Knock, knock... "Who's there?" "The tired blogger...." "The tired blogger who?" "The tired blogger who uses the same melting basket set up in the past, but desperately hopes her readers don't care and like the pink and aqua lights so they graciously forgive her." "Oh that lady. She's a mess."
Wax from the last basket I would melt again include: Candy Panda Lord of Chaos, Uluru, and Pale Blue Eyes, Sassy Girl Aroma Jenny Juice, Super Tarts Snape, SMT that long blend I don't feel like writing out, Zeep Bath Rose Jelly, CFTKR Buttered Cream Soda (SO GOOD!!!).
Glitterati- Raspberry Sangria <3 gift
Glitterati- Honeydew Birthday Cake <3 gift
Glitterati- Boo Berry Marshmallow <3 gift
LSC- Lemon Sorbet
LSC- Lemon Fizz
LSC- Strawberry Wedding Cake
LSC- Coconut Cream Pie
VCS- Hello, Gorgeous
CFTKR- Pink Strawberry Chiffon <3 gift
SMT- Lemon Cake Pops/Sticky Pink Serendipity/Pink Sticky Marshmallow
Country Lane Keepsakes- Vanilla Peach
Country Lane Keepsakes- Fresh Picked Strawberry
Country Lane Keepsakes- Strawberry Cookie Crumb Pie
Country Lane Keepsakes- Grandma's Lemon Cake
Country Lane Keepsakes- Mint Mojito
Country Lane Keepsakes- Raspberry Cotton Candy
Kitty's Konfections- Finessin' (fizzy soda) <3 gift
Can-Do Candles- Bedtime Bath <3 gift
You know the drill. Ask for melted review and you shall receive.
Up ahead lie many photographs. Some are hideous, some may even be distasteful. The writing may be full of self-pity and melancholy and infinite sadness. Yes I used a Smashing Pumpkins album reference. But in a more non-joking manner.... it will be personal to me. And possibly boring to you. If you came only for the wax here is your exit. If you are curious how my weekend went... proceed.
I met my step-dad at the age of five. When a child begins to remember. When anyone who shows love burrows their way into a tender newly formed heart.
His father, Buddy Erskine AKA Chief White Thunder, owned The Reservation Golf Course, which my step-dad was soon to inherit. My mom and I moved into a trailer on the golf course and began the new chapter of our lives. After years of living together they finally wed when I was 9 on a schooner "Wolf" in Key West, lives joined by the captain of the ship. Needless to say Jimmy Buffett was my 3rd dad and The Beach Boys taught me all I needed to know about being a teenager. Anyway, I began working on the course when I was 11 or 12 all the way until I graduated college at 22. I knew it like I knew my own bedroom.
A few years ago, he decided to leave. His wife, his life, his golf course.
My sisters and I wanted to have one last reunion with the place that taught us how to work in the Florida heat without vomiting, how to install a solenoid onto a golf cart, mix and spray and kill broad leaf weeds while always secretly wondering if the blue dye will ever leave our fingertips and if we will be able to bear children one day, clean up debris after hurricanes, mow greens, mow fairways on a tractor, mow collars and mow until my shoes are permanently green with chlorophyll, change holes, move tee markers, and start each morning drinking rot gut coffee while reading the comics before being told what needed to be done for the day. This was repeated for me for a decade. My sisters had very similar days after I went to college. My husband even worked there during the summers in between classes. My grandpa refused to call him Adam, instead he was always Andy.
We asked Dean recently if we could go back. Have one last tearful glance good-bye. He wouldn't meet us up there but sent a friend of his to unlock the pro-shop and keep us guarded from vagrants and vandals that had taken up shelter. He said we could have what we wanted. He said he took everything worth having. Except photos from our childhood.
Except awards given to him for outstanding service to my high school FFA chapter.
Are those really important? Probably not. But my heart cracked none the less.
Ghosts of memories. Faded moments. Abandoned building to most but derelict home to us.
Yet, being the kind of women we are... we had to laugh through the tears. Make a jokes while stepping on our own faces that lie covered in rat and roach droppings. Or even act ridiculously creepy.
Hard to believe this was a place of joy. Of fellowship. Of recreation.
Now a place of decay.
Forgotten past. Uncertain future.
Where new homes and strip malls and gas stations or mini storages will be planted and sown like so much urban sprawl. It is being auctioned in less than a month.
The fairways are swamps where Mexican Whistling ducks roost. They will soon get the boot too.
The trailers that housed laughter echo with horror. They know the time is short.
I can't tell you how many times I gazed out this window at the trees while I washed dishes or did homework at the kitchen table. Now the trees gaze in, creeping inside. I hope the trees will get to stay.
Everything else will go.
Even though it has been a few years, and forgiveness has been given, things are not quite healed.
Maybe they always will show.
But my heart and mind will carry the good still.
I am ready for him to be a part of my life again.
To know my daughters again.
But I cannot force it, just like the decay did not happen over night...
the healing won't either.
But I am here for when that time comes. I am ready to embrace the next chapter.