About Me
- bitter poet
- I have a 6-yr-old, a 3-year-old, have been married 9 years. A smallish, oldish house. Addicted to bright colour, organization, and a stubborn streak. Enjoy sunshine and wind, ethnic cuisine, and pleasant smells (which dooms the oldish house). Am studying yoga and want to learn sea kayaking and get a tattoo. Adore traveling. A midwesterner in the south. Educated. Christian, painter, writer, editor, housekeeper, foodie, cook, volunteer.
23 February 2010
15 January 2010
Late Night Convos
Last night, as I was putting Boy to bed after our late Thursday night at church, Girl complained of being underfed and hungry. Kevin took her to the kitchen and buttered some cornbread and poured a glass of milk. As he sat at the table with her, she divulged that she sometimes lays in bed while trying to fall asleep and thinks about the boyfriend that she might want. (!) They chatted about it for awhile, and she said, and I quote, "I want a boyfriend with hair, and no beard, and that never ever takes his shirt off." And a moment later, "but I probably won't be able to find one like that."
Tru dat.
Tru dat.
12 January 2010
A Pause
This is my explanation: Kevin has started school and is monopolizing the computer. I am frantically (or maybe not as frantically as I would like to think) finishing up my novel. I am exploring the creation of a sister-blog, which will more specifically follow the next 2 and a half years of Kevin-in-school and us sometimes-not-quite-scraping-by (and be as unapologetic as my friends always want blogs to be, like "Junior just ate a cup of dog food before I zoned in enough to stop him"). Aren't I already a little like this? I am also thinking over blogging and how it fits (or doesn't fit) into my newly-pared-down life.
If it's not broken, don't fix it?
The jury is still out.
If it's not broken, don't fix it?
The jury is still out.
03 December 2009
Vignettes
Last night, in the deep, dark, Boy got up from his "nest" on the floor of our room (where he sleeps whether you put him there or not), crawled up the length of our bed, stated firmly, "Kiss!" and planted one on my lips. Then he curled up next to me and fell asleep.
We don't really do Santa, but have always told Girl that there was a person, supposedly, who originated the story of Santa Claus by giving to the poor, etc. Today we were watching a Christmas movie in which the main character encounters a bell-ringing Santa and gives a tug to his beard to see if he is authentic, or at least committed. The beard does not yield. Girl then off-handedly remarked, "This movie must be made before, like when Santa was still alive." Some magic must persist, but at such a morbid cost?
We don't really do Santa, but have always told Girl that there was a person, supposedly, who originated the story of Santa Claus by giving to the poor, etc. Today we were watching a Christmas movie in which the main character encounters a bell-ringing Santa and gives a tug to his beard to see if he is authentic, or at least committed. The beard does not yield. Girl then off-handedly remarked, "This movie must be made before, like when Santa was still alive." Some magic must persist, but at such a morbid cost?
26 November 2009
The Mute Thanksgiving
I sort of can't believe that we even made the trip up here to Syracuse for Thanksgiving. I wanted to stay in bed, but Kevin--who was not yet struck down with the worst cold of the decade (at least!)--was feeling well enough to drag us all to the van, rig up the aging DVD player, and put his foot on the gas pedal, pointing us northward. I went in and out of consciouness in the back seat (we picked foster-brother-in-law Paul up in Virginia and he became the navigator), unable to distinguish between my seasonal allergies, the reaction I was having to my flu shot, the nastiest head cold I've had since childhood, the massive cold sore in my gum line (radiating pain up into all my front teeth), and the quite horrific cheese grater wound that I inflicted on myself trying to make sandwiches for the road while suffering from all the previous.
But here we are. I don't know how we have managed Boy all these days while being sick. Maybe it helped that he too was sick and we occasionally enlisted the help of homemade cough syrup to aid his sleep. Perhaps it's the ratio of kid-to-adult that is on our side in an un-child-proofed home. Or maybe it's the skeleton key that moves around the house with Boy, locking him in or out where needed (always with supervision, of course). It has worked. I have enjoyed family. And I have even socked away around 20 pages of my novel. I would be doing more now, but I am on my mother-in-law's computer in the only room in which I could hide away for some time and my own computer is in the room where I would be immediately assaulted if I entered. And check the Black Friday Ads. Again.
Happy Thanksgiving to me, I was struck with laryngitis as of yesterday and was forced to sit mute at the family dinner today. Whenever I did try to speak, everyone sort of sat with mouths agape as I emitted a sound somewhere between the wind blowing, a mouse squeeking, Beaker from the Muppets, and Rachel Ray. I stopped trying when I got tired out and Kevin kept making fun of me. I won't relate what sort of abuses I had to endure in silence, because no one meant anything by them, but I will point out that a voice is a wonderful thing, in more ways than one. To be able to be heard when you have something valuable to say, or even just to express yourself whether you have something valuable to say or not: this is a key component to the freedom which we all desire and which everyone deserves. I'm not very patriotic, and yet, thank God for America, and thank God that I am usually heard. Perhaps I should take the events of this Thanksgiving to re-evaluate the ways in which I am using (and abusing) this magnificent gift, every day. And maybe you should, too.
Happy Thanksgiving and good riddance.
But here we are. I don't know how we have managed Boy all these days while being sick. Maybe it helped that he too was sick and we occasionally enlisted the help of homemade cough syrup to aid his sleep. Perhaps it's the ratio of kid-to-adult that is on our side in an un-child-proofed home. Or maybe it's the skeleton key that moves around the house with Boy, locking him in or out where needed (always with supervision, of course). It has worked. I have enjoyed family. And I have even socked away around 20 pages of my novel. I would be doing more now, but I am on my mother-in-law's computer in the only room in which I could hide away for some time and my own computer is in the room where I would be immediately assaulted if I entered. And check the Black Friday Ads. Again.
Happy Thanksgiving to me, I was struck with laryngitis as of yesterday and was forced to sit mute at the family dinner today. Whenever I did try to speak, everyone sort of sat with mouths agape as I emitted a sound somewhere between the wind blowing, a mouse squeeking, Beaker from the Muppets, and Rachel Ray. I stopped trying when I got tired out and Kevin kept making fun of me. I won't relate what sort of abuses I had to endure in silence, because no one meant anything by them, but I will point out that a voice is a wonderful thing, in more ways than one. To be able to be heard when you have something valuable to say, or even just to express yourself whether you have something valuable to say or not: this is a key component to the freedom which we all desire and which everyone deserves. I'm not very patriotic, and yet, thank God for America, and thank God that I am usually heard. Perhaps I should take the events of this Thanksgiving to re-evaluate the ways in which I am using (and abusing) this magnificent gift, every day. And maybe you should, too.
Happy Thanksgiving and good riddance.
18 October 2009
Life with a Male Toddler
Here is one back-story: When I was pregnant with Girl (five years ago), I expressed doubt and concern to my friends and other authorities about waking up at night to tend to a newborn's needs. I am a very heavy sleeper and always have been. This can only be interrupted by Christmas Eve, the night before the first day of school, and it turns out, RLS. Everyone was unanimous: don't worry! My maternal instincts would kick in and I would wake at the drop of a pin. Night one rolled around and... I did not wake. My husband woke to Girl's fussing (in fact, he often leaped from the bed (not an exaggeration) on occasions when she had made not a peep. (He dreamed otherwise.) Kevin has been bringing distressed children to me ever since. I have persisted in not waking almost any night since then merely for the cry of any infant. Sometimes I sort of half-wake, do whatever I have to, and then fall back asleep without any recollection of the events that have transpired. Mostly I sleep-tend. I am a world champ sleep-nurser and my babies have learned to come to me. Thankfully Kevin has remained very alert.
Here is another back-story: Boy is a climber. He is 21 months and has broken his arm once already, falling from the play tower in the back yard. At the time of this telling, one of his favorite activities is to systematically pull out the drawers on his dresser to form stairs so that he can scale to the top and then jump into his crib. Stairs are a magnet to him. We don't have any, save the small flight outside the front door. My sister lives 45 minutes away, so often when we go to visit (especially with relatives in town) we will crash in one of her two upstairs guest rooms. You see the problem. Boy has already been caught once at the top of the stairs in the middle of the night by my terrified mother.
Back-story three: Boy is known for sleep-acrobatics. Ever since he was just a few months old (see old blogs, in fact), he has done strange things in his sleep and in the middle of ours. He will somersault around on the bed in his sleep, wander to the other end of the house and call for us behind the laundry room door, even (this is his latest) leave the bed and lay down on any spare pillow on the floor for the rest of the night. This is the reason he sleeps on a low futon and why our mattress is currently on the floor. We methodically make sure bathroom doors are locked and kitchen is gated off every night before bed.
Last night we stayed over and Dan's and Lindsay's. We stayed in our usual room on a two-double trundle; Kev and I and the kids all pile in on the two levels. We put the child-proof gate at the top of the stairs at the other end of the hall (it is removeable and Boy has a knack for removing it) and then put some "diversions" in front of it, just in case, to slow Boy down in the event of... well... Then we went into the bedroom with sleeping children, shut the door, locked it, and put a rather heavy chair in front of it. Not great in the event of a fire, but, well, we know our son pretty well. In the dead of night I suddenly heard/intuited Boy calling me from out in the hallway. I was covered with a sheet and blanket but I woke up in a full run, sort of in air, and in the dark hurdled over the debris in front of the bedroom door, did a U-turn in the hall, and sprinted for the stairs. There was my child, moving the last piece of "distraction" in deliberate silence. I scooped him up, and even in my stupor, felt simultaneously horrified and grateful. I put everything back where it was, re-locked, re-fortified, and fell into the bed with him, my body curled around his like a ball as we both fell quickly back to sleep.
The moral: raising children can be terrifying. Often.
Good night and good riddance.
Here is another back-story: Boy is a climber. He is 21 months and has broken his arm once already, falling from the play tower in the back yard. At the time of this telling, one of his favorite activities is to systematically pull out the drawers on his dresser to form stairs so that he can scale to the top and then jump into his crib. Stairs are a magnet to him. We don't have any, save the small flight outside the front door. My sister lives 45 minutes away, so often when we go to visit (especially with relatives in town) we will crash in one of her two upstairs guest rooms. You see the problem. Boy has already been caught once at the top of the stairs in the middle of the night by my terrified mother.
Back-story three: Boy is known for sleep-acrobatics. Ever since he was just a few months old (see old blogs, in fact), he has done strange things in his sleep and in the middle of ours. He will somersault around on the bed in his sleep, wander to the other end of the house and call for us behind the laundry room door, even (this is his latest) leave the bed and lay down on any spare pillow on the floor for the rest of the night. This is the reason he sleeps on a low futon and why our mattress is currently on the floor. We methodically make sure bathroom doors are locked and kitchen is gated off every night before bed.
Last night we stayed over and Dan's and Lindsay's. We stayed in our usual room on a two-double trundle; Kev and I and the kids all pile in on the two levels. We put the child-proof gate at the top of the stairs at the other end of the hall (it is removeable and Boy has a knack for removing it) and then put some "diversions" in front of it, just in case, to slow Boy down in the event of... well... Then we went into the bedroom with sleeping children, shut the door, locked it, and put a rather heavy chair in front of it. Not great in the event of a fire, but, well, we know our son pretty well. In the dead of night I suddenly heard/intuited Boy calling me from out in the hallway. I was covered with a sheet and blanket but I woke up in a full run, sort of in air, and in the dark hurdled over the debris in front of the bedroom door, did a U-turn in the hall, and sprinted for the stairs. There was my child, moving the last piece of "distraction" in deliberate silence. I scooped him up, and even in my stupor, felt simultaneously horrified and grateful. I put everything back where it was, re-locked, re-fortified, and fell into the bed with him, my body curled around his like a ball as we both fell quickly back to sleep.
The moral: raising children can be terrifying. Often.
Good night and good riddance.
17 September 2009
Eat at Your Own Risk
I have been learning a ton about myself while on this UltraMind diet with Kevin. I did not expect to discover so much, actually. For one, this dieting thing is way more difficult than I anticipated. It not only takes much money, time, and creativity (only one of which I actually have in abundance), but an incredible amount of will power. Also, while I may be a disciplined person, I never noticed just how emotionally and psychologically attached to foods that I am. During such a stressful week as this one, just a few lapses of judgment into a bowl of Ramen Noodles and a bag of Doritos and I am normally okey-dokey again. Plus--and this was more suprising for me--I really have this whole elaborate coping-mechanism system which involves lots of starchy carbs, full fats, and dairy products, as well as reading and reading and reading, and either becoming agoraphobic or going out to shop. Since I do this sort of slowly and only allow small changes at a time, I hardly notice that suddenly I have changed the evening's plans from a play date to dinner in: cheesy potatoes or mac 'n' cheese; have two breads baking at one time; and have completely devoured about 5 vegan brownies and 1/2 of the Anne of Green Gables series. Something else really surprising: it is really hard for even me--the self-professed sugar-shunner--to go without sugar constantly and for a prolonged period. Last thing of note: Kev can survive on a low-fat diet. I can not. I think I am sort of wasting away and would probably maim you if you dangled bacon in front of me.
But I am still on the diet, I think mostly b/c Kevin is not only really sticking to it, but he is thriving. Less than four weeks to go!
Here is the bread that I created in pure desperation. (We can't have wheat or gluten or dairy or any sugar (even honey, maple, agave, stevia...), so bread is pretty much all the way out. I never knew I needed bread like this.)
Devon's UltraMind Corn Bread
1 cup corn meal
1 cup brown rice flour
2 T organic red grape juice
2 t baking powder
1/3 t sea salt
1 cup unsweetened soy milk (and gluten free)
1/4 cup olive oil (or coconut or a nut oil, depending on how you are to serve it)
1 egg
-Preheat oven to 425F.
-Oil a shallow loaf pan.
-Mix together wet and dry ingredients, separate.
-Mix liquid into dry and combine, but do not over-mix.
-Bake for 15-20 minutes, until golden and knife comes out clean. Under-baking results in disaster.
-Serve with a dab of all-fruit, fresh berries, or chili (which is how we ate it).
Now, if you are not on a restrictive diet, perhaps this bread will not taste awesome. But Kevin and I consumed ours by the rudely-full mouth-full and standing over the kitchen counter.
We've learned much about eating habits, what we can accomplish, and what we want to avoid in the future--Kevin off sugar is a beautiful thing; eating out is really over-rated--but it will be really nice to re-introduce dairy and whole wheat and also to return to so many of the recipes (however doctored for health they become) that make me feel connected to my past and human... or humane. (I get really grumpy when no food or bad food is involved.) I am actually spending almost every squeezed-in free moment poring over all my favorite cookbooks and making lists upon lists of recipes that I want to try. I left the library with no less that 15 giant cookbooks heaped up to my nose, last Friday. They are picked apart, post-it-ed and ready to be copied, now. This is relaxing for me (as it always is when I am with gastronomy), and also torturous. I am sick of the UltraMind menu and am ready to try my hand at incorporating the Mind into My Menu.
We are persevering. But don't try this at home. Or do, I'm not sure which.
Good and night and good riddance.
But I am still on the diet, I think mostly b/c Kevin is not only really sticking to it, but he is thriving. Less than four weeks to go!
Here is the bread that I created in pure desperation. (We can't have wheat or gluten or dairy or any sugar (even honey, maple, agave, stevia...), so bread is pretty much all the way out. I never knew I needed bread like this.)
Devon's UltraMind Corn Bread
1 cup corn meal
1 cup brown rice flour
2 T organic red grape juice
2 t baking powder
1/3 t sea salt
1 cup unsweetened soy milk (and gluten free)
1/4 cup olive oil (or coconut or a nut oil, depending on how you are to serve it)
1 egg
-Preheat oven to 425F.
-Oil a shallow loaf pan.
-Mix together wet and dry ingredients, separate.
-Mix liquid into dry and combine, but do not over-mix.
-Bake for 15-20 minutes, until golden and knife comes out clean. Under-baking results in disaster.
-Serve with a dab of all-fruit, fresh berries, or chili (which is how we ate it).
Now, if you are not on a restrictive diet, perhaps this bread will not taste awesome. But Kevin and I consumed ours by the rudely-full mouth-full and standing over the kitchen counter.
We've learned much about eating habits, what we can accomplish, and what we want to avoid in the future--Kevin off sugar is a beautiful thing; eating out is really over-rated--but it will be really nice to re-introduce dairy and whole wheat and also to return to so many of the recipes (however doctored for health they become) that make me feel connected to my past and human... or humane. (I get really grumpy when no food or bad food is involved.) I am actually spending almost every squeezed-in free moment poring over all my favorite cookbooks and making lists upon lists of recipes that I want to try. I left the library with no less that 15 giant cookbooks heaped up to my nose, last Friday. They are picked apart, post-it-ed and ready to be copied, now. This is relaxing for me (as it always is when I am with gastronomy), and also torturous. I am sick of the UltraMind menu and am ready to try my hand at incorporating the Mind into My Menu.
We are persevering. But don't try this at home. Or do, I'm not sure which.
Good and night and good riddance.
14 September 2009
Computer Saga Continues
[There have been many days that I had a great blog to share, but now the second household laptop has gone bonkers, and I have--at best--very unreliable internet on some nights. This does not look to improve anytime soon. So I will just stick to the blog that I would share today, wonky computer or not, and leave the unsaid blogs to the space between my ears.]
I play a game with myself sometimes, when I notice that the traffic signals seem to be working against me on any particular day. At first, I tell myself that certainly they are just like any other day, maybe a 50/50 red/green or so, but I am just annoyed at something extra-traffic or something. Then I say to myself, "Alright, I'll prove it to you." So I start counting the lights and the red/green ratio. I am often amazed by how this exercise turns out: The lights are actually conspiring against me with a tremendously lopsided light count. Somewhere in my counting, of course, I think of Amy Grant's old hit "Angels Watching Over Me" (which I used to sing regularly for special music on Sundays) and the lines that go: "...a reckless car ran out of gas before it ran my way. Near misses all around me, accidents unknown. But we never see with the human eye the hands that lead me home." Then I disregard this thought as superstition and bad statistics, but still wonder underneath it all if God does sometimes--or all the time--invest in how the traffic flows for or against us.
I also play this game with cop cars, but then attribute the results to some local "Go Out and Get 'Em" Seminar which just took place at the precinct last night. It was mandatory.
Kevin and I had a dinner conversation with Girl a few nights ago where we recounted (wisely or not) the day before the day--two years ago--when I had thrown a ginormous, surprise 30th birthday party for Kev. Let's see... It was the third day in a row that I had "snuck" 45 minutes down to Fuquay-Varina to cook furiously in my sister's kitchen while she watched Girl, making appetizers and dinner for 80 people, from scratch: baked ziti, green salads, grape-and-blue cheese canapes, etc. etc. etc. I was 5 months pregnant and totally whipped. It was the hardest I had ever worked in my life, easy. I loaded up the van with all the food for the hour trip to the church (the next day's venue), leaving Girl (at two years old) with her adoring aunt and uncle for the night. My mother was due to arrive on a plane at any moment, but kept meeting delays, and was going to surprise Girl for a sleepover while Kev and I had very rare date night: tickets to a Bulls game, dinner out on the town. During the drive to the church, storm clouds heaped upon storm clouds until the inevitable happened: a whopper of a storm. I still remember pulling over at one point, afraid the puddles would consume me, and crying b/c --well, various things--but ostensibly b/c my van was being pummeled by gargantuan hail that I thought were surely going to shatter the windshield and destroy the body of my van. The racket was unbelievable, for real. Also driving in this storm, I started to receive phone call after phone call, news, after more news. Most of my relatives and one of Kevin's were delayed for various reasons, and my cousin and his wife had been in a car accident in Virginia. Then Dan and Lindsay called: Girl had very suddenly spiked a tremendous fever and vomited all over the floor. They were on the way to urgent care. I hunkered down and kept driving, knowing that weeks of food prep would be ruined if I didn't get food to the church. Kevin--who knew nothing of the party--was called and fed some story and so he started to make his way to poor Girl. Another call: the urgent care refused to take her with only aunt and uncle, they were trying the E.R. and could I come ASAP? Well, Kev would be there... but then he called. There was so much water on the road and in the air that his (older) car was continually stalling out. But the food! After about an hour and 1/2 on the road, I was almost there, if only the weather would let up. And it did. I got to the church to discover that, to my dismay, Grace Church was having its annual "Gracemart," which means giving away loads and loads of household goods for free to people in the community. Sometimes, this can get a little hairy and very busy. I pulled up to a side door with my stuff and opened the van, just as a swarm of people descended on me and started actually reaching in my car, taking things, assuming that it was all donations. I had to verbally fight them off: the saving grace was the church's administrative assistant extraordinaire, who swooped out the back door with a couple men, chased everyone off, and whisked all the food into the church before... before... something. So off to the E.R. Girl looked super-pathetic. Took her home, screwing up a lot of the cover plan for the next day and of course our whole date night. A disheartened Kevin met us at the door, back from his attempts at driving off to save his daughter. But before we could all fall asleep, Girl leaned over to Kevin, and in a whisper, delivered the news that all our relatives were in town. (She thought that a secret was something you whispered, it turns out.) As a second saving grace of the night, Kevin truly thought that Girl was hallucinating from her fever.
That was one of those days.
Yesterday was another one of them.
First thing in the morn I was faced with the fairly common task of feeding the fam and getting everyone clothed and spiffied and out the door. We were on our way to the pediatrician, b/c Boy had fallen about 4 1/2 feet out of a play tower in the yard on Saturday, and had manifested some pain in his arm on Sunday (which the advice line advised us to medicate and see a doc on Monday morn). At 8:01 I was on the phone with them and making an appointment. 1030AM: At the pediatrician and he thinks maybe 50/50 Boy has a hairline fracture in his collar bone. Plenty of toys and patience. 1130AM: at the radiologist to get the xray. Less toys and less patience, and the doctor calls us into his office to show us the buckle fracture on Boy's upper, right arm. Noon: back at the pediatrician so that they can make an appointment for us to go and see a specialist. Still plenty of toys, but patience is dwindling for my 4- and 1-year-old. 1230PM: stopping and dragging the kids into a Kroger to snag random things from the "health food" section which might somehow fit into my restrictive diet (organic jerky, organic veggie juice, raw nut and seed mix, and organic milk and fruit leathers for the kids). 120PM: at the orthopaedist (no toys, no patience left) to hold a sleeping baby and a milk-box and a clipboard full of paperwork I am filling out whilst listening to Windsor play with the only toy in the whole place that happens also to be the loudest and most annoying toy anywhere and all the elderly patients and dare devils that dot the waiting room seem to notice this as well, but what are you going to do? The first doctor says that Boy needs a sling. The second doctor tells us that he is just young enough to strangle himself with a sling. The conclusion of the interview? "Pain" and Mommy and Daddy will be the sling. Come back in two weeks, he should be better by Halloween. I practically beg for them to glue something to him (b/c I understand that his energy, sheer strength, and love of climbing is nothing to trifle with) but nothing comes of that. Afternoon: Kevin calls to say that he has a client emergency and will be spending the evening in the ER. Within a minute of hanging up, the computer that we thought we may have fixed after months of computer issues, crashes. I actually pick it up and start shaking, while simultaneously muttering made-up expletives and explaining to Girl that yes, Mommy is mad, but everything will be alright, and she may want to exit the room for awhile. An hour passes, another call from Kevin saying the his car has broken down, probably due to a bad battery and alternator and he is waiting for the tow truck with his emergent client. Half an hour later, I find myself driving the kids to the corner store, dropping off my car, and walking the kids back to the house in the 88F weather. Up hill. (What? It's true.) It is now way too late to tackle dinner and the house somehow looks like it has been hit with an internal tornado, but I grasp in the fridge: tofu, coconut milk. I get things sauteing and step out the front door to pick some Thai basil and... wait for it... I am stung. Or bit. On the hand. I don't know which b/c I never see the perpetrator but it hurts like hell. I start to panic a little b/c NC does have two common deadly spiders as well as a few snakes, I have no transportation, and a goodly bit of the emergency medication is in Boy's diaper bag, in the car that Kevin now has. I don't want to die like this, today. I ice it. My father-in-law walks me through treating it, as best he can. My mom and step-dad do some internet research and come to the conclusion that it is not a black widow or brown recluse bite. 1130PM: Kevin arrives home much earlier than we expected. Midnight: He is done eating coconut-tofu concoction and fiddling with the now-gutted computer. He takes the canned air that he is holding and jokingly sprays me with it, except he tilts it upside down and the liquid chemicals come spurting out, giving me a chemical burn on the thigh. Thus, I end the night on the side of the tub, running water (as instructed by said can) over the burn and laughing.
There is another game that I play, but this one I play with my husband. We lamely call it the Thankful Game. We usually play it on days like the one we had yesterday (and indeed, we did play it last night between the sting and the burn). It is simple. We takes turns saying aloud things that we are thankful for. It's very cheesy, no getting around that. But it really works to draw some of the poison from the sting of life (pun intended, unapologetically). It re-focuses the mind that has re-trained itself to expect the worst and to think of life in terms of the first bit of the book of Job: Satan is throwing this at me to test me. Perhaps. But if there is anything that I have learned emerging from the dark night of the soul that was the past three years of my life, it is this:
I may have felt filthy and alone, dark and desperate, sinful and alarmed. But even just barely clinging to my faith by a few ragged fingernails is a grace that I do not deserve, can not expect, and can never, ever, ever repay or be thankful enough for.
I play a game with myself sometimes, when I notice that the traffic signals seem to be working against me on any particular day. At first, I tell myself that certainly they are just like any other day, maybe a 50/50 red/green or so, but I am just annoyed at something extra-traffic or something. Then I say to myself, "Alright, I'll prove it to you." So I start counting the lights and the red/green ratio. I am often amazed by how this exercise turns out: The lights are actually conspiring against me with a tremendously lopsided light count. Somewhere in my counting, of course, I think of Amy Grant's old hit "Angels Watching Over Me" (which I used to sing regularly for special music on Sundays) and the lines that go: "...a reckless car ran out of gas before it ran my way. Near misses all around me, accidents unknown. But we never see with the human eye the hands that lead me home." Then I disregard this thought as superstition and bad statistics, but still wonder underneath it all if God does sometimes--or all the time--invest in how the traffic flows for or against us.
I also play this game with cop cars, but then attribute the results to some local "Go Out and Get 'Em" Seminar which just took place at the precinct last night. It was mandatory.
Kevin and I had a dinner conversation with Girl a few nights ago where we recounted (wisely or not) the day before the day--two years ago--when I had thrown a ginormous, surprise 30th birthday party for Kev. Let's see... It was the third day in a row that I had "snuck" 45 minutes down to Fuquay-Varina to cook furiously in my sister's kitchen while she watched Girl, making appetizers and dinner for 80 people, from scratch: baked ziti, green salads, grape-and-blue cheese canapes, etc. etc. etc. I was 5 months pregnant and totally whipped. It was the hardest I had ever worked in my life, easy. I loaded up the van with all the food for the hour trip to the church (the next day's venue), leaving Girl (at two years old) with her adoring aunt and uncle for the night. My mother was due to arrive on a plane at any moment, but kept meeting delays, and was going to surprise Girl for a sleepover while Kev and I had very rare date night: tickets to a Bulls game, dinner out on the town. During the drive to the church, storm clouds heaped upon storm clouds until the inevitable happened: a whopper of a storm. I still remember pulling over at one point, afraid the puddles would consume me, and crying b/c --well, various things--but ostensibly b/c my van was being pummeled by gargantuan hail that I thought were surely going to shatter the windshield and destroy the body of my van. The racket was unbelievable, for real. Also driving in this storm, I started to receive phone call after phone call, news, after more news. Most of my relatives and one of Kevin's were delayed for various reasons, and my cousin and his wife had been in a car accident in Virginia. Then Dan and Lindsay called: Girl had very suddenly spiked a tremendous fever and vomited all over the floor. They were on the way to urgent care. I hunkered down and kept driving, knowing that weeks of food prep would be ruined if I didn't get food to the church. Kevin--who knew nothing of the party--was called and fed some story and so he started to make his way to poor Girl. Another call: the urgent care refused to take her with only aunt and uncle, they were trying the E.R. and could I come ASAP? Well, Kev would be there... but then he called. There was so much water on the road and in the air that his (older) car was continually stalling out. But the food! After about an hour and 1/2 on the road, I was almost there, if only the weather would let up. And it did. I got to the church to discover that, to my dismay, Grace Church was having its annual "Gracemart," which means giving away loads and loads of household goods for free to people in the community. Sometimes, this can get a little hairy and very busy. I pulled up to a side door with my stuff and opened the van, just as a swarm of people descended on me and started actually reaching in my car, taking things, assuming that it was all donations. I had to verbally fight them off: the saving grace was the church's administrative assistant extraordinaire, who swooped out the back door with a couple men, chased everyone off, and whisked all the food into the church before... before... something. So off to the E.R. Girl looked super-pathetic. Took her home, screwing up a lot of the cover plan for the next day and of course our whole date night. A disheartened Kevin met us at the door, back from his attempts at driving off to save his daughter. But before we could all fall asleep, Girl leaned over to Kevin, and in a whisper, delivered the news that all our relatives were in town. (She thought that a secret was something you whispered, it turns out.) As a second saving grace of the night, Kevin truly thought that Girl was hallucinating from her fever.
That was one of those days.
Yesterday was another one of them.
First thing in the morn I was faced with the fairly common task of feeding the fam and getting everyone clothed and spiffied and out the door. We were on our way to the pediatrician, b/c Boy had fallen about 4 1/2 feet out of a play tower in the yard on Saturday, and had manifested some pain in his arm on Sunday (which the advice line advised us to medicate and see a doc on Monday morn). At 8:01 I was on the phone with them and making an appointment. 1030AM: At the pediatrician and he thinks maybe 50/50 Boy has a hairline fracture in his collar bone. Plenty of toys and patience. 1130AM: at the radiologist to get the xray. Less toys and less patience, and the doctor calls us into his office to show us the buckle fracture on Boy's upper, right arm. Noon: back at the pediatrician so that they can make an appointment for us to go and see a specialist. Still plenty of toys, but patience is dwindling for my 4- and 1-year-old. 1230PM: stopping and dragging the kids into a Kroger to snag random things from the "health food" section which might somehow fit into my restrictive diet (organic jerky, organic veggie juice, raw nut and seed mix, and organic milk and fruit leathers for the kids). 120PM: at the orthopaedist (no toys, no patience left) to hold a sleeping baby and a milk-box and a clipboard full of paperwork I am filling out whilst listening to Windsor play with the only toy in the whole place that happens also to be the loudest and most annoying toy anywhere and all the elderly patients and dare devils that dot the waiting room seem to notice this as well, but what are you going to do? The first doctor says that Boy needs a sling. The second doctor tells us that he is just young enough to strangle himself with a sling. The conclusion of the interview? "Pain" and Mommy and Daddy will be the sling. Come back in two weeks, he should be better by Halloween. I practically beg for them to glue something to him (b/c I understand that his energy, sheer strength, and love of climbing is nothing to trifle with) but nothing comes of that. Afternoon: Kevin calls to say that he has a client emergency and will be spending the evening in the ER. Within a minute of hanging up, the computer that we thought we may have fixed after months of computer issues, crashes. I actually pick it up and start shaking, while simultaneously muttering made-up expletives and explaining to Girl that yes, Mommy is mad, but everything will be alright, and she may want to exit the room for awhile. An hour passes, another call from Kevin saying the his car has broken down, probably due to a bad battery and alternator and he is waiting for the tow truck with his emergent client. Half an hour later, I find myself driving the kids to the corner store, dropping off my car, and walking the kids back to the house in the 88F weather. Up hill. (What? It's true.) It is now way too late to tackle dinner and the house somehow looks like it has been hit with an internal tornado, but I grasp in the fridge: tofu, coconut milk. I get things sauteing and step out the front door to pick some Thai basil and... wait for it... I am stung. Or bit. On the hand. I don't know which b/c I never see the perpetrator but it hurts like hell. I start to panic a little b/c NC does have two common deadly spiders as well as a few snakes, I have no transportation, and a goodly bit of the emergency medication is in Boy's diaper bag, in the car that Kevin now has. I don't want to die like this, today. I ice it. My father-in-law walks me through treating it, as best he can. My mom and step-dad do some internet research and come to the conclusion that it is not a black widow or brown recluse bite. 1130PM: Kevin arrives home much earlier than we expected. Midnight: He is done eating coconut-tofu concoction and fiddling with the now-gutted computer. He takes the canned air that he is holding and jokingly sprays me with it, except he tilts it upside down and the liquid chemicals come spurting out, giving me a chemical burn on the thigh. Thus, I end the night on the side of the tub, running water (as instructed by said can) over the burn and laughing.
There is another game that I play, but this one I play with my husband. We lamely call it the Thankful Game. We usually play it on days like the one we had yesterday (and indeed, we did play it last night between the sting and the burn). It is simple. We takes turns saying aloud things that we are thankful for. It's very cheesy, no getting around that. But it really works to draw some of the poison from the sting of life (pun intended, unapologetically). It re-focuses the mind that has re-trained itself to expect the worst and to think of life in terms of the first bit of the book of Job: Satan is throwing this at me to test me. Perhaps. But if there is anything that I have learned emerging from the dark night of the soul that was the past three years of my life, it is this:
I may have felt filthy and alone, dark and desperate, sinful and alarmed. But even just barely clinging to my faith by a few ragged fingernails is a grace that I do not deserve, can not expect, and can never, ever, ever repay or be thankful enough for.
28 August 2009
Debt
There is a way to borrow from yourself that involves no credit agreement. You may not know that it is happening and then you find that there are so many things that have gotten behind; you owe yourself a utility bill and a week worth's of groceries. Or perhaps it is more time with the kids and several journal entries. I am always borrowing from myself. One day, I will probably find that I have reached the deadline to paying up, but I have nothing left to give.
Perhaps another time we will talk about the weight of a wedding band, or something equally morose.
Good night and good riddance.
Perhaps another time we will talk about the weight of a wedding band, or something equally morose.
Good night and good riddance.
21 August 2009
Writing and Having a Godly Husband
First, another recipe created for the kids (but yum for grownups, too):
Salty Chocolate Popcorn
(Measurement approximated)
8 cups popped popcorn
3-4 T coconut oil
2 T raw agave nectar
1 T cocoa powder
1 t cinnamon
1 t sea salt
Drizzle, toss well, adjust to taste, and enjoy!
I'm not even sure why I am blogging, since I not only SHOULD be adding pages to the novel right now, but am really IN THE MOOD to do it. Today two new ideas for novels came to me, one of them quite good and already with a title. That makes a total of maybe eight novel ideas that are already skeletal and in the computer. If I would only finish the first one I could start on the second as my "first readers" were ripping the first apart. Work on the third while I am stalking an agent. Work on the fourth while I am waiting publication. Work on the fifth while doing book tours around the US and Europe. Work on the sixth while waiting in Oprah's green room. The seventh and eighth will have to wait a couple years before things slow down. :)
Some dreams fade, but others blaze forward. I am trying to snuff some out so that others gain ferocity. (Turns out I have a finite number of years accorded to me.) Good luck me!
And good night and good riddance.
Salty Chocolate Popcorn
(Measurement approximated)
8 cups popped popcorn
3-4 T coconut oil
2 T raw agave nectar
1 T cocoa powder
1 t cinnamon
1 t sea salt
Drizzle, toss well, adjust to taste, and enjoy!
I'm not even sure why I am blogging, since I not only SHOULD be adding pages to the novel right now, but am really IN THE MOOD to do it. Today two new ideas for novels came to me, one of them quite good and already with a title. That makes a total of maybe eight novel ideas that are already skeletal and in the computer. If I would only finish the first one I could start on the second as my "first readers" were ripping the first apart. Work on the third while I am stalking an agent. Work on the fourth while I am waiting publication. Work on the fifth while doing book tours around the US and Europe. Work on the sixth while waiting in Oprah's green room. The seventh and eighth will have to wait a couple years before things slow down. :)
Some dreams fade, but others blaze forward. I am trying to snuff some out so that others gain ferocity. (Turns out I have a finite number of years accorded to me.) Good luck me!
And good night and good riddance.
19 August 2009
Post Number 100
I am tired (always so tired!) and suffering from a headache. So I want to curl up in bed with a Yule Log Cake (long story), watch a back-episode of Heroes, and sink into a carb/TV-induced coma. But that would lead to fitful sleep. So maybe I will be able to write. I am supposed to be adding to my novel every night (except Mondays) now, but sometimes I just get to the computer and am so physically and emotionally exhausted that I really believe I don't have it in me. And I have this list--there is always a list--of things I would like to accomplish around the house before the fall and I begin home-schooling (the day after Labor Day), like scrubbing out the fire place and moving kitchen cupboard around, etc. etc. However, we are also starting the brain diet that week, so it will be a lot of adjusting for all of us. (Note: Girl is not actually of age to start kindergarten this year, but is more than academically ready, so I am going to try to do kindergarten while also applying for her to start a charter school next year and we'll just see how it all plays out.)
Last night Kev and I went from watching a movie out toward the bathroom to get ready for bed. Coming from Girl's room was a honking sound which, upon further investigation, proved to be an alarm clock beeping and beeping. Girl was curled up under her sheets with her hands over her ears and her face squinched up into disapproval... and fast asleep. As Kevin switched off the alarm her hands slid down, her face turned peaceful and with a sigh she just kept on snoozing. Turns out the alarm had been sounding for 18 minutes! Too funny. She has no recollection of it, but she giggled over the story, all the same.
Last night Kev and I went from watching a movie out toward the bathroom to get ready for bed. Coming from Girl's room was a honking sound which, upon further investigation, proved to be an alarm clock beeping and beeping. Girl was curled up under her sheets with her hands over her ears and her face squinched up into disapproval... and fast asleep. As Kevin switched off the alarm her hands slid down, her face turned peaceful and with a sigh she just kept on snoozing. Turns out the alarm had been sounding for 18 minutes! Too funny. She has no recollection of it, but she giggled over the story, all the same.
16 August 2009
WWGS
Well, this feels sort of lame. I am tired, I am worn out in more ways than one, and I am so very delinquent with "The Yellow Notebook." I actually have a half a dozen postings to put up here, post-dated, but that is not happening tonight. I don't know what is happening tonight. I am nearing the end of the summer insanity, as my mom readies to leave for Michigan in the morning and vacas and mini-vacas come to an abrupt halt. Our bank account is taxed. Our patience has worn thin. Our elasticity is... well... not so elastic right now. Our house is dirty and messy. Our calendar is mysterious. Our nutritional health is in ruins. And now we slide back into the ebb and flow of our small lives here in our old, bright house; posting photos, reading books, singing songs, cooking real food, baking bread, mowing the lawn, scrubbing the floors, "doing my homework" (which is what Girl keeps asking to do again)...
The second art show of the year has been hung (half a month ago!). The trip to Michigan and then to Mackinac Island (and the Icopod) has happened. I have turned 30, had a surprise party and my dream-day of massage and restaurants. The stroller has been stolen and... well... I don't want to give away any endings to post-dated postings. The diet has been started and then quickly called off and postponed. The novel has been returned to. The cooking class has been taught and I have received a flattering job offer. Marriage promises have been made. Home school has been researched. Treasured objects have been shattered and people have escaped tragedy by a hair's-breadth. Life sweeps through the seasons, sometimes quietly, sometimes with gusto.
I am thinking a lot, learning a lot, and am finding my character at fault a lot. There are changes to be made and wisdom to gain, but mostly just trust and peace to wade into. I have discovered that even being at a WalMart makes me depressed: all those people being rude, the customer service so lacking, and what are people eating? Are they really still so ignorant, being led like pigs (pun intended) to the slaughter--people to illness--and still using ridiculous excuses like it costs more to eat tofu than Doritos? (By the way, in more ways than one, it does NOT cost more to eat tofu that Doritos.) I digress. My point is that if this can make me depressed (and if fellow drivers can make me so heated), perhaps I should step back from certain passions, or at least find a way to re-direct them. WWJD? Lame, but if I actually read the Bible, perhaps I wouldn't have to ask.
On a road trip to Charlotte last week my mom came up with this one: What Would Garmin Say? Yikes.
The second art show of the year has been hung (half a month ago!). The trip to Michigan and then to Mackinac Island (and the Icopod) has happened. I have turned 30, had a surprise party and my dream-day of massage and restaurants. The stroller has been stolen and... well... I don't want to give away any endings to post-dated postings. The diet has been started and then quickly called off and postponed. The novel has been returned to. The cooking class has been taught and I have received a flattering job offer. Marriage promises have been made. Home school has been researched. Treasured objects have been shattered and people have escaped tragedy by a hair's-breadth. Life sweeps through the seasons, sometimes quietly, sometimes with gusto.
I am thinking a lot, learning a lot, and am finding my character at fault a lot. There are changes to be made and wisdom to gain, but mostly just trust and peace to wade into. I have discovered that even being at a WalMart makes me depressed: all those people being rude, the customer service so lacking, and what are people eating? Are they really still so ignorant, being led like pigs (pun intended) to the slaughter--people to illness--and still using ridiculous excuses like it costs more to eat tofu than Doritos? (By the way, in more ways than one, it does NOT cost more to eat tofu that Doritos.) I digress. My point is that if this can make me depressed (and if fellow drivers can make me so heated), perhaps I should step back from certain passions, or at least find a way to re-direct them. WWJD? Lame, but if I actually read the Bible, perhaps I wouldn't have to ask.
On a road trip to Charlotte last week my mom came up with this one: What Would Garmin Say? Yikes.
26 June 2009
A Quiet Day
I would like to move this evening from typing in the dark and listening to the hum of the dishwasher to snuggled up in bed, in my pjs, watching a romantic comedy (which I hardly ever indulge in b/c it is so rare that you actually find a good one. But when you do...). So let's see.
Today was a real hodge podge. We went swimming at the river, where we saw no fewer than three snakes in the water, My reaction prompted a well-meaning, hippie friend to politely remind me that this is part of enjoying nature; "sharing with the animals."
On the way home from the river we were... and I mean this SO in earnest... almost rear-ended at 50mph by one of those enormous mud-derby trucks (which was apparently not noticing the car in front of me had stopped to make a turn). It was one of those times when your chest almost explodes with your racing heart and then you spend the next several hours looking at your kids and wondering where and what you would be doing at this moment if that truck hadn't squealed dramatically out of the way just in the knick of time. (This is similar to the moment last week when my sister was with the kids on a walk and an Explorer started veering toward them on the side of the road and swerved out of the way just in time. Yikes.)
Then Kevin popped in the door a few hours early and declared that he was taking us out to the buck-fifty and pizza. Girl said, "and ice cream?" and he said, "of course." So we spent a very happy afternoon NOT cleaning the house, as previously planned, but gallivanting all around town in the super-heat, watching Monsters Vs. Aliens and eating tofutti cuties in the back yard (and picking veggie from the garden: more cherry tomatoes, summer squash, romaine lettuce, and our first cucumber).
I created a peanut-butter-and-jelly smoothie for my kids this morning.
Peanut Butter and Jelly Smoothie
2 frozen bananas
1 (-1 1/2) cup vanilla almond milk
3 T peanut butter
1/2 cup frozen blueberries (or strawberries, grapes, or raspberries)
1-2 T pure maple syrup
1 t powdered vitamin C, optional
Puree until everything, including fruit skins, are smooth. Adjust milk and berries to taste and for consistency.
Enjoy! And good riddance.
Today was a real hodge podge. We went swimming at the river, where we saw no fewer than three snakes in the water, My reaction prompted a well-meaning, hippie friend to politely remind me that this is part of enjoying nature; "sharing with the animals."
On the way home from the river we were... and I mean this SO in earnest... almost rear-ended at 50mph by one of those enormous mud-derby trucks (which was apparently not noticing the car in front of me had stopped to make a turn). It was one of those times when your chest almost explodes with your racing heart and then you spend the next several hours looking at your kids and wondering where and what you would be doing at this moment if that truck hadn't squealed dramatically out of the way just in the knick of time. (This is similar to the moment last week when my sister was with the kids on a walk and an Explorer started veering toward them on the side of the road and swerved out of the way just in time. Yikes.)
Then Kevin popped in the door a few hours early and declared that he was taking us out to the buck-fifty and pizza. Girl said, "and ice cream?" and he said, "of course." So we spent a very happy afternoon NOT cleaning the house, as previously planned, but gallivanting all around town in the super-heat, watching Monsters Vs. Aliens and eating tofutti cuties in the back yard (and picking veggie from the garden: more cherry tomatoes, summer squash, romaine lettuce, and our first cucumber).
I created a peanut-butter-and-jelly smoothie for my kids this morning.
Peanut Butter and Jelly Smoothie
2 frozen bananas
1 (-1 1/2) cup vanilla almond milk
3 T peanut butter
1/2 cup frozen blueberries (or strawberries, grapes, or raspberries)
1-2 T pure maple syrup
1 t powdered vitamin C, optional
Puree until everything, including fruit skins, are smooth. Adjust milk and berries to taste and for consistency.
Enjoy! And good riddance.
24 June 2009
Blues Blab
For my "birthday list" this year--with the big 3-0 coming up--I thought that I would make an anti-birthday list. I sent out an email to my family which listed "Things That Make Me Happy," instead. Once again, I am squashed. I really was just trying to think outside the box, do something fun and creative, and make other people (and myself) think. I mean, isn't that what we are supposed to do for people for their birthdays? Things that make them happy? And I felt really proud of my list because, far from exhaustive, it took a focus off of the negativity that has been my bed-fellow for several years and made me meditate on just how many things (and what simple things!) do make me happy. Plus, I couldn't help but notice, one could buy and buy from this list, or they could spend nothing but a little time, effort, or planning. Which is sort of what I was looking for, to begin with: love and encouragement expressed in my own language; services, gifts (even the simple ones).
Don't you remember how youth made everything so much shinier? For me, just a road-side meadow waving in the wind or a funny scene enacted at a WalMart or the smell of a pleasant perfume in the mall... I didn't feel that I had to be cynical or worried when I encountered the simple pleasantries of life, the good ol' joi de vive. What happens to us? Where does the laughter go? Why do we let the negative people in our lives rule the roost while the energetic, creative, outside-the-box people lose touch?
And, more importantly to me as I approach this aging milestone, can I actually reclaim my lost youth? Can I be both advanced in experience and full of joy? Can I relish the oom-pah of Latin music in passing or Christmas lights or wind socks or shadows or whatever it is that has historically made me happy? Can I somehow LEARN to see around or through the stressors in life (as in, can I see the clean dishes for the dirty laundry or the mowed lawn for the ripped pants)?
And, more importantly, how can I actually pursue JOY so that I can attain it, in some measure, more with every year of my life? I understand, to an extent, the root of all my problems, as a lack of understanding of the God of the Universe (including His Person as a loving, personal Savior, Father, etc.). But since I can not force God's hand in the matter, then is it pointless for me to keep asking for more wisdom and more peace and more joy? To be honest, I feel much worse for the wear when it comes to all three of these things, now. At 21... well, was I more joyful or more peaceful or more wise? When it comes to character (patience, charity, gentleness, discipline, etc.), I feel like such a 30-year-old loser. (Just have a couple of kids and do you're darndest to raise them right and you'll see what I mean.)
Oh, well.
Here is the list of random things that make me happy (NOT joyful, which I believe lies much deeper than the sum total of pleasant things in my life):
-linens (blankets, pillows, throws, rugs, curtains, etc.)
-artsy-crafty stuff (esp. painting, photography, cutting paper, and sewing)
-pottery (to use, not stare at)
-handmade stuff
-local stuff
-world stuff (esp. asian and indian, but really anything)
-conscientious stuff
-environmentalism
-re-purposed stuff
-vintage stuff
-massages (!!!)
-original artwork
-reading/books (literature, on writing, about food/nutrition, travelogues, etc.)
-soundtracks, world music, alt-rock
-clothes (esp. hippie clothes, fun tees (esp. with printed on items, like ties), jeans, re-purposed, vintage, etc.)
-shoes (esp. converse, new balance, birkenstocks, blowfish, and rocket dog)
-earrings (especially danglys and studs; )
-bags (purses, satchels, travel bags, etc. etc. etc.)
-scarves
-hair stuff
-writing
-cookbooks (esp. health/nutrition, world, veggie, etc.)
-kitchen stuff
-pretty yard things (twirly windmills, wind socks, giant metal flowers, etc.)
-wind chimes
-bright colors (esp. turquoise, apple red, pumpkin orange)
-pleasant smells
-hiking, camping, kayaking, canoeing, yoga, pilates
-good, healthy food (berries, cherries, cauliflower, shrimp, dark chocolate, tomatoes, herbs, coconut, Thai food...)
-the desert and the ocean (and the mountains)
-travel
-warmth
-journals (with no lines)/journaling
-my family, my friends, my babies
-Jesus
-philosophy
-pleasant smells (esp. fruity and food, oils, soy candles, and incense)
-philanthropy (esp. children, anti-slave trade, hunger, etc.)
-low light (like candles, Christmas lights)
-night time
-stars
-astronomy
-marine biology
-archaeology
-homemade things
-quilts
-the disciplines/academia
-singing
-swimming
-poetry
-wind
-flowers
-glass bottles
-sleep
-dancing
-musicals (and some plays, too)
-museums, coffee shops, libraries, readings, lectures, festivals, fairs
-encouragement
-cleanliness
-organization
-plans
-wood, glass, and metal
-squares, straight lines, circles
-assymetry
-shopping (and good deals)
-road trips
-holidays (esp. Christmas and halloween)
-physical labor (to a point, you know)
-water
-faces and feet
-movies (only good ones, like "Babbette's Feast" and "Yes Man")
-the food network (and iron chef)
-magazines (esp. food, nutrition, world)
-rocks and gemstones (esp. turquoise)
-roller coasters
-natural, pleasantly smelly cosmetics and toiletries
-photos
-Kevin
-good restaurants
-loyalty
-wisdom
-the Bible
-trains (esp. sleeper trains)
-interior design
-tea
-cooking and baking
-grape arbors
-real stuff
-adoption
-open windows
-office supplies
-getting really dressed up
-crystals
-giving gifts
-letters
-lists
C'est la vie. Comme-ci comme-ca. Good night and good riddance.
Don't you remember how youth made everything so much shinier? For me, just a road-side meadow waving in the wind or a funny scene enacted at a WalMart or the smell of a pleasant perfume in the mall... I didn't feel that I had to be cynical or worried when I encountered the simple pleasantries of life, the good ol' joi de vive. What happens to us? Where does the laughter go? Why do we let the negative people in our lives rule the roost while the energetic, creative, outside-the-box people lose touch?
And, more importantly to me as I approach this aging milestone, can I actually reclaim my lost youth? Can I be both advanced in experience and full of joy? Can I relish the oom-pah of Latin music in passing or Christmas lights or wind socks or shadows or whatever it is that has historically made me happy? Can I somehow LEARN to see around or through the stressors in life (as in, can I see the clean dishes for the dirty laundry or the mowed lawn for the ripped pants)?
And, more importantly, how can I actually pursue JOY so that I can attain it, in some measure, more with every year of my life? I understand, to an extent, the root of all my problems, as a lack of understanding of the God of the Universe (including His Person as a loving, personal Savior, Father, etc.). But since I can not force God's hand in the matter, then is it pointless for me to keep asking for more wisdom and more peace and more joy? To be honest, I feel much worse for the wear when it comes to all three of these things, now. At 21... well, was I more joyful or more peaceful or more wise? When it comes to character (patience, charity, gentleness, discipline, etc.), I feel like such a 30-year-old loser. (Just have a couple of kids and do you're darndest to raise them right and you'll see what I mean.)
Oh, well.
Here is the list of random things that make me happy (NOT joyful, which I believe lies much deeper than the sum total of pleasant things in my life):
-linens (blankets, pillows, throws, rugs, curtains, etc.)
-artsy-crafty stuff (esp. painting, photography, cutting paper, and sewing)
-pottery (to use, not stare at)
-handmade stuff
-local stuff
-world stuff (esp. asian and indian, but really anything)
-conscientious stuff
-environmentalism
-re-purposed stuff
-vintage stuff
-massages (!!!)
-original artwork
-reading/books (literature, on writing, about food/nutrition, travelogues, etc.)
-soundtracks, world music, alt-rock
-clothes (esp. hippie clothes, fun tees (esp. with printed on items, like ties), jeans, re-purposed, vintage, etc.)
-shoes (esp. converse, new balance, birkenstocks, blowfish, and rocket dog)
-earrings (especially danglys and studs; )
-bags (purses, satchels, travel bags, etc. etc. etc.)
-scarves
-hair stuff
-writing
-cookbooks (esp. health/nutrition, world, veggie, etc.)
-kitchen stuff
-pretty yard things (twirly windmills, wind socks, giant metal flowers, etc.)
-wind chimes
-bright colors (esp. turquoise, apple red, pumpkin orange)
-pleasant smells
-hiking, camping, kayaking, canoeing, yoga, pilates
-good, healthy food (berries, cherries, cauliflower, shrimp, dark chocolate, tomatoes, herbs, coconut, Thai food...)
-the desert and the ocean (and the mountains)
-travel
-warmth
-journals (with no lines)/journaling
-my family, my friends, my babies
-Jesus
-philosophy
-pleasant smells (esp. fruity and food, oils, soy candles, and incense)
-philanthropy (esp. children, anti-slave trade, hunger, etc.)
-low light (like candles, Christmas lights)
-night time
-stars
-astronomy
-marine biology
-archaeology
-homemade things
-quilts
-the disciplines/academia
-singing
-swimming
-poetry
-wind
-flowers
-glass bottles
-sleep
-dancing
-musicals (and some plays, too)
-museums, coffee shops, libraries, readings, lectures, festivals, fairs
-encouragement
-cleanliness
-organization
-plans
-wood, glass, and metal
-squares, straight lines, circles
-assymetry
-shopping (and good deals)
-road trips
-holidays (esp. Christmas and halloween)
-physical labor (to a point, you know)
-water
-faces and feet
-movies (only good ones, like "Babbette's Feast" and "Yes Man")
-the food network (and iron chef)
-magazines (esp. food, nutrition, world)
-rocks and gemstones (esp. turquoise)
-roller coasters
-natural, pleasantly smelly cosmetics and toiletries
-photos
-Kevin
-good restaurants
-loyalty
-wisdom
-the Bible
-trains (esp. sleeper trains)
-interior design
-tea
-cooking and baking
-grape arbors
-real stuff
-adoption
-open windows
-office supplies
-getting really dressed up
-crystals
-giving gifts
-letters
-lists
C'est la vie. Comme-ci comme-ca. Good night and good riddance.
22 June 2009
Not Really for Reading
Three of my specialties:
Crazy Bars (which are not only crazy b/c of the ingredients, but also b/c you mix them right in the 9x13 pan!):
-Cream together 1 cup peanut butter, 1/2 cup sugar, 1/2 cup brown sugar.
-Stir in 2 eggs and 1 t vanilla.
-In one end of the pan, stir together 1 cup spelt flour, 1 t baking soda, 1 t baking powder, 1/2 t salt, 1/2 t cinnamon.
-Combine with wet ingredients and add 1/2 cup cream, then
-1 cup oats, 1/2 cup dark chocolate chips, 1/2 cup raisins, 1/2 cup nuts (I like peanuts here).
-Bake at 350F for like 1/2 hour or so.
Hot Cocoa
1 cup milk (whole, "organic")
1 T cocoa (quality)
1 T maple syrup (real)
splash vanilla (real)
Heat over med-low, whisking. Don't over-heat. Yum.
Watermelon Leathers
Slice up a watermelon, de-seed, and throw the slices in the dehydrator for the whole day. My family LOVES these. Pull them when they are no longer moist but are chewy, not crispy. You can do this in the oven, too, but I don't know how. You can roast the seeds and salt them and use the rinds for pickling. Very thrifty, that.
Crazy Bars (which are not only crazy b/c of the ingredients, but also b/c you mix them right in the 9x13 pan!):
-Cream together 1 cup peanut butter, 1/2 cup sugar, 1/2 cup brown sugar.
-Stir in 2 eggs and 1 t vanilla.
-In one end of the pan, stir together 1 cup spelt flour, 1 t baking soda, 1 t baking powder, 1/2 t salt, 1/2 t cinnamon.
-Combine with wet ingredients and add 1/2 cup cream, then
-1 cup oats, 1/2 cup dark chocolate chips, 1/2 cup raisins, 1/2 cup nuts (I like peanuts here).
-Bake at 350F for like 1/2 hour or so.
Hot Cocoa
1 cup milk (whole, "organic")
1 T cocoa (quality)
1 T maple syrup (real)
splash vanilla (real)
Heat over med-low, whisking. Don't over-heat. Yum.
Watermelon Leathers
Slice up a watermelon, de-seed, and throw the slices in the dehydrator for the whole day. My family LOVES these. Pull them when they are no longer moist but are chewy, not crispy. You can do this in the oven, too, but I don't know how. You can roast the seeds and salt them and use the rinds for pickling. Very thrifty, that.
21 June 2009
Read With Caution
Suddenly I am in total bloggers' block. I never have bloggers block because you can write about anything on a blog, even about having bloggers' block.
I guess that means I should snag a "Crazy Bar" from the kitchen (a recipe that I made up the other day which includes usual cookie stuff plus peanut butter, oats, cinnamon, as well as raisins, chocolate, and nuts... Wowsah!), a glass of milk, and my latest read: Twinkie, Deconstructed. I am a little put off by the sheer size of the Cervantes I got from the library the other day. There are 101 things I need to do, but Boy is going through a takes-2-hours-to-put-to-bed stage and how do I manage my painting deadlines with that, I might ask? (Indeed, I suppose I am asking.) I am donating a small amount of each of the next 10 days to doing 1/10th of the office (which needs to be cleaned out, reorganized, and down-sized). And I have GOT to get this camera issue figured out; now my IPhoto does not want to open, try as I might. Is there no end?
Egad! I am so quiet here in the dark (trying not to re-awaken the curious toddler) that some sort of creature started moving about in the hallway! Aaargghhh! There are some things that I HATE about an old house, and mice (which is seriously what I hope it is since it actually sounds much larger) is at the top of the list! (with funny old smells and persistent ants). We have been battling the mice for a couple years now, and whenever we think they are gone, think again! And up to this point I have only once in two years actually heard them in the house! Once again, aaarrgggh! (Judging from the noise, it might actually be in the wall or in the attic, but I take no chances and close the kids' doors and then jump up onto the couch at the opposite end of the family room with the promised cooky and milk and book and here I will stay, creepy-crawly, until Kev gets home from work.)
Oh yuck yuck yuck.
Good night and wouldn't I love good riddance!
I guess that means I should snag a "Crazy Bar" from the kitchen (a recipe that I made up the other day which includes usual cookie stuff plus peanut butter, oats, cinnamon, as well as raisins, chocolate, and nuts... Wowsah!), a glass of milk, and my latest read: Twinkie, Deconstructed. I am a little put off by the sheer size of the Cervantes I got from the library the other day. There are 101 things I need to do, but Boy is going through a takes-2-hours-to-put-to-bed stage and how do I manage my painting deadlines with that, I might ask? (Indeed, I suppose I am asking.) I am donating a small amount of each of the next 10 days to doing 1/10th of the office (which needs to be cleaned out, reorganized, and down-sized). And I have GOT to get this camera issue figured out; now my IPhoto does not want to open, try as I might. Is there no end?
Egad! I am so quiet here in the dark (trying not to re-awaken the curious toddler) that some sort of creature started moving about in the hallway! Aaargghhh! There are some things that I HATE about an old house, and mice (which is seriously what I hope it is since it actually sounds much larger) is at the top of the list! (with funny old smells and persistent ants). We have been battling the mice for a couple years now, and whenever we think they are gone, think again! And up to this point I have only once in two years actually heard them in the house! Once again, aaarrgggh! (Judging from the noise, it might actually be in the wall or in the attic, but I take no chances and close the kids' doors and then jump up onto the couch at the opposite end of the family room with the promised cooky and milk and book and here I will stay, creepy-crawly, until Kev gets home from work.)
Oh yuck yuck yuck.
Good night and wouldn't I love good riddance!
18 June 2009
An Un-Heroine.
There was something I was going to share, but it seems to be lost in the fog of exhaustion. I have now graduated from the Anne of Green Gables series and am now on the Emily trilogy. I love L. M. Montgomery. I love her heroines. I want to be one of her heroines! When I was a girl, I thought that the trajectory of a charactered and talented teen like me was straight for a Montgomery heroine. Little did I suspect that I would fly out way off the mark (in a series of impassioned sizzles, I think), in the middle of temper tantrums, painful feet, even more painful bouts of materialism, and a messy, mouse-haunted house. How un-romantic and de-moralized is that? On that note,
good night and good riddance. And happy birthday, sis.
good night and good riddance. And happy birthday, sis.
15 June 2009
Did I Detect a Breath in There Somewhere?
It is well known that there are three house chores I despise more than any other: scrubbing out the tub, putting away laundry, and anything to do with the dishes (partly b/c of its incessant repetition). Two days ago I had folded the laundry and then placed all the stacks in the rooms of their final destination. When I had put away the stuff in the kids' rooms and the hallways, I circled back to my room, where the kids themselves were snuggled up onto the bed watching our Netflix rental, Bolt. I stopped mid-sentence and mid-step in the doorway. Where were all the clothes I had just placed neatly on the bed? Girl jumped up with a look of unbearably-contained elfin glee on her face, and announced, "Mom! Look! I put all the clothes away for you!" Sure enough, all the clothes (a full half of them now ruefully un-folded) were compacted into whatever places were available to them on the lower shelves of Kev's and my wardrobes. I beamed at her, very touched that she would do a duty for me because she knew well that I did not like to do it. I said thanks and walked out of the room, to return only today to very quietly and stealthily move the clothes to their proper locations in the room. ;) Shh! Don't tell.
And speaking of hated chores, I found myself sighing to myself in the kitchen this evening. I had done the dishes no fewer than three times in two hours! Before dinner, I cleaned up the day's dishes. After dinner (Moroccan chicken with couscous and apricot sauce), I cleaned up dinner. And then, I served everyone up some special vegan cake with strawberries for dessert and had that cleaned up by the time Kev went to jam with a guitarist. Sigh!
Wading with trepidation through yet another month in the land of very tight finances, I find myself a little excited despite myself. It may not have been the soundest financial decision we have made this year (especially in light of the fact that a few very large, emergency expenses in the past couples months have basically obliterated our savings and we continue to hang on to the budget by the skin of our teeth), but we have sunk a little money into our upcoming romantic getaway. It is called the Icopod, and I think that it will suit us just perfectly. So basically, we are taking three days and two nights during our week in Michigan and leaving the kids behind with grandparents to get some much needed time together. Living in NC, I figured that we would make our way to a state park near Mackinac Island and stay there, seeing the sights during the day. I was recently informed through the family grapevine (and what a grapevine it is!) that we would need to reserve in Michigan. It turns out, much to my surprise, that there are no state-owned camping accommodations near Mackinac, anyhow. But the most popular place to stay like that is the 600-site, family-owned and -operated Mackinac Mill Creek Campgrounds across the water. So I looked into it, and a "budget" site (which I am pretty sure means on the freeway) came in about $30 for the two nights. A nicer sight, like $50 or so. Lakeside? Out of the price range. A small primitive cabin, we were looking at a little over $100, which sort of sounded quaint and doable for a romantic getaway that happens once every 2-3 years (the last time being fall of 2007 when we took off for the NC shore and ended up at this quirky little family-owned place a scant block from the water). Then I saw the Icopod. There's just one of them, which has an appeal all its own, although there a few scattered across the country. And it's supposed to be unique and architectural and environmentally friendly. Perfect. Plus, I pointed out to myself, there is a fridge and microwave (although no potty, go figure!) so we can solemnly vow to eat only one meal out the whole time we are there. Plus no tent to set up? No sleeping on the ground? But enjoying the beauty of nature and the joys of communal bathrooms? That more than makes up for the very doable price tag of $115. Right? (For the Icopod, see here).
I am also dusting off the ol' Flaherty Family Organization Book after almost a year so that I can start tracking household chores, doctors appointments, and birthdays, etc. without so much discombobulation. And I am starting back in on the Books to Read list I worked so hard at compiling last year. I am just going to jump right in with the most highly recommended book (by far), Don Quixote, by Miguel Cervantes. I was supposed to read this in high school, but there is no guarantee I actually finished it. Both my father-in-law and my globe-trotting, multi-linguistic high school Spanish teacher find the story life-changing every time they encounter it, and, to be honest (and despite some level of bookishness and gravity), I probably wouldn't have known a good novel if it punched me in the nose, when I was in high school.
That's a mouthful. Good night and good riddance.
And speaking of hated chores, I found myself sighing to myself in the kitchen this evening. I had done the dishes no fewer than three times in two hours! Before dinner, I cleaned up the day's dishes. After dinner (Moroccan chicken with couscous and apricot sauce), I cleaned up dinner. And then, I served everyone up some special vegan cake with strawberries for dessert and had that cleaned up by the time Kev went to jam with a guitarist. Sigh!
Wading with trepidation through yet another month in the land of very tight finances, I find myself a little excited despite myself. It may not have been the soundest financial decision we have made this year (especially in light of the fact that a few very large, emergency expenses in the past couples months have basically obliterated our savings and we continue to hang on to the budget by the skin of our teeth), but we have sunk a little money into our upcoming romantic getaway. It is called the Icopod, and I think that it will suit us just perfectly. So basically, we are taking three days and two nights during our week in Michigan and leaving the kids behind with grandparents to get some much needed time together. Living in NC, I figured that we would make our way to a state park near Mackinac Island and stay there, seeing the sights during the day. I was recently informed through the family grapevine (and what a grapevine it is!) that we would need to reserve in Michigan. It turns out, much to my surprise, that there are no state-owned camping accommodations near Mackinac, anyhow. But the most popular place to stay like that is the 600-site, family-owned and -operated Mackinac Mill Creek Campgrounds across the water. So I looked into it, and a "budget" site (which I am pretty sure means on the freeway) came in about $30 for the two nights. A nicer sight, like $50 or so. Lakeside? Out of the price range. A small primitive cabin, we were looking at a little over $100, which sort of sounded quaint and doable for a romantic getaway that happens once every 2-3 years (the last time being fall of 2007 when we took off for the NC shore and ended up at this quirky little family-owned place a scant block from the water). Then I saw the Icopod. There's just one of them, which has an appeal all its own, although there a few scattered across the country. And it's supposed to be unique and architectural and environmentally friendly. Perfect. Plus, I pointed out to myself, there is a fridge and microwave (although no potty, go figure!) so we can solemnly vow to eat only one meal out the whole time we are there. Plus no tent to set up? No sleeping on the ground? But enjoying the beauty of nature and the joys of communal bathrooms? That more than makes up for the very doable price tag of $115. Right? (For the Icopod, see here).
I am also dusting off the ol' Flaherty Family Organization Book after almost a year so that I can start tracking household chores, doctors appointments, and birthdays, etc. without so much discombobulation. And I am starting back in on the Books to Read list I worked so hard at compiling last year. I am just going to jump right in with the most highly recommended book (by far), Don Quixote, by Miguel Cervantes. I was supposed to read this in high school, but there is no guarantee I actually finished it. Both my father-in-law and my globe-trotting, multi-linguistic high school Spanish teacher find the story life-changing every time they encounter it, and, to be honest (and despite some level of bookishness and gravity), I probably wouldn't have known a good novel if it punched me in the nose, when I was in high school.
That's a mouthful. Good night and good riddance.
14 June 2009
The Rabbit Hole
Girl asked me today, "Do you know who is with you all the time, no matter what?"
And I responded, "You mean God?"
And--not wanting to wax theosophical at this particular moment--she said, "No, I mean your hand puppet."
True dat.
This morning I missed most of the sermon in church because Boy has been teething (his two-year molars, actually) and he was not letting me slip out of the nursery. But I did catch the pastor going through some thing about an offense that he had done someone and when he was asking God to help him deal with it, he was led down this sort of spiritual rabbit hole whereby he traced the depths of his particular offense to the roots of its origin (like back to Entitlement and then further back to Pride). I would go so far as to say that almost every--if not every--thing that is wrong with me and ultimately my life can be traced back to a lack of Theosophy. If I am prideful, I fail to understand just how enormous God is. If I am stubborn, I fail to understand just how in control God is. If I want a new house, I fail to understand just how loving and gracious God is (among other things). Truly knowing God as He is would, after all, predicate faith in God, wouldn't it? And yet, our complete lack of understanding and inability to keep our knowledge and compose it into one melodious whole leaves us with broken fragments of what it would take to help us live a life completely dependent upon and glorifying to God. But--as this argument must come back onto itself--complaining that I can not know fully is a failure to understand that God is wholly good and wholly powerful and wholly gracious and wholly holy (and that He completely knows and understands and orchestrates the conditions of our own very human need for faith without absolute persuasion). However, it does lead me to believe that there is a measure of faith to be attained through a life devoted to knowing God more. Ispo facto, actually read your Bible and meditate, idiot!
What else is there, really?
Good night and good riddance, perhaps.
And I responded, "You mean God?"
And--not wanting to wax theosophical at this particular moment--she said, "No, I mean your hand puppet."
True dat.
This morning I missed most of the sermon in church because Boy has been teething (his two-year molars, actually) and he was not letting me slip out of the nursery. But I did catch the pastor going through some thing about an offense that he had done someone and when he was asking God to help him deal with it, he was led down this sort of spiritual rabbit hole whereby he traced the depths of his particular offense to the roots of its origin (like back to Entitlement and then further back to Pride). I would go so far as to say that almost every--if not every--thing that is wrong with me and ultimately my life can be traced back to a lack of Theosophy. If I am prideful, I fail to understand just how enormous God is. If I am stubborn, I fail to understand just how in control God is. If I want a new house, I fail to understand just how loving and gracious God is (among other things). Truly knowing God as He is would, after all, predicate faith in God, wouldn't it? And yet, our complete lack of understanding and inability to keep our knowledge and compose it into one melodious whole leaves us with broken fragments of what it would take to help us live a life completely dependent upon and glorifying to God. But--as this argument must come back onto itself--complaining that I can not know fully is a failure to understand that God is wholly good and wholly powerful and wholly gracious and wholly holy (and that He completely knows and understands and orchestrates the conditions of our own very human need for faith without absolute persuasion). However, it does lead me to believe that there is a measure of faith to be attained through a life devoted to knowing God more. Ispo facto, actually read your Bible and meditate, idiot!
What else is there, really?
Good night and good riddance, perhaps.
13 June 2009
Date Night, Supreme
Whew! Or whoosh! Or both. The last few days have just smeared together into a busy blur. I had the feeling every now and then that I would like to blog, but there was just no time for such things.
To note: Kevin has been filling out applications for nursing school.
And our 8th anniversary was Tuesday. He brought me home a coral colored rose and a bar of high-quality dark chocolate. Yesterday, my sister came out to stay with the kids and after Kev and I rushed about ("rush" being as always a little exaggeration on Kevin's part) finishing up dishes and making up guest futons, we headed out for a night of matrimonial bliss, Durham style. We went first to a locavore restaurant we have been wanting to try; Watts Grocery. On Broad Street, it proved to be as trendy, hip, and yummy as we anticipated. At $15 a plate, this was definitely a special occasion place for us: we ate outside, started with a gloriously large cone of home-made fries with balsamic catsup and an iced tea (me) and a Coke (obviously. Kevin would order a Coke with Olympian ambrosia!). I had the shrimp creole and Kevin had the largest and pinkest piece of meat I have even seen him tackle: a New York strip with an aside of black-eyed peas and dirty rice. It was awesome and buttery and juicy and tender and did I say awesome?
Then off to an undisclosed location where Kevin was supposed to pick up the gift he was getting for me. (I got him a pizza peel.) Turns out, the object does not exist. It was such a sweet idea, too. And why it doesn't exist, I don't know. I have actually joined a forum today to pose the question to other Anne enthusiasts: Is there really no singularly bound edition of L.M. Montgomery's works, or at least her eight Anne of Green Gables books? Huh. I would have really liked that.
So, then off to see Star Trek. It was really pretty good, but the Hulu girl looks so familiar that it is haunting me. Kev discovered late last night that she was the reporter in Vantage Point, but I just feel SO VERY familiar with her. Who can she be? Or who does she look like? She doesn't look that much like Jada Pinkett(-Smith?), does she? And why is it bugging me? Like I said, good movie. It makes you want to watch the old Star Trek shows/movies. Although I really think the voice-over at the end should have been William Shatner, as goofy as he is.
I am going to admit now that I really just want to fold up the laptop and crawl into bed with PJs, snacks, bubbly water, and Rilla of Ingleside. I am at my favorite book in the series and it is ever so much more appealing than trying to fix my computer or organizing the office. I believe that I will succumb to escapism. Where is my sense of blue collaredness?
It is sunk. Down, down, down. Wave goodby.
Good night and good riddance.
To note: Kevin has been filling out applications for nursing school.
And our 8th anniversary was Tuesday. He brought me home a coral colored rose and a bar of high-quality dark chocolate. Yesterday, my sister came out to stay with the kids and after Kev and I rushed about ("rush" being as always a little exaggeration on Kevin's part) finishing up dishes and making up guest futons, we headed out for a night of matrimonial bliss, Durham style. We went first to a locavore restaurant we have been wanting to try; Watts Grocery. On Broad Street, it proved to be as trendy, hip, and yummy as we anticipated. At $15 a plate, this was definitely a special occasion place for us: we ate outside, started with a gloriously large cone of home-made fries with balsamic catsup and an iced tea (me) and a Coke (obviously. Kevin would order a Coke with Olympian ambrosia!). I had the shrimp creole and Kevin had the largest and pinkest piece of meat I have even seen him tackle: a New York strip with an aside of black-eyed peas and dirty rice. It was awesome and buttery and juicy and tender and did I say awesome?
Then off to an undisclosed location where Kevin was supposed to pick up the gift he was getting for me. (I got him a pizza peel.) Turns out, the object does not exist. It was such a sweet idea, too. And why it doesn't exist, I don't know. I have actually joined a forum today to pose the question to other Anne enthusiasts: Is there really no singularly bound edition of L.M. Montgomery's works, or at least her eight Anne of Green Gables books? Huh. I would have really liked that.
So, then off to see Star Trek. It was really pretty good, but the Hulu girl looks so familiar that it is haunting me. Kev discovered late last night that she was the reporter in Vantage Point, but I just feel SO VERY familiar with her. Who can she be? Or who does she look like? She doesn't look that much like Jada Pinkett(-Smith?), does she? And why is it bugging me? Like I said, good movie. It makes you want to watch the old Star Trek shows/movies. Although I really think the voice-over at the end should have been William Shatner, as goofy as he is.
I am going to admit now that I really just want to fold up the laptop and crawl into bed with PJs, snacks, bubbly water, and Rilla of Ingleside. I am at my favorite book in the series and it is ever so much more appealing than trying to fix my computer or organizing the office. I believe that I will succumb to escapism. Where is my sense of blue collaredness?
It is sunk. Down, down, down. Wave goodby.
Good night and good riddance.
11 June 2009
Eating Helps, But It Too Takes Money
This is a poor time to blog. I have dishes to do, an office to tidy up, there is a storm raging outside and my laptop is running out of power (and I don't want to plug in to the lightning). There are finances on the conscience and the mind. I know that we can make this budget work, but it is so hard to be always diligent. I have failed this month (and I am not the only one), and what does that mean? We can not do the things we want to do, but they are coming at us like missiles. My birthday party? Our trip to Michigan?
It is true that we have not owned a credit card since January 2008, so in one way we are victorious. In others... well, it is difficult.
My stomach is in knots and I want to go hide away with a book. Lately, it is always the book. But baby kisses do, too.
Good night and good riddance.
It is true that we have not owned a credit card since January 2008, so in one way we are victorious. In others... well, it is difficult.
My stomach is in knots and I want to go hide away with a book. Lately, it is always the book. But baby kisses do, too.
Good night and good riddance.
10 June 2009
Of No Consequence
I am sitting in the dark, itching the spot on my leg that I just doused with old recycling bin water (while taking out the garbage) and longing to climb into bed with my water, left-over jalapeno chips, and Rainbow Valley. Or maybe we will watch Australia. Either way, I'm not sure why I am here in the glow of the laptop and not changing my PJ pants to crash on my comphy, red bed.
On that note,
good night and good riddance.
On that note,
good night and good riddance.
07 June 2009
A Veritable Bug Zoo
Kevin should have started his drive home from work three minutes ago and I am just sitting down to blog from dishes and bills and laundry, oh my!
I have a question: how do organic farmers deal with bugs?!? Especially in NC, where everything grows like weeds, including both the veggies and the insects? I had just grown accustomed to calmly triple-rinsing my lettuce for slugs and worms when I got my first harvest of broccoli... and it was not pretty. Besides all those skittering (Hi, Heidi) pinchy-bugs/earwigs, there were SO MANY silk worms hiding up in the leafy tops that I wanted to cry. I am a city girl when it comes to bugs. so at one moment I am totally psyched, mentally tallying up the yard-fresh produce and pointing out little baby tomatoes to my husband... even sweating in the sweltering Southern sun as I lift 40 pound bags of dirt and hoe out mulch. Next moment, I am doing something akin to the pee-pee dance but much more vigorous as I poke broccoli stalks around a water-filled sink and watch the worms squirm. I repeat "Eew, eew, eew!" and even do some very girly gasping. My brother-and-law told me today that he has never seen me so squeemish. I am ashamed. I like to think that I can put mind over emotion in many circumstances, and I can buck up for just about anything: my father-in-law calls me a "steel magnolia," and not for nothin'. I realize that silk worms are not going to hurt, and bugs as a whole are good for the ecosystem thing. At any rate, my garden may just defeat me.
Here is my yeild so far:
2 heads romaine lettuce
3 waist-high stalks romaine lettuce
5 heads green-leaf lettuce
1 head red-leaf lettuce
couple pounds broccoli
2 banana peppers
tons of herbs: basil, Thai basil, mint (like crazy), dill, oregano, thyme, rosemary, chives, flat-leaf parsley, curly parsley, etc., which should keep up through the whole summer.
Growing:
several yellow squash
a few zucchini
5 heads red-leaf lettuce
at least 2 more romaine stalks
1 head green-leaf lettuce
lots and lots of tomatoes
more (gasp!) broccoli
Not doing as well:
bell peppers of all kinds
cukes
chilies
eggplant
cauliflower
The truth is, I just made a chili insecticide and sprayed yesterday. Was this too late for the broccoli? And I am trying to find the time to make a soap insecticide as well. Will this help? The beer-on-the-saucer thing seems to be working a little for the slugs and the aphids appear to have disappeared (I like that: "appear to have disappeared") after I put out petroleum jelly on plastic. I feel happy with the choice to garden organically. As for the reality of gardening, I really look forward to nice, smooth veggies that do not hide bugs.
I have a question: how do organic farmers deal with bugs?!? Especially in NC, where everything grows like weeds, including both the veggies and the insects? I had just grown accustomed to calmly triple-rinsing my lettuce for slugs and worms when I got my first harvest of broccoli... and it was not pretty. Besides all those skittering (Hi, Heidi) pinchy-bugs/earwigs, there were SO MANY silk worms hiding up in the leafy tops that I wanted to cry. I am a city girl when it comes to bugs. so at one moment I am totally psyched, mentally tallying up the yard-fresh produce and pointing out little baby tomatoes to my husband... even sweating in the sweltering Southern sun as I lift 40 pound bags of dirt and hoe out mulch. Next moment, I am doing something akin to the pee-pee dance but much more vigorous as I poke broccoli stalks around a water-filled sink and watch the worms squirm. I repeat "Eew, eew, eew!" and even do some very girly gasping. My brother-and-law told me today that he has never seen me so squeemish. I am ashamed. I like to think that I can put mind over emotion in many circumstances, and I can buck up for just about anything: my father-in-law calls me a "steel magnolia," and not for nothin'. I realize that silk worms are not going to hurt, and bugs as a whole are good for the ecosystem thing. At any rate, my garden may just defeat me.
Here is my yeild so far:
2 heads romaine lettuce
3 waist-high stalks romaine lettuce
5 heads green-leaf lettuce
1 head red-leaf lettuce
couple pounds broccoli
2 banana peppers
tons of herbs: basil, Thai basil, mint (like crazy), dill, oregano, thyme, rosemary, chives, flat-leaf parsley, curly parsley, etc., which should keep up through the whole summer.
Growing:
several yellow squash
a few zucchini
5 heads red-leaf lettuce
at least 2 more romaine stalks
1 head green-leaf lettuce
lots and lots of tomatoes
more (gasp!) broccoli
Not doing as well:
bell peppers of all kinds
cukes
chilies
eggplant
cauliflower
The truth is, I just made a chili insecticide and sprayed yesterday. Was this too late for the broccoli? And I am trying to find the time to make a soap insecticide as well. Will this help? The beer-on-the-saucer thing seems to be working a little for the slugs and the aphids appear to have disappeared (I like that: "appear to have disappeared") after I put out petroleum jelly on plastic. I feel happy with the choice to garden organically. As for the reality of gardening, I really look forward to nice, smooth veggies that do not hide bugs.
06 June 2009
Comments Wanted
Oh, Sometimes it is so hard to do anything on a weekend evening when I am alone with the kids. Maybe it's just the evening, but it doesn't feel right tackling dinner and other things (laundry, cleaning, etc.) when it is just Boy and Girl and I in the waning light of a grey and dreary day. I find Saturday and Sunday late afternoon-evening to be the loneliest stretch of my stay-at-home routine. That is one reason why I haunt my sister and brother-in-law on the weekends. Blah. So I will feed the kids cereal (!) and drag them to Lowe's for some parts for a broken lamp. (They really want to go and they thoroughly enjoy their time in the race car cart (they LOVE sitting that close to each other) and watching it get dark and the moon rise. They rarely get to see it get dark and the moon is full tonight, if it is a bit jaundiced.)
I can't imagine what else I could write about, so I will ask some advice from whoever might read this. Two things.
One (and I know that most my readers have already been asked this be email) is for music suggestions. I am looking for music that will move me. I generally like the hard end of alternative, music with strong instrumentation, and superior lyrics. I also love soundtracks and world music. I would like to find some "Christian" music that can tug at my soul or rip my chest open, but this may be asking too much. I have not followed the Christian music scene since I was a teenager, and then I stuck largely to ska and MXPX's cover songs (but I do enjoy Sixpence None the Richer and Over the Rhine). Back then, there were lyrics that touched me, but I stopped looking for music that was both lyrically strong and musically strong. And cool. I ended up listening lightly to some Christian pop in secluded corners and with much embarrassment. Where is the Glen Hansard of Christian rock?
Two. I am too tired to keep thinking. I got a new sewing basket and the garden is overflowing with chilis and lettuce and broccoli and I want to go to sleep (but I first have to wipe down the bathroom). Aye, me. Off I go to snack (with only 8 weeks to go until nighttime snacking is a thing of the past) and re-re-re-read my way through the Anne of Green Gables series. I'm already at her first baby, little Jem. Those books make me so relaxed.
Still, good night and good riddance.
I can't imagine what else I could write about, so I will ask some advice from whoever might read this. Two things.
One (and I know that most my readers have already been asked this be email) is for music suggestions. I am looking for music that will move me. I generally like the hard end of alternative, music with strong instrumentation, and superior lyrics. I also love soundtracks and world music. I would like to find some "Christian" music that can tug at my soul or rip my chest open, but this may be asking too much. I have not followed the Christian music scene since I was a teenager, and then I stuck largely to ska and MXPX's cover songs (but I do enjoy Sixpence None the Richer and Over the Rhine). Back then, there were lyrics that touched me, but I stopped looking for music that was both lyrically strong and musically strong. And cool. I ended up listening lightly to some Christian pop in secluded corners and with much embarrassment. Where is the Glen Hansard of Christian rock?
Two. I am too tired to keep thinking. I got a new sewing basket and the garden is overflowing with chilis and lettuce and broccoli and I want to go to sleep (but I first have to wipe down the bathroom). Aye, me. Off I go to snack (with only 8 weeks to go until nighttime snacking is a thing of the past) and re-re-re-read my way through the Anne of Green Gables series. I'm already at her first baby, little Jem. Those books make me so relaxed.
Still, good night and good riddance.
04 June 2009
Shockwaves
I am stealing the laptop from Kevin while he is in the bathroom shaving... and if you know him well, tap tap tapping his razor on the side of the sink. That will be a sound that pursues me for the whole of my life, I anticipate. Such a gentle sound, a familiar one.
I don't recall what I said I might write about yesterday, but I have limited time so I will just say that I am a little panicky: the NC government, or Senate, whatever, has taken a vote this morning and it looks likely that the budget for community services will be drastically cut. That means that even private companies like the one Kevin works for will be having to figure out some things (as in it is possible that 80 or 90 per cent of their business will be no longer funded or under-funded) and then big, across-the-board layoffs in the immediate future. Kev is hoping to beat the rush looking for jobs, but there weren't any to begin with, so, we'll just be here holding out breath and waiting. At least we know we have family enough that no matter how bad things get our kids will have a roof over their heads and food to eat.
And the economy keeps grinding to a halt.
And people with mental health issues will be hung out to dry.
And I ought to strain my homemade insecticide and climb into bed to fold laundry and sew Boy's hamper. What a life. Kev is asking what I am doing which means "I need to print out that thing."
Good night and good riddance.
I don't recall what I said I might write about yesterday, but I have limited time so I will just say that I am a little panicky: the NC government, or Senate, whatever, has taken a vote this morning and it looks likely that the budget for community services will be drastically cut. That means that even private companies like the one Kevin works for will be having to figure out some things (as in it is possible that 80 or 90 per cent of their business will be no longer funded or under-funded) and then big, across-the-board layoffs in the immediate future. Kev is hoping to beat the rush looking for jobs, but there weren't any to begin with, so, we'll just be here holding out breath and waiting. At least we know we have family enough that no matter how bad things get our kids will have a roof over their heads and food to eat.
And the economy keeps grinding to a halt.
And people with mental health issues will be hung out to dry.
And I ought to strain my homemade insecticide and climb into bed to fold laundry and sew Boy's hamper. What a life. Kev is asking what I am doing which means "I need to print out that thing."
Good night and good riddance.
03 June 2009
Lame Excuse for a Blog
I should NOT be blogging tonight b/c Kev and I said we would convene at 10pm from our various house chores. Yuck, huh? House chores at 10pm? Such is the life of a busy couple with two little kids.
But there is a lot on my mind (and no, Mrs. Rose, I do not mean a piece of land), so I will need to get back to it soon. For one, I need to ask some opinions from people who might read this blog. Two, I need to blurt out about my messy-tidy self and the civil war that has been going on. Three, I might share a recipe.
Girl keeps saying to me lately; "You decide, Mom. You can do whatever you want because you are in charge."
Am I, now?
But there is a lot on my mind (and no, Mrs. Rose, I do not mean a piece of land), so I will need to get back to it soon. For one, I need to ask some opinions from people who might read this blog. Two, I need to blurt out about my messy-tidy self and the civil war that has been going on. Three, I might share a recipe.
Girl keeps saying to me lately; "You decide, Mom. You can do whatever you want because you are in charge."
Am I, now?
01 June 2009
An Ordinary Day
Today was all laundry, laundry, laundry. I'm even almost caught up to the dirties, but that's to say nothing of all my other house chores. There IS something nice about doing laundry, even though my second-least favorite house chore is putting away clothes (the other is scrubbing the tub); I was in Boy's sunshiney room today, the cross-breeze full of outside noises (like birds, for example), the house smelled like watermelon (my specialty--Watermelon Leathers--in the dehydrator), and I kept bringing the still-warm laundry to my face to smell it and feel it... so soft, so hot. Even in the 90 degree weather I found myself slipping into one of Kevin's over-sized button-downs to be wrapped up in the heat and the freshness. Yum!
Speaking of yum, today's menu was pretty impressive. It runs:
Breakfast: Scrambled Egg Burritos with Cilantro, Scallions and Jack Cheese. OJ.
Snack: depending on who you are, bananas or watermelon.
Lunch: Raw Veggie Soup with chunks of avocado.
Snack: a handful of "raw" nuts and green tea.
Dinner: Roast Chicken with Sauce, Cottage Potatoes, Veggie Soup with Homemade Creme Fraiche, Pickled Beets.
Of course, the kids opted out of the lunch soup and afternoon snack in favor of... bread. Just bread. Hmm. Kids can not live on pickled beets alone. Or maybe they can, with the right supplementation. It was a bright culinary day, even if dinner was a little rich for the summer. Dinner also provided the next two nights' feasts: Chicken and Potato Casserole one night and Veggie Soup with Bread and Salad another. Ta da!
[In case you haven't noticed, we are no longer vegetarian/pescetarian after 8 years at it. There are reasons for this, and we are still what you might call "flexitarian." At any rate, we have very real specifications for our meat selection which include local and free range/grass-fed, and eat meat not all that often. But there it is. I might talk about that another time.]
I have nothing else to say for myself. Kevin went out to talk to some guy about a potential band and I have clothes to put away and then dishes to do (Kev please come home by then, Kev please come home by then, Kev please come home by then...). A lame start, but I had to start somewhere and we were out of undies around here. We'll move into cleaning the house and finishing up the garden before the end of the week. Hearing about the veggie and herb garden will be WAY more entertaining than laundry day. You bet.
Good night and good riddance.
Speaking of yum, today's menu was pretty impressive. It runs:
Breakfast: Scrambled Egg Burritos with Cilantro, Scallions and Jack Cheese. OJ.
Snack: depending on who you are, bananas or watermelon.
Lunch: Raw Veggie Soup with chunks of avocado.
Snack: a handful of "raw" nuts and green tea.
Dinner: Roast Chicken with Sauce, Cottage Potatoes, Veggie Soup with Homemade Creme Fraiche, Pickled Beets.
Of course, the kids opted out of the lunch soup and afternoon snack in favor of... bread. Just bread. Hmm. Kids can not live on pickled beets alone. Or maybe they can, with the right supplementation. It was a bright culinary day, even if dinner was a little rich for the summer. Dinner also provided the next two nights' feasts: Chicken and Potato Casserole one night and Veggie Soup with Bread and Salad another. Ta da!
[In case you haven't noticed, we are no longer vegetarian/pescetarian after 8 years at it. There are reasons for this, and we are still what you might call "flexitarian." At any rate, we have very real specifications for our meat selection which include local and free range/grass-fed, and eat meat not all that often. But there it is. I might talk about that another time.]
I have nothing else to say for myself. Kevin went out to talk to some guy about a potential band and I have clothes to put away and then dishes to do (Kev please come home by then, Kev please come home by then, Kev please come home by then...). A lame start, but I had to start somewhere and we were out of undies around here. We'll move into cleaning the house and finishing up the garden before the end of the week. Hearing about the veggie and herb garden will be WAY more entertaining than laundry day. You bet.
Good night and good riddance.
31 May 2009
Back from the... Something Un-Morbid.
I am going to do an eight minute blog to say that I think I am going to get back to it. Blogging, that is.
It seems that when I am so busy that I can't make sense of my life or keep on track, it MIGHT just benefit me to take even MORE time out of the day to blog. Sort of like praying or meditating... but different. The way this works? I actually feel accountable to the two people that follow this blog, as well as the myriad other individuals who might just happen to start following my blog. If they are on the edge of their seats wondering if indeed I can pull off two commissioned paintings, one art show, three day camp classes (two on cooking and one on writing), raise a toddler and a 4-year-old, take a family vacation and a short romantic getaway, manage a house and a household while my husband works seven days a week, usher us all through a 7-week crazy diet thing, AND turn 30 all in one summer... then I might just manage to do all these things, and more. Or at least I have the hope of making it into a best-selling novel when I fail among typed curses and laugh-out-loud predicaments.
So here we go again.
It seems that when I am so busy that I can't make sense of my life or keep on track, it MIGHT just benefit me to take even MORE time out of the day to blog. Sort of like praying or meditating... but different. The way this works? I actually feel accountable to the two people that follow this blog, as well as the myriad other individuals who might just happen to start following my blog. If they are on the edge of their seats wondering if indeed I can pull off two commissioned paintings, one art show, three day camp classes (two on cooking and one on writing), raise a toddler and a 4-year-old, take a family vacation and a short romantic getaway, manage a house and a household while my husband works seven days a week, usher us all through a 7-week crazy diet thing, AND turn 30 all in one summer... then I might just manage to do all these things, and more. Or at least I have the hope of making it into a best-selling novel when I fail among typed curses and laugh-out-loud predicaments.
So here we go again.
21 February 2009
No Regrets
This is going to be a very lame posting, explaining only a couple facets of my blog disappearance. I have been journaling instead. Better for me, much sadder for you. :( I have also given myself some new rules, which I seem to need every once in awhile, and I end up with days too full to get to the blog at the end. Most importantly, I have been eking my way forward with the novel, since I told myself this was the year to finish it. So THAT is GOOD. 175 pages. And it's not bad.
I will probably return. Until then,
Good night and good riddance.
I will probably return. Until then,
Good night and good riddance.
02 February 2009
Installation Complete
I am done with all the furious painting, and the installation is up. I did not hang the wedding portrait, but I did finish one other small painting before time was up. Now... I have the stomach flu! (or salmonella, depending on who you ask their opinion). That means, once I can stop running to the bathroom to, well, you know, I have to start FINISHING THAT NOVEL!
Here is the info for the art show: it is at the Cup A Joe in Raleigh at Mission Valley, off Avent Ferry Road (right near Western Boulevard). It will be up all month, and 10% of the proceeds are going to Freedom Firm (see www.freedom.firm.in), or see the latest blog entry at the Human Trafficking Blog that I follow (and have been asked to start contributing to, incidentally). Here are a couple photos of the show, as well as a YouTube video taken by some random YouTube hobbyist that happened to be there upon installation. Keep in mind, I was very sick during the interview, and could barely keep my eyes open and my cookies down.
We'll blog more once everyone in the house stops losing their lunches.
Here is the info for the art show: it is at the Cup A Joe in Raleigh at Mission Valley, off Avent Ferry Road (right near Western Boulevard). It will be up all month, and 10% of the proceeds are going to Freedom Firm (see www.freedom.firm.in), or see the latest blog entry at the Human Trafficking Blog that I follow (and have been asked to start contributing to, incidentally). Here are a couple photos of the show, as well as a YouTube video taken by some random YouTube hobbyist that happened to be there upon installation. Keep in mind, I was very sick during the interview, and could barely keep my eyes open and my cookies down.
We'll blog more once everyone in the house stops losing their lunches.
For the video, click HERE.
31 January 2009
Art Show Opines?
So here is the majority of my show. I should have one or two more done tonight. But I am looking for opinions. I posted the paintings in order of size, since that's probably how someone walking in the coffee shop would see it. Unfortunately, I think the strength of the paintings runs the other direction. Does that mean I should drop the largest? Or spend my last evening re-painting the female face on the first one? I re-worked it last night and it's much better, but being the focal point, it's just not very good. I could also use PRICE and TITLE help! I think I've priced a little low, b/c the economy sucks and I need the money. So here it is:
Our newest painting--at one day old--is "Nature." A fan favorite, it's under 2 foot square and is priced at $200.
A Kevin favorite (who wouldn't love a painting of their wife zoning out?) is "Silence." Also painted within the past week and standing at about a foot and a half, it's at $200.
"Maria" and "Christina" were painted a couple years back, are a couple feet across, and are going for $175 each, or $325 together.
Th
is last one is not the smallest at around three feet wide, but will be placed on a separate wall near the back of the shop. It was done a few years ago when I had studio time at Sips. I can't decide to sell at $400 or keep it in the family, since "Daddy" is another sort of family piece. (I have a hard time parting with paintings since I often paint the people I love and memories.)
Urgh!
This one is "Wedding Day" and is about 4 feet long. I did it for our wedding portrait. Not for sale.
This one is about 3 feet tall and has some glass bead effects in it. Done about 7 years ago, there is a hidden image; an outline of my hips. Priced at $350 and titled "Hips."
Maybe 2 feet tall, "Dance" is priced at $225. It was painted this week. I fixed the baby face since the last posting.
Our newest painting--at one day old--is "Nature." A fan favorite, it's under 2 foot square and is priced at $200.
A Kevin favorite (who wouldn't love a painting of their wife zoning out?) is "Silence." Also painted within the past week and standing at about a foot and a half, it's at $200.
"Maria" and "Christina" were painted a couple years back, are a couple feet across, and are going for $175 each, or $325 together.
Th
is last one is not the smallest at around three feet wide, but will be placed on a separate wall near the back of the shop. It was done a few years ago when I had studio time at Sips. I can't decide to sell at $400 or keep it in the family, since "Daddy" is another sort of family piece. (I have a hard time parting with paintings since I often paint the people I love and memories.)Urgh!
24 January 2009
Lindsay Lou
Well, I think this one is done. I wanted to stick it up here because I thought it looked uncannily (or cannily, perhaps) like who it was supposed to (my sister) and also like my mother. But I just do "stylized," like my aunt says. So it does and it doesn't. I have to think about the baby's face color.Ta da!
Another day, another painting.
New Seasons
Here are some of the paintings that I am putting up in a Raleigh cafe next week. They will be up for the month of February. I decided to do a show on portraits, even though people are
probably the thing I feel least comfortable painting (me, and many other artists, I'm sure). I usually stick to plants and bottles. I LOVE painting plants and bottles. And feet. Anyhow, here is the first painting I finished for the show. And then there is one that I might be about half-finished with. Everything is still apt to change. And then there are two portraits that I finished, what, two years ago now? titled "Maria" and "Christina." They are two of the gypsy girls that we took to camp in the Transylvanian mountains. I think, so far, that the three finished portraits are most well-suited for the show because I am going to use my artist's statement to educate a little about human traffiicking, and am also going to donate a percentage of any sales (in my dreams!) to a sort of half-way-home in India for victimized women. Not that the gypsies were traffickied, but I think the paintings look especially vulnerable, metaphorically gray, and feminine.
So I am largely spending all my "free time" (carved out with a chisel and mountains of determination) painting right now, and getting ready for the show. I am happy that Kevin said that he "likes what I am doing here" with it, even though he also said to "not worry about it. Do what you like." And I'm trying not to dwell on my audience but to come up with stuff that I might be able to sleep on. Between painting and Boy's sleepy-time acrobatics, I have been having disturbed dreams... the kind where you get a song or an idea stuck in your head and it keeps obsessively repeating until the morning. I hate those dreams. I hate those dreams. I hate those dreams. I hate those dreams. I hate those dreams. (See?)
But after this show is up, I am switching gears and re-engaging. I have promised myself that this is the year I finish my first novel. I have watched as others have their moments over and over through the last four years, as Benevolent (the working title) gathers computer-dust as a pretty-darn-good 150 pages. I have had enough. If I am going to be the type of person that works hard enough to publish and to publish well, I have to prove it now. I have stood by as my friend's story unfolded: as she and her husband purchased a historical fixer-upper and slowly widdled away at it and their finances over SIX YEARS! It is not even close to being finished. And I have said to her, recently, "Six years is enough! Six years tells me it might just be another six years. And then TWELVE? Do you really want to give twelve years to this? You're done. It's over." And that's similar to how I feel myself (sort of). I am not willing to go any longer without continuing the race, without fighting my way to the end. Which, fittingly, is also where I am in my Christianity. Since last year's whole anger phase and then the valley of the shadow of death, I am in a place of contending for my faith (and my marriage, and my family). For the past several months, I've been contending just enough to make it, to mature as I just eek along... barely. Again, I say, "Eight years is enough!" It's time to grow up. It's time to listen. It's time to obey. It's time to identify the Body and to intercede. It's time to fight the good fight. It's time to walk into the blessing. It's time to--and this is the best pictoral, I think--jump into this marathon and
run as hard and steady as I can. Enough is enough! Enough "farting around," as I embarrasingly say way too much.
And we move on.
Following are two of the most compelling quotes from Michael Friedman's Hot, Flat and Crowded that I have read thus far:
"In the next twelve years alone, the world's population is expected to swell by roughly another billion people, and many of them will become new consumers and producers. When that happens, the law of large numbers starts to kick in--everything starts to add up to huge, notes David Douglas, vice president for eco-resposibility for Sun Microsystems. For instance, he asks, what if, once that newest billion are all here, we gave each of them a sixty-watt incandescent lightbulb?
"'Each bulb doesn't weigh much--roughly 0.7 ounces with the packaging--but a billion of them together weigh around 20,000 metric tons, or about the same as 15,000 Priuses,' said Douglas. 'Now let's turn them on. If they're all on at the same time, it'd be 60,000 megawatts. Luckily, [they] will only use their bulbs four hours per
day, so we're down to 10,000 megawatts at any moment. Yikes! Looks like we'll still need twenty or so new 500-megawatt coal-burning power plants'--just so the next billion people can turn a light on!" (p.62, large print edition)
and
"To visualize this process, the California Institute of Technology energy chemist Nate Lewis offers the following analogy: 'Imagine you are driving in your car and every mile you drive you throw a pound of trash out your window. And everyone else on the freeway in their cars and trucks is doing the exact same thing, and people driving Hummers are throwing two bags out at a time... Well, that is exactly what we are doing; you just can't see it. Only what we are throwing out is a pound of CO2--that's what goes into the atmosphere, on average, every mile we drive.
"Those bags of CO2 from our cars float up and stay in the atmosphere, along with bags of CO2 from power plants burning coal, oil, and gas, and bags of CO2 released from the burning and clearing of forests, which releases all the carbon stored in trees, plants, and soil. In fact, many people don't realize that deforestation in places like Indonesia and Brazil is responsible for more CO2 than all the world's cars, trucks, planes, ships, and trains combined--that is, about 20 percent of all global emissions. [See National Geographics's 2008 article on Borneo]
"And when we're not tossing bags of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, we're throwing up other greenhouse gases, like methane (CH4) released from rice farming, petroleum drilling, coal mining, animal defecation, solid waste landfill sites, and yes, even from cattle belching." (p.68-69, large print edition)
Girl just called me from her afternoon with Aunt CiCi to tell me that she can smell candy in the shopping cart and that she can feel her "butt bone."
Good afternoon and good riddance.
probably the thing I feel least comfortable painting (me, and many other artists, I'm sure). I usually stick to plants and bottles. I LOVE painting plants and bottles. And feet. Anyhow, here is the first painting I finished for the show. And then there is one that I might be about half-finished with. Everything is still apt to change. And then there are two portraits that I finished, what, two years ago now? titled "Maria" and "Christina." They are two of the gypsy girls that we took to camp in the Transylvanian mountains. I think, so far, that the three finished portraits are most well-suited for the show because I am going to use my artist's statement to educate a little about human traffiicking, and am also going to donate a percentage of any sales (in my dreams!) to a sort of half-way-home in India for victimized women. Not that the gypsies were traffickied, but I think the paintings look especially vulnerable, metaphorically gray, and feminine.So I am largely spending all my "free time" (carved out with a chisel and mountains of determination) painting right now, and getting ready for the show. I am happy that Kevin said that he "likes what I am doing here" with it, even though he also said to "not worry about it. Do what you like." And I'm trying not to dwell on my audience but to come up with stuff that I might be able to sleep on. Between painting and Boy's sleepy-time acrobatics, I have been having disturbed dreams... the kind where you get a song or an idea stuck in your head and it keeps obsessively repeating until the morning. I hate those dreams. I hate those dreams. I hate those dreams. I hate those dreams. I hate those dreams. (See?)
But after this show is up, I am switching gears and re-engaging. I have promised myself that this is the year I finish my first novel. I have watched as others have their moments over and over through the last four years, as Benevolent (the working title) gathers computer-dust as a pretty-darn-good 150 pages. I have had enough. If I am going to be the type of person that works hard enough to publish and to publish well, I have to prove it now. I have stood by as my friend's story unfolded: as she and her husband purchased a historical fixer-upper and slowly widdled away at it and their finances over SIX YEARS! It is not even close to being finished. And I have said to her, recently, "Six years is enough! Six years tells me it might just be another six years. And then TWELVE? Do you really want to give twelve years to this? You're done. It's over." And that's similar to how I feel myself (sort of). I am not willing to go any longer without continuing the race, without fighting my way to the end. Which, fittingly, is also where I am in my Christianity. Since last year's whole anger phase and then the valley of the shadow of death, I am in a place of contending for my faith (and my marriage, and my family). For the past several months, I've been contending just enough to make it, to mature as I just eek along... barely. Again, I say, "Eight years is enough!" It's time to grow up. It's time to listen. It's time to obey. It's time to identify the Body and to intercede. It's time to fight the good fight. It's time to walk into the blessing. It's time to--and this is the best pictoral, I think--jump into this marathon and
run as hard and steady as I can. Enough is enough! Enough "farting around," as I embarrasingly say way too much.And we move on.
Following are two of the most compelling quotes from Michael Friedman's Hot, Flat and Crowded that I have read thus far:
"In the next twelve years alone, the world's population is expected to swell by roughly another billion people, and many of them will become new consumers and producers. When that happens, the law of large numbers starts to kick in--everything starts to add up to huge, notes David Douglas, vice president for eco-resposibility for Sun Microsystems. For instance, he asks, what if, once that newest billion are all here, we gave each of them a sixty-watt incandescent lightbulb?
"'Each bulb doesn't weigh much--roughly 0.7 ounces with the packaging--but a billion of them together weigh around 20,000 metric tons, or about the same as 15,000 Priuses,' said Douglas. 'Now let's turn them on. If they're all on at the same time, it'd be 60,000 megawatts. Luckily, [they] will only use their bulbs four hours per
day, so we're down to 10,000 megawatts at any moment. Yikes! Looks like we'll still need twenty or so new 500-megawatt coal-burning power plants'--just so the next billion people can turn a light on!" (p.62, large print edition)and
"To visualize this process, the California Institute of Technology energy chemist Nate Lewis offers the following analogy: 'Imagine you are driving in your car and every mile you drive you throw a pound of trash out your window. And everyone else on the freeway in their cars and trucks is doing the exact same thing, and people driving Hummers are throwing two bags out at a time... Well, that is exactly what we are doing; you just can't see it. Only what we are throwing out is a pound of CO2--that's what goes into the atmosphere, on average, every mile we drive.
"Those bags of CO2 from our cars float up and stay in the atmosphere, along with bags of CO2 from power plants burning coal, oil, and gas, and bags of CO2 released from the burning and clearing of forests, which releases all the carbon stored in trees, plants, and soil. In fact, many people don't realize that deforestation in places like Indonesia and Brazil is responsible for more CO2 than all the world's cars, trucks, planes, ships, and trains combined--that is, about 20 percent of all global emissions. [See National Geographics's 2008 article on Borneo]
"And when we're not tossing bags of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, we're throwing up other greenhouse gases, like methane (CH4) released from rice farming, petroleum drilling, coal mining, animal defecation, solid waste landfill sites, and yes, even from cattle belching." (p.68-69, large print edition)
Girl just called me from her afternoon with Aunt CiCi to tell me that she can smell candy in the shopping cart and that she can feel her "butt bone."
Good afternoon and good riddance.
23 January 2009
Dark Ruminations
The world is a dimmer place after today happened. An old friend has Parkinsons. Consignment shops and thrift stores are taking a huge hit thanks to governmental legislation. And Jared Pike's version of Joe Cocker's A Little Help from My Friends has been pulled from YouTube. What is this world coming to? It turns out,
"I've looked at life from both sides now.
From win and loose
and still somehow
it's life's illusions I recall.
I really don't know life at all." -Joni Mitchell
"I've looked at life from both sides now.
From win and loose
and still somehow
it's life's illusions I recall.
I really don't know life at all." -Joni Mitchell
20 January 2009
Race Relations and Inaugurations, SI2K Style
The little artist's WikkiStix creation: Daddy Opening a VolleyBall Present.
And us having a snack at the Science Museum: we were forced out into the freezing cold to eat our snack, since we insisted on bringing foreign food into the place in the face of a price monopoly which sought to take advantage of its advantage.
And us having a snack at the Science Museum: we were forced out into the freezing cold to eat our snack, since we insisted on bringing foreign food into the place in the face of a price monopoly which sought to take advantage of its advantage.
Suddenly I have blog amnesia. Where was I? Where was I going? What am I doing here at the computer in the "office" in the dark and why does it feel so late? Why does the refrigerator smell funny? Does it always smell funny? Why am I saying "funny" when I really mean nasty?
(And as a side note: I spent two days last week completely emptying the fridge and freezer and sopping the whole inside with citrus cleaner. This was punctuated by Boy getting his foot stuck under the fridge (How?!) so fully that I went running into the yard to find someone to help me as it swelled up and turned red from my "helping." It ended with a sobbing Girl pulling it out... and I am ignorant of the details.)
Today was sort of a big day. We started off with a snow day (something like 2 inches!). The kids were excited and Kevin got to stay home. Girl went off into the yard bedecked in her New York winter duds and then came back in to watch the presidential inauguration over hot maple chocolate. This, too, she had been waiting for and was excited. After petitions for McCain at only three-years-old, she now relates almost daily that she likes that Barack Obama, who she calls simply "Obama" with such a familiar tone and a broad smile. She says, "everybody likes Obama." I wish it were that simple.
Photos from the south of Raleigh show that my sister and her husband have gotten more snow than us, by far. But my aunt tells me that last week Alabama was colder than Alaska. This is why we have the word topsy-turvy. Because sometimes it is.
And then the whole family piled into the minivan because mom needed bread yeast and also a couple tubes of paint. (While working on a piece the night before, I ran out of orange, and decided I needed a pink.) We stopped to pick up Igor on the way home, another evening anticipated as snowed-in and popcorn-filled. (Don't bother with Igor. You didn't hear about it because it was not so good. And it was also awkwardly inappropriate for children, at times. Awkward, since it is a children's movie. Hmm.)
Yesterday was sort of a big day, too. Kevin had Martin Luther King Day off from work (after a triple-shift on the weekend). We had a breakfast of crepes (one of Kevin's random specialties) with fruit spread, cream cheese, and/or Nutella. It took me back to nights in Jerusalem. I am not being facetious. Then we piled into the van (again) and drove to the Museum of Natural Sciences in Raleigh. We go occasionally, since it is free fun, and has lots of animals; sculpted, taxidermized, and alive. Girl has always been a mini-Francis of Assissi, and Boy is turning out to be a little AquaMan. He spent ten minutes plopped in front of a fish tank full of Sheep's Head Fish, pointing his chubby hand and babbling with a most serious intonation (while Girl and daddy took in the octopus movie). After having an incident with a lost purse (Girl's, not mine), we returned home to the smell of rising bread dough and all participated in the making of the Flaherty Pizza... a thing of both precision and sloppiness which is evolving with time and is as of yet to be perfected (despite the purchase of three pizza stones, three (or four?) pizza wheels, a cookbook devoted solely to pizza, and various recipes). We ate on TV trays (whew!), watching a kid's movie that I choose not to name. It was terrible, and Girl hated it, so we switched to Chicken Little half-way through.
Whether Girl understood the importance or meaning of MLKJ Day, I am not totally sure. What I do know, is that the little girl who once looked at me completely blank when I referred to skin color, asked Kevin a couple weeks ago: "Dad, is Kika (who is half-Japanese, half-something darker) half Senya (who is African)?" We're not sure, Girl. We're not sure.
Good night and good riddance.
18 January 2009
Tires on the Gravel Drive
Okey. Okey. Okey! I was really busy the the holidays and all that, and then I just up and took a nice, long break from the blog. But then--if you can believe it--I actually got requests to continue on with my occasional and random ramblings. It's not that I have not had things cross the screen of my blog-dar, because there have been times of itchy typing fingers... to mix metaphors. But when I am deepest in ponderings and wanting to share I am usually absolutely not in the position to share with anyone over the age of four. Nothing against those under the age of four. They bring me an inordinate amount of joy, those two.
I suppose I should just pick up at this moment and catch up later if it is needed. Except that Auggie was adopted out. Did I share that? We followed him for a short stint in foster care and then he was adopted before he was even listed. Those pug lovers are a crazy bunch. In the best way: I trust their kind with my little Auggie.
I am currently gorging on chocolate chip cookies (to which I added whole wheat flour, wheat germ, and oat bran in order to make myself feel better) and waiting for Kev to come home from his second weekend with a triple-shift. Yowser! But he does have the day off tomorrow. And have my Yoga Toes on, trying to relieve some of my tendonitis pain. I just did yoga, actually, with my new Intermediate Yoga in a Box CD. I had to skip the Oms... they were excessively annoying, but I did the warm up and half the Welcome the Suns (or something like that) and (of course!) the relaxation at the end. I live for that part. How else can I justify laying on the ground just any ol' where, closing my eyes, and thinking about nothing? It's wonderful.
Afterward, I heard Boy doing sleep-acrobatics in the bed (which he does every night and scares the living something out of me) and jumped up to check on him. On the way by, I bumped the computer and "Here Comes the Sun" started playing at just the proper volume for a quiet night with sleeping kids. It was a very pleasant couple minutes that followed, especially as I strapped on the Yoga Toes and sauntered off (which, if you know Yoga Toes, is a terrible way to describe the hobbling that followed) to chug a glass of ice water.
A slow day. The pastor spoke about human trafficking, which is a lot of stuff that has already been on my mind, and then we re-created a pot roast into beef stew for lunch (the whole flexitarian thing at it's best). Played around with the kids, folded laundry. We watched Incredibles before bed and made those cookies.
Girl being precocious:
I got my siter-in-law's old phone at Christmastime, and the ring seems to be eternally stuck on "Bobby McGee." It started ringing a couple days ago at dinner, and Girl looked over at me and sighed. "Mom, I wish you were Bobby McGee, because I want to know what he is like."
We pulled up to a drive-through the other day (oops! Did I say that?) and Girl yells, "Mom! Don't pull up yet! They are going to see my boob!" I turn around, and sure enough, she's nursing her baby doll. Wonderful. I just gave her a big grin and ordered a curly fry and an ice water (flexitarianism at its worst).
Speaking of flexitarianism, the other day my sister and brother-in-law brought pizza over when watching the kids. They produced a pepperoni and olive pie, and Girl said that she wanted to eat the pepperoni. I said, "Well, just so you know, that meat isn't special meat: it may not have lived a very nice life." And she quickly plucked all the pepperoni from her pizza and flung them one by one across the table. I got a scathing look for that one.
The joys of things.
I suppose I should just pick up at this moment and catch up later if it is needed. Except that Auggie was adopted out. Did I share that? We followed him for a short stint in foster care and then he was adopted before he was even listed. Those pug lovers are a crazy bunch. In the best way: I trust their kind with my little Auggie.
I am currently gorging on chocolate chip cookies (to which I added whole wheat flour, wheat germ, and oat bran in order to make myself feel better) and waiting for Kev to come home from his second weekend with a triple-shift. Yowser! But he does have the day off tomorrow. And have my Yoga Toes on, trying to relieve some of my tendonitis pain. I just did yoga, actually, with my new Intermediate Yoga in a Box CD. I had to skip the Oms... they were excessively annoying, but I did the warm up and half the Welcome the Suns (or something like that) and (of course!) the relaxation at the end. I live for that part. How else can I justify laying on the ground just any ol' where, closing my eyes, and thinking about nothing? It's wonderful.
Afterward, I heard Boy doing sleep-acrobatics in the bed (which he does every night and scares the living something out of me) and jumped up to check on him. On the way by, I bumped the computer and "Here Comes the Sun" started playing at just the proper volume for a quiet night with sleeping kids. It was a very pleasant couple minutes that followed, especially as I strapped on the Yoga Toes and sauntered off (which, if you know Yoga Toes, is a terrible way to describe the hobbling that followed) to chug a glass of ice water.
A slow day. The pastor spoke about human trafficking, which is a lot of stuff that has already been on my mind, and then we re-created a pot roast into beef stew for lunch (the whole flexitarian thing at it's best). Played around with the kids, folded laundry. We watched Incredibles before bed and made those cookies.
Girl being precocious:
I got my siter-in-law's old phone at Christmastime, and the ring seems to be eternally stuck on "Bobby McGee." It started ringing a couple days ago at dinner, and Girl looked over at me and sighed. "Mom, I wish you were Bobby McGee, because I want to know what he is like."
We pulled up to a drive-through the other day (oops! Did I say that?) and Girl yells, "Mom! Don't pull up yet! They are going to see my boob!" I turn around, and sure enough, she's nursing her baby doll. Wonderful. I just gave her a big grin and ordered a curly fry and an ice water (flexitarianism at its worst).
Speaking of flexitarianism, the other day my sister and brother-in-law brought pizza over when watching the kids. They produced a pepperoni and olive pie, and Girl said that she wanted to eat the pepperoni. I said, "Well, just so you know, that meat isn't special meat: it may not have lived a very nice life." And she quickly plucked all the pepperoni from her pizza and flung them one by one across the table. I got a scathing look for that one.
The joys of things.
13 December 2008
As If That Weren't Enough...
Auggie has been taken. After three unsuccessful adoptions over the course of almost a year (the first two had extenuating circumstances at the last second, the third proved to be too flaky for comfort), we finally looked into pug rescue. Surprisingly (to me, at least), the rescue could provide a far better adoption process and much more rigorous qualifications and accountability than we ever could. After painstakingly checking references and discovering that we were linking up with what might be the best dog rescue in the country, we applied to surrender Auggie just yesterday afternoon. By some alignment in the stars, the local representative happened to be heading to the rescue at 8am today, and roused us out of bed for a 9am pick-up. It seemed so abrupt. So disturbing... or disconcerting.I now feel like beef jerky. Kevin asked me what that means. I said brittle and worn, and inanimate. But I still think beef jerky is better. It makes me sound like a jerk, too, which is a little how I feel. The crazy thing is Auggie will be happier. I was doing my best, but it wasn't enough. We have no money. We have no time. We have no patience. If anyone should be getting the scraps of us after four jobs and a skin-tight budget, it's each other and our children. Not Auggie. Poor Auggie.
It's like a death: a pet death. And like a pet death where it's your fault. I keep expecting him to come bounding around the corner. I keep thinking to myself, Better let Auggie in. Has Auggie been fed yet today? And I open the laundry room door, pause with surprise where his crate was, and is no more.
I have to admit, in response to the nagging feelings about feeding him, shuffling him, doing for him--even on this first day of absence--I sort of think, "Oh!" and then feel a weight-absent. But then I notice the hole.
Auggie is now a hole, which will undoubtedly grow over with time.
12 December 2008
Disaster.
I'm almost too emotionally exhausted to blog, but it seemed like a more realistic option than staring at my gmail page and refreshing it every several seconds to see if someone was reaching out to me. Which I was doing.
It never seems to rain, but it pours. We really were getting very lucky with Kev's new medications, and were actually scraping by (maybe just barely) with the budget. We were even ready to make some new year's resolutions, including picking a new avenue for Kevin's employment and career. Then things careen out of control. I never was in control. I am humble now. I give. I fold. Please.
I feel sick with worry. Kevin has been laid off...sort of. They are remaining as vague as they can possibly can, keeping us teetering on a wire of maybe. And then, in the middle of our heroic panic, Kevin rear-ends a lady. Lord Almighty! Have some mercy! Kevin really looked like he might be able to get through this, one step at a time, and now? I can hear the tears in his voice. Did we need the straw-that-would-break-the-camel's-back?
I don't know what else to say.
It never seems to rain, but it pours. We really were getting very lucky with Kev's new medications, and were actually scraping by (maybe just barely) with the budget. We were even ready to make some new year's resolutions, including picking a new avenue for Kevin's employment and career. Then things careen out of control. I never was in control. I am humble now. I give. I fold. Please.
I feel sick with worry. Kevin has been laid off...sort of. They are remaining as vague as they can possibly can, keeping us teetering on a wire of maybe. And then, in the middle of our heroic panic, Kevin rear-ends a lady. Lord Almighty! Have some mercy! Kevin really looked like he might be able to get through this, one step at a time, and now? I can hear the tears in his voice. Did we need the straw-that-would-break-the-camel's-back?
I don't know what else to say.
04 December 2008
A Couple Book Reviews and an Adieu
I have had things to say. I have had things to share. I even have a few scraps of paper left in the van from the holiday travels, with blog-headed jottings on them. When I gather the papers in, perhaps I will write about Orion rising over the West Virginian Mountains in the dead of night.
More recently, I have been reading. I am now in the middle of a quick, evangelical Christian, fiction, read--which is a genre I very, very, very rarely explore--but I seem to have misplaced it while the main protagonists are in the middle of a marriage crisis and the housewife is about to get romantically involved with the painter. So we will write about It Happens Every Spring when I happen to locate the book.
Since the loss, I read through Haven Kimmel's Iodine in two or three days. Mostly I read it that fast (and not due to an abundance of free time, let me assure you) because it was engaging, as Kimmel always is. I know that I have sung her praises on this blog before, but let me repeat that she should (and I would be surprised if she didn't) go down in the cannon of great American writers, as time proves her genius, which lies is her intelligence, her fluidity, her grasp of language, and in her sensitivity to her characters and ultimately to us all. This book was much darker than the Kimmel I have grown to love, but let me assure you that once you make it past the fear that it is yet another tome to the normalcy of incest, you will be rewarded. I did occasionally find Kimmel's coolness and academia a little distracting, but maybe this was because I kept wallowing in the truth: I could never write like this (not that smart, anyhow). As long as you don't mind the dark and the psychoanalytical, give it a read.
Am now reading Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat? Also, not a usual read for me, but I was intrigued with the idea of shaving off the un-important in my life. (Uh-oh! There goes the blog!) It is way more a diet book than I anticipated, and is written so very poorly, but I am still considering taking the author up on his little "assignments." I would love to clean out my house and my life and find focus on the things that really matter right now. And don't ask me what that is. I have not yet done the exercise. But considering that I have accomplished absolutely none of my new year's resolutions from last year, I'm thinking that there is a disconnect between my dreams and desires and my doings.
That's all. I can't believe I could go forever without blue cheese or mushrooms. But I most definitely could. What makes those decisions in our lives, anyways? How complicated can we be? It turns out, very. People are way too complicated for me to wrap my mind around. Or, really, my mind is geared for something else, entirely, which is the way it often is with people like me. What kind of people am I? You decide. You're a mystery to me, anyhow.
Good night and good riddance.
More recently, I have been reading. I am now in the middle of a quick, evangelical Christian, fiction, read--which is a genre I very, very, very rarely explore--but I seem to have misplaced it while the main protagonists are in the middle of a marriage crisis and the housewife is about to get romantically involved with the painter. So we will write about It Happens Every Spring when I happen to locate the book.
Since the loss, I read through Haven Kimmel's Iodine in two or three days. Mostly I read it that fast (and not due to an abundance of free time, let me assure you) because it was engaging, as Kimmel always is. I know that I have sung her praises on this blog before, but let me repeat that she should (and I would be surprised if she didn't) go down in the cannon of great American writers, as time proves her genius, which lies is her intelligence, her fluidity, her grasp of language, and in her sensitivity to her characters and ultimately to us all. This book was much darker than the Kimmel I have grown to love, but let me assure you that once you make it past the fear that it is yet another tome to the normalcy of incest, you will be rewarded. I did occasionally find Kimmel's coolness and academia a little distracting, but maybe this was because I kept wallowing in the truth: I could never write like this (not that smart, anyhow). As long as you don't mind the dark and the psychoanalytical, give it a read.
Am now reading Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat? Also, not a usual read for me, but I was intrigued with the idea of shaving off the un-important in my life. (Uh-oh! There goes the blog!) It is way more a diet book than I anticipated, and is written so very poorly, but I am still considering taking the author up on his little "assignments." I would love to clean out my house and my life and find focus on the things that really matter right now. And don't ask me what that is. I have not yet done the exercise. But considering that I have accomplished absolutely none of my new year's resolutions from last year, I'm thinking that there is a disconnect between my dreams and desires and my doings.
That's all. I can't believe I could go forever without blue cheese or mushrooms. But I most definitely could. What makes those decisions in our lives, anyways? How complicated can we be? It turns out, very. People are way too complicated for me to wrap my mind around. Or, really, my mind is geared for something else, entirely, which is the way it often is with people like me. What kind of people am I? You decide. You're a mystery to me, anyhow.
Good night and good riddance.
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