Orange
Palm Desert, Duckies
Yesterday, Susan and I went to go get our toes done. Susan was very excited to pair me up with David. The Famed David was supposedly a very great pedicurist and I was looking forward to his expertise.
I think my feet may have turned David into a different form of himself and instead of the wonderful, careful and great conversationalist he was rumored to be, he stared at me the entire time with a sort of unnerving stare. Like this. His staring was making me quite uncomfortable and I texted Susan, who was sitting in the chair next to me, that I thought he wanted to have my babies. Or maybe eat my liver with Fava beans.
David was good at whipping my feet in to shape. Yes, he tried to upsell me with the waxing and the eyebrow shaping and all the other annoying things they say to make you feel inferior until you cave in and agree to empty your wallet while you’re sitting in the chair, all of which I refused. But, he was good with my feet. I normally have issues with dryness on my heels and most of the time, the pedicurist will feel my heels and look slightly shocked at the sheer mass of dryness. David, however, looked unfazed. He oiled them and massaged them and told them a naptime story and then began using the rough paddle on them. And then suddenly, it was as if he was a pianist virtuoso, preparing to play the part near the end leading to the crescendo, and he raised his hiney in the air with a flourish, pushed back on the little seat he had been sitting on with the back of his legs, and bent completely over my feet, his legs solidly apart and sturdy as he gripped my feet with both hands and gave them all the attention a person has to offer. His hair shook wildly and his lab coat vibrated with determination. The dead skin went flying and I tried not to get grossed out. After all, David didn’t seem to care. He was determined to get things down to a normal level. And he did, too.
Oh, David. If only you weren’t an odd-staring-kind-of-person and I weren’t more-than-happily married and not in need of and slightly scared of your cop-a-feel-chair that massaged my butt for 10 minutes. Because my heels have never been so soft.
Scarf For Susan in Palm Desert
Masks
Yellow Roses
Good Times Again
Left to right: Alison, Sheep, Joe, Margot and Matt a.k.a. Little Piggy
Deep Water
Alison And Tony, Sitting In A Stoop
Outside
Not Really Grapefruit
Progress
Going Home
This trip home was by far one of the best ever. I think not having the kids created a different dynamic and even though I’ve learned in past years to appreciate my parents on an adult level, this was the only time I can remember going and having it be that way the entire time.
I’m working on a family recipe book for Christmas and I was hoping to add some old photos of our family. I asked my mom to help me look, which is kind of like asking someone casually if they’d like to climb Mt. Everest with you in about an hour. These kinds of things take preparations and it was hugely kind of my mom to just dig in and help me look through things in all the boxes. Isn’t she beautiful? Isn’t that quite a mess?
Here is one of my favorite family photos from the mid seventies. My hand is on my dad’s hand and I’m genuinely happy looking. I used to go back and look at it from time to time during some really hard years and wonder what happened to me.
To further spread this wicked rumor that I love lists, here is one from the early eighties. It’s aptly named The Roberts’ Recommended Reading list because if you are a young Mormon in the eighties, there is no such thing as too much Jack Weyland or Lee Nelson. If you look closely, I’ve even assigned which age groups will be approrpiate for which books. I knew a lot at age 9.
And this last list, this grocery list, I think is from the same time period. My mom would sometimes look through the cupboards and yell out what we needed from the store and then whomever was close, me in this case, would write it on the awesome fancy list holder thingy. As you can see, I got a little carried away including a pet hamster near the end and his grain ‘for chewey’ as the last item. Oh, I was a cut-up, I was.
But, this last picture is forever burned into my brain in a good way. This is how I imagine my parents were and are when no one is around and when they don’t have a zillion things weighing them down. My mom is giggling about how people will see this photo and think that they come out and swing all the time and my dad is laughing with her. It is definitely in my top 10 favorite images.
Thanks for a great week, Mom and Dad. xoxo