And So It Begins

I Will Not Tease The BoysAnother school year began this week. There are sounds of school buses outside my window, children at the bus stop out front, piles of papers to be signed and returned, $15 notebooks that will be destroyed in a month, the smell of new textbooks in the house, and all the ambiance of another summer left behind.

And of course, there is the usual plethora of issues to be worked out.

First up, Kayla’s much beloved high school principal retired at the end of last school year. He will be sorely missed by every person with whom I’ve spoken. Replacing him will be Dr. Doom (as she is (un)affectionately monikered), formerly the principal at James’ middle school.

I’ve always liked Dr. Doom. She seems friendly but stern (as a principal should), intelligent, and capable. I was delighted for her when I had heard she received her doctorate a year or two ago.

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Sunshine Behind The Trashcan

It's Too Soon, by Face It @ FlickrIt’s 11:30 on a Sunday night. I’m just catching up on a few blogs, and then I’m going to get ready for bed. My wife and daughter are in the living room veggin’ in front of the idiot box, the dog is laying in my spot on the bed all calm and peaceful for the first time in hours, and my son and his best friend are in the back yard in a tent. It’s summer time, so no school, I’m cool.

My wife sticks her head in the bedroom door and tells me there’s sunshine in the front yard behind the trashcan.

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The Moment For Which You’ve All Been Waiting

Half A Leg Trimmed

Yes, yes, I know. You want to see the damned pictures of Lou FCD in the red dress he wore to his Aunt Helen’s viewing.

I warn you, the utter provocative sexiness inherent in the pictures below the fold may be hazardous to your libido.

I assume no liability for any damage the pictures may cause to your relationship, and I must politely decline any offers of marriage or sexual favors as I am quite happily in a monogamous marriage. Head below the fold at your own risk.

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Twenty One Guns

21 Gun Salute

I was holding up pretty well. Fortuitously, whenever I began to feel the pain creeping up, someone would come by and smile and hug me and laugh about the red dress and how much that would have meant to Aunt Helen. Family members from near and far, Aunt Helen’s friends and fellow nurses from the Navy hospital on base where she worked as a civilian for years and years before she retired, funeral home staff, some people I didn’t even know.

It was warm, but not yet uncomfortably so just yet. Standing in front of the funeral home this morning, smoking a cigarette in my blue pinstriped suit with only a red silk tie to symbolize her defiance, I was still holding it together.

Watching my cousin gave me comfort. She wore her loudest red dress, great big tropical flowers on it, bright red nails on fingers and toes, and a red sweater. It was a beautiful dress on a beautiful woman, and more than that it was a great big “Fuck you – Love, Mom” to anyone brazen enough to consider opening their yap about it. She was simply stunning.

Though she was the most redly dressed of us all today, a quick glance around told who was saying what with their wardrobe. Red hankies, red socks, and even a pair of red sunglasses flashed here and there. It was quiet solidarity, and it was moving.

I was relatively calm inside until I saw them. It was only when I saw those nine faces that I began to lose it.

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The Priest, The Queen, and The Road Trip

The Road to Ragged Mountain, by Chris Seufert @ FlickrAunt Helen’s funeral is later this morning, the viewing behind us now.

It went as well as could be expected. Aunt Mary and some of my cousins, and both of my sisters were a little shocked upon seeing me, not having known about The Red Dress. (Janie’s got the full story here.)

It went over well, better than I had expected. A few sarcastic comments from Aunt Mary at first, but then she got over it, mostly.

The Catholic priest seemed a bit unsure, and tried to be politely discreet about inquiring of The Admiral (Aunt Helen’s eldest) about the dude in drag. There’s nothing discreet about Luis. He took the priest by the arm and marched him right over to ask for himself. Loudly.

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corner, by Bukutgirl @ Flickr

Half a tank of gas looking for a red party dress in my size that didn’t look like it belonged on a 75 year old big tittied grandmother in a bad wig:


Strapless red satin party dress at Ross, size 8 (eat your hearts out ladies, I’m rubbing it in):

$6.50 – marked down from $59.00

Generous opinions and assistance from Ross’ changing room attendants, cashiers, and stock girls who came to watch me try on several different dresses and help me choose the one that looks best on me:


The look on the face of the cashier who checked us out and was not in attendance through the fittings and who was about to smack me on the forehead and start speaking in tongues to heal me:


I have to go start shaving now. It’ll probably take all night.

From whence came the art:

That photograph is titled corner, by Bukutgirl.

Ladies On The Sofa

Ladies On The SofaI don’t know who actually snapped this photo. I’m guessing by the appearances of the ladies and their dresses that it was taken sometime between 1954 and 1956 or so. You can click it for a larger version at my photostream at Flickr.

From left to right, Aunt Helen, Grand Aunt Elaine, Grand Aunt Louise, and Aunt Catherine. Because my Great Grandfather died rather young, my Great Grandmother remarried, and Aunt Elaine and Aunt Louise were a bit younger than my Grandmother. Because of their (lack of much) difference in age, these four girls were more like sisters than Aunts and Nieces.

Lovely girls, no? Aunt Louise is now the last of them. I expect I’ll see her in the next few days, if she can make the trip down.

I wonder what they were thinking when this photo was taken.

From whence came the art:

That photo I call Ladies On The Sofa, and it was sent to me by a cousin, photographer unknown, and resides at my Flickr page.