also lots of ocelots

Joan Didion on Self-Respect

2012-01-02T17:52:00.000-05:00

Once, in a dry season, I wrote in large letters across two pages of a notebook that innocence ends when one is stripped of the delusion that one likes oneself. Although now, some years later, I marvel that a mind on the outs with itself should have nonetheless made painstaking record of its every tremor. I recall with embarrassing clarity the flavor of those particular ashes. It was a mater of misplaced self-respect.
I had not been elected to Phi Beta Kappa. This failure could scarcely have been more predictable or less ambiguous (I simply did not have the grades), but I was unnerved by it; I had somehow thought myself a kind of academic Raskolnikov, curiously exempt from the cause-effect relationships which hampered others. Although even the humorless nineteen-year-old that I was must have recognized that the situation lacked real tragic stature, the day that I did to make Phi Beta kappa nonetheless marked the end of something, and innocence may well be the word for it. I lost the conviction that lights would always turn green for me, the pleasant certainty that those rather passive virtues which had won me approval as a child automatically guaranteed me not only Phi Beta Kappa keys but happiness, honor, and the love of a good man; lost a certain touching faith in the totem power of good manners, clean hair, and proved competence on the Stanford-Binet scale. To such doubtful amulets had my self-respect been pinned, and I faced myself that day with the nonplussed apprehension of someone who has come across a vampire and has no crucifix at hand.
Although to be driven back upon oneself is an uneasy affair at best, rather like trying to cross a border with borrowed credentials, it seems to me now the one condition necessary to the beginnings of real self-respect. Most of our platitudes notwithstanding, self-deception remains the most difficult deception. The tricks that work on others count for nothing in that well-lit back alley where one keeps assignations with oneself; no winning smiles will do here, no prettily drawn lists of good intentions. One shuffles flashily but in vain through ones’ marked cards the kindness done for the wrong reason, the apparent triumph which involved no real effort, the seemingly heroic act into which one had been shamed. The dismal fact is that self-respect has nothing to do with the approval of others – who are, after all, deceived easily enough; has nothing to do with reputation, which, as Rhett Butler told Scarlett O’Hara, is something people with courage can do without.
To do without self-respect, on the other hand, is to be an unwilling audience of one to an interminable documentary that deals one’s failings, both real and imagined, with fresh footage spliced in for every screening. There’s the glass you broke in anger, there’s the hurt on X’s face; watch now, this next scene, the night Y came back from Houston, see how you muff this one. To live without self-respect is to lie awake some night, beyond the reach of warm milk, the Phenobarbital, and the sleeping hand on the coverlet, counting up the sins of commissions and omission, the trusts betrayed, the promises subtly broken, the gifts irrevocably wasted through sloth or cowardice, or carelessness. However long we postpone it, we eventually lie down alone in that notoriously uncomfortable bed, the one we make ourselves. Whether or not we sleep in it depends, of course, on whether or not we respect ourselves.
To protest that some fairly improbably people, some people who could not possibly respect themselves, seem to sleep easily enough is to miss the point entirely, as surely as those people miss it who think that self-respect has necessarily to do with not having safety pins in one’s underwear. There is a common superstition that “self-respect” is a kind of charm against snakes, something that keeps those who have it locked in some unblighted Eden, out of strange beds, ambivalent conversations, and trouble in general. It does not at all. It has nothing to do with the face of things, but concerns instead a separate peace, a private reconciliation. Although the careless, suicidal Julian English in Appointment in Samara and the careless, incurably dishonest Jordan Baker in The Great Gatsby seem equally improbably candidates for self-respect, Jordan Baker had it, Julian English did not. With that genius for accommodation more often seen in women than men, Jordan took her own measure, made her own peace, avoided threats to that peace: “I hate careless people,” she told Nick Carraway. “It takes two to make an accident.”
Like Jordan Baker, people with self-respect have the courage of their mistakes. They know the price of things. If they choose to commit adultery, they do not then go running, in an access of bad conscience, to receive absolution from the wronged parties; nor do they complain unduly of the unfairness, the undeserved embarrassment, of being named co-respondent. In brief, people with self-respect exhibit a certain toughness, a kind of mortal nerve; they display what was once called character, a quality which, although approved in the abstract, sometimes loses ground to other, more instantly negotiable virtues. The measure of its slipping prestige is that one tends to think of it only in connection with homely children and United States senators who have been defeated, preferably in the primary, for reelection. Nonetheless, character – the willingness to accept responsibility for one’s own life – is the source from which self-respect springs.
Self-respect is something that our grandparents, whether or not they had it, knew all about. They had instilled in them, young, a certain discipline, the sense that one lives by doing things one does not particularly want to do, by putting fears and doubts to one side, by weighing immediate comforts against the possibility of larger, even intangible, comforts. It seemed to the nineteenth century admirable, but not remarkable, that Chinese Gordon put on a clean white suit and held Khartoum against the Mahdi; it did not seem unjust that the way to free land in California involved death and difficulty and dirt. In a diary kept during the winter of 1846, an emigrating twelve-yaer-old named Narcissa Cornwall noted coolly: “Father was busy reading and did not notice that the house was being filled with strange Indians until Mother spoke out about it.” Even lacking any clue as to what Mother said, one can scarcely fail to be impressed by the entire incident: the father reading, the Indians filing in, the mother choosing the words that would not alarm, the child duly recording the event and noting further that those particular Indians were not, “fortunately for us,” hostile. Indians were simply part of the donnee.
In one guise or another, Indians always are. Again, it is a question of recognizing that anything worth having has its price. People who respect themselves are willing to accept the risk that the Indians will be hostile, that the venture will go bankrupt, that the liaison may not turn out to be one in which every day is a holiday because you’re married to me. They are willing to invest something of themselves; they may not play at all, but when they do play, they know the odds.
That kind of self-respect is a discipline, a habit of mind that can never be faked but can be developed, trained, coaxed forth. It was once suggested to me that, as an antidote to crying, I put my had in a paper bag. As it happens, there is a sound physiological reason, something to do with oxygen, for doing exactly that, but the psychological effect alone is incalculable: it is difficult in the extreme to continue fancying oneself Cathy in Wuthering Heights with ones head in a Food Fair bag. There is a similar case for all the small disciplines, unimportant in themselves; imagine maintaining any kind of swoon, commiserative or carnal, in a cold shower.
But those small disciplines are valuable only insofar as they represent larger ones. To say that Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton is not to say that Napoleon might have been saved by a crash program in cricket; to give formal dinners in the rain forest would be pointless did not the candlelight flickering on the liana call forth deeper, stronger disciplines, values instilled long before. It is a kind of ritual, helping us to remember who and what we are. In order to remember it, one must have known it.
To have that sense of one’s intrinsic worth which constitutes self-respect is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent. To lack it is to be locked within oneself, paradoxically incapable of either love or indifference. If we do not respect ourselves, we are the one hand forced to despise those who have so few resources as to consort with us, so little perception as to remain blind to our fatal weaknesses. On the other, we are peculiarly in thrall to everyone we see, curiously determined to live out – since our self-image is untenable – their false notion of us. We flatter ourselves by thinking this compulsion to please others an attractive trait: a gist for imaginative empathy, evidence of our willingness to give. Of course I will play Francesca to your Paolo, Helen Keller to anyone’s Annie Sullivan; no expectation is too misplaced, no role too ludicrous. At the mercy of those we cannot but hold in contempt, we play roles doomed to failure before they are begun, each defeat generating fresh despair at the urgency of divining and meting the next demand made upon us.
It is the phenomenon sometimes called “alienation from self.” In its advanced stages, we no longer answer the telephone, because someone might want something; that we could say no without drowning in self-reproach is an idea alien to this game. Every encounter demands too much, tears the nerves, drains the will, and the specter of something as small as an unanswered letter arouses such disproportionate guilt that answering it becomes out of the question. To assign unanswered letters their proper weight, to free us from the expectations of others, to give us back to ourselves – there lies the great, the singular power of self-respect. Without it, one eventually discovers the final turn of the screw: one runs away to find oneself, and finds no one at home.

2012 Resolutions

2012-01-01T17:42:00.009-05:00

Happy New Year!
These are my goals for 2012:

Purchase no more sewing supplies until:
Sew up lyrcra skating skirts or dress up skirts
Sew up cotton bolt for skirt for me
If I can find an instructor, work with them to make myself a pretty, professional and wearable dress

Purchase no more knitting supplies until:
Scarf for Kaidi is finished
Hand spun skein from Amber is knitted up
Sweater for Chris is at least started
Make hat and booties Sharla's daughter

Take a glass blowing class

Make either more limoncello or another liqueur or make bitters (them make bottles for them!)
Take Siebel distilling course if it is offered

Get accepted into either the MA at Hood or the PhD in Georgetown or other program

Get a tech certification
Reevaluate my career path and re-orient towards tech work that I LIKE.

Reduce the amount of stuff in storage. Again.
--get rid of entertainment center for sure, and possibly the butcher block
--do something with the kimono, even if it means giving them away
--reduce xmas ornaments, probably farm out some things to Matthew and Emily
--get rid of some more books (at least 25)

Take a first aid/CPR class

Continue to maintain weight at 115 or drop more weight
Get an instructor certification for hula hooping
Compete in figure/physique show
Run at least 2 10ks
Run at least 2 half-marathons
Run a 5k with someone who's never done one before
Volunteer as a race marshall for a race (or two)
Learn basic figure skating (crossovers, stops, etc) then sign up for basic speedskating course

3 club juggle. Again. For real.
Burlesque show (if they take middle-aged ladies, LOL)

Get an article/short story/etc published somewhere

Get on Chris to get his CD's ripped
Set up centralized server for all our music and such and cloud-based backup system for house (contingent on buying a house)
Ditch outdated software

Transfer investments to advisor's small, independent company

Ass End

2011-12-18T20:59:00.002-05:00

Ass-end of my custom bike, which is a stock bike being reworked.

My ass end, also being reworked. At 40 years of age, this is no mean feat.
The bike and I are the same age. Sigh.

Application Essay to Hood College's Thanatology Program

2011-12-05T11:16:00.003-05:00

When I was very young, I attended the funeral of my great-grandpa, of which I do not remember much. A few years later, when another family member died, I went to that funeral, where I was puzzled by the sound of laughter. Everything I had come to understand about a funeral, garnered mostly from television, was that it was somber and sad, with lots of crying, black clothing, and ladies’ hats with bits of netting on them. I cornered an adult cousin and demanded to know how people could laugh at a funeral. The cousin explained that there were happy memories to go with sad ones, and if all people did at a funeral was cry, that would be truly terrible. She gave me an age-appropriate answer that was clear, concise, and compassionate. It has stayed with me all my life.

Over the years, others in my large, extended family died. Some were old, some young. Some died unexpectedly, others after long illnesses. Always there was a funeral and always there was silence, laughter, tears, even a fistfight. There were people to talk to about death -and life. More importantly, there was more than one way to mourn. Everyone understood there were no bad or wrong feelings; you could feel however you felt. Acting on those feelings could be a little tricky, but aside from my family, most people realize a fistfight is not an appropriate expression of grief. However, I have come to see that most people may not be sure what an appropriate action actually IS.

To me, it seems in American society, people do not know what to do, how to mourn, or how to cope with death and dying. We have relegated the end of life to a corner of a hospital room and funerals to an industry. Our understanding comes from the fiction of television, so-called “experts”, the Internet or most sadly, no resources at all.

Without someone to talk to about how life ends, we condemn ourselves to an unbearable burden, for without discourse, we cannot have the self-determination that gives meaning to the choices pertinent to the end of life, things such as physical care during dying, legal matters, or the selection of funerary rites. These choices are portentous because they must align with our most intimate convictions.

My family was extraordinary and unique in its ability to cope straightforwardly, honestly and sometimes even humorously with dying and with death. Most people, however, are lost in silence and isolation when it comes to the of end of life.

My goal in enrolling in the Thanatology program is this: I wish to repay a debt to those who have comforted me in my times of loss by serving those who did not have a family such as mine. Moreover, I wish to be a helpmeet for those who would otherwise struggle in isolation and silence when faced with the processes of death and dying and with the often difficult decisions associated with them.

A Month of Gratitude #30

2011-11-30T08:24:00.001-05:00

To round out my month, a quote from someone smarter than I:

“I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual…O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it, for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.”

― Henry David Thoreau

A Month of Gratitude #29

2011-11-29T09:35:00.000-05:00

I'm grateful to whomever invented ice-cream. It's one of my favorite things, ever.

A Month of Gratitude #28

2011-11-28T09:30:00.002-05:00

I'm grateful that my sense of enthusiasm wins out more often than my sense of dignity. I've had a lot more fun because of that.

A Month of Gratitude #27

2011-11-27T08:27:00.002-05:00

I am grateful for the amazing technical engineering that went into the manufacturing of my car resulting in performance and spiffy handling. Otherwise, I would be being thankful for fresh venison.

A Month of Gratitude #26

2011-11-26T10:44:00.001-05:00

My family's offbeat and often black sense of humor. It's gotten us through more tough times more stylishly (or snarkily, even) than tears ever have.

A Month of Gratitude #25

2011-11-25T05:38:00.002-05:00

My job(s) past and present. Definitely a job and not a vocation and yeah, I would rather be off doing other things but my job is not difficult, dirty or dangerous. Additionally, out of my work has come opportunities, challenges, learning, and lifelong friendships. And rent money...

A Month of Gratitude #24

2011-11-24T05:37:00.000-05:00

I am grateful for all the people in my life.

A Month of Gratitude #23

2011-11-23T07:12:00.000-05:00

I'm grateful for what people have described as my "prickly" friends. Honestly, real friendship goes beyond never being critical. To quote Montaigne, "We need very strong ears to hear ourselves judged frankly, and because there are few who can endure frank criticism without being stung by it, those who venture to criticize us perform a remarkable act of friendship, for to undertake to wound or offend a man for his own good is to have a healthy love for him." I'm grateful for the friends who call me out, who brave my wrath or abandonment of our friendship to help me be better.

A Month of Gratitude #22

2011-11-22T07:04:00.000-05:00

Indoor plumbing. Enough said.

A Month of Gratitude #21

2011-11-21T19:24:00.001-05:00

I am grateful I understand the difference between being alone and being lonely.
I am glad that I am able to be happy being alone and am able to just be quiet and still and content by myself. I am grateful that I have people who understand my need to be alone. I also am grateful for the times I have experienced true loneliness, it has made me more empathetic and open to the isolation of others, and has allowed me to understand just how much of an impact even a small bit of outreach/human warmth can have.

A Month of Gratitude #20

2011-11-20T07:11:00.002-05:00

I am grateful to have a sense of wonder and curiousity, and to not to have let go of it. I plan on being curious forever. Except for hornet's nests. I'm not curious about those anymore.

A Month of Gratitude #19

2011-11-19T13:30:00.000-05:00

Last place finishers, I am grateful for you. Not in the sense that as long as you are last, I am not, (although in my younger days, this was true) but rather in the sense that you are inspiring to me.

While a person can admire the elite athletes, with their sub-five minute miles, inhuman V02Max, cardio output and other bodily systems that basically blow the rest of us schlubs away, leaving us in the dust at worst or in the middle of the pack at best, I think it's the people who come in at the very end of the races that are most inspiring.

Elites have taken a natural talent and honed it, trained for it. They eat, sleep and breathe running and racing. The rest of us jog along in the middle, neither here nor there.

And then there's the last place finishers. The out of shape, the shy, the intimidated, the broken, the rebuilt or rebuilding. The people who take an hour or more to reach the finish line of what many of us think as an "quick and easy" distance of 5k.

Whenever I can, after finishing a race, I've stayed to watch the last place people cross the finish line and I've cheered for them. I've also talked to a few: the cancer survivor doing her first race since she had fought the disease. The morbidly obese man who decided enough was enough and began to turn his life around. He felt embarrassed to be seen in public but despite that and despite sideways glances and snarky comments, here he was. Those 3.1 miles probably felt like 3,000 to him. There was a lady who had a stroke who had to relearn everything, even how to walk. Another woman with MS, using arm braces. There they all were, rising to challenge in front of them, damning the torpedoes and everyone's opinions about what an runner/athlete is or is not. And at no point, no matter how scary, embarrassing or uncomfortable the race seemed to them, did they give up. How can someone not be inspired by that? To quote Lance Armstrong "Whatever your 100% is...give it." And they did. It's a humbling lesson in visceral fortitude, and I'm grateful for it.

A Month of Gratitude #18

2011-11-18T05:00:00.005-05:00

I am grateful for forgiveness. I am grateful that I am able to own up and apologize. I am thankful I have been able to ask for forgiveness and that in almost every case, I have received it. To the people that have forgiven me for trespasses great and small, for the inadvertent hurts and even for the purposely petty and vindictive, thank you.

A Month of Gratitude #17

2011-11-17T07:03:00.000-05:00

I'm grateful for the small cartouche charm that my friend, Yousr, brought back from Cairo, Egypt for me.
It has my name on it. I wear it almost daily and I always think of Yousr when I put it on. I also think about how grateful I am for the people who "know my name."

A Month of Gratitude #16

2011-11-16T04:08:00.001-05:00

I am grateful for a good night's sleep. I don't get too many of them.

A Month of Gratitude #15

2011-11-15T08:30:00.000-05:00

I'm grateful for the music of Johnny Cash. To me, his music is the soundtrack of our family, the only thing we all could and would happily listen to without arguing, getting annoyed or accusing someone of listening to crap. Miracle of miracles, we all liked him. A lot. Johnny Cash was one thing we all agreed on.

A Month of Gratitude #14

2011-11-14T05:20:00.001-05:00

I am grateful for my marriage. Not because it is perfect, magical, and all pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows. Sometimes it's more like a chimp on segway. Anyway, I am grateful in that I see that our marriage is a dynamic, mature, mostly healthy relationship that happens because two people are willing to compromise, respect, work, let go, struggle, support and muddle their way through it. Our marriage reflects the hard work that has gone into it more than once. Home is where you hang your hat, but marriage is where your hang your hopes, fears, strengths, weakness, all that emotional laundry and sometimes laundry is such a chore. I am grateful that both myself and my spouse have learned from our past mistakes, have grown together and have been able to make it this far. I am grateful, profoundly grateful for the sense of playfulness that pervades our marriage and that we were able to draw inspiration from our parents' successful marriages, for which I am also grateful, because there's so few real, healthy relationships to look towards for understanding and inspiration. And finally, I am grateful that I don't live alone anymore because now I don't have to take out the trash. I fucking hate taking out the trash.

A Month of Gratitude #13

2011-11-13T11:21:00.002-05:00

I am grateful for the opportunity to expand my horizions by living overseas in Japan for five years. I am grateful to have met and worked with and been "adopted" by my Japanese mommy, Eiko Aizawa. I learned so much from her and she is so very dear to me. I miss her to the point of heartbreak. I am also grateful to have met and briefended Masako Fukuoka, who served as friend, translator, kimono practice dummy and all around wonderful woman.

A Month of Gratitude #12

2011-11-12T07:37:00.002-05:00

For a long time after my father died, I felt robbed in many ways, but in particular, I was distressed by the fact that right before he died, I was just getting know him as another adult, not only as the man who was my parent. I was bitter and resentful of this turn of events. Now with time and distance, I no longer resent what was taken away. So for today, I am grateful for that time that Dad and I had and I am thankful for the lesson that a little bit is better than nothing, and if you treasure it, that little bit can go a long, long way.

A Month of Gratitude #11

2011-11-11T10:55:00.002-05:00

All veterans have my gratitude.

A Month of Gratitude #10

2011-11-10T05:23:00.000-05:00

I am grateful for the mistakes I have made. Without them, I would have never learned anything. By that, I mean not only the correct answer, but also other things, great and small: how to overcome failure, how to plan better, how not to behave in a relationship, that there's a reason you shouldn't eat that much of anything, how to watch out for myself and why you should always pay a professional hairdresser to cut your bangs. I'm grateful that for the most part, my mistakes have usually only caused distress/embarrassment/injury to myself and myself only and that I as I grew up, I was able to learn the difference between a mistake and a decision: nobody makes the same mistake twice, the second time, it's a decision.

A Month of Gratitude #9

2011-11-09T05:26:00.000-05:00

I am grateful for access to fresh, healthy food in sufficient quantities. I am profoundly grateful to have never known hunger or starvation, or even worry about where my next meal was coming from.

A Month of Gratitude #8

2011-11-08T06:33:00.001-05:00

I am grateful for my brother, Bill, aka Jack Foot, and the the relationship I have with him. Unlike most siblings I knew of as a kid, my brother and I got along really, really well. This isn't to say we didn't have our moments, but growing up my brother was really and truly my buddy. It used to baffle me how siblings could hate each other, I just never could understand it. I am grateful that relationship still continues to this day and that I can rely on and turn to him if I ever need to do so, and that he loves me and is proud of me, no matter what.

A Month of Gratitdue #7

2011-11-07T05:21:00.000-05:00

I got up this morning and turned on the faucet. Clean, safe, potable water came out!
I am grateful for this.

A Month of Gratitude #6

2011-11-06T06:32:00.000-05:00

I am grateful for libraries and librarians and the whole big world of books and knowledge associated with them.

I will always be grateful for the "mean" (by reputation) middle school librarian who, after she seeing me browsing the shelves, took the time talk to me about what I liked and did not like. She recommended Susan Cooper's "The Dark is Rising" series to me at that time. I still think of her when I re-read the series or recommend it. I cannot tell you how many times I have given a set of that series to the children of friends and family.Every kid has loved it. I'm grateful for that librarian for teaching me how to really use a library's resources, for not being afraid to put me on the path of being a voracious, intelligent reader by recommending books that were just enough of a challenge to grow and stretch me but not enough to discourage me, and to keep me reaching for the next challenge.

A Month of Gratitude #5

2011-11-05T06:48:00.000-04:00

I am grateful for a healthy mind in a healthy body. I am additionally grateful I had the means to get these things and have the means to sustain them.

A Month of Gratitude #4

2011-11-04T05:58:00.000-04:00

When I was working at APL, I was having what I perceived as a terrible day. One of the engineers who was temporarily working in my area (not one of my 'regulars') bought me a candy bar from the office snack fund, saying, "You look like you are having the sort of day where you could use a little sweetness." I found out later from a secretary that I was the same age as his daughter and that his daughter had died recently. I am STILL grateful for the lesson about simple yet profound an act of kindness can be and how important it is to have perspective about things.

A Month of Gratitude #3

2011-11-03T05:56:00.000-04:00

I am grateful for my friends, who care for me in ways great and small.

A Month of Gratitude #2

2011-11-02T05:55:00.000-04:00

I am grateful for my safe, warm, clean house.

A Month of Gratitude #1

2011-11-01T05:53:00.004-04:00

Of course, one should always be grateful, but the month of November, wherein Thanksgiving falls, makes for a nice touch.

I am grateful to never have been hungry, homeless, drug-addicted or unloved.

Better and Braver Than Bread

2011-10-30T11:59:00.008-04:00

I rarely write about my mother; the few times I have, the stories don't portray her in a positive or humorous light, the way my stories about my father depict him.

My dad gets funny stories, published on the Internet and small independent magazines have published some of the decent poems I have written about him. My mom gets an occasional mention on Facebook or a drive-by in my blog and one very unflattering, almost villainous, role in an autobiographical piece I wrote for a short-story class.

This isn't to say that my mother doesn't have any redeeming qualities nor is it meant to say that my father was perfect; he was far from it.

The fact of the matter is, my father was away for most of my childhood. My interactions with my father were short, extraordinary art-house vignettes which were often wonderful but not without horrific and emotionally scarring episodes; those with my mother were more like cinéma vérité, especially during my teen years. Often my mother and I provoked each other simply for the drama. Mother-daughter relationships are complicated.

I won't lie, I loved my father more, but it was because he was a movie star in my life. Dad's singular starring role was so very much unlike my mother's; she was a character-actor, playing primary breadwinner, accountant, enforcer, housemaid, cook, social secretary, and occasionally, field medic. I may have loved my father more but I relied on my mother. Dad was a diva while Mom carried the show. Plainly put, my mom had the hard part in my life. My dad had all the fun stuff.

My father enters my thoughts in bright, loud intermittent flashes, like Busby Berkeley numbers of recollection. I cannot ignore them. My mother's scenes are more low-key but make an appearance more often, even though they were mostly overlooked. It wasn't until I began to try some mindfulness techniques that I noticed this.

I discovered the other day, sort of to my horror, I put on my pantyhose the same way Mom used to (she lives in Florida, I don't think she's seen a pantyhose in more than a decade). That is, they go on with a butt-wiggle/shimmy kind of thing as I pull them up over my hips, then a kicking out of the legs to settle everything down.

I found myself thinking of my mother last week, when I was peeling apples. With a paring knife, she could cut the peel so it would come off in one long, unbroken, and thin spiral strip. It fascinated me as a child. I used to beg her to do it, even when she wasn't making apple crisp. Several years ago, when I was showing a friend's daughter how I made apple crisp, I discovered it still fascinates kids of a certain age, even in this time of Xbox and ZuZu pets and mobile phones for tween set. The kid asked me how I learned to do that, and I said "By watching my mom!" Apples, peeled or not, make me think of my mother. So do tentworms.

The association between the white gauzy baggy cocoons of tentworms, which I often see in the park where I go jogging, and apples and my mom came about thusly: My great-grandmother was a miserly old thing who could pinch a penny til it bled. Gruff to everyone, she honestly and plainly adored my mom. I think Grandma Mesmer understood how hard it was to feed a family on sometimes what amounted to very little. She would give my mom the harvest from the giant apple tree in her back yard. In return, my mother was expected to do the upkeep on the tree. Taking care of the tree meant pruning, fertilizing and dealing with the inevitable infestation of tentworms. I'm a little fuzzy on the details from here on out, but I do remember that for the sake of expediency, my mother decided to burn the tents and the worms in them. I remember a small, red, jerry can of gas. The next thing I remember is flaming chunks of exploded caterpillars raining down on us; several branches on fire; my brother and I running around in a panic; and my mom falling out of the tree. I She got the apples anyway.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that I think about Mom when I hear the dishwasher running. I had forgotten that my mother always ran the dishwasher in the evenings. I often heard it as I sat at the counter in the kitchen, doing my homework. All through middle- and high-school, the dishwasher swishing away was the sound of my evenings at home, evenings that were usually uneventful and routine. Uneventful and routine is a blessing. Kids,even teenagers, like structure.

I do my laundry on Sundays. My mother taught me how to sort, treat, and wash my clothes when I was about twelve years old. My mother spent so much time doing laundry she insisted on a nice space for it, long before it was trendy to do so. Our basement laundry room was cheerful, with its bright walls, good lighting and warm cabinetry. It was forever filled with sort piles in various mismatched baskets (a square yellow, a white plastic rectangular, brown round plastic, oval wicker ones). The floors were still unfinished concrete but covered with various throw rugs that weren't good enough to be used upstairs anymore, but were fine and functional for the laundry room. Later as a young adult, she and I would argue over the "right" way to do laundry. Eventually, we both grew up enough to realize that there's more than one way to "skin a cat" or get blood out of underpants or diesel fuel off of jeans. Actually, the diesel fuel is tricky. Mom knew this well before the Internet did and because of her, so did I. I remember my dad's "garage clothes" had their own dedicated basket and were always laundered last and almost always air-dried. I do laundry on Sundays in my nice laundry room, and think of Mom.

I think of her when I do the ironing. My mother could iron a dress shirt, beautifully, in less than a minute. I remember I was helping with the laundry when My mom told me that one year, she and my dad were so broke, that she ironed my bachelor uncle's and other people's clothes for extra money. Mom did so much piecework ironing that she wore out the sole plate on her cheap iron! Additionally, because of all the ironing, Mom ended up being able to iron a man's dress shirt in less than a minute. Of course I didn't believe her, so I told her to prove it. She did. And there was my mom, with one of Dad's few dress shirts on the silvery surface of her ironing board -- the one with the blue legs, and me watching the second hand of my Swatch watch, yelling "GO!"

And I loved my mom so much then, with her iron and green can of spray starch, ironing a shirt like mad, to prove something to a teenage daughter who wouldn't understand until decades later.

The dishwasher and the washer/dryer, those are my sounds of home. The sounds of being safe, warm, clean and cared for. The machines were the soundtrack of my mother's domestic routines. These routines although sometimes infuriating to me, were often a salve to the chaos my father had caused. In the quiet hum of my settled household and mind, I have finally begun to notice how often I think of my mother.

Mom had a set of orange Tupperware measuring cups she used when baking, and I don't remember them being used for anything other than baking. The cups used for measuring when cooking were made of metal. Why? Who knows, that's just the way it was.The orange cup set had belonged to Mom's mother, then Mom, now they belong to me. I keep them in a big 2 quart Pyrex glass measuring cup, with other sets of cups and measuring spoons. Mom kept hers like that, now I do. I think of Mom when I am putting away the orange cups after using them and I wonder if the missing 3/4 cup measure irritated her as much as it irritates me. I don't like incompleteness, loose ends, missing things. I am only now beginning to realize that while my mother's life was decent, there were also things other than cups that were missing.

I think of my mom when I make my bed, especially when I do hospital corners. We had a huge argument over that, years ago, when she was teaching me how to "properly" make a bed. A screaming blowout. What I've come to realize is that taking care and pride in small things is just as important as the big things, because sometimes all you have is small things to keep you going; a crisp corner, clean laundry, a simple loaf of bread.

My mom once asked me if I remember her making bread, which she used to rise on the floor in the coat closet in our house on LaSalle court, because the floor had a warm spot where the hot water pipes ran beneath it. It made her sad when I told her I couldn't recall her making homemade bread. I never told her that the only thing I remember was hiding in that very same closet when my dad would come home drunk. One evening, I peeped out just in time to see him hit her.

What I am glad I do remember years later, was thinking that she was and always has been better and braver than bread.

all-nite diner

2011-10-28T17:03:00.000-04:00

all nite diner all nite diner all n te dine al n te di er all nite din r

marquee on the fritz
coughing up neon into the 3am world

two souls stagger in

been up all night

throw themselves into the naughahyde nirvana
of a back-corner booth

peering over menus
fingerprinted dogeared

she flings back her head
and laughs
in utter delight

the sound
ricochets--
an amusing bit of artillery
--off dinged aluminum walls
and day-old donuts

takes a spin on the ceiling fan
zooms down the counter
rattles the dishes

whiplashes the necks
of the other patrons
wotthehellzofunny?

but mostly

just

breaks

his heart.

Mini Rants

2011-10-25T21:17:00.010-04:00

Dear OWS protester: yes, I agree. The financial sector, which used to be in service to the economy has wrangled it so that now the economy is in service to the financial sector. You got me there, that's wrong. There was all kinds of fuckwittery going down and yeah, it sucks that lots of people got out of paying their due. They are bad people. I would like to think you are good people but when you piss and moan about the government bailing out the banks and then turn around and wave a sign that says "Dissolve my student debt." I have to wonder about your consistency and moral fortitude. The right thing isn't always the easy thing.

Note: FB friends, don't fucking post those "Dissolve Student Debt" buttons on my feed ever again. If you want the story about how I put on my big girl pants and paid my loans, email me.

OWS people, don't tell me how you hate big corporations and how you are broke from paying your student loans then turn around and gloat about how you used various web-based utilities (like Google apps) on your 500 dollar iPhone to make arrangements with your homies for your protest meet-up.

Amurricans in general: You apparently know fuckall about basic banking, economic and financial theories. I'm not Warren Buffet, but I have enough understanding of the principles to be able to mostly avoid getting fucked over and/or shit on. Go read a goddamn book and edumacate yerselves: Start with Economics in One Lesson by Henry Hazlett.

Also, go join your local "credit onion" as I like to call it. You are a dumbass if you don't. Why continue to bank with BoA and other megabanks who are just going to buttfuck you with fine print and fees until your ass (and checking account) bleeds?

NOBODY MAKES THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE. THE SECOND TIME IT IS YOUR FUCKING DECISION.

Don't tell me you want smaller government then screech for the gubmint to come in and mandate that marriage can only take place between a man and a woman. That's more government, duh.

Civil marriages should be available to anyone, and religion doesn't come into those - it's all a matter of legal rights. So fuck off, Church. Conversely, I will respect and uphold and even fight for the right of your church to not have to perform same-sex marriages, if that is your belief. The State can't make you! I won't let them! Separation of Church and State, baaaaby. Or if you prefer "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's."

I don't care what happens behind closed doors between two consenting adults. Neither should you.

Don't whine about how everything should be cheap. You want cheap, that means jobs go overseas. I'd be willing to pay a bit more for things if it assured jobs with a living wage for my fellow Amurricans.

Get the hell away from my guns.

Nah, you don't need to pray for me. And don't capitalize the "A" in "atheist". There is no god named Athes.

When you hear about my stepdad, instead of saying you'll be praying for him howzabout donating to cancer research? Money's too tight? How about donating time at a hospice or doing meals on wheels? How about fucking helping out my mom? Oh is that too hard? Huh. Imagine that. So what you are saying is stuff that would be meaningful and helpful to me and others is just too hard (waaaaah) ? Fuck you and your prayers, because you are just moving your lips. I'm okay with you not knowing what to do or say or even not wanting to help, but don't couch it in "prayer." Oh, and FUCK CANCER.

Recently there's been a couple of cases of kids being killed by their parents. Don't tell me I'm selfish/abnormal/fucked up for purposely choosing not to have children.

Getting better (at anything) is a lot of fucking hard work. It's uncomfortable and awkward at best and physically painful at worst. I worry that with industrial medicine trying to convince us that normal things (sleepless nights, a bout of the blues, etc -- not real, profound issues)need to be treated with a pill, people will cease to realize that discomfort helps us to learn to cope, to forge strength and assists us in growing in many circumstances. This is not to disparage those with real issues who have been helped by such things, but rather the pathologizing of normal, life situations.

In life, we all get fucked over now and again. Don't pass that bad juju on. It's not what they take away from you, it's what you do with what remains.

In the words of Kurt Vonnegut "BE KIND, GODDAMNIT!"

People who want to honor Steve Jobs: Give up on the post-its stuck to the facade of the Apple Store. Sign up to be an organ donor instead. I have been an organ donor since I got my driver's license. You just check a box. Make sure your family knows.Sign up for the national bone marrow donor registry, too. You could save a life. Much better than a post-it.

I have a three way switch for the hall light. I cannot get all three switches to be in the off position and have the hall light OFF. THIS DRIVES ME FUCKING INSANE. I am seriously considering re-wiring the circuit.

My kid brother is BUILDING A MOTORCYCLE! He made the seat pan from the hood of a 1991 Chevy Blazer. This is awesome. IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO MAKE SOMETHING--ANYTHING, FUCKING LEARN.

People who are bitching about Jobs not signing the Giving Pledge (established by Warren Buffett and Bill Gates) and the lack of his philanthropy...UH, HELLO! THIS IS CAPITALISM CALLING ON THE CLUE PHONE. Nobody is under any obligation to give away the money they earned, and personally I'm suspicious of showboaters, who may have some altruistic reasons, but I'm thinking about how charitable organizations and donations are one fuck-off giant tax break, in case you didn't know. Of course, it could be that Jobs donated anonymously so there are no records. Even if he didn't, SO WHAT.

Um, various people? How can you be pro-life and support the death penalty. "Oh," you say "It's an innocent life versus a criminal life". Um, no. a life is a life, no matter how wasted. You gotta be consistent.

I will not believe a corporation is a person until Texas sentences one to death and sends it to the electric chair. Insert LOL here. I KNOW incorporation and recognition as a "person" is more complicated than that, it's a joke! : While it seems these corporate personhoods are getting away with the devil's own work, when the system is functioning, corporations can be convicted of criminal offenses. Corporations have huge batteries of lawyers, the economic wherewithal and other resources that most (real) people don't have. I think General Electric should get sentenced to death first. The next rant explains why.

If you are an Amurrican Corporation and you get tax breaks, I think you should be required to:

Have your headquarters in the US
Have your manufacturing plants in the US
The majority of of your employees need to be in the US and US Citizens/Resident Aliens
I think I forgot another requirement, I'll come back to it.

If this is NOT the case, then your tax bennies get ganked, like so: YOINK! and your product will be treated as an imported product and you will face heavy tariffs. I'm looking at you, General Electric, who made record profits but absolutely paid no tax. Oh, and your company will be unequivocally excluded from working ANY government contracts, especially the lucrative DoD ones. This includes subsidaries of your company,too.

I haven't figured out how I feel about unions. Unions gave us 40 hour work weeks, child labor laws, and other good things. In the past, they protected their memebers from abuses of corporate power. What have they done for us lately? Incidental and subjective "evidence" based on my own experiences in a company having a unionized division, is that they are greedy assholes. The union shut down production lines for months and hurt other divisions, other workers.It kicked the shareholder's profits in the babymaker, which is probably REALLY why everyone got mad. The union leaders refused to budge on their collective benefits, so the rest of us picked up the cost. If they had budged a bit, everyone's cost would have only gone up a little bit. In the end they got very little sympathy from most people and nobody really cared with the company decided to move the plant to an at-will state. The union fucked everybody else AND their members! I don't know the whole story, and the company newsletters will always paint the union as a villian. I need to research more and think some more on this.

I have gone my whole life without an invasive surgery! I have not even had stitches! Yet at a visceral level (ha ha gut jokes) I totally grok why Steve Jobs didn't want to be cut open when he was diagnosed with cancer.

Contrary to what newssites have been saying, Steve Jobs was not an idiot for trying to deal with with his illness through diet and other "alternative" means. Sure, I think there was some snake oil thinking going on in his head but after all, it's his body and his right to decide what to do with it. During the course of treatment(s), Jobs was accused of being a difficult patient. Who really knows why, but given Job's personality and control-freak nature, why is anybody surprised by such a thing? Maybe he was an asshole, but maybe he just asked questions and demanded answers. Doctors, like computer people, love to sprout jargon.Maybe he demanded clear answers, without jargon or obtuse terminology and that irritated the medicos because it disrupts their power. Maybe Steve asked for other opinions or options. It's actually pretty damn easy to be labelled a "difficult" patient. At any rate, have you ever fucking died of cancer? Or knew someone who did? Shut up, then. I view this as being about bodily autonomy and not being bullied by the medical establishment. Why spend the last six months or whatever of your life in pain and pumped full of toxins, and bedridden when you know you are terminal? Why not go out and make fabulous use of the time you have left? Well, one, none of (usually) want to die (emo kids throw this all outta whack). I'll tell you another reason why: so the doctors can stand around your fucking corpse and go "We are heroes! We tried our best!" and additionally, in a smaller voice "we avoided a lawsuit." The doctors are unwilling to tell a person "Well, you are going to die and that's pretty much it. The best we can do is send you out of here and let you get to work on your bucket list. Come back when it really begins to hurt, and we'll make sure you are comfortable" No! They want to *save* you. Ha. And because your family is selfish and afraid and doesn't want to deal with their pain when you die, they go along with it! Cowards, the lot. In a truly free society, our body is not controlled by government rules, doctors, our families or our friends, including Apple Fanbois. Steve owned it right up to the last. I'm sure he was scared shitless. Yet, our deaths, like our bodies, must be our own. So shut the fuck up about "stupid" his actions were, because it's not your place to judge them. Also, this paragraph is a little haphazard. Sorry.

Everyone finally shut up about Paris Hilton. Let us now proceed to fucking shut up about the Kardashians.

READ A BOOK. A DIFFICULT ONE. Challenge yourself. Your brain loves a workout as much as your body.

MOVE!

I hate the Screaming Pope series of paintings by Francis Bacon. I hate them so much I love them. I get such a reaction from them it's fantastic. Gawd, I hate those paintings.

Sit and do nothing for while. NOTHING. No phone, not iPad, nothing. IT IS GOOD FOR YOU. Okay, you can look at clouds, because clouds RULE.

Shutup about Apple not doing anything about the suicides at the Foxconn factory. HP, Dell, RIM, Cisco...none of those companies did anything, either.

Maryland drivers. FOR THE LOVE OF THE ZOMBIE BABBY JEEBUS, please do some research into the rice-and-funnel theory. Then learn how to fucking merge. IT WOULD NOT HURT TO HANG UP AND DRIVE.

I don't complain too much about taxes and people who do irritate me. Taxes pay for "civilization". I like running water, paved roads, street lights, a police and fire force, and THE PUBLIC LIBRARY WHICH FUCKING RULES, and all the other assorted accoutrements of first world grandeur. Sure there's some other stuff I don't like my money going for, but in general, it works out pretty well for me. And I probably pay more taxes than any of you, so SHUT UP.

Don't forget where you came from. I am where I am because others hauled me up. There are days when I fix problems and I think of Chip or Steve or Dave or Jerry because they helped me to learn this shit. It's okay to not be the smartest person in the room and it's okay to be humble, it leaves you open and willing to learn from others who are better, smarter, faster than you. You can improve yourself by being humble, believe it or not. This isn't to say you go around saying I AM A DUMBASS! DERP! Just be open to improvement whenever the opportunity arises and be willing to work! Sometimes shit gets handed to you,but most of the time you gotta scramble. Ideally, you then turn around and help someone else up. I'm here, at 40, because people helped me to help myself when I was in my 20's.

All my capitalized "SHUT UPs" aside, shouting down an opponent does not a debate make. Take the time and interest to learn the opposing side's postions/talking points/strengths and weakness. Listen politely and calmly. Sound bites have killed the art of debate and rhetoric. It is possible to hold two opposing ideas in your mind, it's called being intelligent. You don't have to agree with your opponent, but it's good battle tactics to know where he is coming from.

For chrissakes, say "Please" and "Thank you" and "Excuse me". Nobody around here fucking does that any more.

Thank you, that is all.

No House

2011-10-03T15:00:00.002-04:00

Not happy with the findings of the house inspection. No house.

Richard Brautigan

2011-09-30T19:39:00.000-04:00

"Fuck Me Like Fried Potatoes"
Fuck me like fried potatoes
on the most beautifully hungry
morning of my God-damn life.

House

2011-09-25T07:34:00.003-04:00

After very little happening since we put in the offer in June, the house stuff is going down.
We close on the 31st of October! Yowza.

I am very conflicted about buying a house.

Doozy

2011-09-14T19:24:00.001-04:00

It was a crazy dream, with lots of things mixed in. It ended with me splattered all over the top of an RV, after falling from a great height. There was something about teleportation/time travel, hogging the bed, some sex (I think, I'm a little vague on that) a sinister black car stalking me (as I was walking down the street in a black cocktail dress and one shoe, because the heel broke on the other one), desperately ringing a doorbell to try to get someone to admit me, because the house I was at was a safe house (see sinister black car) and something to do with rain, as well. The safe house was a house on Love Road, in my hometown, and a boy I went to school with lived there. His name was David Swit. His mom did ceramics, and the basement was full of ceramic supplies. Not sure how that tied in, but not only did I remember that, I also remembered that David Swit had curly hair. I haven't thought about him in something like 30 years.

The smash/splat onto the RV was gruesome. So much for leaving a pretty corpse.

Lucy in the Sky

2011-09-12T02:19:00.002-04:00

I 'm out on a mesa somewhere, being pursued by a UFO. I managed to get into cover and think I am sufficiently hidden but I am not. The ship finds me anyway.

There was more to this, and I also had two other dreams, but didn't get them down quick enough.

Nap Dreams

2011-09-11T18:55:00.002-04:00

..are especially fragmentary.

I dreamt I was pouring concrete. That's all I remember.

10

2011-09-10T08:55:00.001-04:00

I know I dreamt last night, but I didn't write it down immediately, so I 've forgotten what the dream(s) were about.

Ships and Sharks and Other Shit

2011-09-09T08:49:00.000-04:00

One: I'm on a yacht with my mom. It's capsized and we're trying to swim out from underneath it. I'm terrified, feeling my way for the hatch to get out. I wake up, so I don't know how this ends.

Two: I am surfing with Emily and Jay at Cocoa Beach. The water is clear, like in the Carribbean, which is not at all how the water really is. I see a shark come in. I think it is a black-tipped shark, like the ones I saw in my cage swim years ago in Hawaii. Jay surfs off to safety. The shark goes towards Emily but she also paddles away. Then it comes towards me. I hit it with the surfboard, jarring myself, but slowing down the shark. I am too tired to paddle away. The shark bites off my leg. I wake up.

Three: This dream happened after a mid-afternoon nap. I am in the woods. I am not sure why. That's all I remember.

Bathrooms

2011-09-08T10:48:00.001-04:00

I had a dream where I ran into a bathroom, sort of a combination of several public restrooms I've been in, to hide from a coworker's husband, because he was trying to kill me. The bathroom was nasty, filthy, run-down, total horror-story. I locked the door and pulled my feet up so he couldn't find me, but he tore the door off the hinges. I woke up before anything happened, but I think he was gonna drown me in the (dirty) toilet. I'm not entirely sure why he was trying to kill me, but I got the feeling he found out I thought he was an asshole and had encouraged his wife to leave him (in RL, this is NOT the case or at least the getting her to leave him part isn't real, the asshole part is).

Any dreams involving shower rooms, toilets, port-a-potties, and their ilk are always bad news, I end up terrified, filthy, and/or dead. Anyway, this isn't the first dream about evil bathrooms. I think some of the imagery that repeatedly comes up in my dreams comes from Silent Hill 3.

Worms

2011-09-07T07:39:00.001-04:00

One: Someone gave me a bowl of kiwi fruit in a white ceramic bowl (one of my own mixing bowls, actually). One kiwi was cut in half, and on top of the other ones, kind of like the display that they do in the grocery stores sometimes. It was ripe and pretty and the rest of the kiwi, which where uncut and whole, looked normal enough. I was holding the bowl cradled in my arms and the bowl was cool to the touch, slightly heavy with all the kiwi fruit. I was talking to someone - it was like they were offscreen in a movie, but I don't know who it was and I don't remember the conversation. Suddenly, black centipedes started hatching/crawling out of the whole kiwi fruit. I was surprised, but not disgusted but I dropped the bowl anyway, then woke up.

Two: I was being chased through a tower/school. I think I was being chased by professors/wizards. There were other students running with me. I was wearing my Master's gown and cowl from my 2010 graduation, but not my mortarboard and tassel. Part of my brain recognized the location as being a palimpsest from The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss, where Kvoth is in the school and also a combination of one of the buildings I had class in when I attended SUNY Fredonia. In the dream, I remembered that I hated that building and always got lost in it and that's what was happening in the dream. Add to this that I apparently was running for my life from people who meant to do me harm. Unlike other dreams, the folks in the dream were trying to help me get away from whatever it was coming after me. At one point, the dream actually went semi-lucid. There was a point where I could have escaped through a window, which I recognized as being the kind of window my friend Sylvia has in her bathroom. I had a feeling I would be able to fly away. I broke the window and began to climb through and ended up looking down onto the ground, which seemed about the same distance away as it did when I went skydiving (15k feet). I said to myself "Jump, it's only a dream and you can fly in dreams" but I chickened out and woke up instead.

Three: I dreamt about an egg timer.

I should not have spicy Indian food within four hours of bedtime.

The centipedes were from a few weeks ago, when they were installing FIOS in the apartment complex. The construction disturbed all the critters and 'pedes, silverfish and other sundry crawlies came out of the woodwork. Literally. Interestingly (and happily) no cockroaches.

The dream about the wizardy stuff probably comes from all the reading I about three weeks ago, consisting of a ton of sci-fi/fantasy stuff. The school setting dreams always happen around autumn and back to school time, when I find myself missing SUNY Fredonia a little bit.

Nada

2011-09-06T09:44:00.000-04:00

I know I dreamed I just don't remember what about. Man, it felt so good to be back in my own bed. I actually had a really deep and restful sleep.

Napping

2011-09-05T13:17:00.003-04:00

When I am away from home, it's a little harder to get up and write down the dreams, so some of the dream posts aren't as detailed as others, but this is also the case with the dreams themselves. They vary from full-blown cinematic spectacles to vague snippets. Sometimes I don't even remember them at all. It's very hard, unless the dreams was particularly vivid or nightmarish, to recall the dreams at a time other than when I just wake up.

Today I was travelling and I got up by alarm clock, which is unusual for for me. I think this may be why I don't remember the previous night's dreams.

I napped in the afternoon, and I vaguely recall a dream about a hammer, but that's it. It wasn't a deep nap, because I didn't relax totally as I had the front door and several windows open in interest of creating a good cross-breeze to air out the apartment. Once the apartment was aired out, I shut the door and locked it, and went back to napping on the couch. I still don't remember what I dreamt about, though. I napped for about three and a half hours. Travel, especially air travel, wipes me out.

I had a good time at Sylvia's. I only have a few pictures as I have decided I need to stop viewing my vacations, activities, et cetera through a camera screen. Sometimes, it's just nice to be someplace and just be.

As such, on my flight out, they had a ragtime duo (Banjo and Tuba) going around to the Southwest Departure Areas and playing songs. On the plane, they let a young girl of about 11 do the flight announcement.

I got to meet a bunch of Sylvia's friends and experience both Texas heat (it was over a hundred every day) and talk to people who really understand what it is like to live overseas and then come back to the USA and have a hard time with it. These folks understand the whole ex-patriot thing.

I also realize how much I miss the military folks' mindset of getting each other's backs, I miss having people coming in and out of my home, casual hanging out and things like that. It isn't like that here, maybe due to living in an apartment.

I like the slower pace of life in Texas, and the cost of living is cheaper, but I would miss real, differentiated seaons and I would miss the snow.

Some other items:
We drank sangria margaritas and I have never EVER had such a strong margarita, ever. I got to see tons of prickly pears! It was too hot to go to the pool and way too hot to go out on the lawn and do hula hoops. We drank prickly pear margaritas on the Riverwalk! We went shopping (of course). And we had all kinds of good food to eat. Sometimes, we just sat and talked.

On my way to the airport this morning, there was an ARMADILLO crossing the road. He just kinda toodled across the road. Made my morning! On the flight back, the crew had the whole plane sing happy birthday to a young lady named Marissa. She had just turned 12. She was absolutely appalled by the whole situation, which is good practice for her teen years, where she will be appalled by everything any adult does. I got to BWI and it was cool and overcast and a total relief -- I can still feel the Texas heat radiating from my body. I got my luggage and made it easily to the car, and hadn't forgotten where I parked! BONUS! There was no traffic due to the holiday and the drive home was easy. I was too wrecked to do anything but have a nap. So I did.

Kites

2011-09-04T09:14:00.000-04:00

I dreamed I was flying kites in a park somewhere. It was a pretty day.

When I was dating my husband, we often went to a local park and flew kites together.

Biting

2011-09-03T09:11:00.000-04:00

I dreamed I bit off someone's face. During sex.

That's pretty much it.

Sylvia

2011-09-02T09:13:00.000-04:00

Today I get to travel to San Antonio to visit my friend Sylvia! I haven't travelled alone all that much, hope it's an easy flight.

House

2011-09-02T09:01:00.002-04:00

I am standing in a house during a storm. It seems to be a combination of the house that I am currently trying to purchase, Falling Water, the house that belonged to the parents of my first husband (I recognized the wood panelling), the Brady Bunch house, and some other houses that have shown up in my dreams before.

My husband is there with me, he's in the living room. We are looking over a lake or pond.
There is a terrible storm and the house starts to come apart and begins to sink into the lake. It's more like a shipwreck. I am yelling for my husband to get out, to get away, even as I realize I probably won't make it out. I wake up as the whole house lurches into the water, which is black and cold.

As I was writing this, I realized the window in the living and the view were from my grandmother's second house, which looked out over the West Niagara River. I also think think the dream is an analogy for problems with depression/mental health I have had.

Fillings

2011-09-01T08:58:00.002-04:00

Dreamt I was chewing gum/wax. Something gritty is in there. I pull the chewing gum out of my mouth but it's not gum, it's dental wax. Then I realize I have a filling coming loose. I pull out the filling and examine it. At first, I think it's a grey PEZ candy. Then I realize it's metal. My next thought is that it is an ingot. Not sure to whom I am speaking in my dream, but I tell them that I will need to go to the dentist. When I woke up, I realized that the "filling" was a shear pin from a lawn mower.

When I was younger, I had a couple of fillings fall out. The shear pin, well that was a memory of a shop class I took in middle school, where I had worked on a lawnmower engine. The wax I recognize from when I had braces as an adult. My mouth was so sore the first few weeks that I went through a ton of dental wax.

Dreams

2011-08-31T19:24:00.000-04:00

Amber asked me about my dreams.

Last night I dreamed about suede chess pieces. One was grey and the other was a dusty blue. I only had two pieces for the entire board, which was made of inlaid wood. I think it may have been birch and heartwood. It was very shiny. I seemed to do okay with just two pieces and I would like to think I won. This is hilarious, because I've never learned to play chess, although a boyfriend did teach me to play backgammon.

Personal Theme Song

2011-08-10T22:02:00.001-04:00

What's the song that really speaks to you? You know, the one you considerYOUR theme song? I know you have one!

HUMAN ROCKET
--Devo

Listen here.

I am a human rocket
On a mission of deployment
I've been cocked and loaded
Ready for the culmination

I am a human missile
Guided by a secret agenda
That commands my every thought and deed
And wills me on my way

I am a human rocket
On a mission of redemption
I've been cocked and loaded
Primed by everything I know

I am a human missile
Guided by a secret voice
That commands my every action
And wills me on my way

There is no turning back
There are no second thoughts
First things first and all things fair
Be it love or war, they say

There is no plan named B
On the land, in the air or on the sea
This is what's supposed to be
My duty now awaits me

I am a human rocket
On a mission of instruction
I've been primed and programmed
Since the beginning of time

I am a human missile
Guided by a secret master
That commands my every motion
And wills me on my way

I've found my target
I've reached my co-ordinates
I'm set to detonate and resonate
The final poem I will create

I've made a video
It tells a story, oh
I guess it's time to go
Don't forget to rewind

I am a human rocket
On a mission of destruction
I've been locked and loaded
And ready for the confirmation

I am a human missile
Guided by a secret perfection
That commands my full conviction
And wills me on my way

Large parts of the experience
Will go by unnoticed, we are all
Distracted by the lights and sounds
Of everything and nothing

Do you remember the breath you took
When they let you off the hook
And sent you swimming away
Back into your cell?

I am a human rocket
On a mission of reduction
I've been cocked and loaded
Since the dawn of time

I am a human missile
Guided by a secret voice
That commands my every thought and deed
And wills me on my righteous way

Stay Curious!

2011-07-25T20:48:00.002-04:00

“History may be read as the story of the magnificent action fought during several thousand years by dogma against curiosity.” — Robert Lynd

Turning 40

2011-07-16T06:00:00.001-04:00

Turning Forty

by Kevin Griffith

At times it's like there is a small planet

inside me. And on this planet,

there are many small wars, yet none

big enough to make a real difference.

The major countries—mind and heart—have

called a truce for now. If this planet had a ruler,

no one remembers him well. All

decisions are made by committee.

Yet there are a few pictures of the old dictator—

how youthful he looked on his big horse,

how bright his eyes.

He was ready to conquer the world.

Piccolo Ma Feroce (Small but Fierce)

2011-07-04T11:57:00.001-04:00

“She was a vixen when she went to school:
And though she be but little, she is fierce.”
-Shakespeare

Andre Ward

Angler Fish

Birdie

Cichlid

Jill the Trainer

Kestrel

LOLCat

Mongoose

Owl

PUG!

And sometimes, ME!

The Importance of What is Not

2011-06-30T09:40:00.000-04:00

We put thirty spokes together and call it a wheel;
But it is on the space where there is nothing that the utility of the wheel depends.
We turn clay to make a vessel;
But it is on the space where there is nothing that the utility of the vessel depends.
We pierce doors and windows to make a house;
And it is on these spaces where there is nothing that the utility of the house depends.
Therefore, just as we take advantage of what is, we should recognize the utility of what is not.
-Lao Tse

House

2011-06-25T13:38:00.004-04:00

The offer we put in on this house has been accepted! It is a short sale, so we have a long haul for getting all the parties' approvals. The contract stipulates up to 120 days! Would you believe we've been looking for the right house since 2009?

As always, there were some compromises:

A little further out from work than we wanted, but we're out of Howard-What's-In-Your-Wallet-County. Moe, Stephanie and Brookses live nearby. Benri will be further away now, instead of just down the road! =(

The yard is smallish, but manageable.There's no landscaping, it really needs some flowers, shrubs and trees. I should clarify further: it needs flowers, shrubs and trees that I can't kill. They didn't do much with the backyard (which is fenced), which is fine with us, because then we can do what we want with it.

I wanted something with more contemporary styling, and definitely NO COLONIAL. It's not contemporary at all (on the outside) but the house isn't overwhelmingly colonial looking either and the front just isn't a flat bank of windows. I love contemporary homes, but I also like arts&crafts, mission, and FLW homes.
Given the style of the house, I think if I add some craftsman/mission style shutters, house numbers, lights, and embellishments, along with some accent colors in the arts and crafts palette, it will perk things up and make it more to my liking. I just have to proceed with caution so I don't end up with some insanely ugly architechtural palimpsest.

The house is larger than we wanted, too. We were trying for no more than 1800 square feet, but we had a hard time finding places that size which also had a two-car garage. We are living comfortably in 1401 square feet, and honestly, we don't require much more than that. However, the size of this house isn't unreasonable (no McMansion here) and anything smaller would probably make for a difficult resale.

No basement, but we are near to the water. Community playground and beach.

The inside is sunny and open and has a two-story foyer, and we are SO getting a giant mobile to hang up in there.

I'm not sure I like the room divider thingy. It might have to go. This will involve sledgehammers and demolition, and I sure do like those concepts.

I actually like the kitchen, even there's a lot of brown going on in there. LOVE the corner sink with windows to look out of while you're doing the washing up. I really would have liked a double oven, but it certainly isn't a dealbreaker. TONS of storage, which is always good.

The first floor is all hardwood. The second floor has carpeting, we might tear that out. I hate carpet.

The laundry is on the second floor which is awesome, but isn't big enough to leave an ironing board out all the time, which sucks.I forgot to ask if the washer and dryer convey. I might get a stacker if they don't, and free up some space in the laundry room.

The master bedroom is not over the garage and is in the back of the house. That's important to me, it keeps the bedroom quieter. It has an ensuite bath but the master bath is weak. That's okay. I don't hang out in the bathroom. I think a skylight would help things immensely. The closet needs to be California-Closet-ified and additional lighting installed. It's too dark. You also walk into the bathroom THROUGH the closet, so yeah, I want cabinents set up, not wire shelving.

There are three more rooms which will be my office, chris' office and a library/music room, unless we make the formal dining room a library/music room.

There is an attic for storage, which alleviated my fears about not having basement storage.

I am so ready to move in NOW, I can't stand it. Keeping my fingers crosses that the short sale process goes quickly.

Snoop

2011-06-23T19:06:00.001-04:00

I love Snoop's paws. They are fuzzy and grey and the pads are mauve. Actually, I love all of Snoop. As my Japanese landlady used to say, "He is a good!"

On Father's Day

2011-06-19T07:01:00.000-04:00

Thinking about Mr. Phelps. I miss him every time I have a crisis at/about work. I could always count on him to give me thoughtful, userful advice, often with a pinch of droll humor. I admired him for his dedication, hard work and leadership.

As for my dad, There is a line in the Johnny Cash (w/ Boby Dylan) song "Wanted Man", which sums up my dad's life pretty accurately: "I've had all that I've wanted of a lot of things I had\And a lot more than I needed of some things that turned out bad." A lot of things were Bad in my dad's life, but he turned out to be a Good Man despite them. And best of all he managed to not kill us both back in June of 1957 ;)

Visceral Fortitude

2011-06-17T00:04:00.000-04:00

"You can get sympathy or you can get better but you can’t get both. You can be in your comfort zone or you can have growth, but you can’t have both. You can be interested or you can be sold-out-committed, but you can’t entertain both. You can have excuses or have results, but you can’t do both. Choose the path that develops your visceral fortitude.”
Mario Cortes

Why I Go To the Gym at 4 am

2011-06-14T04:00:00.000-04:00

When a person trains once, nothing happens. When a person forces himself to do a thing a hundred or a thousand times, then he certainly has developed in more ways than physical. Is it raining? That doesn't matter. Am I tired? That doesn't matter either. Then willpower will be no problem.

Emil Zatopek, Olympic Athlete.

Trying

2011-06-09T07:09:00.000-04:00

First Ride

2011-06-05T07:49:00.001-04:00

My workout today was supposed to be 40 minutes on the treadmill. After yesterday's race, I couldn't bear the thought of that, I am still sore. So I thought a good alternative would be to ride the bike the 2 miles to Centennial Park, and walk briskly around the lake, then bike back home.

Well, I'm not the best rider to begin with, so of course, I started out by nearly falling off. This was due in part to my not wearing my bike shoes, which attach to my pedals via a Shimano clipless system. I was being lazy and didn't want to have to bring my sneakers, which would entail wearing a backpack, changing shoes etc. So I just wore the sneaks. Well, what little riding I've done (the last time I rode on a regular basis was during my triathlon training) has been with bike shoes that are part of a clipless system.

The clipless system is more efficient because you can provide power to the cranks when you pull up, as well as when you bear down. However, power only transfers to the pedals if you are clipped in. If you are not wearing bike shoes but wearing sneaks and you pull up, well, your feet fly off the pedals and you nearly go off the bike. My legs are surprisingly strong, and when seated on a bike, are also not all that far from my jaw because I am short. Forgetting I wasn't clipped in, I pulled on the upstroke. My leg flew up, I nearly kneed myself in the chin and almost went off the bike. I hadn't even gone 200 feet.

Once I got rolling, I realized the tyres were a little flat, and my poor bike was dirty. There were some rattles and squeaks. At first glance, the bike had seemed okay and although it was serviced last year, I began to wonder if perhaps my quick visual inspection wasn't enough. My ass hurt after three minutes and I was nervous.

Mostly I was nervous becasue I don't feel confident on a bike, never really have. I didn't learn to ride until I was about eight. I think that my have had to do with poor vision, along with never having a bike that properly fit me. Combine that history with a lack of practice and the fact that where I live isn't the best place to be a cyclist. Columbia is not a particularly bike-friendly city and Columbia drivers are all fucknuts who want to kill you because they have decided to "Choose Civility".

Anyway, I got into a residential neighborhood and actually began to get into the rythym of the ride, which was quiet, calm, gently rolling and a good way to ease back into the world of two wheels. It was also kind to my post-race body, which appreciated a more gentle activity than a treadmill workout. I arrived at the park in one piece, feeling happier and a lot more limber.

My brisk walk around the park was uneventful although it started to sprinkle a little bit near the end.

The bike ride back was pretty straightforward, without incident. I made a few observations:

I need to do this more often

If I ride more, I will be more confident on my bike

Get a helmet mirror

Get some chain oil

The breeze feels good

Road markings that are damp are very slick and your tires will judder across them if you brake on top of them

That squirrel better not run through my front tyre or we will be both be fucked
I should be able to fit the bike in my tub and rinse it off it is sad that it is so dirty

My derailleur should not be making that noise

My knee should not be making that noise

GET OFF THE PATH GROUNDHOG!

This hill seems smaller in the car

I want my breakfast

The older neighborhoods have big trees and boy is that pretty

Hey, I am actually going pretty fast! Cool!

HEY I AM GOING TOO FAST AND DO NOT LIKE IT!

Wow, I'm home already?

Hope's Heroes 5k

2011-06-04T20:05:00.001-04:00

Trail, a photo by JLTP on Flickr.

Race for June. Click image for more pictures in this set.

Part of my New Year's resolution to run at least one 5k every month in 2011.

Pictures from previous races here.

Stuff I Did During May

2011-05-31T20:23:00.002-04:00

I cooked some stuff.

I sewed some stuff.

I knitted some stuff.

I ran a half-marathon.

Then the next weekend:

I ran around, over, under and through some stuff.

Suicide as a Civil Right

2011-05-30T18:19:00.000-04:00

Been meaning to write about suicide as the assertion of self-ownership in a truly free society, but I couldn't do it nearly as well as this.

For Mom

2011-05-28T07:53:00.000-04:00

everything wil be OK
in the end.

if it is not OK
it is not the end.

Blueberry Dreams

2011-05-25T06:24:00.001-04:00

Scratch the TeraWhey Blueberry stuff...it gave me one helluva nightmare last night:

So, someone breaks into my bedroom, and is trying to kill me. However, something has happened and I am apparently somehow immortal ... or at least I've got the ability to come back from the dead but this dude's decided it 's gonna be fun to kill me because yeah, I won't die but I sure will feel everything.

So hauls me outta the bed and he snaps my neck, and now I can't move my legs. I am half-hangning off the bed. He then goes around to the other side of the bed, and pulls out a AK47, saying he's gonna cut off my legs with the machine gun. He begins right above the knee where the quadriceps starts/ends (I have a beautiful curve there that I love and have worked hard for) and get this, I'm screaming or trying to but can't hear over the noise of the gun. There are bits of bone and meat flying/spattering all over. I can't really feel any pain really but know it is really gonna start hurting and this knowledge is what actually scares me.

Another round or twelve (like I'm counting? I'm fucking being shot up!) and now I'm vaguely aware start of a burning/cramping feeling along the line where the bullets are tearing me up. I've got my own meaty bits in my mouth from trying to scream in what's basically a hailstorm of bullets and fleshy chunks and now stuff is really beginning to hurt and I think my leg(s) is going to come off and it does start detaching (that's what I get for de-boning pork chops last night , it looked just like that process). However, it doesn't feel like I think it should and I wake up and I have a monkey bump/charley horse in my thigh the size of a fucking softball, am sweaty, scared, grossed out and have decided not to buy blueberry-flavored whey protein ever again.

A Kouple for Kelly

2011-05-16T09:24:00.004-04:00

LOTS of weird dreams lately. I think it's a combo of the vitamins, having dairy before bed and the fact I've been trying to learn a lot of new stuff. I always have an uptick in dreams when I'm learning new things and if the new stuff is difficult and I am struggling to learn, the dreams get really, really weird.

Last week I had a dream about rescuing my maternal grandmother and my father (both deceased) from a white 1970's Ford LTD that had started sinking into a polar ice flow that was breaking up. The ice flow stuff came from me watching way too many BBC documentaries (Human Planet, Earth, Life) the last few months, I think. The car came from the epi of Top Gear where the guys were driving across the Artic and a had a few scary moments. Time to lay off the TV. I remember yelling that they just needed to "open the fucking door and get out!" as if they weren't dead. I knew they were dead, but chose to ignore this and got irritated when they were entirely unmotivated to exit the vehicle. I grabbed the door and pulled it open and dragged My Dead Dad out of the drivers side. Then he wasn't my dad, he was the Tollund Man (minus the rope). My gran was in the back seat and I didn't get to her before the LTD went under. I was really not bothered by any of this (a subconscious pun on being "cold" perhaps?).

One thing I've noticed My Dead Dad has taken to making cameo appearances a lot lately. It's not upsetting (anymore).

Anyway this morning, I was dreaming I was walking around a square that was a cross between Baltimore (where the Washington statue is), this painting by Piero della Francesca, and a bit of downtown Buffalo. I had my one month old nephew in my arms , trying to keep him covered in a huge flannel blanket that kept blowing around and wouldn't stay on, and I was looking for a man named "Thatcher Bond."

The name is what woke me up, because my conscious grabbed ahold of it. As I came awake, I also got the feeling that Thatcher had brothers -- Thresher and Fletcher.

Thatcher Bond is a name I've ever consciously heard or otherwise come across, but a quick google search turned up about four hundred results.

Maybe I'll use the names in a short story. I need to start writing again.

Figure Competition

2011-05-03T19:37:00.002-04:00

Work has been crazy and as a result, I haven't been consistent in my workouts. Truth be told, I'm just too tired to function when I am doing all the workouts as assigned and I don't like the restricted competition diet and it's causing me all kinds of issues. Jill's honest assesment is that I am not where I should be. Still moving forward with the training, although now we're just not sure if I will be able to place ( to win a trophy).

I've made my entry for the Baltimore Half Marathon, that way if Jill says it's a no go, I can still do something that weekend.

I've removed access "Approaching 40" blog

Phew.

Easter Weekend

2011-05-02T19:40:00.001-04:00

Pictures of us celebrating a successful challenge of the bar exam, a birthday, booze, beaches, bikini and biplanes!

So There.

2011-04-28T20:58:00.002-04:00

"Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing?
Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able and willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able nor willing?
Then why call him God?"
- Epicurus

EVO

2011-04-22T06:16:00.000-04:00

Let It Go

2011-04-21T05:01:00.000-04:00

Love

2011-04-20T05:08:00.001-04:00

Positive

2011-04-19T05:18:00.000-04:00

Do What You Please

2011-04-18T14:40:00.002-04:00

EPIC

2011-04-17T17:40:00.003-04:00

well, get out there! (except for seto sensei, who says he is tired of doing epic shit, and he does do, so he is excused)

500 Years of Women in Art

2011-04-15T04:08:00.001-04:00

AWESOME

2011-04-10T17:46:00.000-04:00

GO HERE. NOW. CLICK THE SQUARES.

5k

2011-04-09T11:26:00.000-04:00

No long run this weekend, although I might walk it tomorrow.
5K race. My unofficial time was 28:54, which, although unofficial, is still a significiant improvement over my last time of 32:16.

Dreams

2011-04-08T14:08:00.000-04:00

I owe Kelly some dreams. The last week, I have had some doozies, I think due mostly to having a protein shake before bed. Cheese will give me weird dreams, too, if not outright nightmares.I usually don't eat right before bed, but lately I've been waking up in the middle of the night starving, so I had a shake to see if that would keep me sated and allow me to sleep through the night.

I.
I dreamed I was back in in Japan, but it was mixed up with my SUNY Fredonia college days, so the train stations and platforms were mixed in with my memories of campus. I remember thinking in the dream that I missed Japan and was glad to be back. Mixed up, but very vivid. It was like bits and pieces of Japan were overlaid onto Fredonia. At least in this dream, I knew my way around.

II.
This one is a little vague, which is unusual, because I can usually remember a lot of intricate details. I dreamed about having a coffee with my dad. There was also a chicken. I rarely dream about my father.

III.
I had a repeater - a dream with themes that I dream about regularly. I dream about water a lot. I dreamt I was in a fishtank. The water was cold but very clean. The bottom had little white pebbles, and realistic plants, although they were plastic ones. There were no fish in the tank, only me. I was breathing easily and calmly while under water. The tank was a 55 gallon one I owned during my first marriage. I seem to recall I was happy to stay in the tank and I can clearly recall hearing the sound of the aquarium pump running. I turned over in the tank, apparently turned over in real life and woke up.

IV.
Another repeater, this time about me being in a house that I was rushing to secure against some unknown threat. The house was small and very poorly made and it was getting dark. I was trying to close and bolt the door, which was made of particle board, the kind with the big flakes of wood in it, with a nickle hook-and-eye in it to close the door, instead of a real door and a dead bolt. I barely got the door shut when something banged into it and I knew I was going to be killed because I had forgotten to secure the windows and close the drapes and That Thing was going to get me. I saw That Thing (I can't really describe it, because it's Nothing but not really) in the window and it saw me and I knew it was going to get in and I was going to die. Then I woke up, terrified.

V.
A really sexual dream. Not sharing that one! I haven't had one of those in a long time. To be honest, I woke up feeling confused. Which is better than the last time I had a sexual dream, because I woke up feeling ashamed that time.

Books

2011-03-30T05:05:00.002-04:00

“We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck them.”

— John Waters

A Typical Day Lately

2011-03-28T20:32:00.002-04:00

Over the course of the day, drink between one and two gallons of water.
Pee every 27 minutes. Trust me. I timed it.

0300 Get up. Take vitamins round 1
0330 Workout one.
0430 Breakfast.
0530 Get showered, dressed, and go to work.
0600 Meal 1 at work.
0800 Meal 2 at work. Take vitamins round 2.
1000 Meal 3 at work.
1200 Meal 4 at work. Take vitamins round 3.
1300 Snack (raw veggies) at work.
1400 Leave work.
1401 Meal 5 in car.
1402 PEE EMERGENCY! USE BATHROOM AT PERSONAL TRAINER'S STUDIO!
1415 to 1515 nap in car at personal trainer's studio. Take vitamins round 4.
1530 to 1700 workout two.
1800 Meal 6.ETA: Stop intake of water, so I am not up all night peeing.
2000 Protein shake. Take vitamins round 6.
2020 Feel drowsy while surfing the interneeeeeeeeeeeeeeso fdaljohdafadfa,lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllla;dlfja -4tu9 q-45nvq-umr-a]mrt]-vw b-tb qn-]u mvq-4utmv- qau08rtc=0iew =0im=0a0=IWM C-]E0MA=AMQRTQVTAQ3QER#aeW4333333333333333333333333333#################

2030 Wake up with keyboard stuck to face
2031 Remove keyboard. Stagger to bed.

See also F.A.S.T. Approaching 40 Blog

Two of My Favorite Things...

2011-03-27T22:56:00.002-04:00

Milla and Mercedes!

Help

2011-03-12T20:57:00.000-05:00

Right now, I'm so overcome that I wouldn't be able to write something that would be cohesive or comprehensible. I'll wait a few days and sort out my thoughts. Japan was truly home to me for five years.
All my friends are safe.

Carpentry

2011-03-10T19:16:00.000-05:00

Ran into Sears to buy some tools for to set up a toolkit for work. Got to talking to the clerk, George, who was an older man. Turned out he'd been a carpenter for 33 years, but the homebuilder he worked for went under last year. So here he was at Sears, in the Home Improvement department. It was kind of sad. We ended up chatting about building and woodworking, and old houses and hardwood floors and about the lack of care and artistry in how things are put together today. He said he misses the carpentry terribly, because he liked making well-crafted things.

He was very conscientious, did a great job and you could tell he was trying hard. Normally, I don't like doing the online surveys but George said that the store actually does review them , so I made sure to go online and gave him credit where credit was due.

I hope he can find some regular carpentry work soon.

Rainy Day

2011-03-06T08:37:00.003-05:00

Good for stomping in puddles:

February Sewing Projects

February Knitting Projects

February General Craftiness

February Cooking

For Kelly...

2011-03-05T09:15:00.001-05:00

...who wanted to know if my linux desktop was the same as my awesome Windows one.

YES:

I'm running the latest distro of Debian on the laptop.

Oh, I just realized I totally need to make a Weyland-Yutani employee id card for myself.

Note: See those cables under the desk, I fixed them:

I need to tell @blunck2 about this, he loves a tidy cable job.

Wow, that came out sounding filthy.

PS: Kelly, I hope that Amazon thing works out for you:

Die Maschine

2011-03-05T08:20:00.002-05:00

“One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that if you drive into London at 6am, half of the cars on the roads are Porsches and Astons. Whereas if you go in at ten to nine, they’re all Renaults. Simple solution, then. You want a nice car? Get up earlier and do more work.” --Jeremy Clarkson

I approach driving with a loathing that is actually tinged with phobia. Having a nicer vehicle helps in a way. I planned carefully, worked hard and saved for my roadster. Die Maschine was the culmination of five years of hard work, saving, and driving a 15 year old mini-truck that barely had enough power to get out of its own way.

Every once in a while I catch shit from random people about how much it must have cost and how it must be nice to be able to afford it. It's none of their business really and I shouldn't let it get to me but sometimes it does.

eta: but sometimes I get admirers, too.

Sheesh

2011-03-04T18:30:00.002-05:00

My high school years (hell, even my middle school years) were not happy ones. Lately, I've been having nightmares that I am back in high school. Needless to say, I have not been sleeping well.

And to make this whole re-living my high school years more authentic, it appears that my cystic acne has returned. At least when you're a teenager, it's expected you will be pimply. A middle-aged lady with zits? It's just so, so completely and utterly lame. Additionally, though I don't like to admit it, I am pretty (read that profoundly) embarrassed. So in a way, this is even worse than when I was a teenager. But at least I don't have to worry about getting thrashed in the locker room this go-around.

Love What You Love

2011-02-28T18:47:00.000-05:00

Ray Bradbury on loving what you love, regardless of what others think.

Kenneth Snelson

2011-02-27T16:26:00.000-05:00

I like Kenneth Snelson's work.

Today I found a piece of jewelry that reminded me of it...so I bought it!

Salvatore Quasimodo (an excerpt)

2011-02-25T08:55:00.003-05:00

Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terra
Trafitto da un raggio di sole:
Ed e subito sera.

NM

2011-02-23T07:54:00.002-05:00

Dear Norman Mailer, your books give me fits sometimes, but I love you for this.

Cracked

2011-02-20T20:18:00.002-05:00

Sometimes what appears to be broken, isn't. What really is needed is acceptance, love and understanding, not fixing. Sure there are cracks in the surface, but they let the light shine out.

I see your light!

love,

me