Friday, October 24, 2014
It’s time to face facts
I might be turning into Jessica Fletcher.
(This is where I wanted to put a video that I love, but the YouTube was being ornery. Sometimes it is. If you want to watch it, it is here. If not, I will recap. Jessica says that there’s no age limit on reinventing yourself. That you can become a writer at any age. It makes me love her even more.)
So I have been joking about my Murder, She Wrote house for a long time. You can read about it here. And you know what? I’ve tried. I’ve really, really tried.
I love y’alls Pottery Barn-esque homes. I love your uncluttered coffee tables and unadorned walls and clean lines and your fifty shades of gray. I love your moody blues.
But it’s just not me.
Murder, She Wrote and I go waaaay back. It came on television at a time when I needed a friend—I was a newlywed in a new town where I knew absolutely no one. My family and friends were 714 miles away, and Jessica was like an aunt who visited me every week while I ironed. My mother watched it on Sunday night too, and we would talk about it every Monday evening.
But now, Jessica stands for something else. I might as well face it. Jessica was a retired English teacher who wrote mysteries. I am an English teacher who will soon retire who wants to write mysteries. (The only difference is that I don’t want to be surrounded by dead people…even though I enjoy getting some of their stuff.)
See that collage above? (I got it from a blog called Mrs. Fletcher’s Closet.) I have that typewriter. I have that wall clock. I have jeans. And comfy knitted cardigans. I have some brass pots and pans in my kitchen. And all those paintings hanging in her living room? There are parts of my house where the walls are filled with paintings and photographs.
Honestly…this could easily be Jessica’s guest room in Cabot Cove instead of mine, right? (You know Cabot Cove, don’t you? It’s the place where one out of three residents is either murdered or accused of murder. It’s a wonder anyone wants to live there!)
So, what’s wrong with this, I want to know? Who says I shouldn’t have tchotchkes and pattern and color and the dead people’s stuff?
Was that you?
If it was, then I think it’s time you stopped the negativity and embrace the tchotchkes. I think you need to realize that you too will someday be the keeper of the dead people’s stuff.
You might find yourself turning into Jessica Fletcher.
After all, she knows a lot of dead people.
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