Thursday, February 28, 2008

I don't know what to do.
The schools in our area all have rumors of threats for tomorrow. Local police, et. cetera have checked it out, and feel there is no cause for alarm/concern, and with some extra precautions, school should, and will go on as usual. My 11 year old son however is either terrified, or pretending to be so, because he wants to stay home "Don't you care if I live or die?!!". Either way I know if I try and make him go, he will work himself up into a frantic crying frenzy on the way to school, resulting in us both being frazzled and nervous.

I asked my sister-in-law what she would do (she lives several states away and her school is not effected), she said if it was happening at her kid's school, for high school, she would probably keep the kids home, but for younger kids, she thought she would send them, but that I should go with my instincts.

I think it will be fine tomorrow, nothing is going to happen, HOWEVER that does not mean I feel at all comfortable with sending him.

I then called my mom, Cheese's grandmother, she said I should not send him. "Why take the risk? So what if you keep him home and nothing goes wrong at school? What is the harm in that? They keep them home, and are cautious if there is any chance of bad weather, what is different about keeping him safe from this sort of threat? Besides I know you, you will be a nervous wreck all day if you send him."

So I don't know. I agree with his school's website, that this is whisper down the alley, rumor stuff, spun out of control, and I do not want to give sway to it, give power to those who are spinning it, HOWEVER if I was my son, I would be scared, and if my mom made me go to school anyway, I would be nervous all day, and feel like no one really cared about me, only about attendance, and trying to prove a point with business as usual, at my expense.

Bob and I discussed it, and think it would probably be best to keep him home, out of concern for his emotional and psychological well being. Some kids would be fine going, some kids would understand about rumors and all that, but Cheese, Cheese always goes around asking us if we have opened this or that package of food, or opened the jelly jar, or the milk, because he is concerned that the seal is broken and that he might be poisoned. Darker specks of brown in the peanut butter also raise fear of poison (and no talking to him about how this is not a realistic fear, has any effect). This is a child who wont ride his bike, he considers it a safety hazard. He has asked for a stationary bike, I said "you can use the treadmill", he said "you can fall off a treadmill". He is afraid to talk to teachers. He is addicted to using hand sanitizer (washing his hands and showering. Again we can't put any reasoning in his reasons). I don't think it would be good to send this particular child to school today. Bob and I did decide that it can't just be a total day off, so Cheese had to empty the dishwasher and wash the dishes, and later he will need to clean his room. And we might go to the library (I have books that need to go back), even though Cheese does not like to leave the house when he has off from school.

Last Monday (18th) , I went to a free talk at our library for writers about publishing. I went mostly as a motivational thing, to tie some more action to my goals. I also thought it might be good to meet some others with like goals. The people there, or should I say the women there, for there was only one man in the group and he was there with/for a woman (oh and since it was President's Day, I had Cheese with me), 2 of them were doing children's books, and the rest non-fiction memoir/ or issue types of things. This surprised me. I had just assumed it would be mostly fiction novelists.

I was very nervous as we were going through the group, each telling our genres, but before we got to me, the instructor had cause to share of her story about her first husband's suicide, and how it had effected her, and their sons. This reality check made me feel like an idiot, sitting there afraid to say words to describe genre. Sad how I seem to take courage for simple things, again and again, from being made aware that others face great challenges and go on. In my nervousness, I said fantastical realism instead of magical realism, she corrected me, and I lived to tell about it.

Anyway, I am glad I went. In my world, it was a bold action. She gave out lists of useful resources. I asked questions and got answers. She talked of the importance of having a clean manuscript. There was a time when editors, publishers, cultivated talent, now they just don't have the time. She told us, they are very busy during the day at work, submissions don't get read till they are at home, when they are tired, and just want to be done for the day, and that the trick was to keep them interested, to keep them from slush piling you, so they could keep moving through the stack. To have them feel your story is worth their time(when there are hundreds of other stories to choose from). (and one would imagine to also hit them at the right time). She talked of the importance of doing your homework, so the right person would be reading it, and that things change so fast, that internet resources should be used, to make sure so and so still works there, and that they are currently interested in work like yours.

She assumed my story was YA, but I told her I had been thinking of it as novel fiction (for the over 20 market). But after talking to her about it, I have decided that when I am done with the draft, I will look over it and see if perhaps it wouldn't be well suited to YA, or made so without any compromise of importance, and if that would work then I will right my second draft as a YA story. I have been looking at the story through this angle lately, and think it could actually solve some of my concerns. I also think it would be easier to present to an agent, editor, publisher, as such. I think it would seem more sellable. There is a scene, written in a letter, referring to something erotic, I thought this meant it couldn't be YA, but she said as long as things aren't explicit the story can still be YA.

So I certainly got things to think over from the talk. When I get that far, I am really going to work on making the manuscript clean. The woman who gave the talk does editing. It sounded like a very good thing to have someone go over my manuscript (once I have one) and help point out errors in story and grammar. $3 a page might very well be out of the range of my budget though, maybe she would be willing to do one chapter instead (?). At any rate, I will cross that bridge when I come to it, I have to climb some hills, traverse some woodland patches, and cross a river or two first.
I now see the extreme importance of the first five pages, and all that I have to do to try and grab someone's attention, (starting most likely with an agent) with cover letter, synopsis (exact right words/terms aren't coming to me right now) so they are willing to give the first 5 pages a try. And now I am looking at my story's potential to be YA, which I had resisted before, but am starting to think I should embrace.

I was made aware of a writer's conference that is coming up in our area (it is over $100 bucks, and there is the issue of Cheese, so it is unlikely I will go this year), and of our areas writer's meetings once a month (to join to not join? I don't know, we once again go back to Cheese, and to money, and to my lack of bravery).

At any rate it did what it was supposed to do, put my mind back on the dream, back on the work.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

on the fly

Venus fly-trap
Sometimes it is rather useful for a family to have words and sayings that have nothing to do with their actual meanings.

Several weeks ago while helping my 11 year old son get ready for school, I noticed his fly was down. For some reason I said "Venus flytrap", which of course he thought was odd, I told him "your fly is down". "oh" and he zipped it up. He told me that as a metaphor venus flytrap just has nothing to do with someone's fly being down, and thus is stupid. I said they both have the word fly in them, and flytraps make me think of zippers.
So anyway since that morning, when out and about at grocery store, et. cetera, I have had cause to softly say to my son "Venus flytrap". It always annoys him, he rolls his eyes, telling me again how it is not a good metaphor, or analogy, or anything, while he zipps up his pants. This morning, while I was dropping my son off at school, as he stood getting his binder out of the car, I saw silver, his fly was down. As other kids also getting dropped off for school were around I merely said "Don't forget to make sure the thing is up". "What?" He looked at me like I was crazy. "Venus flytrap" I said clearly and loud enough to carry. "Ooohh" he smiled and zipped up his fly. So silly saying or not, we were both pleased to have a code word for such a predicament.

(photo from

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Just got back from taking Cheese to school,
the only thing is...I still have Cheese with me.
We drove through dry clear roads.
When we reached the drop-off area, a boy, about 13 years old, came out, and said "there is a 2 hour delay". me- "Seriously? Why?" the boy shrugged his shoulders "I don't know but you are like the 7th car to come through".

Now that we are home, it is snowing, really snowing. So an hour from now either I drive my son to school through the snow, or school will be cancelled. I am so frustrated with myself for not checking for a delay, but as I said, the roads were clear, and usually you don't have to wonder if it is going to snow, newscasters are popping up, before, after, and during, other programs to tell you in a very hyped way that it is going to snow.

I am a bit concerned that I may in fact forget to take Cheese to school, because it is already off my mental check-list, since I have already done it. I asked him to remind him. He smiled broadly and has been rather quietly up in his room ever since. He is not at all frustrated about having to drive to school and then straight back home again, he is quite pleased with such good fortune. Indeed he who was dragging and sooo tired before, has a spring in his step and pep in his voice now.

Monday, February 25, 2008


Bob and Cheese had fun in the snow this weekend.

I saw sunlight this morning, streaming through the fields, reflecting off short golden corn stalks, gleaming white in the rows between, and blue in the shadows.

Two mourning doves are courting on the swingset, sweetly foretelling spring.

I'm feeling better than I was, but not good.

Friday, February 22, 2008

no real post for now, busy feeling sick, though I don't think I am actually sick.
Cheese has a snow day, and Bob is off from work.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

A preponderance of ponder-ance

(This is back from first wk of November when Moon was asking us to ask him questions, but then he went missing, or on extended leave, or wanted to see if there was any way to collect money for blog-disability or whatever. You know his blog is supposed to have monetary value and all, unlike mine which came out to zero. True I knew it would be low, but I was hoping for at least a dime, for my time. So anyway, I never even emailed him the question, so here you have it as a blog post, as my drafts folder could use a bit of tidying.)

Dear Mr. Topples,

Why is it always the job of the female in the house, to clean up puke and such?
Aren't we supposed to be dainty and delicate and faint at the sight of blood, and gore?
So why then....
If any person or pet in a household hurls is the job the girls?
I know for certain that if an owl crashed in through the window and tossed out a mouse pellet, it would be my job to clean it up, and the glass too.
People can greet me in the mornings, or when I walk in the door from grocery shopping, with coordinates of just such things "Cat puke-half way between the family room and formal living room". They scoof at any suggestion that they could clean it up, they say "it is your job".

Why? Why is it my job?
And how, possibly can I get out of it?

I myself have given it a bit of thought, and this is all I got-
The problem is a male, female one. The males, husband, child, cat, feel it is the female's duty, that would be me, to clean up any icky substance that comes out of another's body. So I am thinking I could dump my husband and marry another woman, thus when our cat or kids puked, there would be no reason for me to clean it up instead of her. Sadly I have found some flaws with this solution, while I find women perfectly lovely to look at, and talk to, I have no interest in "touching" one.

I have also figured out that if I got a sex change operation I would no longer be the female in the house. Bob would certainly leave me for this (unlike those tolerant spouses I see on Oprah). So in order to have someone to clean up the puke in the house I would have to not a woman..I want a man, not nec. a manly man, but a manish man. And while we are at it I am thinking it would be great if he was a chef, so I could have better food too. So tired of my own bad cooking.

Now I am not sure how in same sex couples you decide who is the one who has to clean this stuff up, so that concerns me a little bit, I mean to go through the surgery and all, and still possibly find myself in the same role, would be so upsetting. Also there would be some physical limitations in our male to male interactions which I would not find at all ideal. Also if I was a guy would I still be able to wear my pink sandels, my white flowy cotton baby doll top, and my denim capris with the flowers embroidered on them?

See sir, I have really tried to work out my troubles myself but alas, can find no good solutions.

I think they should work this bit of info into the wedding vows somewhere, so one knows ahead of time what one is in for.
I mean, imagine a woman thinking of those old images of men laying down their coats in the street, so a lady wont sully herself in a puddle, soon she will find that any indoor puddle, made by any living creature, is her responsibility to clean up.

Why are wash clothes too harsh to use on your face, but chemical peels good for your skin?

***Update as of February 19th***

CHEF THING, son Cheese has started cooking, apparently he is also tired of my bad cooking. Trouble is I am sou chef and dishwasher, and make whatever he doesn't feel like cooking, and all that he feels is beneath him, so I seem to be spending more time than ever in the kitchen. (but the food is better)

CAT PUKE, one day I convinced Bob to buy a big box of fancyfeast wet cat food at BJ's, then a week or so later we ran out of dry cat food, and day after day fed our cat wet cat food. He stopped throwing up. A month went by, still no puke. We decided to test it out, gave him some dry cat food, by the next morning puke was waiting for me. So now, for the mere price of spending three times as much on cat food, I don't have to clean up cat puke anymore! Now as long as no one gets sick, and no owls fly in, at least the up-chuck part of my icky responsibilities is taken care of. Sadly this still leaves me with plenty of other substances of unpleasantness to clean up.

So I am still wondering is there any sensible way to get out of cleaning those?

changes of light

sunset last night, caught my eye, not through sight of a setting sun, but through a slanting pink light laying itself between shadows in my backyard (as I washed the dishes). I was so startled I actually said something very close to swearing, which made my son laugh.
This morning, as I drove my son to school, the light still looked different to me, I thought perhaps it was my imagination, till my son said "Doesn't it look like summer today? I mean the trees are bare, and there needs to be a whole lot more green, but something about it looks like summer" and I said "Yeah, I think it is the light, the light looks different" and he said "Yeah, it does".

Thursday, February 14, 2008

a meme of hearts

This is part of a meme Bonnie of Bonnie's books, gave Vanilla of absolute vanilla to do.
Go to their sites to see it in its full form.
After visiting Vanilla today I felt I should do part of it, in the spirit of Valentines day.

A flock of birds taking flight. My son's face. Light through the trees. Light coming through green leaves, and colored petals, like nauture's stained glass. Light reflected off of things, like tree branches, water. Light hitting drops of water as it sprays. The sunset in the clouds, and those colors reflected off of houses, and trees, and snow. On wind, falling leaves, falling snow, falling and flying flowers. Fields of flowers, flower gardens. Poppies, peonies, roses, wisteria vines. The first flowers of spring
Love realized, love being.
My son sleeping, all my maternal worries rest peacefully in that moment with him, there is nothing that needs to be done, nothing I should be doing, it is time for sleeping, for being still in dreams, safe in this space, he is so beautiful, I stand amazed, knowing time will take this from me, and then the beauty of this moment will become memory.

serendipity comes and kisses me.
When I feel love, and harmony.
When I hear nature, or paintings singing.

I am at the shore or somewhere, and my husband and son are apart from me, and I look over, and it is like they are new to me...separate from, and I can look upon them and think "those two, those two people over there, they are mine, my people, they are with me." and I smile and think how lucky I am to have them. And to be theirs.

Sometimes when my husband is driving, I will notice his arm, as his hand moves over to the gear shift, and the sunlight shows the hair on his arm all golden, and I will see his arm as if for the first time, I will see its otherness, it belongs to someone else, this other being, and yet think "but that is my arm, that is partly my arm.". That arm sleeps in the same bed I sleep in every night. That arm helps carry in my groceries (our groceries), that arm works day after day to earn money to buy me bread and butter and blueberries. That arm is not my arm, yet it is.

My son and I are being silly together, and merrily getting each other's nonsense, and there is this sense of it being just wonderful to be us.

I am reading a book, and come across words that seem written by my own soul, not by wording, but by content of meaning, of feeling, words, meanings that become part of me, that are writing me. And new words and ideas, that echo (the previously unkonwn), bringing forth a gathering of strands, forming me.

I am reading a book and can't stop, the characters and story calls to me, call me back to it, again and again through-out the day, and when I am done, and the last page is turned, I am sad that there is no more story to know.

I am watching a movie, or TV story, and I get to go somewhere fantastic, on a journey of faraway, and on a journey of home. And I feel exicted and calm, and everything.

Beauty breaks through, to wherever I am, held in a different mood, and splashes all over me, washing down, rekindling a spark, that takes delight in just being, here, among.

things singing, music, a music of an underlying harmony, that song within. A song not heard with ears, but through soul.
Birds singing. My son's laughter. The wind rushing through the leaves on trees. My cat purring. The ocean waves flowing in and out. The sound of wings from a flock of birds flying overhead. The music from my ipod, the energy of it, the atmosphere of it is a current of wind I ride. The chirping call of the golden lion tamarin. The sound of the water as I water my plants, a little waterfall, a stream.

To the shore in the summer. My feet in the sand, my head in the clouds, my soul in the sea. The sights, sounds, scents, tastes, what I touch, and think and feel with my emotions, connects me across time, I feel my past, I feel my present, I sense the future, and an interwovenness of me through time with those before me, those here with me now, and those who will come after.

Ripe fruit. The scent of a ripe nectarine, or strawberries, sends a thrill through me, which is akin to lust, filling me with joy. It shimmers off me like waves of heat on summer pavement. And the taste when perfectly sweet is the same as happiness. Oh the blueberries, the cherries, the raspberries, the watermelon I could eat the whole thing, the cantaloupe...

A cold sweet orange eaten in the summertime while taking a shower.

And I love salt, love it on everything except fruit. I love cheese. I love to eat bakery bread with good butter. I love to drink Tropicana orange juice, mixed with bolthouse carrot juice over crushed ice (I could get good and fat only consuming bread and butter and drinking that juice). I love Alessi pasta sauce alla norma (eggplant), I crumble hard bread into it, sprinkle a bit of cheese on top, heat it, eat it with sour cream and think it the most perfect dinner ever. I love Mack and Manco pizza. I love french fries when they are just right, sort of crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside. I love going to Red Robin and getting a five alarm burger but substituting grilled Tuna (for the burger). I don't like to admit this, but right now, I do so like a five guys bacon cheeseburger with tons of stuff on it. And I like to get stuff from Wegmans asian bar, just one of these and one of those, the walnut chicken, the tikki, the peppers in some kind of curry. Chicken Korma. I do love avocado, but it has been a long time since I found a truly good one.

I am quite fond of desserts, but am so filled up on them right now, I can't think of one I desire.


Cheese made a menu for this week, not my ideal menu, but he said he would be cooking, and I thought that rather ideal, so I didn't fuss.

Of course mostly I have been doing the cooking, but I expected as much during the week. And I have added dishes that contian things like veggies, so I have been spending quite a bit of time in the kitchen (not something I like). The upside, (aside from the veg) he is actually eating the meals made.

I have lowered my veg consumption expectation so low for my son, that I would be pleased if he ate one, even if it was covered in fry and filled with cheese.

For some reason I thought it might be nice to make chiles rellenos. I was very wrong. It was not at all nice to make them.
I had planned to make them for Monday, but today was the day they finally were done.


I consider it all an awful business. Fraught with the inability to separate the skin (though I did blister it, and put it in a sealed bag for 20 minutes, and when that didn't work, blistered it again, and put it in a sealed bag for another 20 minutes.) from the poblano, then I was to try and get the seeds out, ha ha ha ha ha. Damn it. My peppers ripped apart in places, and still held tight to their skin in others. Then there was oil exploding all over my kitchen in great firey bursts (I took cover, then removed it from heat, then gave it a cover), the extreme effort required (for a lazy bones like me) to whisk those darn egg whites into stiff peaks (my right shoulder will probably hurt for days), and the resulting mess that still needs to be cleaned up. I consider it a battle that began yesterday and that I finally won today. I would like to say they were great, they were okay, mostly I ate it to show my dominance over it, my victory. My stomach does hurt now though, so maybe the peppers will have the last word.

oh and for the sake of balance, fettucine alfredo is so so easy to make, I can not believe I ever bought the sauce pre-made.

Oh and right now I supposed to be making the chicken parm. I would rather attempt to dig a two foot hole in the snow.

It is a good thing I started attempting to cook at 11 am because I forgot to thaw the phyllo needed for dessert (that will take 5 hours to thaw).

Bob will be working. So Valentines day will be Cheese and I, cooking, then I suspect he will make me watch Charlie in the Chocolate Factory again, I didn't like it the first time I saw it, but did enjoy it the second. I wonder how it will be the third time?

oh and


6:30 finally done with the Chicken parm, and all the rest.

most of it turned out edible, some of it was even good, but I would be very happy to never cook again, I prefer to assemble.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Like the weather

Valentines day is just a day away.
I always have a bit of trouble with the card.
Actually I almost always have trouble with all cards.
I stand there picking up one after the other, for birthdays, anniversaries, fathers day, et. cetera, and they all say things I don't feel.
I'll pick up a beautiful card, read it, and realize I don't feel those words, thus I can't send it. I hate that about these sorts of days, I am fine with the rest of the day, but the cards thing...ugh. It isn't a problem with my son, nor was it with my Nana and Pop, but with all the rest, it is a bit of a search, to find a kind card, affectionate but not at all over-stated. One that doesn't describe a relationship I do not have with the person. Or express a feeling I don't feel.
Sometimes it is just a matter of sort of relationship, I do not feel bad about me with those cards, like with the dad cards, it isn't a lacking on my part, it is just how it was, and how it is, but it does make me realize all the ways we haven't been a part of each others lives. These cards remind me of that, "you were always there to help me, to guide me....".
Some cards, like the ones for my husband, those make me feel bad about me..I read all these beautiful wonderful cards, and am faced with I DON'T FEEL...I don't feel these things...and I wonder what is wrong with me.
I don't have a card for him yet, and I don't want to do it, go sort through all those sweet romantic passionate cards, to find the one, that expresses a love, but in a way that seems to say so much less then the other cards. And he doesn't like funny cards, he has told me that, so I can't jsut cope out, and get one of those. If I get him no card, I am offering him nothing. How can that be all I offer him, extend to him, nothing? I'll have to do it, find something, feel bad while I search, look directly into that part of me, and feel uncomfortable with its lacking.

Last week, I read in People magazine (I think) an article about biology of romance, while in the waiting room of my son's orthodontist. They had a checklist, some sort of meter of this kind of love, and let's just say I did not do well. It is odd though that I do feel those sorts of feelings, only just in the imaginary realm. I can feel this sort of energy in my make-believe realationships, in my crushes, my pretend boyfriends. I feel passion, have intensity, and am surprised at the dialogue that flows from this. (I am surprised by it in my story writing as well, my characters feel passion. I don't set out to try and write something to sound so, they speak, I write down, and feel surprise at their intensity).
Imaginary kisses move me more than any real kiss ever did. I feel them more than I feel real kisses. What an odd way to be.

I am not low, which I feel I should state as my posts do seem melancholy as of late, I am reflective but not sad. February brings certain things to me, and I am aware of them, and letting you see them. But it isn't my whole world, not all my energy, these are just some of the many colored strands being woven through me life.
Actually sitting here now, I would say I feel optimistic, though I don't know why or about what. But it is just that feeling of things from time to time tucked under the snow, but plenty of life is in them, so much yet to grow, to become, to be.
I have my delights and my joys. The scent excites me, as I feel the softness, and taste the sweetness of the peach. There are some things I may never know, never feel, real in my lifetime, but I am here, I am who I am, and I am grateful for all that I do get to know, to feel.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Tori Amos Winter Lyrics

Snow can wait, I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter
I put my hands in my father's glove
I run off where the drifts get deeper
Sleeping Beauty trips me with a frown
I hear a voice “you must learn to stand up
For yourself 'cause I can't always be around”

He says “when you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?
'Cause things are gonna change so fast”
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change, my dear

Boys get discovered as winter melts
Flowers competing for the sun
Years go by and I'm here still waiting
in a clearing where some snowman was
Mirror, mirror where's the crystal palace
But I can only see myself
Skating around the truth who I am
But I know the Ice is getting thin

When you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?
'Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change, my dear

Hair is grey and the fires are burning
So many dreams on the shelf
You say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myself

When you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?
'Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses have gone ahead
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change, my dear

Never change
All the white horses

(same photo because post is very related to one before it. It was Feb. both grandparents, who I lived with, had died. I would sit and listen to this song, and stare out the window, knowing my life was on the verge of changing forever, but for the moment I was still tucked into this space, still in their house, and still thinking none of it could be true, surely they were still here, just away on vacation, just at the store, any minute they would walk through the door.)
(I will have dif topic tomorrow)

Monday, February 11, 2008

This day in 2000 my Nana died.
She died exactly a week after my b-day.
This week I couldn't help but think often of this time frame from that year, how it all unfolded.
A dream came my birthday eve, with content to make sure I would be thinking of it this week.
And I suddenly started doing this yoga sequence in the morning, but I was having trouble remembering it, and couldn't find the tape, and when trying to think of where it could be, I thought of when I used to do this tape, and realized it was from that period of time in my life.
I am not going to write it out here, write about that time. I am just wondering what it is I am missing, her of course, but also something else, something I have yet to see, that is calling to me. From that time in my life to me now. Some message I need to receive, something I need to understand, and until I do, each year, this week, I will feel like I am holding my breath.
Until I do
each year at this time instead of remembering her life, I will focus on the week of her death.

Friday, February 8, 2008

after Lunch

yesterday with my cousin, my mom, and my grandmother (my only surviving grandparent). (it was a b-day thing for me).

I drove my 89 year old grandmother home, letting her out at the door. I was to go park and then meet her inside. She wanted me to park in an illegal parking spot. I said "I can't park in front of the yellow lines, or yellow curb". She said "of course you can". Me "that's illegal" her "you wont be there long. Everybody does it". We were both dedicated to our own view so that conversation went back and forth for awhile. She then saw the handicapped parking space to our left, and told me to park there. I said "No, you can get our here, then I will go park around the corner, legally." Her "No one needs that spot, just take it. No one will be by for an hour." Me "how do you know that?" Her "don't you have any faith in me? Doesn't anything I say carry any weight with you?". Me "that isn't the issue, I can't in good conscience park in either spot" . Her "Tiffany" said loudly, and longly, with a roll of her eyes, like I can't believe how difficult and stubborn you are being. Me (semi-quoting Moon Topples) "I'm not going to do it, and there is nothing you can do to make me". Finally, finally... she got out of my car, and then as I drove away I found a perfectly legal spot, about 5 car spaces away. (we couldn't see it from the angle we had been at). I had to laugh. I mean I think it was nearly 10 minutes that we had gone back and forth, each not believing the ohter would not surrender her position. Even as we walked up to her apartment she added "your mother would have done it".

I am still feeling a bit surprised, that my good catholic grandmother, took it so personally, and managed to be offended that I would not park illegally. I understand that she is used to using the handicap spaces, as she has from her doctor one of those plastic signs, because her walking isn't so good. But since I was dropping her off at the door, I don't see how that would come into play.

When I called my mom today, my grandmother had already talked to her of her frustration with her inability to get me to park there.
It isn't of any real concern, but you know I feel a little odd, knowing she probably has thought this over, and shook her had at me, thinking something like...Ugh kids today. They just don't listen to their elders. They think you don't know what you are talking about.

Okay so a picture of said grandmother would be better than I picture of a tree, I don't have time to do that now though..

Wednesday, February 6, 2008


song by Ladysmith Black Mambazo- Rain, rain, beautiful rain

Oh rain, oh rain
oh rain, oh rain,
Don’t disturb me, beautiful rain
Oh come, never come, Oh come, never come,
Oh come to me beautiful rain

Rain, rain, rain, rain,
beautiful rain
rain, rain, rain, rain,
beautiful rain
oh come, never come, Oh come, never come
Oh come to me beautiful rain

When the sun says good night to the mountain
I am dreaming of the sun
Say good night
When the sun says good night to the mountain
I am dreaming of the sun say good night
When the sun goes down, the birds on the trees
are singing sweet for the night
when the sun says good night to the mountain
I am dreaming of the sun say goodnight

Rain, rain, rain, rain,
Beautiful rain
rain, rain, rain, rain,
Beautiful rain
Oh come, never come, oh come, never come
Oh come to me beautiful rain.

My mood is highly transient lately
seems to shift moment to moment.
Feels weird, but I don't think it is a bad thing,
I have a sense of shifting, and shuffling,
attempting new alignment.
I am thinking over, and trying to make myself see, the difference between being an "ideal" me, and being an authentic me.
The former being put on one externally, by media (etc.), so one always feels bad, that she falls short of what she "should" be.
The other is internal, and is worth focus, energy, and time.
I don't want to harrass myself any longer over the external ideal, but I do want to do the work that is necessary to reach for the internal vision of how I am to be in this world. My authentic being.

So like the post before it, a quest for compass, to see my own true north, as it were, so I can stop wandering about, and set course. It still wont be a straight course, of course, but I an hoping for distractions that enrich my life, not those that degrade it (so I myself need to know the difference).
All sorts of everything falls here, health, food, exercise, physical appearance, mothering, wifing, housing, being. The inside, outside, upside down, of seeing, viewing, perceiving, of myself, of others, of the world.
I am seeking a new seeing.
Not so things are different, but so they feel different.

Monday, February 4, 2008

Happy Birthday

to me!

38, how glad I am that I keep going on. Where onto am I going?

My mom tells me this story sometimes, of when I was little, about 2 years old. One morning, she was surprised I hadn't gotten up yet, so she went into my bedroom to check on me, and I wasn't there. She frantically searched all over the house. I wasn't there. She noticed that the screen to the front door wasn't fully closed, so she went out, running down our driveway. Scanning all around, she went down toward the top of the pasture, she saw me, through the fence, through the horses legs, sitting, in my pale purple nightgown, at the front of his hooves, practically leaning up against him. My mom said he was known for being skitterish. She was really scared that she would startle him as she very slowly approached. She had to move quietly and smoothly. She said her heart was beating hard with fear, but that I was perfectly serene, sitting there at the horses feet, looking out over the lower field. (I of course, was safely gathered up, and taken back into the house, in case you are wondering. Hence my ability to write this blog post)

I don't know why I like this story, when I hear it, I don't think about how I could have gotten trampled, I don't think about the pond, or stream at the bottom of the hill. I don't think about it as a 'what if?', or narrow escape, sort of story, or one of maternal fear (though those are all thoughts that would be very common to me, and a rational reasonable perspective for the circumstances). But instead, I like this story because I think of it as saying something about me, the quiet inner me. A story not of danger, but one of knowing I would be safe. Of whatever called me out of bed, and led me down the hill to sit in the grass among the horses. I don't feel the fear in the story when she tells it, though I hear hers, I feel a calmness, a knowness. A sense of belonging and place. An internal compass. I wonder at this part of me that I seem to have lost touch with. The part that just knows, and its innocence moves forward through risk, not bravely, for there is no thought that one needs to be bold with courage, rather just going along calmly if called.

Even now, I force feelings of foolishness upon myself, saying I should be embarrassed, for stating this, for holding up the naiveness of a toddler, and stating I want it reinstated. But of course, that isn't what I want, what I mean is, I do think knowledge is power, and fear can be a gift, I don't want to be simple in those ways, but I want to know me well enough, and my sense of the world well enough, to not waste time with worry and fear, when I am safe. I want to feel my inner compass, and move with knowness to where I belong, calmly. The simpleness, the purity, of that.

Some people stand safe in hurricanes, some aren't safe in padded rooms they never leave. When I feel pulled toward something, I want to focus on it, not on all the potential dangers around it. I want to be able to hear it, and follow it, with calm knowing.