Short

I'm a little short today. On kindness. And patience. And all the other good stuff that generally make one tolerable to be around. Although a nice long soak in the tub and a cat cuddle have improved my mood somewhat. I've just had a difficult more than a day, but less than a month, somewhere in that range thing going. Mad at the local school system for not doing more for my son. Mad at my son for not tending to business and doing as well at school as he is capable. Annoyed at my elder son for not handling some real-world lessons as well as he ought to. And subsequently being annoyed with myself for not preparing him well enough to deal with real-world crap. And my basement is full of fifteen year old boys who think they're pirates. They will be gone soon and the house will settle into its normal weeknight quiet. Newton and Einstein will calm down and tomorrow will give all of us a new opportunity, probably many, to demonstrate patience and kindness. I'm tired and need sleep, feel like I've been short on that, lately, too. Happy Halloween.

Full Moon, Saturday Night

In actuality, the full moon was sometime last night, not tonight. I just wanted to use that title. As I was typing it, it occurred to me that Full Moon, Saturday Night was the title of an ER episode from over ten years ago. Just checked. And before I go on, I must say that the internet is a wonderful, fact-filled, quite amazing thing. The episode aired on Thursday, March 30, 1995. It was the twentieth show in ER's first season. I'm trying to remember what was going on in my life at that time, other than watching ER regularly. My sons would have been six and two years of age. The elder in first grade and the younger a toddler who was minded by his mother during the day. I was still sleeping in a waterbed that just a few years later would turn out to be the culprit in my increasing back pain. I sleep in a regular bed now, have since 2002, and my back is very happy with the queen size, pillowtop Spring Air that I snuggle into every night. I find it odd that although more than twelve years have passed since I viewed that episode of ER, I remember so very clearly part of the opening segment of the program. A very large man, who was strapped to a gurney and appeared to be unconscious, suddenly let out a roar and stood up with the gurney still strapped to his back, and began shuffling toward a window. He and the gurney crashed through the window and glass went flying everywhere. I don't recall precisely what happened next but it seems to me that the staff in the er that night didn't get particularly ruffled over the incident. They sighed, maybe did an eyeroll toward heaven, and chalked it all up to the full moon as they went about dealing with their furniture-rearranging patient. Memory is a very odd thing. Like when you wake up from an oh, so vivid dream when the alarm goes off. And for the rest of the day you can't quite shake off the memory of it. I almost always dream, and usually can remember the dreams in detail. But most of the time the memory of the dreams fades as I go through the day and other more immediate experiences fill up my brain. Just the other night I had a dream that still is taking up daylight space in my head. It was a doozy involving a very, very cute young man that I barely know and a grape Tootsie Pop. And without being too graphic, all I will say is that it was sexual in nature although we never touched, and the lollipop did something very interesting and magical when I unwrapped and licked it. Must have been the full moon.

Whys Wise

One of the reasons I started writing this blog was because I read a few other blogs. For the most part these blogs I read are written by people I know pretty well, or at least people I have met. I found myself leaving comments on these blogs that I thought were pretty pithy. So I thought I'd carve out my own little space in this electronic wonderland so my mental meanderings would have a home. Today I checked out a blog that I haven't read for a while. For all of you who care, but also for those of you who don't, it seems that my fake boyfriend, BOJ, has a real-life girlfriend! I would like to congratulate him on this enormous step forward in his life and hope he is WwtK to his heart's content. I wonder now if I will ever see any of those shots of Jagermeister he owes me. I left this comment on his blog earlier this evening:


Such things are never truly finished. Experiences etch memories upon the brain that remain capable of inducing emotional responses. You can't unlearn or undo or unexperience anything that has happened to you. You can hope that the scars you've earned teach valuable lessons and that you've risen above old, unproductive, and unnecessary behaviors. Accept and embrace the fact that the better person you are today is due in part to the past chapters of your life, maybe in particular the ones that weren't all that pleasant. Acknowledge your past, apologize for the harm you've done, and finally, refuse the burden of pain that others may heap upon you. To remain willing to take that leap of faith one more time even when your heart has been broken is a sign of true resilience. Enjoy.

Flash Drive Morality

I'm so proud of myself. Ooops. That's one of the seven deadlies. Oh, well, I guess when I get to the Inferno I'll have to tote around a stone slab on my back to induce some feelings of humility. But I am proud of myself! I just successfully navigated the New Egg website, which was easy, and that surprised me because New Egg is pretty much geek heaven. Anything and everything electronic is available there. Build your own customized computer from scratch. Which my older son has done. Which amazes me. I'm proud of him, too. And since I'm going to refuse to go to confession or otherwise make some other attempt to absolve myself of this deadly sin, I guess I'll be seeing all my best friends in Hell. Wait a minute, I'm not Catholic. Do the repercussions of committing any of the Seven Deadly Sins apply only to Catholics? Not ascribing to the concept of either eternal reward or eternal punishment based on my conduct here on this plane in this life, threatening me with such isn't much of a motivator for me personally. I just do my best on any given day to do what is right, kind, less harmful and good simply because that's how I ought to behave. Being human, I fail at times. And then I do my best to apologize, right the wrong, change my ways. Anyway. What I'm so very proud of myself for is that in a few days I will be the proud owner of a pink 2G flash drive! Then, once I figure out how to use this bit of technological hardware, I will be able to cart around all sorts of useful information. My poetry archive. Music I love. The novel I'm working on. Photos of my cats and sons. Video. All in a cute little pink case. I shall never be a true geek, but I will proudly have a flash drive hanging from a clip on my purse. And if I end up in the deep, nasty recesses of Dante's Inferno for that privilege, I'll not only be surprised, but I hope I get to take the flash drive with me. I'll make sure the first thing I download to it is air conditioning plans and schematics. That and maybe zymurgy instructions.

Easy on the Eyes

Is not Kyle Chandler the most gorgeous man of any age on prime time television? Let me begin by saying that I don't watch tv much at all. I went cold turkey five years ago and ended my affiliation with the local miserable, greedy cable tv company. And I really don't miss it all that much. The worst thing about grabbing a television signal out of the air with an antenna is that the reception isn't all that great. And ironically, the closest station is my local public television station, and it is the one that comes in the lousiest. Even further ironical is the fact that most of the programs I enjoy watching are on that very station. Although now I must admit something that I'm mildly embarrassed over. I watch the NBC drama Friday Night Lights. I'm not embarrassed over the fact that I watch the show, I'm embarrassed over why I started watching it to begin with. That fact would be due to the fact that in my opinion, Kyle Chandler is perhaps the most gorgeous man on tv, and maybe even on the face of this Earth. I'm not the least bit interested in football. Or the trials and tribulations of the citizens of Dillon, Texas. I'm interested in that moment when the camera closes in on Kyle and gives us good long look at those dark, twinkly eyes of his. Fortunately, NBC comes in quite a bit better than PBS through my perched in the garage rafters antenna. Making the whole business of tv watching easier on my eyes. Sort of like Kyle. Who I'm now dedicating my life to adoring from afar. A girl needs a hobby, you know.

Out of the Closet

I love Halloween. Let me repeat that. I love Halloween!!! What's not to love? There's the candy and the dressing up in costumes and parties and the decorations. And then there's that mystical proposition that the boundaries separating the domain of the living and the domain of the dead become thin and diffuse allowing the crossing over from one to the other. I didn't buy candy until this last Saturday which I believe demonstrates considerable will power for me. Alright, I know I caved and bought the monstrous (get it? monstrous!) size bag of Tootsie Pops instead of the sensible smaller bag. But it was a matter of economics. I am by nature a bargain shopper and the big bag worked out to eight cents per pop while the smaller bag worked out to twelve cents per pop. Now that I have fully rationalized that, while enjoying a grape one as I type, on to other matters. Decorating. Halloween decorations are just plain fun. Pumpkins and witches and black cats and haunted houses and lit-up spooky little trees adorned with bats and ghosts! Stop me before I get to my favorite part, the costumes! Oops! Not quick enough! In this house we do not, I repeat, DO NOT purchase any old tacky costume-in-a-bag! We have a strict code of creating our costumes conceived and planned in our own evil little minds! I am almost embarrassed to admit that I have a closet full of costumes. Almost being the key word. My friend Sandy says that I have more clothes in my costume closet than she has in her regular clothes closet. I haven't done an actual count but I'm certain she's exaggerating. Over the years I have created a number of pretty darned cool costumes (and not just for Halloween, how could I limit myself to dressing up just once a year?) for the entire family. I have classics like the French Maid, various hippie outfits, scarecrow, witch, Peter Pan, Viking, pirate, and totes of odd accessories and pieces of clothing for free-form dressing up. Several years ago I whipped up the most excellent devil costumes for my husband and myself. Once we were in them including red make-up, capes, and pointy tails, we were truly unrecognizable. We partied in the bars downtown completely incognito. We shot a couple of games of pool with people we knew and they didn't know it was us! I love Halloween! The very best non-Halloween dressing up that I participated in had to be the girls' weekend when we rented a houseboat. We were quite a sight, all ten of us, out on the docks of the marina in what we called our bad, bad, bad prom and bridesmaid dresses. A van from the fancy downtown hotel came to pick us up and we took the town by storm. The St. James Hotel in Red Wing, Minnesota has a four star restaurant and is an absolutely beautiful restored historic building filled with antiques and quiet, well-behaved patrons. We were not. Ten middle-aged women in tacky dresses, gloves and hats who are out of town, away from their kids and husbands and have a designated driver are not inclined toward genteel behavior. We, in other words, had a very good time as well as a wonderful meal. There's something about donning a costume that makes even the most quiet and shy among us feel at least a little taken out of themselves. Even reserved people might do a thing or two they otherwise would not. The costume gives you permission! You don't quite look like your normal self so why act like your normal self? Let's have some fun! And I promise to limit myself to one Tootsie pop per day. Good thing I bought the big bag, at this rate there should be a few left in the bowl when the trick-or-treaters show up.

Door Number Three

I have been in love twice. Two times. The other dating/relationship experiences were something else. Infatuation. Poor judgment or maybe just poor lighting. Caught up in a fun moment that I spent the remainder of the involvement trying to recreate. A humiliating episode that would turn out to be character building. Something that could have been wonderful except for the timing. In love. Twice. I was married to the first one. And in many respects it was very good. And given our respective amounts of baggage when we hopped on the marital plane I think it worked well most of the time. It was a practical arrangement and was a quite traditional marriage. And oddly, for me anyway, the practicality and tradition were aspects that made it falter and fade. I chose him because I knew he was reliable. That he would be a good father to the children my biological clock was screaming for. That he would go to work and come home at night and be faithful to me. We worked remarkably well together on projects that ranged from adding on to our home to a complete kitchen remodel to building a garden shed. He mowed the lawn and changed the oil in the cars. I cooked the meals and did the laundry and stayed home with our children. For the most part I was happy for a long time. At least I thought that I was. I chose him with my head, too much with my head. I did love him very, very much but I chose him too much with my head and not enough with my heart. So eventually there was something in me that was unsatisfied and unanswered. The second time I fell in love it was a decision made primarily with my hormones. It was an emotional hormonal roller coaster ride which I barely survived and only recently feel as though I have mostly recovered from. But, oh, what a ride it was. Not one that I would care to take again. I loved him deeply and dearly and with a ferocity that often surprised me. He left me with many a cherished memory, just as many hard lessons learned, and a heart so broken I truly thought I would die. Where love grows, so sayeth the song, a fool knows that the hurt can go as deep, don't make a promise that you cannot keep. I am healed but scarred, realistic yet optimistic, and feel ready for love number three to knock at my door. And this time I know that while it is necessary and important for my head and my hormones to be engaged, this time he must first speak to my heart. Third time's the charm, after all.

Unsaid

I'm a little outspoken. I try to keep tabs on blurting out totally inappropriate things. I do what I tell my kids to do. Read the room before you open your mouth! And most of the time I do. Sometimes I keep quiet when I should have spoken up, and those are the times I regret the most. I can easily tolerate opening my mouth and appearing the fool or the life of the party or the child who notices that the emperor is naked. I rarely have said anything to deliberately hurt someone or cause them to feel badly. Sometimes I inadvertently do just that. And when I do, I readily and sincerely apologize once I remove my foot from my mouth. I have thought at times that my marriage failed due to so much that was left unsaid. Once said and out in the light, so many things could have been resolved and healed rather than being left to fester within. Words unsaid, the road not taken, opportunities not recognized. Although I've had my share of enlightening moments that have shaken me like thunderbolts out of a clear blue sky. Aha!! moments can leave you stricken and speechless but also have a habit of arriving quietly and gently, enveloping you with warmth and wonder and feel as though they were always there. Just waiting for you to be aware enough to comprehend their meaning. Someday I'll learn to whisper rather than shout, to be subtle rather than obvious. And I sure hope the wisdom to know which way to go comes along with the package.

Coincidence

I have often been heard to remark that I don't believe in coincidences. As if it's a belief system with complex rituals and multiple deities. That's not what I mean, and if I share the dictionary meaning with you, perhaps the muddy shall become clear. A sequence of events that although accidental seems to have been planned or arranged. So what I mean is that while coinciding events may not be neatly planned or arranged, maybe there's more to it. I think part of it has to do with point of view. That when you gain knowledge of say, a particular species of bird or make and model of car, there aren't suddenly more of those birds or cars around to be observed. Your awareness of their existence has been heightened. You've learned something that alters your point of view. The other aspect has to do with another sort of growth altogether. It has more to do with spiritual awareness and a greater ability to see patterns or similarities. And not just in the present, but also looking back. And for the most intuitive among us even what lies ahead. Is it a mere coincidence that in the fall of 1979 that I totaled my car, my apartment flooded and I got involved with Steve? I don't think so! Could it be coincidence that I get involved with Rapid City, Libra musicians who are ultimately unavailable to me? Hah! Which makes me think about how insanity is defined by doing the same thing over and over again with the expectation of a different result. Recognizing your own negative behavior and making an attempt to change it is a monumentally difficult thing for humans to do. If you can identify and face up to the challenge this sort of observation presents and be better for it, you've moved up a rung or two on the evolutionary ladder. At this point in my life I believe it is no coincidence that I have become more thoughtful about such things. I have declared since childhood that I have every intention of living to be 100 years old. If indeed that comes to pass, I have used just slightly over half of my time here. And there are so many things I still want to do! Get that novel published and make my living as a writer. Be a grandmother. Note to sons: the directly previous experience can wait several years! Put a million miles on my new blue Subaru. Find the soulmate for this era of my life and fall in love again. I resolve for this second half of my life to always be curious, laugh every day, and sing and dance even if people might be looking. Good things come in threes. And that is no coincidence.