Original Poem by me

mind racing
time blurring
missing you
chasing myself
searching rooms
finding loss

"Blockade Billy" by Stephen King is not for kids. Period.

It's a short story paired with "Mortality". It's bound in a small hardback volume. It has a sort of Rockwell-esque illustration on the cover. It has foul language, sex, violence, and more of those sorts of things. It is not for kids. Don't judge a book by its cover, folks. But do read this book if you like Stephen King and are over 18. I enjoyed the stories. Well, as much as I could without freaking out that my 12 year old nephew was also going to read the book. Don't worry, I called his mother and put the brakes on that. I know. I sucked all of the fun out of life for the kid, but he can read it when he's older.

Blah.

I'm not getting a whole lot done these days. Ugh. But hey, here's a blog post. Check that one off of the ol' to-do list, eh? I did get through two Austen books, though. I enjoyed "Pride and Prejudice" more than "Sense and Sensibility". "Persuasion" is next after a little baseball a la King. I did print out a couple of summer crochet patterns, but haven't picked up the craft again. But, yeah, here's a blog post. A completely boring laundry list of tedium but it's better than nothing. Right.

Red

Red

I never willingly wore red when I was younger. I always stayed with those colors complimentary to the winter skin tone I was supposed to have according to that seasonal make-up trend. I wore blue in every shade, green, and gray. There was a lot of denim in my wardrobe back then as well. The only red shirts I had were part of my Godfather's Pizza uniform. I hated the red visor that went with it as well. I was convinced it was the ugliest thing I owned, but you wear what the people paying you want you to wear, right? At least the tomato sauce stains weren't as noticeable. Red was never a color I bonded with well. All of my dishes and linens were blue. I shied away from red and, looking back, I don't know why. Now, I look around and red is peeking out at me from everywhere. I have a red phone, red file folders at my desk, a favorite red sweatshirt that I snagged from my husband, red blankets, candles, portable speaker, Tupperware (and a lot of it), cooking pots and pans, and more than one pair of red socks. Maybe I'm pulling in little bits of red to make up for denying myself such an energizing color. Maybe I just like the color more now that I'm not wearing it for a living.

Nerves

I'm trying not to be nervous about my little surgery tomorrow morning, but it's hard not to be. I know that doctors these days are such experts at what they do and I'm supposed to be able to go home tomorrow afternoon. They said it should only take about a week to recover. It's just that they are still going to cut open my body to remove something and then sew me back up. It's a little unnerving. I'm cool, though. I'll be fine.

It's a strange turn of events that makes me a little grateful for the technology that we have in this day and age. It's a little bit of looking on the bright side of things as well. Last year, I had a miscarriage. I had another one last month and that's when they found the cyst. Since there wasn't a cyst on my ovary last year when they took the ultrasound pictures at the hospital, it's a probability that I've developed this thing in the last year. It's fairly large. The doctor made a circle shape with his index finger and thumb but didn't close the circle. That's larger than a golf ball, if you ask me. Because I can't feel this thing (no nerve endings on the ovaries, don't you know) it could have continued to grow and become problematic. But because I was pregnant they did early ultrasounds and found it. It doesn't look malignant on the ultrasounds and I'm sure they'll take a look at it to make sure, but it could have been and I wouldn't have known.

I'll try to post later tomorrow or Thursday to let you all know how it went. In the meantime, my husband may tweet about it: http://twitter.com/indeeart.

Serendipity and salutations.

A Little List

My first year as a stay-home-mother/housewife has passed and I've felt a little lost lately. I used to be a professional working woman. I used to use problem solving skills and software programs to fill my day. Now, I struggle to figure out what, besides dino nuggets, we can have for lunch today. I sometimes feel like some helpless version of June Cleaver, but the Bizarro World version. You remember Bizarro World, right? I'm rough edged and not quite right? But waking up this morning and coming out of that little dream reminded me: I'm not helpless and I'm more well rounded than I tend to remember.

This list is mostly for my benefit, but maybe you will be able to take something from it. Maybe you didn't know me as well as you thought or maybe you'll make your own list. Some of the things in this list may seem elementary and simple, but you wouldn't believe how many people don't know how to do these things or just don't even try.

These things are just in the order that I've thought of them and no other particular sequence has been given to them (*OK, I went back and grouped a little bit*):

• I know how to check my tire pressure and put air in my tire.
  
• I know how to change a tire on my car. I may have trouble lifting a tire without killing whatever outfit I have on, but I can get it done.
• I know how to put snow chains/cables on my tires and which tires they go on.
  
• I know how to check my car's oil and refill it.
• I know that I don't need to have my air filter changed every time I go to Jiffy Lube, no matter what they tell me.
• I know how to use a level, screw driver, and hammer.
• I know how to find a wall stud.
• I know how to read directions/instructions.
• I know how to assemble furniture.
• I know how to put up a tent.
• I know how to build a proper fire.
• I know how to put out a fire.
• I know how to build an emergency outdoor shelter.
• I know how to tie that "rabbit goes around the tree and down the hole" knot. I don't know the name of it though.
• I know how to paddle a canoe.
  
• I know how to read a (paper and online) map.
• I know how to use a compass.
• I know how to read a topographical map.
  
• I know basic first aid and CPR.
• I know how to fix a leaky faucet.
• I know how to remove a shower head and (gasp) remove that stupid little water saving device. Forgive me, my eco-friends, I'll save water elsewhere. I don't believe it's really saving that much water if it takes twice as long to rinse shampoo out of my hair.
• I know how to repair a hole in a wall.
  
• I know how to wash my own dog.
• I know how to wash my own car.
• I know how to install a hard drive in a PC.
• I know how to connect peripherals (mouse, speakers, keyboard, lcd, monitor, etc.) to a computer.
• I know how to connect entertainment/electronic equipment. For example, the TV is hooked up to the DVR, DVD, VCR (yes, we still have one), CD player, and game console. All of these are routed so that I can turn on the amlifier and listen to anything we play in stereo (surround sound if we had more speakers set up.)
• I know how to balance a checkbook register.
• I know how to perform inventory and calculate cost.
• I know how to calculate change from a transaction without a calculator or cash register.
• I know how to cook rice. (Again, this is one of those things some people don't even try.)

Before you judge my pathetic little list, remember that I know more than this, but this is the stuff I forget about knowing. I'm not helpless and it makes me feel better knowing that.

Well, that's that, I guess.

I spent $5.99 on an iPod application. It was for a game that was very popular and tons of PC users loved it in the early 90s. I bought Myst.

I played it and played it and finally used the hints and online walk-throughs. I immersed myself in the game. I think I enjoyed it. So, why do I feel let down? If I had a computer of my own in the early 90s would I have played it and played it and played it until I solved it on my own? Would I have even bought the game?

I'm not sure. There are reasons I didn't have a computer of my own in that time of my life. First, there was the money issue. I was just out of high school and should have been going to college, but mostly I was slinging pizza so, yeah, there was not a lot of cash flowing there. Second, I wasn't a computer geek. I may have been a bookworm, but I didn't spend a lot of time in front of a computer. (See the first reason.) So, would I have played this game? I don't think so.

I'm not sorry that I waited either. I don't know if I was smart enough to play this game back then. And this was before good search engines, so it might have been hard to find help. Also, would someone have created hint guides and walk-throughs that quickly? Chat rooms were available but they were already sticky with perverts, so I might not have used that.

I don't really have a point, I guess. I'm just rambling. I do want to play more in this series of games, though. I might have to look into that. . . And, I wonder if there are other old-timey CD-ROM games coming to new portals. Does anyone remember Monkey Island? Lucas, what do you think?

Theme Thursday - Swing

One of my few memories of being a small child in Louisiana is of swinging. I must have been about four or five years old and at a day care. I remember an overcast sky against the silvery green of the trees with moss hanging from the bows. I remember swinging. My legs would pump and I would go higher and higher. I would call to Teacher to look at me. "See me, Teacher! Wee!" I called. Then, I remember a silly thing. I remember smiling so big that my eyes got sort of squinty. Then, I thought to do something that gave me such a thrill. I closed my eyes. What a huge rush that was for such a small child. I remember feeling so excited to be flying through the air behind the darkness of my eyelids.

It's an interesting exercise to try to put words to something I experienced as a child. An experience that, as a child, I didn't have words for. There wasn't a need for language then. There was just the moment and the sensations associated with pumping your legs while sitting on a piece of rubber hanging from chains hanging from a metal frame. That's a lesson for me to remember today, I think. Put the words away for a moment and just experience the sensation of now.

Stich after stich after stich after. . .

I've been crocheting for about two years. I've followed a couple of patterns, but I have also made up my own. Mostly, my projects have been an exploration of this craft and using the medium of yarn to make an art form. Crochet is an art and the act of crocheting is a craft. One of the things I'm learning is that mistakes happen. And most of the time, a mistake happened about two or more rows ago by the time I find it.

I've been working on my largest project yet. I'm making a wrap for my former boss, Sherrie. I've been working on it for a few weeks now. I work on it while watching the news. I carry it with me and get a few stitches in whenever I'm a passenger in the car. At swim lessons, I can get through a row and a half while the husband and kid are blowing bubbles and doing Tigger bounces.

I'm really enjoying the look and feel of this wrap and I think it will be beautiful when it's finished. I've put about four skeins (balls) of yarn into it and have had times where I've had to undo a row or two to fix a mistake I'd just noticed. I worked on it last night for a bit and boy, oh boy, if I didn't just find another mistake. In the second row. Holy cow, that's thousands of stitches back. I'd have to unravel almost four skeins of yarn and several weeks of work to fix it. I put the crochet needle down and stared at this pile of work in my lap.

I couldn't even imagine starting over. I just about cried with the thought of having to undo all of this work to make the wrap perfect. Then, I sat back and looked at it and realized that I must have missed another mistake somewhere else because this last row I was working on wouldn't end in the right place for the turning row. So, what to do? Unravel four skeins of yarn and start over? No. That would break my heart and I probably wouldn't be able to start over. All of that work for nothing? That made me sad. So, I made a decision instead. I decided to insert a mistake to make things work out.

I decided that imperfection is perfectly all right. If anyone who sees this garment on the wearer notices a couple of stitches that aren't perfectly spaced, then they would probably be standing too close to Sherrie in the first place. The mistakes in this wrap also prove that it was hand-made, by a beginner no doubt, but still hand-made.

I discovered an interesting chain of feelings while I processed all of this. The feelings of pride and achievement that come with investing your time and energy in a tangible product. A satisfaction that comes from engaging creative energy. The fear and doubt that the product may not be worthy of appreciation. The control of taking charge and making decisions. The best part, though, is that I feel empowered by the acceptance of imperfection.

I'm not finished yet, I need a few more inches of width and I really hope she'll like it when it is finished. But it looks great so far - if you don't look too closely. I'll post pictures later when it's done.


Update: The finished project is here.

Mother, oh Mother

Mother. That word is such a strange power. It is also very subjective.

I was thinking of different women that I've known; different mothers.

I knew a woman once who said she hitchhiked across Arizona with all of her small children in tow to escape an abusive husband. I admired her for her bravery.

One woman I knew gave up being around her kids to escape an abusive relationship also, but she wasn't able to take her children with her. She had to leave them with their dad and was given minimal supervision because he had better lawyers. She went on with life, but her joy was gone. I really feel sad for her.

Then there are women who think that their children owe them something for keeping them alive. They think that they should be the center of the universe and that no one is as important as they are. One woman I know in particular uses the fact that she gave birth as a tool to manipulate her children and gain attention. It saddens me and angers me at the same time.

Children are a gift. My child is my greatest gift. I would show appreciation for this gift by raising her right and caring for her until I can no longer do so. If you love something, cherish it and protect it. If you love someone, cherish them and protect them.

Whoa, Keeley!

My adventure reading the book "Hissy Fit" by Mary Kay Andrews started with mentioning that I was getting ready to read it for my book club on the sidebar of this blog. Then, there was a (two, actually) comment left on my site by the book's author. Go ahead and check it out real quick. It's really cool, I'll wait. . . Awesome, right? That was followed by excitement then anxiety. I hadn't actually started reading it yet at the time of the comments and got nervous. What if I didn't have fun reading it? So, I got right on that first page. Before I knew it, I was finished reading it and casting the made-for-TV movie in my imagination. Mira Sorvino could play an older thirty-something for the lead or Katherine Heigl could be fun to watch in the role of Keeley.

I really enjoyed reading this one for our book club. I think we all agreed it was lighthearted and fun. There were some little surprises and it really kept the book grounded and real enough to relate to. The characters were believable, for the most part. My favorite part is that the author took time to leave a comment or two on one of her reader's blogs. How absolutely classy is that? Absolutely.

Inspiration

I've been uninspired lately. Maybe it's just March. Maybe it's my busy schedule. Maybe I've just come down with the hum-drums. But I forget, that sometimes it's best not to wait for inspiration to write. Sometimes, it's best to write and inspiration will come. Why do I get inspired when writing about writing? Because I'm a self-titled writer. I'm a published poet, believe it or not, but at heart, I'm A Writer. Do I write a lot? Not much. Have I written anything worthwhile? Not many of us do. I identify with the world of the word smith. That is me. So, why is it so hard to write on a regular basis? I don't try hard enough. That's sad really. It's like an artist who just doesn't pick up her paint brush or sketch pad.

Back to the inspiration thing. I've been hit with inspiration before. Hit with it like a rhino smacking into a zebra. Full on force, t-boning me in the face. I even ripped off the side of a 12 pack carton to scribble out a poem once. I've gone into other worlds and created a picture of text for others to enjoy. But then there are times when there is this void of nothingness that engulfs my imagination. If it is left to fester too long, the void will swallow everything and there will be nothing left. Remember "The Never Ending Story" from the 80s? Yeah, like that.

I think that exercise helps. I believe that if I can stretch these muscles and punch out some type-set, then the imagination will grow back and with it, will come inspiration.

Ack!

I haven't posted in over a week! That really doesn't help the writer's block any. The pressure, the blank white nagging page of pressure, of having nothing meaningful or clever to say or write about is only making it harder to put words on the page. Then there's the little Demon of Doubt who sits in the corner and mockingly asks, "Who's going to want to read what you write anyhow?" It's hard to ignore him. If I was writing on paper, I could crinkle and crumple up the trashed drafts and throw them at him, but I'm typing so I guess I'll look for paperclips. I can't really throw my keyboard keys at him.

Back on track. Focus is a problem for me when trying to think of something to write as well. I can't keep a thought in my head very long before someone or something creates a distraction and I've got to switch gears. It's hard to write something when someone wants you to wipe her nose or look for his iPod earbuds. I gave up for a while.

Another problem maker for me is my tendency to be too direct. I have a habit of saying just what I mean and I think that should be enough, no explanation needed. My fault is I think I don't need to expand on the statement I just made because I just spoke the truth. I don't have anything else to add to that. See? It's kind of self defeating, isn't it?

Thanks for putting up with the rambling. At least it is a post.

Favorite space

I was just thinking about favorite spaces. I don't have one here at this house. That's pretty strange, right? I need to make a favorite space. I think I might have one in the back yard if it wasn't the ragged mess that it is right now. I think that will be part of my goal for the spring and summer. We need to make a place back there for me to love and love being. I'll put a bench there or just a chair for me, maybe. Ooh, some little flower pots around and a small table big enough for just my teacup and a small citronella candle. And the dog won't be allowed to poop there. He's got to reign it in, really.

Oh, Annie Freeman, you fictional you.

My book club just finished and discussed a book by Kris Radich. "Annie Freeman's Fabulous Traveling Funeral" was the book. I'm not a professional book reviewer so my report will not be as up to snuff as, say one that my friend(s) could write, but this is my impression.

This book felt like two bodies of writing to me. One is an essay on women's relationships and the emotional journey of grief. The other is a nice novel about women on a traveling funeral.

I thought it was a nice story as far as the band of women rallying around in their grief to fulfill their dead friend's wishes. I don't know that I believe the depth at which all of the women were able to delve into their emotions, identify and classify them and discuss their feelings with such well written and intricate dialogues. That was a little much. Maybe it's because I'm not in my mid-fifties. Maybe I'm too straight forward and practical. Maybe I never bought the line about women having a special bond that the other sex doesn't get. I don't believe it still. I don't have that bond with women, anyway. Not that I know of. Sure, childbirth, menstrual cramps, and being the weaker sex are all things we have in common. I just don't think that gives us an instant connection. What does give us a connection is our experiences. Sharing them and letting others become a part of our existence. That's where bonds come from, not our sex. I also don't think people talk that way. At least, no one I know does.

Read it with a grain of salt, a hankerchief, and a glass of wine. Also, read it in two frames of mind: essay and novel.

Rebellion

What is it about our parents that gets us going in the opposite direction? I'm a grown up now and just as grown up as my folks were when they were my age. There is still something though, that lingering adolescent angst that makes me step back and ask, "Who do they think they are with that advice and wisdom?" I think one thing that bothers me, is that I know I'm moving closer to where they are in the ways of wisdom and advice and I know that they were/are right most of the time. I also know that as time moves on, I'm the one who will be rebelled against and I fear that time.

First Post!

On the other blog, BAHBrown.blogspost.com, I had some feedback that I probably let get to me too much. The blog started as a way to let people know what our family was up to. It was originally supposed to be on our own family website that Brad was designing but never finished. Then, when I started to stay home, I had the idea to use it to keep Brad informed on our day-to-day activities since he's missing out while he's at work. This evolved a little to where we put in some family email addresses so that they can get emails every time the blog is updated so they don't have to find the address each time. Well, back to the feedback. I was asked not to put in my "guilty things", whatever that means. Someone else commented that it was clear that I got frustrated but that was OK. In other words, and this is my opinion, "keep us up to date on the kid but keep your feelings out of it." Fine. I'll put my feelings here.

I don't feel like I'm allowed to express myself in any other forum, sometimes. Oh, sure, a private notebook that sits on my bedside table that goes woefully ignored. Because feelings are supposed to be private, right? Not right. Not OK. We all have feelings. Some of my favorite bloggers have shared theirs and it's helped me. Maybe I can help someone else. Or just help myself.

I get frustrated with parenting. I get frustrated being a parent. I get frustrated being a wife, daughter, sister. From what I can tell in conversations with other parents, I'm not alone. So let's talk about this. Let's help each other sort it out.

Well, here is my first post on my solo blog that isn't on MySpace or LiveJournal. Not that there is anything wrong with blogging there, but Blogger is sort of a one stop-shop for me.