It was an odd weekend of ups and downs, to be sure.
Friday night Shawn, Jenny, and I went to the Radisson in Sacramento to hear Flogging Molly, an irish punk band that Shawn and I are fond of. It was a beautiful night for an outdoor concert -- a bit chilly, but only until we started dancing. While hanging back in some chairs by a pond as the less-than-stellar opening band played, Jenny and I were approached by a lady with a tray. It seems she was there selling stuff from "Passion Party" and wanted to know if we wanted a free sample. She produced a tray of feathers and some kind of goo in small containers. I don't even want to know. We sent her away and she went amiably enough. A little bizarre. The band was great. Shawn got a few new CDs and Jenny and I each picked up a t-shirt emblazoned with the band name and pirate skull. Very appropriate for Anne Bonny and Mary Read.
Saturday I woke up while it was still dark and headed to the Bay Area for yet another funeral. That makes two in 8 days. 4 deaths in the family in one year. My immediate family stood together on the deck of the ship under the Golden Gate as my Great Aunt Kitty's ashes floated away. We're all hollowed out. This is too much. Too many. No more, please. Whoever may be out there listening, please no more. We're barely hanging on here.
I got home at 3 pm. I was supposed to go to a friend's birthday party, but I went to bed instead.
Sunday Shawn went to football game in the city and Jenny launched operation Cheer-Up-Shannon and took me out of the house for a bit. We went shopping at Macy's and I surprised the heck out of myself by buying a fairly stunning black dress and a pair of high-heeled shoes to match. I revealed this fairly astonishing news to Shawn. I think my own surprise amused him. "You're not turning into a girl, are you?" He smiled.
"I don't know," I said. "I suppose technically I've always been one."
"Well, yes, but shopping... It's sort of a gateway thing..."
"Is that like a gateway drug that leads to worse things? I promise I won't start wearing make-up."
Shawn laughs. "Oh, okay then."
Jenny and I also picked up a couple of skirts on a sale rack. I got one in red and she got one in burgundy. We stopped off home in time to change before catching the last matinee of Corpse Bride. I tucked away my new dress and put the shoes in the closet (I confess I opened the box up one more time and slipped the shoes on my hands and walked them around my dresser first.) Then Jenny and I met back at her car, each wearing our new skirts and each wearing black tops. "Um...," we started. "Should I change?" We decided to just go. Why is it a big deal if two grown women are seen together wearing the same clothes? What a weird little social rule that is.
So we sat in matching outfits, bawling at The Corpse Bride. It's a beautiful movie, by the way. Take tissues.
Shawn and I finished up the weekend watching an episode of Battlestar Galactica. This is a new sci-fi series that, after many proddings of friends, we finally started renting. The series is fantastic, but the trouble with it is that it's not episodic. It's one continuation after another and the tension never lets up. You don't breathe for an hour and then take one deep breath before you cue up the next episode and start right back at it. In the middle of a particularly tense scene on the last episode of the disc, the end credits rolled and Shawn and I blurted out identical profanities, in equal intonation and indignation.
But then that's life, isn't it? Not episodes of funerals and shopping and Monday mornings, but one thing after another, building on itself and rolling along from weekend end to weekend day, December to January, marching on.