’Til I can gain control again

So, I’ve lived long enough to realize we really can’t control anything except our actions and reactions – and even that’s only true for folks without chemical imbalances or other incapacitating problems – but since first falling in love at 19 with Emmylou Harris’s version of “’Til I Can Gain Control Again,” that’s the song I hear in my head when life goes a little crazy.

Life has gone a little crazy lately. Some hectic good, some holy-shit hectic.

Makes even more sense to have been hearing it recently in anticipation of seeing the great Rodney Crowell, who wrote and also performs the song, at South on Main last Thursday. Fabulous show, great seats right by the stage and wonderful company – Julia and Susan – barring the weird dude who was seated at our table but wouldn’t acknowledge our presence.

His deal, not ours.

Need another disclaimer here – “holy-shit bad” is a relative term, and anything I’m about to say pales in comparison to some of the things my friends have been dealing with, like an out-of-nowhere cancer diagnosis and double mastectomy. Like caring for a mother recently diagnosed with ALS – and finding the disease has worsened exponentially just since the recent diagnosis.

All things considered, my life is excellent.

So let me start with the good. We just had Marie-Noelle here for 10 days for Thanksgiving. As always, the time flew – if we still had clocks with hands, they’d have spun out of control during those 1o days.

John/Pop, his lookalike, our lovely Marie-Noelle, and Annabelle at Mother's on Thanksgiving.

John/Pop, his lookalike, our lovely Marie-Noelle, and Annabelle at Mother’s on Thanksgiving.

The Monday before she arrived on Friday evening, we lost a day of preparation time to an unplanned trip to Hot Springs. Had to go – we snagged a heckuva-deal Folke Ohlsson Danish Modern dining table and six turquoise upholstered chairs – perfect for our upstairs – that my friend Gwen Crownover Moritz found on Craigslist and shared on Facebook.

Three of the beautiful but stinky Folke Ohlsson dining chairs. The oval table, 6-feet that extends to 9+, also smells like smoke and is coated in nicotine. Pee-eewww.

Three of the beautiful but stinky Folke Ohlsson dining chairs we recently bought over the phone. The oval table, 6-feet that extends to 9+, also smells like smoke and the legs are coated in nicotine. Pee-eewww.

Let me just say that smoking is so far out of our frame of reference that it never crossed our minds to ask if the elderly couple who’d bought the furniture new 50-or-so years ago smoked. At least one of them did. Ugh – had to throw away the three otherwise-very-nice naugahyde tablecloths that came with the set. I’ve vacuumed the chairs once, mega-Febreezed them twice and wiped some of the yellow nicotine ick off the legs.

Now we’re trying Nag Champa bombing, which seems to help. More work to come, but it is getting better. At least they’re upstairs out of the way for now. Worst-and-probably-inevitable case, we’ll steam clean them. And that’s just an inconvenience.

8 thoughts on “’Til I can gain control again

  1. Well – it was destined we meet. I think we have a very similar rug in the house and my favorite colour is turquoise. And since I am a Finnish-Swede I love the Danish furniture which my parents had in our childhood home. And by the way, your mom and I have the same turquoise ipad cover! My husband just shakes his head when this type of stuff happens to me – I dont believe it is coincidence I am quite sure it is fate! Glad every one is well now!

  2. Here’s an example: I was in the Abiquiu Inn in NM, pretty remote, purchasing a gift. An elderly gentleman said something to me and the cashier, cant remember what now. I picked right up on it and said to him, “Are you a Virgo?” He took out his license and handed it to me and said, “You tell me!” We had the same birthday! Bruce just looks in disbelief and shakes his head! Truly, it is bizarre!

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