Come Back and Stay

Because the internet is infinite and nothing there ever really disappears, Pinterest served me up this doozy the other day:

And I was all, “OH MY GOD I KNOW THAT UKULELE!!!” So then I did some digging on this C’est_Louise person and her artwork is breathtaking. Really. Take a moment and enjoy her murals in Detroit. Because with the state of the world we absolutely should pause to walk in beauty. But then I found another photo of Herbert:

And then I was all, “HE IS SO YOUNG!” Then I looked closer and I was all, “He was named ‘Blou’ and used to be a girl.” And then I freaked out that maybe I’d pressured him…her…into being something they are not. Then I just decided Herbert is gender fluid and has evolved with age and no longer needs to define his identity to anyone anyway. I mean, based on the date on that photo, that was eight long years ago.

A lot can happen in eight years.

Remember how hopeful YOU were eight years ago?

It’s weird to see photos of him as a mere toddlerlele when he looks like this now.

My fingers have rubbed off nearly all the flowers on his neck. My nails have gouged through the stain on the fret board to the naked wood. His protective finish is yellowing. In a word, the Herbs has AGED. I mean, who hasn’t? Shit. Eight years ago I looked like this:

See that face? That’s the face of someone who sleeps. Regularly. And she looks like she could go WEEKS without any milk in the fridge. I seriously have zero recollection of that feeling.

There’s a metaphor here somewhere. I saw it for a second. Something lovely about yellowing and aging and Herbert’s dings being the equivalent of laugh lines but I can’t remember where I was going with it. Because wine.

You know what else I can barely remember? The 80s. And this song. And what I did with my glass of wine. So time to wrap this ramble up with some uke. *jazz hands*