W? Does anyone see something I don’t? It’s DEFINITELY NOT TOMB, though, right?

I mean, here’s the thing.

If this came from the tomb of some queen …. probably I shouldn’t have tattooed it into my skin. I don’t believe in curses, per se, but also I 100% believe in curses. My family’s been ok, so far (although, gruesomely, husbands of daughters actually  don’t have the best survival rate now that I think of it?) but what if there’s something about ink that really kicks it into high gear?

Seriously, what’s that first word.

Also, I don’t know where the necklace is so please don’t report me to the Egyptian museum. If I ever inherit it, I’ll send it over immediately for a promise of a curse free existence. Promise.