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Ok. So. Clearly, two lovely people people being shot by lovely photographers in a lovely setting with stunning lighting.

Also. The thing that has been pissing me off for a week.

Jonathan Groff, Lea’s best friend for many years, is making the rounds with her as she advertises her upcoming CD and book. Also, Glee is bringing the focus back around to New York (possibility: the puking shit storm that has been the first half of the season was a panicked distraction to give Lea some time … I’d take that as an explanation).

It is possible, but doubtful, that Lea has tried to incorporate Jonathan into this press junket. I say doubtful because this woman was young Cosette on Broadway for cripes sakes. I imagine she’s better at press junkets than she is at many many social things.

Is it, perhaps, that she has reached an uncomfortable moment in quasi-public-widow-ish-hood. She was in love. He died. Six months have passed, and the album is finished, the book is finished, and it is time to press flesh. BUT NOT THAT FLESH. She did a round of heartfelt renditions of Cannonball (an…odd song, and one of two that Cory never heard) where she often clutched her heart and sung longingly to the rafters.

Steps into the public world still wrapped in Cory’s death. I get that, I really really do.

Then what?

Just let her out there?

A 27 year-old woman, who plays a 19 year old on television. With no (visible, publicly consumed) support? What if she felt sad (she does)? What if she looked happy (she does, she’s worked hard on these projects)? What would send a clear message that she was still bubble wrapped? What would provide the excuse for a moment of non-grief on her face?


The best friend.

Who has been out for a long time.

Who is also beautiful.

I might be wrong. But tell me this, if Bobby Brown and Whitney had still been married when she died – who would have been hovering around the edges six months out?

Did you answer a non-sexually available beautiful woman? No?
Did you answer he’d just be out there living his life without a chaperone?


A continuation from yesterday.

(a) – I talk about how my dad is preparing for cancer treatment, and he is old, and sick, and what I wish for him no clinician, or healer, or mystic, or madman can give him.

My dad was 42 when I was born, and I have spent my entire life afraid of the fact that (in that time) (in comparison to my mom) he was old. I remember clearly the first time at McDs when someone asked me if I was having a day out with grandpa. I never trusted that he would be alive when I got married.

All of that was balanced out over time with the fact that he was older but made of awesome, strong, kickass-ness. He smoked (clearly bad), but he wielded a chainsaw at 75, he drove my belongings all over hell and gone when I needed him to, he has incredibly comforting shoulders.

A decade ago he had a bout of lung cancer. He had surgery and rebounded wonderfully. About 3 years ago a series of medical stumblings began and they just have never really consistently let up. His age has caught him, and it sucks. He has a new cancer now, docs are going to see if they can make him glow in the dark.

What I wish for him. I’d like for him to have one safe corner where he can talk about whatever he is thinking about these days. He tells people things, but the great protector in him isn’t interested in standing down – so he keeps other parts hidden away. It is his prerogative, clearly, but the idea of a confessional, or postsecret or something that was 100% safe just seems nice.

I’d wish for him a clarity that modern medicine just doesn’t offer. He’s going into treatment soon, and it shouldn’t be “too bad” – because he is doing it I would like it to work as advertised, so that he can get back to … whatever comes next.

I’d wish for him a content heart, and I think it mainly is.

(b) I talk about how a lot of my widowhood is non-standard, and still I wonder if I get to write on my own blog about my dead husband because (damn girl) it has been 12 years. If my widowhood was a baby it would have gotten a damn phone of it’s own for Christmas.

My widowhood is non-standard. I was 28 & we didn’t have kids. It is non-standard in the most noticeable way because I have a great relationship with his family who love me and my husband and son the way they do. I’m grateful for that it a way that defies measure.

Still, I am a young widow who has continued to have a good life, is loved and loves back, and is generally an in-the-moment kind of person (ish. Most of the time. At least I try). So when these days roll around, I can’t help but think of the things & people I have lost since then. The things that he missed (iPhones, Call of Duty, etc…), and the strange ways the world plays out. Over 12 years you end up with a lot of Alternate Universe scenarios.

Most of the people I see routinely only know John through stories, because I moved after he died and created a new life. I’m fortunate to know people who have been through similar stories, and that is infinitely comforting (as much as it is heartbreaking because we really LOVED these people who are dead now). Still, after 12 years, it seems like it is something to be witnessed privately, because we leave so little room for the memorializing of those who are dead. We don’t have a Day of the Dead, and that is a real loss. There isn’t a person I know that couldn’t use one.

(c) I look at the sparkling number of 150 posts, and feel proud of that, and move on to tomorrow to see what it has in store.

Heh. 150 posts, for the number of times I’ve staked out a corner of the internet, I think that is the longest I’ve kept one blog going. Hee hee.

I’m about 35% sick right now, so the early parts of today have been pretty low key, and I’ve started reading a book. A physical, FICTION book!!! Harry Potter, because I’ve never read it. Maybe if I get through all of these I’ll take on Tolkien who I have also never read. Or not. Shouldn’t get too ahead of myself.

Happy Sunday all. For those of you who commented or reached out to me personally. Thank you, I felt comforted and surrounded by good company.

At some point in the mid-90s my first husband and I entered into our first major purchase – a couch.

He was, absolutely, his father’s son.  He enjoyed a comfortable and relaxing sit in front of the television and with the amazing existence of the mid-1990s there was a couch that reclined.  In function it was perfect, a long thigh to match his, it reclined, and it was clearly to be ours.

Now, as I was experimenting with the newness of being The Lady of The House I deemed that it shouldn’t be ugly.  Being in the throws of the mid 1990s did not help on that front at all.  Most upholstery was un-lovely in a muted mauve and teal floral extravaganza.

We negotiated and settled upon his functionality and the best attempt at my not-ugly rule.  It was tan.  All of it.  One large yellow/tan mass of tan couch with tan pillows and tan arm rest covers.  TAN.  Not ugly, but also not interesting.  It was the best we could do but I didn’t like it much more than if it was straight up ugly.

In 2005 I left it in Athens while I went to IL, I thought I was done with it.  It was still in Athens when I returned in 2007.  It  became the couch I would have forever.  Although, in due respect – it is a Lane sofa and has held up VERY well through many moves and a fair amount of inattention.

Then last night, it was gone.  Given to a neighbor in March, it was picked up last night and marched out of the house as I encouraged the young daughter of the new owners to not get squashed by it.  Just gone.  The last thing I owned that my first husband had sat on, watched Akira on, played video games from.

Today, a new couch arrived.  Gray this time, and bigger.  I showed it to my son and husband via technology.  It looks good and I have a plan for how I am going to finish off the room already.

Time is beautiful and relentless.  Good-bye couch that I hated for so long, I’ll miss you.