mom

I wanted to learn Tom Hagerty’s scalp exercises to get the same results he has: no forehead wrinkles, lots of hair with his original hair color. (He is over 74 and still has naturally dark hair!) Previously, I couldn’t even feel the muscles at the back of the head he was talking about. Tonight I tried again and I could almost feel them, but couldn’t feel them enough to have any control over them. Bonus: If you can control those muscles, you can wiggle your ears.

Then I talked to my genius mom:

Me: How’d you do it?

Mom: It helps to look in the mirror at first. When I first started trying to wiggle my ears…

And then I stopped her because, although I knew she could wiggle her ears, it had never occurred to me that at one point she couldn’t wiggle her ears, had wanted to wiggle ears, had made it a goal to do so, and had practiced until she succeeded. !

Me: Wait, wait, WHY did you want to learn how to wiggle your ears?!

Mom: Hmmm… I don’t remember now… but at first I could only just barely see them moving. You know when you move your head out and back like you are an Egyptian?

Me: Yeah

Mom: Well, try and move the front of your face out front while you try and hold the back of your head in place.

Me: Wait… this feels really weird…

And then, wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, I could squeeze my back scalp muscles together and wiggle my ears.

“Walk like an Egyptian!!”

If you ever need to giggle, try a little wiggle. We were talking on skype and I was very seriously showing her my progress, while she was wiggling her ears too, “Look, look, did you see my ear wiggle!” Then we both started laughing.

The funniest part about this, to me, is imagining my mom looking in the mirror and trying to wiggle her ears, and going about it with the hard working dedication that she applies to most everything. Ahhhh…. funny.

Update 4/15/08: It really works! After just a day of doing the scalp exercise, the horizontal lines in my forehead are significantly reduced! I got those lines young due to my face actually freezing in that expression. :) I hadn’t been able to relax my face consistently enough or do anything else to get rid of them. WOW. This is a truly amazing result, especially after just one day.

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I got in a rare argument with my mom last night. I threw out the wild and crazy idea that our family could get together and have a reunion every year for a week. She said that it was ok to want that but not to expect that to happen. I said that I thought getting together for *ONE* *WEEK* a year didn’t seem like an outrageous thing to expect and if my family couldn’t prioritize that amount of time for me then maybe they were more like acquaintances than family and I would get my own other family!

Then I said I had to go because I had an improv class. She said, “What, you can’t even prioritize talking to me on the *phone*?” “No!” I said. Then we both said, “Bye, I love you.” Because neither of us wants to leave with bad words in case one of us dies before we talk again.

Oooh I was irritated all the way to improv class. I needn’t have worried, because it’s easy to be happy in improv and tonight was especially funny. The theme of the night was “Yes, AND…” There are all kinds of “Yes, and” games. The idea is that someone throws out an idea, and WHATEVER it is, you agree with it and add information. (It’s very much like dancing.)

Say you have a scene where you are in a bank and your partner says, “I love that ballarina outfit you’re wearing!” You don’t say, “I’m in a bank, why would I be wearing a ballerina outfit?” You say… anything that agrees with their reality. “Oh thank you! I love the tights, but do you think the tutu is too much?” Or…”Yes, darling, it’s intermission at Swan Lake and I have just enough time to cash my latest honorarium if you wouldn’t mind letting me just tip toe ahead of you in line.”

You even “yes and” offerings that you find sort of repulsive. “Didn’t you used to date George Bush?” “Yep, we went out for a couple months. We met in rehab.”

It was an especially funny night, I was glowing from the laughter, and as I was driving home my mind turned back to the argument. I imagined answering some improv friend’s questions about my fight with my mom: “Yeah, I think that if she had just said. ‘Yes! That’s a great idea! It would be so awesome to get together with all of our family! I love that idea. We could even rent a boat or something!’ Then I would have been happy. Then we could talk about ways to make it happen and find out if it might or might not work….”

“Yeah, good point, I could have yes-anded her too. ‘Yeah, you’re worried that it’s just not going to happen and you want me to be happy about whatever amount of time I do get. Yeah, I hear you, you don’t want me to be disappointed.’ True, I could have said something like that. And I often do, when I’m in a more mature mode. Plus I know I toss out what sound like wild ideas to my sometimes cautious mother and I have empathy for where she is at and her concerns for me. But, come on, I wanted one month a year, so I’d already brought my suggestion down to what I thought was crazy reasonable before I said it!”

My imaginary improv friends lost interest at this point. Rude.

Now you know how to respond to me when I tell you an outrageous idea.

Just tell me that you like my tutu and leave it at that.

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Laura over at Pick Me! posted about hoarding today. I started to respond but it got so long that I decided to make it a post instead of a comment.

*

I grew up with a hoarder and I couldn’t stand it! I was always embarrassed to have my friends over. I wasn’t allowed to throw popsicle sticks or plastic spoons away. Not only couldn’t we throw spoons away, my mom would actually bring home her used plastic spoons from restaurants. We had a whole drawer full of plastic spoons. We had 5 boxes full of rock salt filled with rabbit pelts that my mom was going to make into mittens someday.

I carried those 5 50 pound boxes in two different moves. I was opposed to them killing the rabbits I raised, opposed to saving ridiculous things we were never going to use, and opposed to the hard, meaningless labor of carrying the boxes. Grrr… (Hey, I just thought of something I could say in groups when the leader says to introduce yourself and tell people a fact about yourself that would surprise them!) We had a whole bunch of USED toothbrushes. I threw some of these away once and my mom got very upset with me.

If I lived in my childhood home now it would be fun to do a photo journal of all the strange stuff that we had. Very out of date medicine, old jars of canned tomatoes, piles of fabric, boxes of old game and puzzle pieces, closets full of old clothes, corners crammed with dead relatives furniture, one room just FULL of paper- literally piled to the ceiling with paper, including piles of charity solicitations with free address labels. My mom would keep all the paper work in case she wanted to use the free address labels or free cards they sent. Then she would send them money before she used them.

When I lived with my mom for a couple years as an adult, I made a deal with her that I wouldn’t touch the basement if the upstairs could stay clean. When I got particularly frustrated, I would throw everything that I thought was clutter over the banister down the stairs. (Don’t try this at home.)

I’ve read that hoarding is a reaction to loss and the hoarders in my family did have a lot of loss. It adds credence to the theory that when my mom got remarried she got rid of at least 2/3 of her stuff. It was amazing. It was like she was coming alive again and breaking out of some old tomb and throwing off the shackles of the paper and the unmatched game pieces! In reverse, my auntie, who I love, has become more and more ensconced in things since her husband died.

I love getting rid of things if I know they’ll have a good home. I take car loads and car loads of things to thrift stores. (I don’t shop much so I don’t know how I end up with carloads of things to get rid of.) I live in an apartment without much storage space, so when I decorated for Christmas, I just bought strings of lights at a thrift store for 50 cents and took them back after the holidays! And I love that no new things have to be manufactured when I buy them from a thrift store.

I keep things that are beautiful, useful, and/or happily sentimental. I love that I have distilled the objects around me so that everything I see in my room is something I love. (My roommate is a minimalist and probably thinks I’m a hoarder, so it’s somewhat relative.)

I did learn some good things from my mom’s hoarding behavior. I learned that random bits of junk can be useful in art projects. I think that thriftiness and ecology was tied into my mom’s hoarding behavior. She wanted to use everything and everything has a possible use. It’s like recycling. It’s important to me to recycle. I love composting although I don’t compost right now. (no yard).

I also would never throw useful things in the garbage that someone else could use. I’ve seen other people throw perfectly good CLOTHES into the garbage. GASP! No way. Someone could use that!! So, maybe the basic premise of the hoarder has been passed onto me, I just don’t feel the need to store the objects in my space when there are perfectly good libraries and thrift stores to do that job for me.

* Some of the flowers I bought myself with the flower money my mom sent me this Valentine’s Day with probably my favorite collage I’ve made n the background. Made at my mother’s house it is comprised of a bottle of glue I was going to use as glue, it was dried out though, so I cut it open and taped the glue and glue bottle to the collage, which I put in an old frame we had lying around.

Tags: hoarding, mom, family, thrift, recycling, grief

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One of the great things about quitting my job has been getting to spend time reading. One of the books I read over Christmas was Merle’s Door. Here’s what my mom has to say about it:

Tags: dogs, books

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Using the principle of small questions and small actions, I’m building a list of what I want in a husband/partner. What is one thing your lover/ best friend/lover/wife does that makes you happy?

One answer I’ve heard from my mom:

Whenever her husband is going somewhere and she asks, “Can I come along?” He says, “Of course! I always like it when you are there.”

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I’m listening to an interview on NPR with the late William Maxwell.

When asked about growing older, he said that he’s mostly a story teller not a philosopher, but he has had fleeting impressions about age, a few of which he still remembers. Once he thought suddenly, “I don’t want to leave the party.”

That is the exact thought I had when I was trying to figure out what I have against death. At the core of it, it’s that I don’t want to leave the party.

I never told you that I had a horrible, horrible experience this summer. A quiet but chilling experience that brought the reality of death to me. Not the reality of dying exactly, but the reality of the possibility of annihilation. I didn’t want to say it out loud in case it was catching.

It’s been quite a journey since then. At first I felt intense sob-producing fear. Then I felt various amounts of anxiety. Even during my recent trip to Tahoe, there was the cold reality of death nearby to come to mind whenever I wasn’t engaged in something else. While I was in Tahoe I thought, “I just wish I could forget about death!” Not forget that death exists, but to feel immortal like I used to, despite the evidence.

When I got home and was going through my mail I saw a promise from Shambhala magazine that they could teach me to be happier. Of course I read it. It said there were four basic teachings:

1. “Maintain an awareness of the preciousness of human life.” (Check.)

2. “Be aware of the reality that life ends; death comes for everyone. Life is very brief. If you realize that you don’t have that many more years to live and if you live your life as if you actually had only a day left, then the sense of impermanence heightens that feeling of preciousness and gratitude.” (check, ..um hmm?)

I haven’t laughed so hard since I’ve had a heightened sense of impermanence! I can promise that there are other responses besides gratitude to the keen awareness of the reality of death! I don’t know if anyone can relate to this making them laugh. Ahhh… It did make me feel better somehow. Like instead of mistakenly stumbling onto a horrible awareness, I am on some kind of path?? That could lead me to being happier? :)

The other thing that has made me feel better are the videos I found of my family. I watched a series of videos that my aunt put together with footage of my grandma. It was so good to see her. My mom called at 1 in the morning her time to say hi. I told her what I was watching. “That’s appropriate.” she said. “Grandma died 17 years ago today.” It was so nice to see my grandma. It made me realize how important relationships are- even though people die. They are still worth getting to know.

Maybe, like William Maxwell said, and unlike those goofy folks at Shambhala, there isn’t only the present moment. Maybe the past still exists in some way too, and all the love we have given and have been given is still here.

The other video I watched was of a party I had when I was 16. My friends were soooo beautiful! I’ve lost touch with many of them. I don’t know. Something about that video made me feel better. Maybe it made me realize that I’m not dying. I’m living. I’m still keenly aware that I will have to leave some day, but right now I’m still at the party! and I’m glad to be here.

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I got a goal workbook from a friend for Christmas. It looks like it will be very useful and I already started filling it out. I’m going to follow it up with a collage to keep me focused on my goals and to keep me inspired for the coming year.

You can download and print out the goal workbook here: www.tonyrobbins.com/pdfs/Momentum2006.pdf

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Check out Tinsel Tales on NPR for some Christmas stories, cuddle up by the fire, take a walk in the desert, look out over the Ocean and listen to some stories. I especially like John Henry Faulk’s Christmas Story.

What are your Christmas stories? I don’t even know if I have Christmas stories… let’s see…
About 8 years old: Some one rings the bell. We open the door, there is a big box almost as tall as my head in wrapping paper! The top is open! 4 kids jumping up and down and screaming! I pull out a cheerleader barbie doll from the box. Pure excitement. Our moms are embarrassed.  They look at each other. I don’t care. What food is in there?!!

About 6 years old? A man knocks on the door. I answer. I’m in my pink nightgown and robe. The man asks in a strained voice if my dad is home. He is wearing a dark jacket. He has dark hair. I am innocent. I walk up to my parent’s bedroom to tell my dad that someone is at the door for him. I am first startled when I turn around and find that the man has followed me up the stares and is standing behind me in the hall. Uh oh, maybe I should have shut the door. He yells at my dad. They move into the living room. He knocks my dad into the Christmas tree. He knocks our Christmas tree down. Hey! You knocked our Christmas tree down! I think someone calls the police. Later, I feel somewhat sorry for that man. He looked so sad.

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British Columbia rocks. On the first day of our trip, we landed in adless Vancouver, as previously noted and then, following some crazy plan of my mother’s, we spent the next 6 plus hours in transit. We took three bus rides and a ferry to our hotel on Vancouver Island where we immediately fell asleep. The ferry ride was beautiful though, and I tried to keep a pleasant attitude towards her as this was the beginning of our TWO WEEKS together. (”Family vacation,” “two weeks” I wonder that the two phrases together did not give me a single moments pause before the trip started.)

Vancouver Island reminded me of Denmark because of all the people riding the bus, riding their bikes, and wearing rain gear. I miss bike paths.

Here are some of the pictures I took on our ferry ride back to Vancouver to board the cruise:

Finally a vista: what I had been longing for in my little urban life.

I was sick as a dog on the second day of our trip, but hey, look at the view!

Pulling into the dock.

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Why are Americans so frazzled? I’m taking a reductionist view in this post and blaming it all on advertisements. I noticed something different about Canada the moment I stepped into the airport. By the time I reached the bus stop I realized what it was: There were no ads anywhere! I was so stunned with the breathtakingly simple lines the lack of ads exposed that I took pictures of the road and the bus stop.

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Yesterday, with the harried feeling of someone trudging through unwanted duties, I got ready for our service. I was using the strategy my very helpful women friends advised and was ignoring the man who had been harassing me. I was glad he was leaving me alone, but also struggled with feelings of not being inclusive. (!) (I shake my head at myself, sometimes I can take my desire to include people too far.)

After both services, hot, sticky and ready to be done, I dutifully arrived at our after-service, pass-the-torch-to-new-leadership party. Activity swirled around me. I found myself reflexively greeting a new comer while thinking, “You are doing it again. Let someone else make him feel welcome. .. But I don’t want him to feel sad… Wait until someone else greets him and walk away.”

I didn’t help get the food ready, I was the first one to fill my plate, and I took the best spot in the kitchen. I let other people greet the new people and carry on interesting conversation and when I was done eating, I took the best spot in the livingroom. There I sprawled with the breeze from outside blowing on me and made minimal efforts at conversation. I had officially turned into Red from the 70’s show! (Picture a dad coming home, always taking the best spot and drinking a beer while watching TV.) (Wow, now that I think about it, I went from traditional mom to traditional dad.) One of our needier members came over and asked if the seat next to me was taken. (Damn kids.)I said it was. She sat on my lap. I said she was light enough but too warm. She said she could take a hint. “Good” I thought as she walked over to the other side of the room.

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Written December 22, 2005

There is an interesting study in the book How Full Is Your Bucket? Positive Strategies for Work and Life by Tom Rath and Donald O. Clifton. It talks about POW’s becoming hopeless just because they lose a sense of camaraderie. So, to prevent curling up in a corner and dying (POW fate) this book is exhorting people to fill each other’s buckets, to uplift, and encourage each other.

I read the entire book in Borders last night. I left my house when everyone in it was having dinner together but me. I walked out, said a cheery “Ciao!” and pretended I had somewhere to go. It was late, I started driving, and wondered where I should go. I was crying so it had to be somewhere dark. I stopped by the movies but it would be over an hour until the next one started. I had gotten a slightly manic email from my mom earlier in the day saying we had 6 Christmas parties to go to and that you never know when you will meet a man! Umm.. am I in the middle of Bridgit Jones’s Diary? Suddenly the vacation I was looking forward to didn’t sound so cheery. Then my best friend went off and went skating without me, and, to top it off, there was the cheery Christmas scene at my house that I was left out of. So, I went to Borders.

I bought one book and read another. I felt immensely better after hiding in the craft section and reading How Full Is Your Bucket? Positive Strategies for Work and Life. I highly recommend this very simple book and might get a copy for everyone I know. I also made an interesting sociological discovery: Business books are just self-help books that use the word “business” in them and are in the business section!! They are self-help books for men! I just discovered a whole new place to browse. Then I went and got me some onion rings.

My roommate’s parents are here. They look at me and speak to me. They are sweet and it feels really good. Like my roommates, they eat my food. Unlike my roommates, they also share. I finished school today. I am now a “master.” I gave my 30 days notice to my roommate/landlord. I’m going to the movies tonight with friends. Yesterday my bucket was drained. Today it is filling up again. Goodnight! I hope someone is loving you and filling your bucket. If not, I hope you can do something extra sweet for yourself. Sometimes onion rings help.

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“I just called to say hi,” I told my mom this morning.
“And to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day?” She prompted.
“Oh yeah, and to wish you a Happy Mother’s Day!”
We talked for a few minutes, but being in a time zone three hours later than mine, she had to get to church. First she wanted to tell me about her dream last night, and then, of course, she wanted to hear my dream.

I dreamt that I had plans with someone, but right before he came over, I fell to the floor with exhaustion. This is only a slightly dramatized version of my real life. Last night my friend never came over, I called her, and fell to my bed with exhaustion at 7:30. I knew this would mean I would wake up way too early, but I just couldn’t hold out until 9. That’s why I called my mom at 5:30 this morning, an hour and a half after I woke up. And how I had time to read poetry before I called, which came in handy as my mom missed the first hour of church while talking to me. In acknowledgment of her lost hour of church, I decided to give her a mother’s day sermon. I got it from The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart which I was reading this morning.

I was worried because when I read it earlier in the morning, I started crying at the first sentence, having read it before and knowing what was coming. I tend to cry when I read things to my mom, even if it didn’t make me cry on my own. “Don’t worry,” I told my mom before I started reading it, “I cried earlier, but I’m fine now.”

What Happened During the Ice Storm

One winter there was a freezing rain. How beautiful! people said when things outside started to shine with ice. But the freezing rain kept coming. Tree branches glistened like glass. Then broke like glass. Ice thickened on the windows until everything outside blurred. Farmers moved their livestock into the barns, and most animals were safe. But not the pheasants. Their eyes froze shut.

Some farmers went ice-skating down the gravel roads with clubs to harvest the pheasants that sat helplessly in the roadside ditches. The boys went out into the freezing rain to find pheasants too. They saw dark spots along a fence. Pheasants, all right. Five or six of them. The boys slid their feet along slowly, trying not to break the ice that covered the snow. They slid up close to the pheasants. The pheasants pulled their heads down between their wings. They couldn’t tell how easy it was to see them huddled there.

The boys stood still in the icy rain. Their breath came out in slow puffs of steam. The pheasants’ breath came out in quick little white puffs. Some of them lifted their heads and turned them from side to side, but they were blind folded with ice and didn’t flush. The boys had not brought clubs, or sacks, or anything but themselves. They stood over the pheasants, turning their own heads, looking at each other, each expecting the other to do something. To pounce on a pheasant, or to yell Bang! Things around them were shining and dripping with icy rain. The barbed-wire fence. The fence posts. The broken stems of grass. Even the grass seeds. The grass seeds looked like little yolks inside gelatin whites. And the pheasants looked like unborn birds glazed in egg white. Ice was hardening on the boys’ caps and coats. Soon they would be covered with ice too.

Then one of the boys said, Shh. He was taking off his coat, the thin layer of ice splintering in flakes as he pulled his arms from the sleeves. But the inside of the coat was dry and warm. He covered two of the crouching pheasants with his coat, rounding the back of it over them like a shell. The other boys did the same. They covered all the helpless pheasants. The small gray hens and the larger brown cocks. Now the boys felt the rain soaking through their shirts and freezing. They ran across the slippery fields, unsure of their footing, the ice clinging to their skin as they made their way toward the blurry lights of the house.

This mother’s day sermon was brought you you by Braidwood’s mom’s daughter Braidwood.Happy Mother’s Day!

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Just head on over to Starling Travel and check out the couple who are bicyling around the world. Just seeing their smiling faces is worth the click.

Lately, I have been thinking about getting out into the world and living life more richly. My mom, who started sailing and running marathons in her late 40’s, is one of my role-models, as is Natalie over at Blaugustine who has just taken up juggling.

I began my latest foray into new adventures by taking an improv class. I started this Thursday and after getting a root canal in the morning, and working late, I was wayyyy too tired to go to a 2 and a half hour improv class. Sometimes, however, it’s never too soon to do more of what you want to do, even if you’re tired while you’re doing it. Speaking of doing more of what I want to do, I also went dancing on Friday night. I am a great dancer. (You heard it here first. ;)

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Forget finding a mother duck, sometimes you just need your mother. I have several friends whose moms have died. I’m so glad I have my mom. I still have enough baggage with her to gauge which things I want to share with her when I’m feeling vulnerable, but more and more I’m rewarded for taking a chance and sharing.

Tonight she was just the person I needed to help me feel more spacious, seeing the bigger picture, feeling less alone. At first our conversation was just about the details of her next visit. I suggested she stay longer, subtext: “I’m lonely. I need you. Please come stay with me.” Of course, she responded to what I said with the practicalities of the visit, and as she said the reasons she had to leave when she did, and continued talking about the details, I felt myself going into the self-imposed state of aloneness I can sometimes go into. I decided not to do that to myself. “I’m lonely.” I told her.

Sometimes all you need is to reach out. Then we had one of those conversations that probably promted the phrase, “friendship is the sweetest balm,” when someone says just what you need to hear and brings you to another place. She told me with warmth in her voice how much bounteousness I’d added to her life, and then sympathized with the longing I feel for a special person, saying she remembered being my age and feeling that. Thanks, mom.

My mom has found love, and now whenever I picture her, it is like she is in a little cottage in a village in the woods, with animals freinds hanging out in the house, and soup cooking in the background, and a loving husband just getting home, or reading the paper, or playing with the dog and petting the cat. “Our house is a very very very fine house…“

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Not your first day on earth, but your first day out of your mother’s body on earth. That is your birthday.

Because memories are state dependent, I have been remembering some of my most depressing birthdays today. The one I remember the most today is my 18th birthday. My mom and I had moved into another family’s basement, who were friends of ours. Our carpet was plaid. There was sparkly sprayed-on stuff on the ceiling. We had dark wood paneling on all the walls, except for the wall that had the giant picture of a beach on it. No, this wasn’t in the 70’s, but it might have looked a little like a ghetto version of an Austin Powers movie.

I felt embarrassed by my lack of money often while I was growing up. But on that birthday I felt most embarrassed that my mom was throwing my birthday party. It was sort of like a little kid’s party, but it might have been fine if not for her serious miscalculation resting on the faulty premise that surprise = fun. I knew about the party. That wasn’t a surprise. I was helping to prepare for it. (Surprise might have something to do with fun if it gets you out of the preparation.) The big surprise was: I had invited all these people and none of them were coming! Surprise!

After about the 5th phone call that night saying someone couldn’t come, (I lie I can’t remember how many phone calls there were,) I talked to my friend K. She had been my friend since we were in 4th grade. Apparently we were in nursery school together. It was my 18th birthday. She said she couldn’t come to my 18th birthday party because her mom wanted her to stay home and get some things done. I was incredulous, I knew her nice mom, “Are you serious? But it’s my birthday! Ask her if you can just come for a little while!” I pleaded. Later she told me that she felt really bad doing that. Of course she did! That is not a fun birthday surprise! What was my mother thinking!

After everyone actually showed up, (much to my mixed emotions,) we played stupid games. At least that’s what the people-who-weren’t-really-my-friends-but-we-were-in-the -same-circle-of-friends-so-I-sort-of-considered-them-friends-and-invited-them-like -you-do-with-distant-relatives-when-you-invite-them-to-a -wedding-even-though-you- have-no-emotional-ties-whatsoever said. Then the cou de ta of humiliation: My big 18th birthday present from my family (ie: my mother.) If the party in it’s entirety wasn’t embarrassing enough, if it didn’t just emphasize that no matter how much I tried to pretend, I did not have a happy, well-to-do, or socially ept family, I then had to open my present in front of my friends. I wasn’t surprised, (and I don’t think at that point that they were either,) to find that my present was 18 pairs of socks, each one a different color. For years after that I wore those mustard yellow, purple, bright pink, or lime green socks when it was laundry day, or when I was walking around inside. I always put them on grudgingly. I’m very happy to say that none of those socks are with us now.

The whole party was worthy of being a scene in that one movie where the kid had a big fro, and lives in a small town. (Ever since I turned 25 I often can’t remember the precise words for things. That fits in with this post because that’s depressing too, and has to do with age.) I now find my mom’s presents charming, and she usually adds a check to the mix (that was weird) which helps. On this current birthday, my mom’s present was the only thing that was not depressing. Quirky seems cooler to me now that I am older. On my cat in the hat birthday card, she gave me a message in binary, hex and decimals. I told her I was tickled by her card. “Well, she said, “I just kept trying to think: what is special about 32?” It’s 2 to the power of 5, that’s what!

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Hi all,

Remember my dark night of the soul I had (well, sorta) from a few nights ago? I felt the lack of meaning in my job, great job as it is, and full of gratitude for it as I am. My solution was to give myself a break, give myself permission to rest for awhile, and just enjoy having a job, living where I want to live, and having dental insurance.

Listening to music by Emma’s Revolution last night has sparked an addendum to that solution. I realized that I can add conciousness raising to many parts of my life. I can imbue my life with meaning! When I got a job my mom suggested that I tithe part of my income. I grew up paying tithing and there is part of me that wants every little penny of my money, on the other hand one of the reasons I am most excited to have a regular income is so that I can contribute to my church and other organizations that are doing good work.

Some other ways I want to add meaning to the everyday parts of my life:

1. Gifts! I love giving a gift that I know someone will love, but so often I am just dashing to get someone something. I hate that. Instead, I can give conciousness raising gifts that people will like. (So, not a certificate saying that I gave a donation in someone’s name, except for the rare altruistic person who might like that.)
2. Purchasing everyday items that are made with fair practices.
3. Choosing uplifting media to surround myself with.

Look for more posts with specific ideas in the future!

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Hey all ya’ll! It’s been awhile. I’m still looking for a place to live so that I can get to my new job easily. When I’ve had spare time I’ve been looking up rooms and apartments, calling places, and visiting them. It feels like a microcosm of looking for a husband. I see a lot of places that don’t quite fit and hold out for something better and then miss places that would have been better than having nothing, and I have to find somewhere to live. I comfort myself with the thought that when it comes to husbands I don’t have to settle because I don’t have to have a husband. I have high hopes for a place I’m looking at tonight.

I’ve been staying with my friend Red since the 7th. It’s actually been kind of fun. It’s not much different than our usual friendship because we do our own thing and we talk at the same times during the day when we used to talk on the telephone. We have fought less than usual. We usually only fight about ideas- we get along well in the course of living. Of course, when we talk about ideas, I find myself appealingly sagacious and him irritatingly obtuse.

He read a book called A General Theory of Love and was telling me about the ideas. I disagree with part of it and he was furious because I hadn’t even read it. So, I read it. I still disagreed with the same part of it, but really enjoyed most of it. (The part I disagreed with might be fodder for FMH because one of the author’s ideas is that it is harmful for babies to get their emotional needs met from a variety of caretakers and that the mother should be the primary emotional rock. I think that is an incredibly modern idea and that the truth is that people are fairly tribal and that a child with many caring adults in their life is going to be happier and the mom is going to be a lot happier too.)

So, today we were listening to NPR which doesn’t bode well for our happy household. They were talking about torture. I think that people can torture other people because they think of them as less than human, or as “other” and they are very loyally tied to their own “tribe” and part of that is doing the “tribe’s” will. That is how people can do horrible things and still think of themselves as a good person. We can all witness this in action in our selves. To take it to an extreme, most of us can brush our teeth or take antibiotics and destroy little life forms without guilt. Then comes the more familiar life forms like chicken and fish and cows, that many of us eat and still consider ourselves to be good people. It’s the same process. We are emotionally tied to beings we consider in our group. I think following orders that are cruel, and prejudice are some of the dark sides of a limbic brain that allows us the beautiful ability to bond to our babies and love other people, and creatures. Red, full of feeling, I think erroneously bows before this limbic system seeing it as all good and our neo-cortex as the cause of all our evils. He thinks that people can torture other people because they are not connected enough to their hearts/limbic brains.

What do you all think?

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Wouldn’t it be awful to have a “dead friend” meme? But I have been inspired again by Laura, and I can’t help it. Now I want to write about all my deaths. Maybe it will quiet some of the winds of sorrow and grief that sometimes blow across my chest.

Adam, what first memories do I have that aren’t the pictures? The first picture, does it count? Is the picture of our moms face down at the beach. Only their beautiful young bodies were showing, while their large pregnant bellies were hidden in turtle holes in the sand. The story goes that my mom came to visit Sharon after having me, and Adam, who should have been born first, decided that he wanted to come out into the world too. Our moms met in a pre-natal class and he was born exactly two weeks after me. We both came into the world in beautiful mountain country, and then my mom moved, and a few cute baby pictures could have been the end of the story, but they aren’t.

Adam, carried along as babies are by fate (ie their parents), moved several states away from where he was born to the state I was being raised in. There we were, two toddlers separated at birth, together again. Again, the pictures. His wide smiling face and my thin concerned face. We sit at the beach together, two fat lumps of bundled babies. Our moms take turns sitting with us on Sharon’s front porch. We eat popsicles. We clumsily lean our faces together in a baby kiss in front of one of our birthday cakes. We take baths together. (This is what our mothers gleefully tell us when we are older.)

The first real memory? I remember being in the kitchen with him in their house when we are about 6. I remember assuming that we would one day marry when he became taller than me. He was so cute and all the girls had crushes on him, as his mother proudly told me and he smilingly and with a shrug admitted. I was amazed by his Star Wars collection of toys. He was an only child and was given heaps of toys. Although some of my memories are hazy, I vividly remember his star wars action figures and most of all his Star Wars ships. Those were so cool. The rule was, he could have as many toys as he wanted as long as he didn’t break them and took very good care of them. He told me this seriously and I was awed by the concept and by his parent’s seriousness about his toys.

My favorite pictures of Adam and I are of us dancing at my mom’s second wedding. We are two years old. His face has his usual baby expression, a happy-go-lucky dimple faced, wide cheeked good natured smile. He is wearing a green checkered jacket. I am wearing a long red velvet dress with a white lace pinafore over it. We are holding hands and the bottom of my dress is swirling out around me. My face is turned up and the expression on my face is one of pure joyful delight. Grown-up’s legs mix with darkness and lights in the blur behind us.

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I feel a little sytmied in my job search right now. I have mailed out lots of resumes and cover letters. I have written to my contacts and asked them for leads and advice. Hmmm. My mailbox is empty, I have no new phone messages. Does this mean I actually have to start calling people now? I’m all revved up and ready for action and not sure what to do next. But at least the music is good! (Thanks to Pandora and a new independant radio station in my town.) Here is my list of my favorite songs from Pandora:

1. Gone For Good The Shins …Closer To You Radio
2. Gillian (Live) The Waifs …Closer To You Radio
3. Bird On The Wind Mia And Jonah …Closer To You Radio
4. Smile Mia And Jonah …Closer To You Radio
5. Gone For Good (Alternate Version) Shins .…Closer To You Radio
6. Get Out The Map Indigo Girls …Closer To You Radio
7. What If No One’s Watching Ani Difranco …Closer To You Radio
8. Space Age Mom Damien Jurado ….Love Will Come To You Radio
9. Coalminer Mia And Jonah ….Love Will Come To You Radio
10. Your Scars Charlemagne ….Love Will Come To You Radio
11. Black Superman Jude ….Love Will Come To You Radio
12. Trouble Elliott Smith ….Love Will Come To You Radio
13. Prince Of Darkness Indigo Girls .….Love Will Come To You Radio
14. Become You Indigo Girls ….Love Will Come To You Radio
15. The General Dispatch .….Love Will Come To You Radio
16. 2:45 AM Elliott Smith ….Love Will Come To You Radio
17. Bird On The Wind Mia And Jonah ….Love Will Come To You Radio
18. What Can I Say Brandi Carlile .….Love Will Come To You Radio
19. Rose Parade Elliott Smith ….Love Will Come To You Radio
20. Love Will Come To You Indigo Girls ….Ani Difranco Radio
21. Closer To You Brandi Carlile ….Ani Difranco Radio
22. Shelter Me (Live) The Waifs .….Ani Difranco Radio
23. Fireflies Firecracker ….Ani Difranco Radio
24. One Monkey Gillian Welch ….Ani Difranco Radio
25. Easy On Me Jeff Black ….Ani Difranco Radio
26. Bird On The Wind Mia And Jonah ….Indigo Girls Radio
27. Everything I Wanted Jonatha Brooke ….Indigo Girls Radio
28. Out Loud Dispatch ….Indigo Girls Radio
29. Abilene The Great Unknowns ….Indigo Girls Radio
30. Turned My Back Theresa Sokyrka ….Indigo Girls Radio
31. Cemetery Gates The Smiths …..Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town Radio
32. The Whole Of The Law The Only Ones …..Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town Radio
33. Hold On To Your Friends Morrissey …..Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town Radio
34. Half A Person The Smiths …..Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town Radio
35. I Want You Around (Ed Stasium Mix) Ramones …..Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town Radio
36. Eventually Brendan Benson …..Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town Radio

(The “radio station” is based on an artist or a song.)

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Passing along a mass email my mom sent me:

A lecturer, when explaining stress management to an audience, raised a glass of water and asked, “How heavy is this glass of water?” Answers called out ranged from 20g to 500g. The lecturer replied, “The absolute weight doesn’t matter. It depends on how long you try to hold it. If I hold it for a minute, that’s not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I’ll have an ache in my right arm. If I hold it for a day, you’ll have to call an ambulance. In each case, it’s the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes.”

He continued, “And that’s the way it is with stress management. If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, as the burden becomes increasingly heavy, we won’t be able to carry on. ” “As with the glass of water, you have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again. When we’re refreshed, we can carry on with the burden.” “So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down. Don’t carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow. Whatever burdens you’re carrying now, let them down for a moment if you can.”

So, my friend, why not take a while to just simply RELAX. Put down anything that may be a burden to you right now. Don’t pick it up again until after you’ve rested a while. Life is short. Enjoy it!

Then the email listed ways you can “put down the burden:”

• Accept that some days you’re the pigeon, and some days you’re the statue.
• Always keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you have to eat them.
• Always read stuff that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.
• If you can’t be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.
• Nobody cares if you can’t dance well. Just get up and dance.
• When everything’s coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane.
• Birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer you live.
• A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.
• Have an awesome day and know that someone has thought about you today….

…I did.

Resting in between working, sprint-like instead of marathon-like, is what helped me change a long held procrastination pattern I had. Today I rested by going to the dog park to get my cuteness fix. I like to have regularly scheduled rejuvination in my week, like church and lunch with my friends. When I wake up I write in my morning pages. What are some things you do to make clean transitions between work and make sure you aren’t holding the glass for too long?

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Moving can be lonely. (The alternate title to this post.) It reminds me that I am still a wandering troubadour, not the co-house living, bed with my lover sharing, pregnant bellied woman, just got home from the farmer’s market woman I have pictured in my head. So, my small sadness this month has been loneliness. I have so many people, but have not felt that anyone else was sharing my life. I called my mom and she said she is sharing my life. She reminded me of the people at church who complimented me when she was here, and in my uber lonely state the other night I said that they were just being polite.

I guess for me having people share my life and care about me means that they help me, and the meaning of the help (that they really do care and that I can count on them) is more important than the help itself. Sometimes I am so needy and it’s embarrassing. I wanted to call my friend this morning and ask him if I could visit just so he could hug me, but I didn’t know what he would say. I told him later, and he said he wanted to be there for me to support me. Tomorrow he is coming over to help me pack. Other people have offered to help me move all of my stuff on Saturday, and tonight I had the advance decorating crew.

Two girlfriends who I feel really comfortable with came over, ate my very home spun meal with kind words, and helped me move my decorations to my new place. These included scarves, pictures, and assorted knickknacks. We moved the furniture, moved it again, hung pictures, considered fung shui. I needed an advance decorating crew to make this move feel positive. I just had this image of moving into a new place and sitting in a bare room for a month as I slowly settled in. It seemed so depressing after making my current room so cute. Friend S was going to bring sage to clear out the energy of past residents. Friend A was going to bring her baggua book. They both forgot, but they couldn’t have done any ceremony or positioned things more fung shuily to better accomplish what I needed than what they did. To have people really consider, with earnestness, where you should hang your Buddhist prayer flags, and find just the right place for your poseable Aragorn action figure is like a magical dispeller of loneliness.

I wrote this a couple days ago, and the idea of “community” has come up several times since then. This post is about how neccesary for community it feels to have people know and care about the details of my life.

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Every week when I make the shopping list, Sophie insists that I make her a ‘Sophia is Great’ list.

Check out French Toast Girl to see the cat.

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When parents come to visit…

You look so beautiful!

You look really nice today.

I bet everyone has been telling you how wonderful your daughter is.

I just love your daughter. We’re good friends.

I don’t want to go to lunch without you today.

Your daughter is a great leader, she’s a natural. I don’t know what our young adult group would do without her.

Oh, she is wonderful. She is so talented we have got to get her back into doing plays with us again… And she’s funny!

Naturally, I introduced them to all my favorite supporters! Then, I was so full with appreciation and love, my face was shiny and my voice was bouncy in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. The public noticed, the park ranger even got in on the act.

You are so charming! I deal with the public all day and I just love it when people like you come along.

It continued into the evening…

I can’t believe you recognized me from behind! It’s so good to see you! Thank you for saying hello!

All the men were buzzing around you like bees around a flower.

You have a lovely face. And such a gentle nature.

“Aren’t you proud,” I said to my mom after my abundant day, “that everyone likes me so well?”

I knew you were wonderful, it’s just nice to know everyone else does too.

Just can’t seem to get enough, can I ;)

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I was going to write a deep post about how sometimes people get overwhelmed with the problems in the world and don’t do the little things because they can’t do everything. But, I am on an unfamiliar computer and it took me forever to upload these pictures, so I’ll just get to introducing the cuteness that started these thoughts.

This is Pi. I found this little kitten outside on my mom’s picnic table a couple days ago. It is part of the posse of feral cats in the neighborhood, and we think it got abandoned because it was sick. My mom told me to get it out of the house immediately, but it had taken me 20 minutes to catch this wild cat and I wasn’t going to just put it back out in the cold. (It was very cold.) I took slow motion hunter like steps towards it until I was close and enough to reach out and grab it. I think I only caught it because it was sick. I brought it inside, and it was flattened out to the floor and scared. As you can see, it warmed up to me pretty soon. Pi was falling asleep in this picture.

I think I was there for it’s first human induced purr. I pet it’s back a couple times and it was like it’s motor started for the first time. It looked surprised. It started purring this loud purr that didn’t quit the whole time we had it. Eventually, after I started crying, my mom came around and let me keep it in the house and helped me find some people to help it. (I am a stranger in a strange land on Christmas vacation.) I don’t think this kitten had ever eaten food besides nursing so it took it awhile to eat the cat food and cream of wheat we gave it.

It was very happy to be held, and very sad if I ever left the bathroom where we kept it, (so it wouldn’t pass along whatever sickness it had to our cats). Sandy, the cat healer and rescuer, took it and assured me she would heal it up and then find Pi a home. Most of the animals we’ve had have been rescued and were/are part of our family. I hope Pi has a nice life. Whoever gets this playful and loving kitten will be lucky. Oh yeah, and just because you cannot save all the stray cats in the world doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try and save one.

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Actually, I wrote this post awhile ago, and never published it, but since Jo brought it up again…

If you love me, but you think you might not love me if I annoyed you, stop reading now. If you don’t love me, or your love could never fail, by all means continue!

Does anyone else have a huge fear of admitting you are gifted? Who do you tell that to? I have a mostly ANONYMOUS blog and I am even worried about putting it up. I have been alluding to it on my blog lately, but not coming right out and saying it. I told my mom and she sounded skeptical!! :) She did agree emphatically that I was an independent and divergent thinker though. (What she used to call “sassy.”) And I did remind her that I had read every book in the house by the time I was 10, including her college textbooks.

I just don’t want to put anyone else down by implying that I’m better than them. It’s taken me so long and so much work to FIT IN, that I don’t want to use some word and put myself in another category. On the other hand, I’m proud of my abilities and I think I try to subtly show off sometimes, which I’m sure is annoying. On the other hand, I really do think everyone is gifted in the sense that everyone has amazing gifts! I wish there was a more value neutral label for the cluster of traits we currently call “gifted.” On the other hand, why is it ok and not alienating for people to be gifted at sports in our society? I am proud that I learn almost anything, including sports, quickly. I like to call myself “apt.” That sounds less pretentious than “gifted” to me. I am really glad to have found some other gifted people (and thank you for commenting on my blog!) and I am so glad to have found out that traits I just thought of as weakness are in the same cluster as the traits I’m proud of, like my extra sensitivity. I wonder what exactly is going on in our brains, probably chemically, possibly structurally? to have such a broad effect? Hmmm…

There I’ve just outed myself in more ways than one. What do you think? (Do I have to say a bunch of smart stuff now?)

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Well, here you are… You have tried everything that you know to get ahead, thrive, and build a future and it isn’t working. All you are now doing is surviving, check to check, moment by moment, emergency by emergency. It’s just not the way you want to live your life. You’re right, you can do better.

Thanks, Joel. You know why I like Amazon? All the reviews. That was a genius move on their part because that’s the reason I go there. I got to Joel’s list from the book How to Get Out of Debt, Stay Out of Debt, and Live Prosperously by Jerrold Mundis, which I am now going to go get at the library.

Update: I went and got the tape at the library and it is good so far, but he wants me to track all my spending. Damn! Why is awareness always the first step?

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DA Da Da Da! Yeah, I may look like a soccer mom, but I feel like the jammer I really am when I hear da HEAVY beat! :)

This morning while dropping a friend off at the airport, I heard three good car songs. (Luckily I heard them during the alone parts of the journey; the best time to turn up the radio and pretend I’m tough in my four door wagon.)
(The music links will take you to Amazon, if you scroll down, you’ll see where you can listen to a thirty second clip.)

• Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes better known to me as “I’m going to WICHITA! DA, da da DA DA”
• Possum Kingdom by the Toadies a song that gives me a guilty rush of pleasure to sing. It’s a bad song, but it feels so good. :)
• Que’ Onda Guero by Beck first time I heard it, but destined to be a good Dance Jam song if nothing else.

Yeah, I rock it like I rock it when the coppers right behind me. I’m runnin’ from the tow truck I know he will never find me. I look like a soccer mom but the headies start to fly, when they see my rockin’ ways and see me wave goodbye. (Add heavy beat and cool music, nod head vigorously.)

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Hey, did I mention that the other day was my MOM’S BIRTHDAY?! I didn’t think so. Even worse, I haven’t sent her a present yet. If you see this, D, Happy Birthday!!! Your daughter loves you! :)

While I’m on the topic, I’ll just brag about my mom for a minute. Let’s see, she ran a 50 mile race this year, she came in second, which was disappointing, because last time she ran she came in FIRST!! She is brilliant and got a math scholarship to college, which she went to when she was 16. She sometimes does not think she is as brilliant as she is (see: “came in second” above.)

She is usually pretty quiet in group settings and people find her amiable and likeable. She can become fascinated with things like bugs and genealogy; she’s in touch with her inner nerd. She also has a very earthy side and likes to hike, run, and be outdoors. I know this sounds a little like a personal, but I’m sorry, she is already married. She is married to a semi-southern all gentleman who perfectly suits her. Whenever I think about him I just fill up with gratitude that they found each other. Thanks, B, for being my mom’s honey. Thanks Grandma and Granddad for having my mom.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

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I went swing dancing the other night. Thanks to my friend C. who wrote and said I should come, and to my friend Andrea who called and said, “Proceed forthwith from your house noweth!” (I’m paraphrasing.) She knew I was in a bummer mood and wisely said I should get out of my house.

I had a great time and I think it was largely due to me respecting my princesshood. Yes, I’m a closet princess. It all started when I was little and my family used to call me a little princess, and they didn’t mean it as a compliment. I even had a shirt which said, “Little Princess” on it. It was pink with sparkles, I wore it backwards so I could see the words. I remember wearing it when I visited my step-brother in prison, and I still have it in my cedar chest.

I also read “The Little Princess.” It sparked many a fantasy and I, being jealous of the little Princess, thought she got her comeuppance when she had to go live in the attic. But then, she did treat the little servant girl kindly, and I was glad when she got rescued by the monkey. Why, oh why, couldn’t a monkey rescue me?! But I digress.

After being accused of being a little princess, I had to put my tiara and all my pink girlishness under wraps. It wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties that I started to reframe my princessness. I moved in with two other princesses. They were more clearly princesses, and one day my roommate came home with a skirt that twirled. “Oh, I love skirts that twirl!” I said. “Of course you do,” she said assuringly, “all princesses love skirts that twirl.” Yes, she knew I was a princess too. Believe it or not, it was a revelatory moment for me. I just sat there, (on the bathroom floor, as it happens,) stunned. I mean, my mouth was open and my eyes were wide. I was a princess too, and it was ok.

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