Yesterday I tore through magazines searching for pictures to use in a project for work. I love to look at magazines. I have stacks. My hubby is a recycler, he takes things every week and sorts them at the recycling center. He knows that there is a bin that holds magazines and that a fat stack pilfered from the bin thrills me to no end. I now have personal dumpster divers doing my bidding. He loves to pick through the top 40 and scan to see if they might be my style.. it’s a crap shoot, he can never remember what titles I like.
But he knows what pictures I like. He knows a girlie shot when he sees it. This stack he brought back was full of Victoria magazines from a ’98 to ’05. Perfect for plucking out pages. I called my mom and begged her to come over and help me set up a few shots on my porch. Now it wasn’t enough to find great photos, I wanted my VERY own, with MY STUFF. I promised coffee and any magazines she wanted to take home.
We cleaned and dusted and polished and arranged and stacked and fluffed and talked and drank coffee. At some point she went out to buy flowers for the “shoot”. I hadn’t spent ten minutes on that porch in two years. Two years ago I quit smoking and that was my major hang out. It was furnished and decorated like any room in the house.. right here in Kansas winds and cold and heat. I was determined I would use this screened in haven for my vises, smoking and looking at magazines. When I quit smoking I quit looking at magazines too. I quit going outside. I quit so many things because they were so strongly linked to that habit. Then I had a painful injury that prevented me from doing most everything I loved. My habit is safely a distant memory, the hold it had is gone. The pain that took over my life for so long also is fading. I am living. I am being, I am back on the porch, and this time I have new rules. No smoking. You can curse and laugh all you want, magazines on the house.