Denim on Black

My cousin David, who is 25, has some interesting habits. They range from harmless, (winking and finger-waving to every girl we see) to frustrating (tickling, neck kisses, and 10 minute hugs).

One such frustrating habit is David's need to put things away. He is a very organized guy, and, since not everyone shares his same proclivity for structure, he takes it on himself to be the "stuff police". Everything has a place, you see, and it is not always where you might think. You or I might look at a small jar of poppyseeds, and think, "This goes in the pantry, next to all the rest of the spices." Fortunately, David is not constrained by our in-the-box thinking, and he knows that poppy seeds, in fact, belong with the small forks and duck tape in the back of the cookie board cupboard. You or I might think that putting your watch, wallet, glasses, etc. on your nightstand or dresser before turning in is a logical choice. But we are sadly mistaken. Luckily, David is more than happy to correct my blunders, usually while I'm asleep, and then forget where he put everything.

This, too, can range from harmless, (Why is my deoderant in your box of movies?), to the frustrating, (Why did you take my wallet and iPhone why I was sleeping? Why do you not understand that this is not okay?), to the disastrous (Why is grandma's heart medicine not with all of her other pills? Why do you not have any recollection of moving it, or any idea where it might be? Why do you want your decrepit grandmother to die a slow, painful death? Why why why?).

All of these things have occurred recently. In some ways it's nice. Things I didn't even know were missing I find in new, peculiar places. Remember how it feels to find a 20 dollar bill in your jacket in the fall? Imagine that joy several times per day! And then replace that 20 dollar bill with your flash drive shaped like an Angry Bird, or your tithing envelope, or your shoes. And then imagine that you want to shoot yourself in the face. Yeah, you've got it.


But, I don't mean to be a Negative Nancy. (As a side-note, I met my Aunt Nancy the other week, for the first time in my life. She's like the mysterious black sheep that I'd only heard rumors about. But, she's just a funny old lady with 30 fruit trees in pots in the parking lot of her apartment complex.)

All Nancy's aside, I very much enjoy David's company. And, in fact, the experience of living here. It's pretty good. I chill with the horses. I get a lot of sun. I get to enjoy SoCal girls who have at least a smidgen of fashion sense (no offense Alaska/Idaho/Pennsylvania, but you're just not in the game yet). I get to hang out with my grandmother, which is awesome. She is probably not going to be around for like, a super long more time. And she has about 7000 grandchildren, so it's pretty lucky to be able to spend so much time with her. She's very sweet and old. Sort of like this lady:



Except, even nicer. And frailer. And probably throw in her, too:




Her inability to remember anything is, well, what it is.


That's all, folks. I saw a hummingbird the other day. I heard it first, and thought it a giant killer bee from hell, and that I was about to die. Really, I had consigned myself to destruction. And the buzzing got closer, and my life flashed before my eyes....




I felt a little dumb. But it was pretty enough to get me over it.