dajamou

Online Me

2012-02-08T15:51:00.002-05:00

Havi's post about talking to the Director was, as usual, amazing. And it also gave me the latest moment of hmm. I need to do some more thinking about it, but I am realizing that there's a Physical Me and an Online Me. And I'm going to work on listing the qualities of each, and think about ways I can bring them closer into alignment (or possibly alliance). Maybe like Jodi Foster in Nim's Island, but not quite so extreme. This bears more thinking and writing to become a full post, or even a full thought. But if I don't write it down, extensive research has shown that the white noise of everyday life will drown it out.

The symmetry, the surety

2012-02-03T22:29:00.003-05:00

How long has it been since I bought the Dance of Shiva CD from Havi? Months and months at least. I have never stuck with an exercise program this long. And I don't even think of it as exercise most of the time, even though it really can be. But I think the reason I have kept with it, or one of them, is the numbers and the patterns. Not the patterns of behavior that it reveals, but the patterns within the movements. The mathematical beauty of it. The symmetry.

Maybe also because I really don't think of it as exercise most of the time. Hmm.

Sleep

2012-02-02T23:39:00.001-05:00

A new pattern: when something unpleasant or stressful is upcoming, I stay up entirely too late in some bass-ackward attempt at making it take longer to arrive.

Patterns

2012-01-28T14:19:00.002-05:00

Hello, pattern of feeling forgotten and unloved. Come on into the library. Here's a cup of cocoa, and a big bowl of fresh popcorn. Snuggle up on the window seat. I'll get you a blanket and your favorite novel.

Hello, pattern of compulsive eating when I'm tired. Let's go for a walk in the Japanese garden together. We'll sit in the machiai for a while and let the peace fill our hearts.

5 possibly random but probably related things

2012-01-25T10:26:00.003-05:00

I was doing Shiva Nata in my head last night and it started turning into a flamenco dance. I may just have to try that for reals sometime. I was even feeling the swirl of skirts against my legs! In my head! Legs in my head! Brain: officially scrambled.
I went to listen to the recording for the Art of Embarking and accidentally started the recording for the Shiva Nata sneaky snack call. I'm now glad I did.
Pattern pattern pattern, everything's a pattern.
I couldn't come up with a proper image for my metaphor of flow. That is, I have that great image for my stucknesses, of a leaf pushed up against a rock (although sometimes I'm wondering if I'm the rock?). But for my image of how I want the destuckified me to feel, I was really struggling. So I wonder if maybe I need something more 3 dimensional (or 4 dimensional) than a stream, perhaps flying like a bird in the air currents? Although just now I thought of a tree by the riverside. Hm. Why is that less stuck than a rock in the middle of the river? Anyway. That's still progressing at least.
TRUST. That was the word I kept in my head while listening to the call. And EQUANIMITY is the word I'm going to try and keep in my head for the rest of today.

I had so many other thoughts and ideas and epiphanies and moments of hmm while I was listening. But I was on the exercise bike and I didn't write them down, and I've forgotten most of them. But I'm hoping they'll come back next time I listen. Also? Even if they don't, it's OK. Because I still remember how it felt when I had them and that feeling is still here. It's like waking up. The good kind, with the sleepy slow smile, and the luxurious stretch, and the feeling that you really rested, and the knowledge of a good day ahead. That's how my brain feels right now. Probably doesn't help that I was exercising at the time...go go endorphins!

I'm a little bit manic at the moment, I'm going to take a shower and get centered. Equanimity is the word of the day.

Flow.

2012-01-19T14:08:00.003-05:00

I went to a women's circle a couple of weeks ago. It's the beginning of the year, so we did vision boards and a meditation on where we see our lives going in the next span of time.

Among other things like working on the garden and doing Shiva Nata, the word that came to me was Flow.

And I was kind of surprised, because I always thought of myself as being rather a go-with-the-flow kind of person already. But when I was describing it to the others later, the image I used was of feeling the flow pass me by rather than interacting with it or even floating along with it. Like a leaf stuck behind a rock in the stream. I could feel it passing beneath me, so I always felt like I was in it, and in a way I am. But not actively. Not with intention.

So. That's what I'm going to work on. Investigating flow, what it looks like to me, what my relationship with it is, what I want that relationship to be.

Incoming brainstorming session.....

Letting go is scary.

Is the rock keeping me safe? Blocking my view of what's ahead?

Am I stuck or clinging? Since it's my image in my head, I imagine they're one and the same.

What exactly is passing me by? Life? Opportunity? People? What is the stream in my vision?

How did I get here?

Am I really a leaf? Can I change the image to be a seed? That has more potential.

What's next?

Floating

2012-01-06T08:48:00.003-05:00

When I first read the page about the Floating Playground, I burst into tears. I wanted it so much that I couldn't stand it. Also mixed in there were feelings of not being worthy - or worth it. But I have been dancing with Shiva long enough to recognize that particular pattern. So I came back to it several times over the next few days until I was calm enough to really consider the option, and I found the reasoning/permission/sovereignty that would allow me to skate around that hole in the ice. So I did it. I signed up for it.

One of the pre-requisites is reading this book, and also this one. So I'm doing that. But there is also a series of questions to answer. (Although, in typical Havi fashion, you get to choose which ones you answer, if any, and there are several alternatives and alternative alternatives. She works so hard to make it work for as many people as possible!)

They are called stone-skipping questions, which I take to mean you throw the stone (ask the question) and then watch what happens. I didn't plan, or edit (much...hey, it's me!), or go back and decide to say something different. It's not quite free association or brainstorming, but it's along those lines for me. So I didn't want to overthink or re-think. Anyway, this is a good place to keep my answers.

Here goes.

What do I need right now?

To know that I am welcomed. Loved. Necessary. Interesting. Needed. Irreplaceable. Useful. Full of Awesome. Worth it. WORTH IT.

To shelter my tiny sweet thing.

To have my tiny sweet thing acknowledged. Welcomed. Loved. Necessary.

To justify spending all that money.

To go for a walk.

If I am experiencing fear/anxiety or pain about this, whose is it?

Mine. Possibly his. Or mine about his reaction.

Mother/Wife/Homekeeper me, who worries I'll neglect even more of my current chosen vocation to chase this daydream.

Needy/Lonely me, who thinks I'm doing this just to feel like I'm in on something, and it doesn't matter what it is, and why did I have to pick something that costs so much when there's all these free places online? (Even if they haven't worked so well?)

The me who fears being un-interesting, mediocre, mundane, ho-hum, boring, forgettable.

What's the pattern at play here? And how can I lovingly, creatively and non-violently begin to interrupt it?

Fear of failure is one pattern. And perhaps I can start by remembering that any step forward (even a change in direction) is still a step forward. I can picture a labyrinth, where sometimes you are turning towards the beginning and away from the end, or even backtracking and trying a different way, but your steps are still bringing you closer to solving the puzzle. And you also might pick up a Ludo on the way. The journey is the learning.

There is also a fear of not being worth it. I am sidestepping it at the moment by declaring (very quietly and only to myself) that I'm using last year's Christmas money to pay for half of all the expenses of this. So that I don't feel guilty about spending money that I don't make.

And there is the fear that my husband will resent the expense on something that I didn't at least warn him about. (tiny sweet thing! tiny sweet thing! Can't bring it out to be analyzed yet!)

What would it look like if I entered this voyage as I want to be in it?

I want to know all the way down to my heart and bones that I would be making some lifelong friends.

The me at the front of the V would look something like Kathleen Turner at the end of Romancing the Stone. Centered, confident, and for some reason the long wavy hair that's good for saucy tossing is important. But I want mine to be auburn. Or possibly raven-black.

Or it might be that I want to enter quietly and a little shyly, smiling and observant. That's more me as I am now. Maybe I have to live through the whole movie before I get to be the woman at the end of the movie.

I'd like my desk space to be comfortable and cozy and possibly a little whimsical. I'd like to move it to the dining room too.

It would be nice to feel unconditional support, from someone. Anyone, really.

Is what I'm feeling right now reminding me of something from then? How is now different from then?

The year I came late to summer camp because I was sick, and was welcomed with shrieks of delight and applause. [happy]

After breezing through high school and being valedictorian, getting to college and realizing I wasn't the brightest anymore, not by a long shot. [nice to be normal for once, but a little deflating]

Any parts of me who need safe rooms? How do those rooms look/feel?

I'm sure there are. I'm making a bunch up at the moment, but I don't know who will occupy them yet.

What is my current metaphor for this experience? What would metaphor mouse say?

I'm frightened, so the metaphor that comes to mind is stepping out onto a stage for opening night, not sure if I will fly or bomb, but knowing that my whole life has been leading to this.

What do I already know about fractal flowers?

Everything is related. Everything is a microcosm of the macrocosm. Everything is a reflection of everything else. It's only procrastination if I let it be, if I do it in a not-conscious or fearful or guilty frame of mind.

If I am the fox in the video game, what are my options for dealing with this particular challenge?

I can change my player-character to suit each situation. I can pause the game and take a breather. I can work on smaller side quests and build up the experience points and skills (and superpowers!) to achieve the grand overall quest.

Who are my allies? What are my resources?

My decision to join the Floating Playground is my tiny sweet thing. I haven't told anyone about it really. So no allies out here in the real world. Internally...I don't know. It's one of my stucknesses, I think, that I feel alone in this. But I think my Painted Ladies would understand: we've been metaphor-mousing for 15 years without me ever realizing that's what it was.

Resources: poetry, Havi's blog, trying to do Shiva Nata on a more regular basis, the Zen Habits blog, journaling, the Ladies, possibly my new women's circle

What superpowers do I have? These can be mundane or imaginary or anything you like.

I have the superpower of un-drama. There is almost never any intense drama going on around me (interpersonal or otherwise). Which can be good if I don't want a lot of distractions. :)

I'd like to imagine having the power of spreading light and warmth with my smile or touch.

And I've always wanted to fly.

How can I say hello to this experience?

I can sit up straight in my chair and put my feet flat on the floor. I can take deep breaths. I can clear space and time for it, and ask my family to respect that space and time. I can make a playlist for background music. I can make myself some tea. I can have a ritual phrase that I say whenever I am entering into it. I can wear my loveliest scarf.

Where is the treasure in this experience?

I am searching for the words that fit

Like a key they will slide into my mind and open my heart

So more words can spring forth and fill my whole body

with light and dancing and love and motion and peace

Then will I shine.

Wow. Where did that come from?

What needs to change in my kingdom?

More consciousness, more poetry, more sovereignty, more confidence. I'm editing to add: More flow.

Another one for the list

2011-12-20T18:44:00.002-05:00

I wrote the phrase "appropriate precautionary measures" in an email this evening, and now I keep thinking about using that for my exercise metaphor, and snickering. I'm not sure it will be what I say in my head to motivate myself, but it sure is a fun thing to say. So...maybe I need a public metaphor in addition to my private/internal one? Maybe all the disruption from having company has triggered some need in me to have something funny or clever to say next time, about why I'd be deserting my visitors for almost an hour a day.

Moment of hmm, anyone?

Hmm.

More metaphor mousing

2011-12-18T19:38:00.002-05:00

So I asked an online group of friends for help with the metaphor. It didn't go so well, but I got a few extra words that I'd like to add to the brainstorm. In addition to what I already have, we've got:

healing

rejuvenation

therapy

makeover

blessing

dance/movement

wellness

ahimsa (Sanskrit for do no harm)

well being

vitality

strength

flexibility

health

balance

"me time"

I also thought it might be helpful if I start thinking about the qualities that I want from my metaphor:

cheerfulness

fun

energy

expansion (or perhaps spaciousness)

depth

vitality (there it is again!)

POWER.

relaxation

cessation of pain (oh this very much yes please.)

I'm really feeling like there's something to be had here. We'll definitely be coming back to this.

Legs and metaphors

2011-12-16T09:15:00.002-05:00

I have had visitors in my house for more days in November than not. So my routines (those tiny sweet things that are still brand new) have been disrupted a LOT. Smashed to smithereens, I'd say.

Anyway, I didn't do a lot of Shiva Nata in the past 6 weeks. Nor did I ride the exercise bike, take my vitamins, or go to bed on time. (Or blog.)

Tomorrow's always a new day, right?

However, it's not all gloomy news. I started doing the leg rotations in Level 1 the other day, and they are sufficiently challenging that I'm pretty sure I'll mess up plenty. I even had a little moment of hmm yesterday while reading.

Background: I've been really down on myself about my weight, and feeling guilty about being down on myself, and throwing in all kinds of bad depressing thoughts about what I'm modeling for my kids - unhealthy habits and concerns about my superficial appearance! But I started thinking that maybe I could try Havi's metaphor mouse trick, and start thinking about why the concepts of "dieting" and "weight loss" are such non-starters for me. So now I'm brainstorming the qualities of those words that are negative for me:

superficial

denial

deprivation

discomfort

admitting I'm fat

bland, boring food

fake sweeteners

And also starting to think about what words or ideas might, just might, have the right positive connotations:

healing

rejuvenation

therapy (interesting, that's a positive for me)

makeover

blessing

I might have to go consult the Visual Thesaurus on this one. Hopefully I'll come up with just the right thing.

Ain't No Thing

2011-12-01T22:19:00.003-05:00

I don't have a "thing."

Some people have a way of describing themselves. "I'm the person who, in x situation, does y." Like my friend said tonight that she's the girl at the party who always starts picking up empty cups and bottles, three-fourths of the way through the party.

I'm not one of those people. Sometimes I help to pick up, sometimes I leave early, sometimes I crash on the couch, sometimes I wander outside and stare at the stars.

Each situation is different, and so I do different things every time. Is that my "thing?"

Or do I just not pay enough attention to myself to know who I am in different situations? Do I have a "thing" and I don't know about it? Am I predictable to everyone but myself? And would that make me happy if I were? Do I want to be known, or enigmatic?

Meditating

2011-11-14T10:35:00.003-05:00

I'm not a regular meditator. But by God the DVD says to meditate after doing Shiva Nata so by God I am doing it now. Yes, I know, whatever. But Havi says it too! So there. I am now trying to meditate after doing Shiva Nata. And I tell you what: it is HARD. Even harder than the other times I have tried it! I mean, let's ponder this for a moment. Do something that is specifically designed to stimulate your brain, and get it all fired up and active, and then sit down and DON'T PAY ATTENTION TO IT AT ALL. See? Hard.

So here's the latest moment of hmmm: I have stopped trying to just empty my thoughts or let them pass or "notice them then let them go" or whatever. It doesn't happen. Let's notice a thought and then stop! Um, no. When I pay attention to a thought, it sticks around and gets comfortable and tweets to its friends that there's a great thought party up in here. So I am doing what is probably meditation 101 or perhaps remedial - I am building a picture in my mind instead. If a thought comes into my mind, instead of letting it go, I turn it into a part of the scene. Yesterday was windy and leaves were flying everywhere, so the scene in my mind was me walking in the middle of a whirlwind of flying leaves. Each thought became another leaf that blew around me, but I was the walking center of stillness and they were around me and not touching me. Today it's rainy, so in the scene the thoughts were raindrops bouncing off of my umbrella. Etc. It seems to so far be weather themed, and related to what's happening at the time. We'll see what transpires as the days go on.

Maybe when I get really good at it, practice it long enough, or get more epiphanies, it will be easier for me to just have the empty mind. But for now this is helping.

2011-11-10T10:01:00.002-05:00

Re-started my Shiva Nata practice this week. I was reading a post on zen habits about changing your life, one thing at a time. I mean, really. How many times have we all seen that before? Baby steps. Take it slow. One day at a time. One change at a time. It never worked for me before, but now suddenly it does? I don't know, maybe I was just in the right place, the right frame of mind, the right mood for it to finally sink in.

So the thing I started with was sleeping. I've spent the last two months going to bed at 10 instead of 11. A little thing. And I haven't done it every night. Sometimes I stay up to watch TV, or surf the Internet, or read a novel I don't want to put down. But I'm feeling the difference. And starting to think I can try something else.

I'm trying to make all the changes, at least at first, about doing more of something instead of less of something - I don't deal well with denying myself so I'm leaving that until I'm feeling really good about this process.

So this week the "one thing" is doing more Shiva Nata. I did it once two days ago, twice yesterday, and so far once today. It feels good. It isn't even remotely fast enough to be considered cardio, but even the slow movement makes me feel like I can breathe a little deeper. And I'm having some moments of "hmmm" again.

This morning's was about Induction into Mystery. Back story: Yesterday, I wanted to try to keep something in my head while I flailed. So since I was staring out the front door at part of my garden while Dancing, I tried to chant "garden garden garden" in my head the whole time. And this morning I wondered if my desire to learn about Edible Forest Gardens and Permaculture is a desire to be inducted into the mystery of those fields. To be part of the elite few who Have The Knowledge.

I'm not sure how I feel about that. But it's interesting.

I had another one about an hour ago, but I forgot about it when I started writing this. Oh well.

Ulterior motives

2011-09-28T07:48:00.003-04:00

So I was contemplating my late night habits this morning, wondering why I keep incurring sleep debt every night.

I'm pretty sure most of the reason is that I spend 14 (or more) hours a day, 7 days a week in continual "Mom" mode. I need a couple hours of down time, after Dajamou and the Bean are in bed, before I go to sleep and start the cycle over again. At least, I feel like I need it. A desire to shift gears for a while.

I've given myself the talk about sleep debt, and about morning beginning at night, and about rest making me a better parent. But it doesn't seem to matter. Almost every night I stay up late.

So this morning I was giving myself the talk again. Because I do that. *sigh, patterns*

And a new thought came up: Am I in some way trying to punish the dajadaddy for working such long hours?

I'm pretty sure the answer is no. But it's an interesting thought to just come popping in. I'm going to contemplate it for a while and make sure that I'm not letting some hidden resentment drive my choices. Not that un-hidden resentment is much better, but it's easier to address when I know about it.

I can even see some good coming of this: my thoughts are skipping out of the usual ruts, even if it's for a second. I'm starting to think in new ways about my relationship with parenting and sleep and "me time."

Person of Interest

2011-09-26T10:38:00.002-04:00

I have many many fears. Who doesn't? Anyway, one of my fears is of being...boring. Uninteresting. Mediocre. Ordinary. Bland.

Last night, after doing some Shiva Nata level 1 arms as fast as I could, and remembering that I'm supposed to try to meditate after flailing, and trying without success to do so, I went to bed. And the thought that popped into my head before sleep was about this fear of mine. Here's my linear, morning after, not-inside-my-head version of how the inner dialogue went:

*sigh*

I'm probably going to have to give up red wine, it's been making me feel like crap the last few times I had any.

But that's one of the vices I like.

But I don't like how it makes me feel later. And there are other drinks I can still have.

*sigh*

Fine, I'll give up red wine. Mostly. Relegate it to once in a rare while.

It's the right thing to do, to take care of my body.

If I'm going to take care of myself, I'm going to have to give up other vices.

Like snacking late at night.

Because Michael Pollan said that French people don't get fat because they only have one serving and they don't snack between meals.

Well crap. I like to snack.

If I can't drink wine and I can't snack, what am I going to do in the evenings so I'm not a boring lump of flesh on the chair?

Wait, what?

Eating and drinking don't make me interesting.

Do I do these things because I think they make me interesting?

Are all of my vices some kind of misguided attempt to be someone that people want to be around?

Vices = interesting?

I have to remember this so I can write in my blogjournal!

I should get up and do it right now, because I never remember what I think about before I go to sleep.

If I get up to write it down, I'll probably start reading Facebook and Twitter and all my blogs and that will spoil the going to bed early thing I've got going here.

Even if it is only 30 minutes early.

I'm just going to say it over and over to myself so I remember tomorrow.

Vices = interesting?

So. Some other things that came to me as I was writing this:

Wait, what? I like my vices?

Huh. I guess I do like some of them. Especially red wine.

And also:

Wait, what? I'm thinking of trying a specific diet just because Michael Pollan mentioned it in passing in The Omnivore's Dilemma?

It's true. There's another book all about it. So it must be true!

Also, it kind of makes a little sense.

Stepping it up

2011-09-20T09:48:00.002-04:00

My shiva nata practice has been spotty lately. But I'm still practicing a few times a week, which is keeping the arm movements in my brain well enough. I'm thinking about adding in the legs now. Also doing some ab exercises to try and address the whole chronic back pain thing.

Baby steps, baby steps. The monsters are jumping up and down and shrieking that it's not enough. I'm going to give them some tea and get to work.

Anxiety

2011-09-13T08:59:00.002-04:00

I have not been going out much lately. And I think I'm getting out of the habit, because now whenever there's a social outing coming up, I feel a measurable degree of anxiety around it.

I'm trying to practice just being present with the feeling instead of immersing myself in it. That makes no sense in writing but it does in my head.

And there are inklings of a realization that maybe my inertia has to do with tiredness. Or a perception of tiredness. Or a fear of scarcity...of energy? Definitely some monster action going on there.

Today's moment of bing

2011-09-08T22:55:00.003-04:00

So it really happens. These little shiva-nata-created realizations. I was starting to wonder if they would, because I actually have them sometimes on my own. But they are usually about myself rather than anything else.

Today's was about my daughter, of all things. About how to convince her to pick up after herself, of all things. But hey. It's a bing. So I'm not the only Shivanaut to never get anything out of it. I'm just the latest noob to finally cross that threshold, I guess.

Speed bumps

2011-08-29T14:00:00.003-04:00

When I got back from Canada (where I was pretty faithful about doing Shiva Nata), I stopped. I didn't practice, didn't even really think about it much. And when I did, most of it was along the lines of "I don't feel like it right now. Maybe later." This went on for 3 weeks or so.

I'm trying this new thing of not beating myself up about stuff, while simultaneously staying present and noticing when I'm in these patterns. So I just kind of waited until it came back.

Interestingly enough, I started mentally flailing before I ever started moving my arms or using the DVD again. I would lie in bed and go through the Level 1 arm movements in my head at night.

A couple of days ago, I finally put the DVD in again. It was good to review the motions, but I realized that once I use the video to remind myself what the right motions are, I prefer to practice on my own. When the video's on, I follow along and don't try as hard to anticipate and learn the pattern of the movements. And when I'm doing it on my own, it's easier to change the style of motion too, like fast or slow, or smooth or crisp, or whatever.

So anyway, I'm back on the horse. And finding that it's coming more and more easily for me. Maybe I needed to let what I knew sink in for a bit. And I think that, once I practice a little more with the vertical arms, I'll be ready to start adding in the legs.

Yay, progress!

Crazy Fangirl - that's me

2011-08-11T15:46:00.002-04:00

I'm taking a mini-hiatus from Facebook. Keeping up with everyone's posts was getting pretty compulsive for me, and even giving me a bit of anxiety about missing out on something. It sounds pretty weird now that I've typed it and am looking at what I've typed. I mean, I'm afraid to miss out on something, so I'm going to miss out on it for 4 days straight? But here's the thing. There are at least half a dozen other methods for me to find out what's going on with my friends, my family, my city, my country, my world. I'm just going to stop trying to drink from the firehose for a while.

Not that I'm going offline, oh-ho-ho no. Now that would be crazy. Basically I've made it so I have a little less guilt about sitting down and reading through some of my favorite sites and blogs, because I haven't just been on FB for 2 hours. And I've set myself the goal of reading every post in Havi's blog. Whee! Creepy fangirl!

Trying a VPA

2011-08-08T11:56:00.003-04:00

Havi, who is my hero when it comes to self-improvement, has a weekly ritual of writing out Very Personal Ads, which are things she is hoping to find/accomplish/become/realize in the coming week. There are also Gwishes, which in my mind are both bigger and more nebulous than the VPA, but whatever. That's for later. The VPA format goes like this:

Here's what I want

Ways this can work

My commitment

I'm going to try it today. I didn't have the guts to put it in the comments on her blog, which is what a lot of people do. It is like an entry into her community, which I desperately want (perhaps a future VPA) but I'm afraid to NOT get any feedback. Here, I know I won't, so it's OK. If I post it there, the possibility of feedback/response will make me all anxious, and the potential/probable lack of it will make me all bummed.

So. Here in my safe little online hermitage, where almost nobody ever stumbles in, I will practice and get into the groove of it, before I send it out into the world for scrutiny.

My VPA for the week

Here's what I want:

To find an exercise regimen that makes me feel good, gets me in shape, and doesn't feel like a chore. Oh, and it would be nice to have it be cheap or free, too.

Perhaps because it's been very hot and very humid lately, I have experienced a distinct aversion to anything that makes me sweat profusely. (Which, you know, has been anything more than breathing the past few weeks.) Which puts a crimp in almost any kind of exercise.

But meanwhile I'm still looking for a way to a) be at home in my body and b) give it the love and attention it deserves. But if it's too much of a chore, it won't happen, and I will feel defeated, and there are all the attendant feelings of trying to control my body rather than work with it, and there's a lot going on there clearly.

Ways this can work:

I can do more Shiva Nata, but only do it slowly while it's hot.

I can try to go swimming more often.

I can find a t'ai chi or qigong class that fits with my schedule (and my beloved's, because he'll have to watch the girls).

I can do more things that I enjoy, which burn calories but aren't technically "exercise," like gardening and taking the girls for walks.

I can look into dance classes, which is something I've been wanting to try for a while.

My commitment:

To keep pondering.

To give myself permission to try something and then drop it if it doesn't work out. With as little guilt as possible.

To accept myself and my body where I am right now, while still lovingly moving towards a healthier lifestyle and relationship with myself and with food and with movement.

To take it easy easy easy this week, because I've already pulled something in my back from moving furniture, and OW.

Hey, this was kind of fun! I'll have to think of more VPA's for next week.

A realization of a realization

2011-07-27T08:45:00.002-04:00

A few days ago I was contemplating the lack of shiva-ing since I got back from vacation. (For one thing, it's been too damn hot until yesterday.) Out of the blue, I remembered that I did, in fact, have a little moment of hmmm during that week. I'd had a pretty intense dream (or series of run-on dreams, as mine always morph from one story line to another to another), and the next morning I told my sister-in-law about it. I'm not going into details here as some of it's personal. But the gist is that I started sensing a pattern in a lot of my stress dreams: miscommunication and separation. Like this:

thinking everyone's agreed on one thing and then when I do it, I'm the only one there.
driving somewhere and suddenly realizing I have no idea where I'm going (and sometimes driving off the edge of something)
going somewhere and waiting for someone and they never show up.
realizing in the middle of something that I don't know where my children are.
knowing where my children are but being helpless to get to them.

It's probably a pretty typical parental stress factor. But it does seem to crop up in my dreams a lot. So, all together now:

Hmmmm.

I'm wondering...

2011-07-19T13:42:00.003-04:00

I was having an online chat with a friend who is swamped at work; she said those to whom she answers expect miracles from her. My response was "The reward for doing a good job: more and harder work."

And then a couple of minutes later I said "Must be why I had another child LOL" and now I'm wondering: how true is that, really? Is it just a pithy quip that has no basis in fact? Or a truth I hadn't realized until now?

There's a hmmm moment for you.

Back from vacay

2011-07-19T10:57:00.001-04:00

Best week ever in the Georgian Bay. I even managed to do Shiva Nata a few times. No moments of hmmm that I can recall, but I was a bit distracted.

Well. Never mind.

2011-07-07T09:00:00.002-04:00

If only I had kept reading the other night after my wonderings, at least one of my questions would have been answered. But there was that pesky way-past-my-bedtime thing going on, you know.

Wonderings

2011-07-05T22:09:00.002-04:00

I'm reading and reading and reading all the archives on shivanata.com, and bookmarking tons of links from there. And meanwhile I'm having these little wonderings. Like:

Would shiva nata be helpful for neurological conditions like Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, things like that? There was a comment on this post about someone who started doing Shiva Nata after a stroke, and was able to completely go drug-free. Gave me the shivers, it did.
Is there anyone who has done shiva nata with kids?
Would shiva nata be of any use to kids with autism?

Progress Report #1

2011-07-05T08:17:00.003-04:00

No big moments of bing. I don't know, personally I feel a bit blank and empty after doing Shiva Nata. (I know, I know, I've been doing it for, what, four days? Talk about needing to cut myself some slack!) But I've learned a few things from reading the archives on shivanata.com. One is that I should probably slow the heck down. I was going through the entire Level 1 series (or at least most of it) every time, but Havi recommends that you only do 10 minutes at a time.

The problem with this is that I bought the DVD out of a desire to keep exercising, lose weight, get in shape, that sort of thing. 10 minutes a day isn't going to do it for me.

But I'm all for the epiphanies and the increased coordination part of it. So I'm going to keep going. Flail about for 10 minutes, rest for 2, then do some other kind of exercise.

Some possibly shivanautically related things:

The other day I came home from walking the dog before bedtime, and when I walked in the door everything looked new. Or, more like, I felt like I was looking at it all from a different angle. My first impression is that I felt taller. Just a moment of hmm.

This morning, when I tried the new routine described above, I was trying a new dance aerobics video. I love me some dancing, and I want to learn new moves, but usually these videos move too quickly for me and I get way frustrated. This morning, however, I was able to...well, not keep up, but at least follow along closely enough that I didn't feel like throwing anything. (Or drowning my sorrows in chocolate, which would be counterproductive at best.)

Shiva Nata

2011-07-03T18:19:00.003-04:00

I started trying to get back into some semblance of health this year. A friend started an online group of women who all did the 30-Day Shred together. It was fun to do it in company, however virtual. But when the 30 days were over, the group kind of fell apart. I wanted to keep going, because I was feeling better than I had in years. But I was kind of over Jillian Michaels, no offense to that estimable woman, I'm sure she does lots of people lots of good. It's just not my thing.

Meanwhile, a FB friend had linked to a post on The Fluent Self, a blog by Havi Brooks. Her wacky, slightly esoteric way of writing is just my thing. I was hooked, and I disappeared down that particular rabbit hole for several weeks. And because I can become a bit of a fangirl and assume that the latest thing I'm into is the answer to all my problems, I eventually started getting interested in the yoga practice she teaches, called Shiva Nata, or Dance of Shiva. And then about a month ago, in a fit of anxiety-ridden spontaneity, I went and ordered the DVD and starter kit. A bigger chunk of change than Ms. Michaels' product, which explains the anxiety. But I was convinced!

OK, so now I've started it and I'm supposed to journal my progress and any moments of bing! that are legendarily prevalent among Shivanauts. And I thought, well heck. I've got this blog over here, it's been sitting ignored and morose for 3 years (I will not write an apology post, I will not write an apology post, I will not write an apology post), it's still mine and I can still log into it, why not use that?

We'll see how this goes. But I make no promises, to myself or anyone else. I'm just trying to be a little realistic, is all.

New topics

2008-03-14T09:38:00.002-04:00

My life has been unutterably boring lately, just growing a baby and tending a house. And I don't have dooce's ability to make the most mundane stories sound like an Olympic event. Which puts a damper on my lifelong ambition to be a famous blogger - yet another dream to be tossed on the reject pile.

I'm gloomy today, sorry. The dog has been struck with a combination of incontinence and runny poo which makes for a very very grumpy dajamama. Although today I've turned a corner in my outlook on the problem and decided that it's much healthier to get super duper depressed about it instead. Progress, neh?

On the topic of new topics, I thought I'd try to beef up the content here by at least posting once a day or so about the things the dajamou decides to talk about during evening snuggle time, as she desperately seeks to put off going to sleep. Among recent conversations we've had:

The life cycle and eating habits of mosquitoes
The shapes and functions of human teeth
Her expert opinion on how they do the special effects on Sesame Street
Whether or not flies are a mortal danger to humans or just to the dajamou

So, much fun will be had. I'll have to decide if I'm going to research these topics for her further edification, or if this will just encourage her to further draw out our little evening chats.

Strange connections

2008-01-20T12:36:00.000-05:00

So my new chiropractor has all these new agey methods that he uses for adjustment and whole-body wellness and all that wonderful stuff. Instead of contorting your body all around and eliciting those alarming-yet-satisfying popping noises from your joints, he just has you lie face-down on the table and holds something akin to a hand-held jackhammer to different points on your spine. It doesn't hurt most of the time, thank goodness. Another thing he has you do is sit with your arm out in front of you, and try to press it down while you do silly things with your other body parts, like turning your head to the left or right, sticking your tongue out, holding your hand to your forehead, etc. (Oddly enough, sticking my tongue out to the left makes my arm suddenly weaker and he can push it down with his little pinky.)

Now I'm all for the whole body-mind-emotions integrated wellness approach to health care, but I kind of miss those alarming-yet-satisfying pops. And the improvement I'm feeling, if any, is really pretty gradual and I was hoping for something a little more instant-gratification. So I'm reserving judgement until I've been going for a couple months. But something happened last week that got me thinking about, oh, all kinds of things.

I was mentioning to him that a spot on my neck was tense and tender yet again. It feels better whenever he's done with me, but by the next appointment it's back again. So he had me sit up and did some of those arm things touching different accupuncture points on my body. Then he started asking about things in my life that might be bothering me, going through a list of typical stressors - money, relationship, spirituality, friendship, family... All this time after each category he pressed on my arm, and I resisted, and it hadn't done much of anything until he got to motherhood, and suddenly I couldn't keep that arm up no matter how hard I tensed it up.

So he started through another list of possible stressors centering around motherhood, like discipline, anger, development worries, etc. Once again I was able to resist right up until he started talking about my pregnancy. We talked a couple more minutes and I finally was able to articulate that I'm scared spitless about having two children.

No big shocker there, it's probably something that everyone ponders and worries about while expecting their second. But it made me think about when I said here that I wish I were less ambiguous about this baby. And it made me realize that my biggest fear is that my depression, which is manageable now, is going to come out of hiding and take me out at the knees once I have two intensely need-based relationships sucking at me every second of every day.

I'm still reserving judgement on the chiropractor. But even if he does nothing else to help me, I'm very grateful to him for helping me to clarify my feelings on this topic, so I can hopefully address them.

Going Home

2008-01-10T07:39:00.000-05:00

Our family goes to an island in the Georgian Bay for a week's vacation every summer since we moved to Pittsburgh. I wrote this on the way home last summer, and just found it in my little red notebook.

-----------------------------
The leaving makes the time there more real.

As we slice through the water but leave no trace, the mark is instead on me. My eyes try to drink in the essence of sky and rocks, windswept trees and water, but they change before me even as I look -- becoming straighter, tamer, thicker, as if we are stepping back from the edge of the world and returning to the sheltering arms of real life. But my mind like a compass is unerringly turned back, toward the island.

It is not a place but a Place. The archetype of Earh, Sky and Water clashing and blending in equal parts. You can't help but feel it. It gets under your skin, in your blood. But more wondrous and devastating is this: It gets into your heart. It gets into your heart, so that every beat whispers of wind in pines and the kiss of water on stone, and every leave-taking is really a promise to go back.

Georgian Bay, July 2007

Happy New Year

2008-01-01T08:01:00.000-05:00

I've been extraordinarily self-absorbed lately, just kind of pulling into the shell and ignoring the outside world. A combination of the pregnancy and having a cold. But here's what's been on my mind lately:

1. Hoping my friend Cheryl, who kicked her leukemia last year, continues to improve and get her life back this year.
2. Really really REALLY wanting to at least start on my forest garden this year. Or at least draw up the landscape plan.
3. Wishing I felt a little more excited and less ambiguous about this pregnancy. But it's probably that I just have no energy to be excited.
4. Enjoying time with the dajadaddy and dajamou for an at-home vacation.
5. Missing my family and friends in Portland.

Shoes, glorious shoes!

2007-12-05T16:02:00.000-05:00

I have always hated shoe shopping. Well, OK, that's not exactly true. On the occasions when I actually found a shoe that a) I liked, and b) fit me, it was a heady, nay giddy, experience. But those times have been super-few and VERY far between, because, as the dajadaddy likes to say, my feet are double-wides. That's right. My size, according to those little metal torture devices at the shoe store, are 7.5WW. And let me tell you, those are hard to come by at the Red, White & Blue thrift store.

When we were in Portland, I at least had a place where I could buy some decent sneakers and walking shoes, albeit at full price (shudder): Jay's Wide Shoes. And while it was nice to know there was a store where I was guaranteed to find something, their selection was a little... how shall I put it...

Geriatric.

Face it. Old people are the majority of the ones with the wide feet and, not surprisingly, they also have their scales tipped in favor of comfort over beauty. So while there was, in the interest of full disclosure, a display of clogs and sandals and strappy heels in one corner, they were fair overwhelmed with the kind of fake leather sneakers with matching laces or velcro straps that you find on nurses, mail carriers, and...old people.

So still, not so much with the fun shoe shopping for the dajamama.

You kind of know where this is going, don't you? Yes, it's going there. Today, I discovered Zappos.

If anyone were actually reading this, they would find a way to make a fist and shove it through the zillions of miles of fiber-optic cabling and past my laptop LCD to whack me upside the head. Zappos has been around forever, and why the hell has it taken me this long? I did know about it, to be honest, and I'd heard it was a good place to look for wide shoes, and I knew that eventually I was going to have to sit down and figure out if they had a few things in my size. But oh! The rapture! The joy! When I discovered the "narrow your selection" option and selected my size and clicked on the "all casuals" category, just for the halibut, what do I see?

Nearly a thousand selections. ONE THOUSAND.

Oh. My. God. I have died and gone to heaven, and all I want for the rest of my birthdays and Christmases is gift cards to Zappos.

The end.

Cynicism prevails

2007-11-30T10:22:00.000-05:00

One of my guilty pleasures is watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. For a while, when I was first coming to terms with my depression, and hadn't found the right vitamin/exercise/diet regimen to at least keep on an even keel, watching the show was my weekly catharsis. I would get the dajamou to bed a little early, grab a beer or glass of wine (this was pre-pregnancy, natch), and bawl my eyes out at the overwhelmed joy of the families as they finally saw their fancy schmancy new house, a new lease on life. Often accompanied by a fundraiser which pays off the mortgage or starts a college scholarship or benefits a charity the family works on. It's a formula, they've been doing it for five years, same exact thing, but it works. And it worked for me.

I still enjoy the show these days, but my experience of it has changed dramatically. For one thing, the dajamou clued in to the fact that watching this show was a little bit important to me, so she determined to insert herself into my weekly indulgence as much as possible. This created a bedtime fury-drama unparalleled in our family history, until I promised to tape it for her and NOT WATCH IT without her. Fortunately, I later discovered the Full Episode Player on ABC's web site. This mollified the dajamou, and put the bedtime routine back down to its normal defcon 1 or 2 status. However, the girl CAN NOT SIT STILL FOR 30 SECONDS unless muppets or cartoons are involved. And all the questions! Ye gods, the questions. I find myself having to concentrate harder than I really ever should be concentrating on a TV show.

And, being the mom, with the constant mental Peanut Gallery judging my parenting skills, I also have to start looking at the show and what messages it's sending to my girl. The super-obvious branding (want me to tell you what company makes the Move That Bus? Where they go to get all their furniture and appliances? Who almost always does the flooring?), the sad stories that give her a wee inkling of what a terrible world it can be, the rampant consumerism, the more-is-better design attitude that is peppering McMansions across the country...suddenly I can't just turn my brain off and go all maudlin for an hour or so once a week.

So, I find myself analyzing the show, dusting off the critical thinking skills, and coming away from each episode just a little less satisfied than before. I don't know how much longer the series will go on (the dajamou's hoping to be a designer on the show when she grows up), but I have a feeling that my devotion to it is already starting to wane.

Heroes, though? Heroes I could watch forever.

News

2007-11-27T19:17:00.000-05:00

Well. I'm pregnant.

And I can't decide how I feel about it. Sometimes I'm really happy, sometimes I'm nervous, sometimes I'm just plain old exhausted. I don't remember being this worn out with the dajamou, but as I keep being reminded, I'm older and more out of shape now. I seem to have some kind of reticence about telling people, too. So far the dajadaddy has told almost everyone that knows. It's weird.

Also? We got an exercise bike. A pretty sweet one, actually. I'm trying to get myself eased into the whole exercise thing, with just a few minutes at a time. I'm not in a rush. Any exercise at all is an improvement for me now.

I'd like to think that my internal focus (read: almost complete lack of social interaction) lately has been a result of the pregnancy and is a good and natural thing. Growing a baby is an amazing thing, and I'm just floating in a cloud of contentment and hormones and the mystery that is life, right?

Right?

It's a whole new world

2007-11-19T14:44:00.000-05:00

The dajamou announced upon getting home from preschool that she wanted to take our dog for a walk. Which doesn't sound that interesting until you understand that we have a 95 pound Akita for a dog. He's a big wuss and lets her get away with a lot, but he still weighs 3 times as much as she does.

I let her do it anyway, and I've been occasionally going to the door and watching the shenanigans. There's a lot of tangled leashes and legs, a lot of tugs when he wants to stop and sniff and she wants to keep meandering, and at one point she came in (without him, I might add, which is alarming) and said that he kept running off down the hill and our neighbor had to go fetch him twice. Just now I heard hollering through the storm door, and when I got to the door to see if she needed me, she was trying to get him to sit down. "Sit! SIT! Siiiiiit.....Sit!" Vacillating back and forth between the authoritative and the cajoling.

I'm not too worried about him getting cranky with her or anything like that. My biggest concern is if he sees a squirrel and goes dashing off after it while her hand is stuck in the loop handle. But I figure if today's walk goes well, I might have the beginnings of a daily chore that could translate into a weekly allowance, which could potentially lead to more chores like CLEANING UP THE HORRIBLE DISGUSTING FILTHY PLAYROOM.

But the dajamou has a history of noticing these ploys of mine and nipping them in the bud. I either need to get more sneaky and manipulative or just lay down the law.

Prejudices

2007-10-30T17:10:00.000-04:00

I saw a dead hawk on the highway today. Not something you see every day. And for that reason, I guess, it made me so much sadder than seeing the deer, racoons, and squirrels that are so much more common as roadkill.

I have a long way to go until enlightenment.

Halloween Scare

2007-10-29T19:15:00.000-04:00

Some people are afraid of spiders, or high places, or the bogeyman. Don't get me wrong, I'm afraid of all those things too, and more besides. But it appears that my phobia du jour is that of not being prepared.

The dajadaddy informed me the other day that several times in the past couple of weeks, I've sat bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night and gasped "Oh my god I'm not wearing any clothes!" Which was true, but not really reason for panic since I usually sleep rather scantily clad unless it's freezing out. The unusual thing about it was that it appeared to really worry me, like I was in a situation where I really should have been wearing clothes. That, and the fact that I was leaping up from a sound sleep at some ungodly hour to make the pronouncement.

I don't remember anything about what I was dreaming, so I can't really do a lot of interpreting. But it does resonate pretty well with my phobia du jour. And I'm almost positive I'm going to have that dream tonight, due to something that happened to the dajamou and me this evening.

We were heading out to do some grocery shopping around dusk, rather later than I usually like to go. As we were driving through West View, I saw a number of kids in Halloween costumes. At first I thought they were heading to a costume party or something, because they were all grouped in one spot on the sidewalk. So I didn't think much of it.

After picking up dog food, however, we were heading back through West View on the way to the grocery store, and I saw more and more families from all different directions, walking along the sidewalks with bedecked children in tow. And then the Minor Demon of the Lower Hell of Unpreparedness raked his claws through my conscience and snickered in my ear, "You've put off the buying of the costume too long! And the face paint you wanted to get will never happen in time! And your daughter's still got a cold and you don't have the right kind of warm layers to put under the costume! It's tonight! The trick or treating is tonight, and you're not even close to being......mwah-hah-hah......prepared!!!

So naturally I start driving a little more quickly and looking around (instead of straight ahead, which is usually the better way to be looking when driving in the dark with a lot of pedestrians) and muttering "Oh dear, oh dear" to myself and trying to see if any of the aforementioned Bedecked Ones were walking up to houses with lit porches. It was hard to tell, since by then it was nearly full dark and also? Oncoming headlights make for not great visibility on the sidewalks. Plus I really was trying to drive with some modicum of safety.

I announced to the dajamou that we were going to skip the grocery store and head home, and I explained my reason to her. She thought it would be capital if tonight were trick or treating, and the lack of a good 40 percent of her costume didn't phase her. She had the butterfly wings, that was all that really mattered.

She also thought it would be novel if it turned out this wasn't trick or treating night (in Ohio we called it Beggar's Night, does anyone still call it that anymore?) but instead a previously unheard-of Halloween parade. I told her in no uncertain terms that if it was a parade we were NOT GOING because she is STILL SICK and it's COLD OUT. Moderate grumbling ensued, but she didn't push it.

So anyway, we dashed home and I hopped online. I still have no idea what was happening in West View, but I was right that trick or treating isn't until Wednesday. But I swear, I'm going to have those damn dreams again.

Fear and Loathing

2007-10-23T17:25:00.000-04:00

I've been meaning to write a long, heartfelt, thoughtful post about the fact that I think my depression is caused by the background radiation in my head from being in a constant state of low-grade panic for 1,811 days. And counting.

I've been meaning to write about my mild epiphany about Gandhi's quote, "Be the change you want to see in the world," and how that relates to my lack of social life.

I've been meaning to go through a bunch of cookbooks and find the recipes that have the most flavor with the fewest carbs, because I'm pre-diabetic and I realize now that sugar was my main source of "flavor" in my diet, and now that I can't have it I am going crazy with bland raw almonds for a snack and never knowing what to make for supper.

But it's all too much trouble.

Do Your Part to Reduce Those Farts!

2007-10-08T17:09:00.000-04:00

h/t to David Brin's blog:

Eating less meat could help slow global warming by reducing the number of livestock and thereby decreasing the amount of methane flatulence from the animals, according to an article in the medical journal, Lancet. Gases from animals destined for dinner plates account for nearly a quarter of all emissions worldwide.

The dajadaddy says we should, in fact, be eating MORE meat so there are fewer cows to be producing those emissions.

Kings Play Chess On Fine Green Spaces

2007-10-08T11:27:00.000-04:00

There are many kinds of geeks. There are engineering geeks, and computer geeks, and history geeks, and geeks for every kind of hobby and/or specialized knowledge in the world. And then, there are science fiction geeks, which somehow encompass (or at least overlap) all of the other categories and more.

And someone's categorized them. All this system lacks are humorous Latin names for each category.

Perhaps I'll set my Classical Studies major, role-playing, goth geek friend to the task. Heh.

No cause for alarm

2007-10-02T10:53:00.000-04:00

I have always been a forgetful person. But lately? Lordy, it's getting bad. I'd worry more but I forget to.

Nah, that was a cheap shot. Actually I do worry about it. Especially now that the dajamou is approaching the age when she will have things like homework (dear God, they give homework to kindergarteners) and permission slips and extracurricular activities and sleepovers and stuff. I remember when I was a kid I always forgot to give permission slips to my mom and she'd have to rush them to school on the day of the field trip or whatever. Or I'd forget what day was class picture day and so I would forget to take a bath the night before and I'd wear my grubby corduroys with the stained Tshirt, and then feel like an idiot when I saw everyone else in their khakis and nice clean gathered-front shirts. It was a cause of a lot of anxiety for me.

I don't want that for the dajamou. But if I can't even remember something I promised to do twenty minutes ago? She is so screwed.

I'm also concerned for myself. I've been feeling more creative lately, and by that I mean I'll notice little vignettes that I think would make a neat picture. Or I'll come up with a really nifty turn of phrase in my mind that I think I hould use in my blog or in my NaNoWriMo novel, or whatever. But the pictures I want to take are always seen while I'm driving, and I haven't yet scraped up enough money to get the cyber-eye-camera implant. And the turns of phrase are usually when I'm doing something else, and I forget them before I can write them in my little notebook (which I carry around for just such a situation...the irony!).

I want to remember these things. I have tried lots of different techniques for retaining these things (the notebook, the blog, the digital camera that's always in my bag, the writing on the palm of the hand....). Maybe I should get a dictaphone. It wouldn't work for pictures but I could at least talk into it when I'm driving.

Bah. I'd probably forget to use that too.

But there's this untapped well of wonder and eloquence inside me, I just know it's there! For some reason I'm sensing it more than I ever have before. How oh how do I tap into it?

I I know! I'll just have to hire a personal secretary to go everywhere with me. Then I can say everything that comes to my mind, and they'll jot it down, and I'll go through it later to pick out the nuggets of wonderfulness. I'll just have to find someone who will agree to be paid at a later date, like in 20 years when my superstar best-selling writing career finally gets going.

Tips on Candle Making

2007-09-16T21:57:00.000-04:00

I was just sending an email to some random person I don't even know with some of my gathered wisom on making candles. It used to be a great big hobby of mine and the dajadaddy's, way back before the dajamou. We had an entire quarter of our basement dedicated to it. And I thought, why the hell not post it here too? I am versatile! I am more than a SAHM! I am large, I contain multitudes. And one of them is a chandler, thankyouverymuch.

So here. It's not everything, because I've had a drink or four, and I'm not going through my notes which are buried in a box somewhere. But this is what I remember as being important for someone starting out in The Hobby:

Use a basement or a garage to make them. When paraffin melts, a lot of it evaporates and then you get a super-thin layer of wax all over things. Makes floors slippery, among other things. Also, spills happen. You do NOT want them to happen in your kitchen. Trust me.
You don't need a fancy double boiler or anything to melt your wax. We used old pots from a thrift store on some plug-in electric burners, then put the wax in metal soup cans to melt. A small metal trivet in the pot of water, under the cans, is helpful too. You can just leave the unused wax in the cans for later use. This is great if you want to experiment with mixing colors or using scents.
Use a plastic tackle box or embroidery floss organizer box to organize your color chips. A lot of them look the same until you get them in the wax, and certain color combos call for very specific shades.
Start saving your frozen juice concentrate cylinders! The paper ones are perfect for making pillar candles. I swear, sometimes I would go to some of those fancy home decor shops and see the telltale spiral seam marks from juice cylinders on their $20 pillar candles.
There are additives you can add to the wax to make it more opaque, to increase the melting point, etc. Do some research online and see what you think you might need. If you really get into this you can probably order the paraffin online in 50 lb blocks, much cheaper than you can get the little chunks at the craft store.
Taper dipping is probably the most rewarding, at least as far as I was concerned. You can actually see the candles GROW as you dip it again and again. We had a rack that would do 6 tapers at a time. When they're still warm and squishy, you can carefully twist them together, or take one and roll it somewhat flat, then twist it in a helix shape.
Thrift shops are also a great place to look for wide-mouthed glasses (think highballs). You can put a wire-core wick in there with a metal wick clip, pour the wax in, and you have an instant gift candle! Baby food jars are great for this too. If you want to get super fancy, after you pour the candle you can decouppage patterned tissue paper on the outside. When the candle is lit, it glows through the paper for a stained glass effect.
When your soup cans of wax are getting really low, you can fill a paper egg carton with dryer lint, and pour the waxy dregs from the bottom of the can over it. When every cup in the carton is full, take it camping with you. It makes a great fire starter.
The library might have a bunch of books that you can check out on candle making ideas. You can do sand casting, plastic molds, metal molds, dipping, I've even heard of using the molds that are made for casting ceramic figures.
Make a pillar or taper candle. Take a pressed leaf or flower. Heat a spoon and with the back of the spoon, press the leaf or flower into the exterior of the candle. Then dip the candle into a large can of clear wax once or twice, to get a full layer of wax over the leaf/flower. Very elegant and VERY easy.

There's enough to get you hooked, and then you can get all kinds of books and equipment and build wooden workbenches in your garage or basement like we did, and have candle-making parties with all your friends, and have your Christmas and sneaking-up-on-you birthday presents and didn't-get-the-memo-for-coworker's-wedding-shower presents sewn up for years to come. Just don't say I didn't warn you about having your basement coated in wax.

Books

2007-09-05T07:32:00.000-04:00

I used to scoff at those people who had, like, 4 or 5 books they were reading all at the same time. Hah! I would scoff. That will never happen to me! I start a book, I finish a book! Hah!

And yet, I just did a whole-house inventory of the books I'm reading. That's right. Books. I have not 3 or 4 or even 5, but SIX FREAKING BOOKS going right now.

Fortunately, I have an idea as to how this happened. See, I'll be reading one book in one room, and get distracted or called away, or whatever. Then when it's time for me to veg out with a book again, I'm in a different room and it seems like too much effort to go looking for that first book, because I can't remember where I was last when I was reading it, and searching the entire house will not only use up a bunch of energy (which, remember, reading is supposed to be a relaxing thing), but also will take me around and show me all the chores I haven't done and that I'm avoiding so I can read my book. Who the heck wants that?! So, I pick up another one. And pretty soon I have a book for almost every spot in the house where I might be doing some reading. I blame it on being lazy, forgetful, absent-minded, and flighty. And I blame that on the dajamou. But I probably shouldn't.

The First Desperate Housewives Club

2007-09-01T20:23:00.000-04:00

Someone posted this on one of the local Freecycle lists.

Going through divorce in need of step ladder and electric hedge trimmer. Thank you.

Naturally my imagination ran away with it. In the space of about 15 seconds I came up with 4 different scenarios.

1. She's going to climb the ladder to the bedroom and try to use the hedge trimmer to destroy all his furniture and shred his porn magazines.

2. She's going to climb the ladder to the bedroom and try to use the hedge trimmer to chop off his head.

3. She's going to stuff his downspouts with debris so he'll have to climb the ladder (which she'll have twisted a copper wire around) to clear it out, and there will be a tree branch in the way, so he'll have to use the hedge trimmer to cut it off, but she'll rig the trimmer to short out and that, combined with the wire in the ladder, plus the puddle of water that the ladder is standing in (which will happen because of the clogged downspout), will electrocute him.

4. She's going to climb the ladder to the top of his prized heirloom Japanese maple tree and denude it of all its foliage just before it reaches the peak of its autumn color.

I have got to stop watching Desperate Housewives.

Bass Ackwards

2007-08-29T12:10:00.000-04:00

What kind of a world do I live in where my four year old daughter feels the need to comfort me? What have I done to her life so that after I lose my temper and make her cry, and then I start crying myself, she gets the impulse to give me a hug and pat me on the back with her gentle little baby hands, saying "There's nothing to be sad about, Mama." And of course that just made me cry harder, because yes I have read The Ghost In The House and so I know that I'm forcing her to shoulder the burdens of adulthood too early by making her feel responsible for my emotions and wellbeing, or some such screwed-up/depressed/having-my-period/turmoil-in-marriage emotional reaction.

Oh, and? I'm letting her control her own TV-watching. I am on the right road to being the Worst Mother Ever. Worst Wife too, now that I think about it.

Crap.

Magically mundane

2007-08-18T22:21:00.000-04:00

There are times I despair of the dajamou's TV habits. She's a junkie, no doubt about it, and the reasons are many and varied and destined for some other post. Meanwhile, I can blame all kinds of not-so-savory stuff on TV. Like the other day, when she told me all about her dream where the whole family went to a ball, and everything was in pink and purple. My dress was pink, hers was purple (dajadaddy wore the traditional black suit with brown loafers), there were pink walls with purple butterflies, a pond with pink and purple stones, and pink and purple rubber duckies floating in it. And I think to myself, where does she get this stuff? Sure, she watches TV, probably more than she should, but it's not like she is super-saturated in the materialistic Bar-Bie commercial world, since most of her shows are on public television. (Yeah, keep telling yourself that, mama.) But neither the dajadaddy nor I like pink or purple that much, so where else could she have picked up this horridly stereotypical little-American-girl love of those colors than on TV?

Come on, it's fun! Blame it on TV. Easier than taking responsibility, right?

However, there are other times when she dazzles me. Last night. I made hamburgers, because it's easy and I don't have to think about it until 30 seconds before the dajadaddy gets home. But I was distracted, so they got way overcooked. Not quite briquet stage but close. And she took a few bites and then gave it to the dajadaddy, saying "Here you go Daddy. You can have it. I don't like it because it's overcooked."

Overcooked!?! How many four year olds even know the word, much less what it means? Once again, television rears its ugly head and takes the blame. But this time, when it benefits me (stick with me, here) suddenly I don't mind so much. See, when there aren't any kid shows on PBS, her next favorite thing to watch is cooking shows, like QED Cooks or America's Test Kitchen. Currently the result of this semi-fascination is that she'll run to find me and tell me, in her So-Important-I'm-Out-Of-Breath voice, all about what she just saw made on TV and can we have that for dinner tonight? But I have a secret hope that someday, when she's older, she'll think, "Hey! I can do that!" And we'll have ourselves a gen-you-wine foodie in the house and I can stop making, or even planning, meals.

For that, I might actually be able to get cheerful about washing dishes. But don't hold your breath.

Should I worry?

2007-08-15T21:14:00.000-04:00

Tonight the dajamou brought me a picture she had created. It was a large circle with blue and red swirls in the middle, with orange lines radiating out all around. She said it was a picture of a lion's brain.

I mean, what the heck do you say to something like that?

Everything is not in its place.

2007-07-28T23:01:00.000-04:00

I have an old spice rack on my wall. It was given to us by a friend of the family, with spices still in it from nineteen-fifty-something when it was given to him and his wife as a wedding present. We immediately dumped them all out and washed the bottles, so it's a spice rack of nice clean empty shiny bottles in four rows of twelve, except for one empty space which is the saffron bottle, because I kept the saffron -- damned if I'm going to throw out something that expensive even if it's 60 years old. But that spice rack, when I can stop looking at the incongruous empty space, is an inspiration to me. It's practically my motto. They're all neat and tidy and in a spot that fits them exactly right, that was made for them. They have a place.

There's an old phrase that I like: "A place for everything, and everything in its place." I know myself too well by now to believe that I will ever have everything in its place. There are times when I believe everything is in the exact wrong place, at least in the dajamou's playroom, which then leads me to ask why am I bothering to have "places" for a four year old's toys?

But that's the thing. I have this wide-eyed, slightly panicked, clutching-to-the-floating-debris deep down certainty (read: delusion) that if I just had a place for everything, if there was a perfect box, basket, shelf, cubby or bin for every last thing this family owned, then I would be able to breathe easy and concentrate on what really matters. Things like making sure the dajamou grows up with an inherent sense of her self worth and without too many body image issues. Like snuggling with my beloved. Like maintaining the lines of communication with my family. Like reading every Hugo and Nebula award winning novel from the beginning of time. In roughly that order.

The reality is that my house is...well, OK, I'll be honest and say it's not quite a hovel, but mostly because it's big and rambling enough that the crap can spread out to a somewhat even level of entropy. Excepting, as always, the dajamou's playroom which is a slow motion hurricane at all times.

But when things get too crazy and cluttered and covered in white clouds of dog hair (they call it blowing coat, what this beast does twice a year), when the burden of it all becomes too heavy, I can turn to the kitchen wall and gaze upon my nearly perfect spice rack (gotta use that saffron soon, dammit) like a Martha Stewart mandala and feel like there's hope for order, somewhere in my world.

But I swear. If this house gets burned down, or we have to move, or pretty much whenever I ever again have to choose a new home? I am SO picking a small one. One that only has room for the necessities and that I can vacuum in 20 minutes or less. But not until I take full advantage of the dajadaddy's equipment-and-space-intensive hobbies, like mead making, woodworking, and sewing. After that? It's all about the small house, baby.

But only after.

What Makes Me Happy.

2007-07-18T09:49:00.000-04:00

I have been working on figuring out what makes me happy and why. Here is as good a place as any to keep a list.

THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY

1. Being "in on" things. Making memories. This is hard to describe, but the closest I can come is with examples. I love helping people move to a new house, redecorate a room, start a new business, make some kind of change. I don't necessarily have to be the architect of change, or even the catalyst. It's enough to say "I helped. I was there when that memory was made." I also love being at memorable events, like incredible concerts or plays, group vacations, retreats...I used to love being a camp counselor. Perhaps it's a way of feeling like I matter, or of proving that I exist outside my own head. A shared experience means more to me than a lone accomplishment.

2. Music. Hearing, making, experiencing, dancing. You know that question that everyone asks themselves in high school, about what handicap you would choose, if you got to choose, if you had to choose? Would you rather be blind or deaf or in a wheelchair, that kind of thing. It's kind of odd and callous in a very adolescent sort of way, but maybe it's a way of starting to grapple with empathy. I don't know. Anyway, it's always kind of stayed with me. I think the one that would hurt the most is to lose my hearing, because music has such a profound effect on me. But then again, I am a voracious reader, so who knows? Perhaps I'd compensate. This, however, is getting off the topic. The topic is, music makes me happy. It has the ability to change my mood, or enhance my mood, or let me get over myself and my mood, depending on what I hear.

3. Being with familiy. This might be a subset of Number 1, since the thing I love most about being with my family is sharing memories and experiences with them. But I think it's important enough to have on its own. In particular, I love the newest generation, the dajamou and my nieces and nephew. I love watching them change and grow and play together and develop into amazing little people. It hurts, how much I love them and miss them.

4. Color and beauty. We painted our living room bright golden sunflower two-tone yellow in our old house. And every time I went in that room I smiled a little. It never got old. Neither do rainbows, or the teensy little blue flowers that pop up in my yard every spring, or the deep cobalt blue of my enormouse tea pot, or the red cardinals and brilliantly yellow goldfinches at my bird feeder. Japanese gardens. Fireflies. A freshly polished hardwood floor. This house.

5. Traveling. I went to Greece in the 90's and it still ranks in the top 5 happiest times of my life. I love going to the Georgian Bay every summer with the dajadaddy's family. Even going back to Portland, though I lived there for 10 years, gives me a thrill because there's so much to see and do there.

Ode to Digits

2007-07-18T09:44:00.001-04:00

As the dajamou was practicing her buttoning technique on her dress today, she created this little ditty:

My fingers are special
My fingers are good
My...fingers...are...good!
My fingers are good
My fingers are good
My!
Fingers!
Are!
Good!

If you think about it, it's only fair

2007-07-17T09:19:00.000-04:00

Yesterday when dropping off her cousins at the airport, the dajamou was miffed that there's a part of the airport where only people with tickets are allowed to go, and not visitors. She asked me to take her to the part of the airport where only visitors are allowed to go, and not people with tickets. Imagine the next degree of miffedness when I told her there wasn't one.

words

2007-07-16T23:30:00.000-04:00

Back from a week on the Georgian Bay. Words cannot express how much I love that place.

Next thing you know, I'll start reading the Tao of Pooh.

2007-06-23T00:04:00.001-04:00

The dajamou, who is four and a half years old, invariably selects half of her library books from the bin of board books aimed at the Diapers and Teething Toys set. Currently we have a Blue's Clues board book about getting ready for bed, and each time she picks it out, I have to aside my rage at how this sets up an impossible vision of the ideal bedtime routine in any parent's head who reads it.

But the other day, I was reading the page in which Steve says "That's right! The next step in getting ready for bed is washing our face! Make sure you scrub well, Blue, and don't forget to wash behind your ears." OK, first of all? Who washes behind their ears at the sink? What a mess.

But then Steve goes on to say "Doesn't that feel refreshing to have a nice clean face?" And I kept on reading, but half my mind was going, "Yeah, it really kinda does." I'd gotten out of the habit when my acne died down to a low roar, because I'm inherently lazy and also I stay up too late and then want to get to bed quickly. But after reading the Blue's Clues book, I decided to start washing my face again. And you know what? It's refreshing.

Hey, I gotta take my life's lessons wherever I can get 'em.

Oh, the pasta billies

2007-06-19T21:08:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite things about the dajamou is the way she talks. There are times when she's so eloquent and insightful, and has just the right words, and works so hard to be precise in conveying her ideas.

And then there are the other times. When she was still a baby, it was because her mouth wasn't mature enough to make the sounds. So strawberries were "bajees" and grapes were "bups" and Uncle Nikos was "Ah Rakis." Typical kid stuff.

But now, she's four and a half, and she is really quite well spoken and doesn't mumble as much as some other kids I've known. There is still, however, plenty of evidence that she is still developing her language skills. The Strip District, a fun shopping district in Pittsburgh where we go every coupld of weeks, is "The Strip De-Strip." She plays with her "Pocky Pollets." And we live in "Pixburgh", thank you very much.

Yesterday's was new though. She was carrying some of her dress-up jewelry in her pink butterfly net (she'd been on an Explore, and Found it in the Forest, you see) when she suddenly shifted gears and was pretending to be Miss Lori (from the PBS Kids morning shows), looking in her Purple Possibility Bag for what wonderful surprises might be inside. But it came out "Purstle Pasta Billy Bag."

Which sounds like a good name for a band. Or maybe an knock-off version of Spaghetti-O's.

Social Darwinism? Social moronism, more like.

2007-06-14T11:15:00.000-04:00

Looking back, it appears that so many of my most difficult memories have to do with the theme of when I bump into the structures of socially acceptable/unacceptable behavior. Like when my pants ripped in the 5th grade, and everyone laughed at me. Again in the 5th grade, when I didn't know how to ride a bike and spent the entire Special Day Bike Outing riding in the toddler seat on the back of my teacher's bike. Or, in the 6th grade, when the cutest boy in class started moaning "I love you! I love you!" over and over to me on the bus, and professed his undying devotion for the next several months, as a joke to amuse his friends. Or when I told the most popular girl in 3rd grade, in front of everyone, that I couldn't come to her party and she boxed my ears and said, "Good."

Holy crap. I never thought about it this way, but after reading the paragraph above, I must come to the conclusion that grade school? SUCKED.

Hm. I am suddenly afraid for the dajamou.

Go On And Go Free

2007-06-07T07:47:00.001-04:00

Somebody, somewhere has got to have a personality test or system of figuring out how old you are, or something of that nature, based on what songs go through your head in certain situations. If they don't, I wish someone would, and tell me what it means that whenever I tell the dog "Go on and go pee" I get Paul Young's rendition of "Every Time You Go Away" stuck in my head.

And this morning, as I stumble around in a more-tired-than-usual stupor, "I Am A Grocery Bag" by They Might Be Giants is plaguing me. But that one I think is more the rhythm and tone of the song, which is about the level of activity I'm at right now. Kind of plodding and apathetic and a wee bit whiny.

It's gonna be a great day! Heh.

And I probably had pizza sauce on my shirt.

2007-06-06T22:36:00.000-04:00

I have all the social graces of an absent-minded professor, but none of the endearing quirks or dizzying intellect. I'm just the absent-minded moron.

Last week we had the last day of school at the dajamou's preschool. In the evening there was a picnic for all the families at the school, and since it started only 2 hours after dajamou's class finished, I volunteered to stick around and help with setting up. Which was fine, except I kept feeling like everyone was working harder than they would have otherwise, because they had to find things for me to do. But it was probably just me.

After people started arriving for the picnic, the potluck dishes were being set up in one of the classrooms. The dajamou, naturally, wanted to try all the desserts, but I, naturally, told her she had to have some green light foods first. So she, again naturally, asked if she could start in on said green light foods right now. Why not, I thought. There's food, it's after the start time for the picnic, let's get the girl some food. So I loaded up a plate with some good stuff, we went to eat, I went back, noticed the pizza, got a couple slices. Then the dajamou asked for her treat and I said, "Sure. Go get whatever you want." So she went to the room, only to come back empty-handed and tell me that a lady said the food wasn't ready and it wasn't time to start. WTF? Nobody told me anything about waiting. So I spent the rest of the evening wondering if people had been giving me dirty looks for cheating and getting food ahead of time. But it was probably just me.

At the end of the picnic, the mom of one of dajamou's classmates, a very sweet woman that I wish I had tried to know better, came over to say goodbye to me. It occurred to me all of a sudden that I would probably never see her again, as she was moving to a different part of town and not likely to bring her daughter all the way to this school. So I wanted to give her a hug or something, but I didn't feel like I knew her well enough. And, of course, it didn't occur to me to offer to trade email addresses or phone numbers until after she was gone. So I was left wondering if she thought I was some kind of antisocial bitch. But it was probably just me.

The real kicker is, that night I had no less than three dreams in which I was constantly doing the wrong thing, or the right thing at the wrong time, or somehow out of sync with everyone else in the dreams. That? That was definitely just me.

I really want to put this all down to PMS, or forgetting my meds for a day, or something. Armchair psychology, anyone?

It's a sign

2007-05-22T16:53:00.001-04:00

That I've been silently, mentally bitching every time I check one of my favorite blogs and it hasn't been updated in two months, but it takes me till today to figure out the irony that I have been absent from my own blog for nearly that long myself.

I've been sick. Plus it's finally nice here in Pittsburgh so I've been doing stuff. And kinda busy with, you know, life.

But this damn near hypnotized me and now I want it for a screen saver. I swear, my eyes went out of focus and I almost fell into the screen. And it was what? 20 seconds long? That's powerful stuff, Maynard. NASA needs to share.

Screw Body Image.

2007-04-30T19:59:00.000-04:00

Dearest Dajamou,

Today you put on a stretchy halter top with stripes (and sparkles! your favorite! It could only be better if it were stripey sparkley rainbow colors!) and I noticed how it made your belly look a bit on the chubby side, like the girl in Little Miss Sunshine. And simultaneously going through my head were two things:

1. When Greg Kinnear's character told that girl, in a roundabout put-down way, that enjoying food and eating ice cream after dinner would make her fat and make her lose the Little Miss Sunshine contest. And nobody likes a loser.

2. When your pediatrician, at your last checkup, harped (yet again) on the fact that you were on the high end of that stupid Body Mass Index chart for girls.

And I started to worry. I started to worry that my little girl would be teased in school. That she would never be picked to be on the kickball team. That all the bad things I experienced in school and all the bad things I've ever heard about anyone ever experiencing in school would happen to you because you weren't the perfect body shape and size.

And then I got really really REALLY mad. Mad at that stupid damn doctor (who is very neat and trim and thin so I naturally assume, fair or not, that she's putting her cultural biases on you, and whom you love so it will be a little dicey if I decide I'm mad enough to drop her) for adding another worry to my anxiety-ridden brain that will probably never go away, never mind that it would have cropped up from some other source eventually. Mad at everyone ever who teased someone for not fitting in for whatever reason. Mad too at Society In General which perpetuates these stupid body-image-anxiety-stereotypes, blah blah blah-de-blah feminism blah.*

But mostly I got mad at myself for giving in to that anxiety and asking you if you didn't want to maybe change your shirt.

*I'm not dismissing feminism or rolling my eyes or implying that these stereotypes and body image issues are not important. They truly are. But for the past four and a half years (oddly, since I became a mother) I have not had the brain power to even win a debate with the dog, much less write a pithy, witty, coherent, heartfelt paragraph on all that's wrong with women's sense of self in the 21st Century. I refer anyone interested instead to Body Impolitic.

Another self-misconception down the drain

2007-04-21T23:10:00.000-04:00

I used to think that in the face of a threat of physical harm, I would fight back. Regardless of its effectiveness, I would fight. I now believe (I have yet to be threatened thank God) that I would whimper like a kicked puppy.*

I used to think that if I saw an injustice I would stand against it, would speak up, would do something to work to make it right. I now know that I am an ostrich with my head in the sand, and the only stand I have taken against injustice has been a slight frown of silent disapproval. Oh yeah, and I'll come up with rapier-sharp, witty things to say about half an hour later.

I used to think that my custom Tshirt with the phrase "Communist Garden Party" on it was clever and funny, and I would be proud to wear it anywhere. (It's an in joke...don't even try. Or, maybe, do try! I'd love to hear guesses about its origin.) I now know that if I forget that I'm wearing it until I'm at the grocery store, I will spend the whole time pretending to hold my purse strap on my shoulder and cover up the words so some wacko middle-aged war veteran won't corner me in the dairy aisle (cornered in an aisle...there's an odd visual) and lambaste me with my ingratitude for my God-given rights in this great and glorious country. Or something.**

*This has yet to be tested, so perhaps that protective mother instinct would kick in if the threat were to the dajamou. One never knows.

**This didn't actually happen either. I just imagined it happening in the 30 yards between the car and the front door of the store, where I decided to do the false purse-strap-clutching thing.

What does this mean?

2007-04-18T09:29:00.000-04:00

During playtime with the dajamou, we went from being chased around the house by monsters to playing "Family" in which I was the baby and she put me to bed. Then she told me to wake up and I was a grownup and my parents were dead. Then all my friends came to give me hugs and kisses, and then she pretended to be my favorite friend who gave me three hugs and kisses. And then she said she was my true love and we had to get married. But she had been married before and had a sweetie but she said her sweetie died. I said I was sorry but she said she didn't like the sweetie anyway because she grabbed and hit a lot. Which was weird but whatever. So we started getting dressed for the wedding, and she took off her pajamas and diaper (finally) and put on her red velvet dress-up dress. And I wore a hat. And we walked across the living room and sang "dun dun da-dun" (That's her title for the wedding processional song) and I said some things about loving and honoring and cherishing. Then I tried to get all child psychology on her, and address the underlying issue that came up when she said she didn't like her sweetie who died. I said stuff like "Even when we're mad I'll love you. Even when we're sad I'll love you. Even when we're disappointed I'll love you." Stuff like that. Then it was her turn and she didn't know what to say. I said "Just make stuff up about loving me forever and stuff." And here's what she said.

"I'll marry her for 30 years, and then we'll have a kid, and I'll ship him off with me to Antarctica. Amen."

slippery slope

2007-04-12T23:06:00.000-04:00

I sit here and watch myself become one of those bloggers who doesn't keep up their blog. Who starts with the best intentions and just lets life get in the way.

I started this as a place to vent, but if I'm brutally honest with myself I was hoping to find a community as well. And I know I haven't put much effort into joining the community besides waiting for people to come to me. So in that I think the blog has failed so far.

But I have vented here and there, and it has helped sometimes. So it hasn't been a total waste. But I'm not inspired to write every day anymore. I'm in this weird place where I don't think I'm as down as I was, but I'm not exactly up either. I'm just kind of here. Which doesn't make for great content.

I'm taking my vitamins, I've found these exercises that help my back to not hurt every morning when I wake up, I'm watching a lot less TV, spending less time online, trying to be a more present mother, joining some local groups to try and develop a social life. And most importantly, I'm really really trying to figure out what in the world makes me happy. Because the dajadaddy and I are sick of me being sad.

All of that leaves not much time or mental energy for blabbing on da blog.

So for all three of you who may be reading this, I'm sorry. I don't intend to let it fall completely by the wayside, but I'm not going to make any promises. Maybe when spring finishes with jerking the entire North American continent around and gets down to some serious sunshine, I'll have energy for more than the bare minimum of daily routine.

Til then....

The Irony!

2007-03-27T08:15:00.000-04:00

1. I used to scoff, scoff, scoff at people who went on the Atkins diet. All protein, no carbs? Sounds unbalanced and unhealthy to me. But, lo and behold, I'm pre-diabetic, and my Doc says "More protein! Less carbs!" So here I am, eating my words. So to speak.

2. I like being with people. In some ways you could say I need to be with people. One of the fundamental things that makes me happy is teamwork, being a part of things, saying "I was there when that memory was made." But at the same time, I'm terrified of what people are thinking about me. So I avoid being with people.

3. My brother in law roasts his own coffee beans. Last October he sent a small bag of them to us as a gift. How could i resist? After 4 years of being mostly caffeine-free, I jumped back on the bandwagon, and MAN was it good. Three days later, I discover my little adrenaline problem. And one of the dietary changes recommended? No caffeine.

None of these are major, earth-shattering discoveries or things that Alanis Morrisette would write a song about. But all those little things tend to add up.

Fun with Words

2007-03-09T20:40:00.000-05:00

The other night, in the living room, the dajamou had decided that she was a Shrieking Eel (á la The Princess Bride). She roped me and dajadaddy into it, natch, and I was unfortunately elected to be the evening meal for the two members of the Shrieking Eel family. Dajadaddy, who has had secret ninja training in playing with the dajamou while expending the least amount of energy possible, was mostly encouraging and coaching from the couch. At one point, he told her to "tenderize" me -- I'm guessing in preparation for a light breading and a pass under the broiler. Here is where we stumble on the wonderfulness of the English language and its many homonyms and puns. When the dajadaddy said "Tenderize," the dajamou came and squatted next to my head, pried open my eyes, and said, "They're OK, daddy!"

Let's all just think about that for a minute. Take your time and let it roll around in your brain for a while. (Or, if you're me, take your time and roll around on the floor in paroxysms. (I love that word.))

More hearting of Neil Gaiman

2007-02-26T19:15:00.000-05:00

That man. That boy, more like. In so many ways, Neil Gaiman comes across in his writing as someone who decided quite soberly and deliberately to Not Grow Up. And I'm loving that choice of his. At times, but not too often, his literary writing is too dark and twisted for me, but I can respect it and even see a reflection of my own dark and twisted side (which isn't allowed to see the light of day, but stirs and mumbles at times when I read Neil, or some Harlan Ellison for that matter). Which is probably why it makes me uncomfortable. But for the most part I really enjoy his stuff. American Gods sucked me in from beginning to end. And in Good Omens, the way he balanced out the almost-too-goofiness of Pratchett? Gold, people. But that's neither here nor there, nor why I'm writing this entry.

What I specially love about Neil Gaiman is his blog. The writing on his blog. Some people have a beautiful, lyrical, almost poetic writing style which carries you along like a leaf on a lazy river, and you get lost in the music of it. And I love writing like that. But you can't really hear anyone speaking like that in everyday life. Neil's writing, at least on his blog (or journal, as he calls it), is like your favorite smart-and-savvy friend plopping down on the coffee shop couch next to you and just chatting about this and that for 3 or 4 hours that feel like 3 or 4 minutes.

He's at once irreverent and respectful. Playful and direct. He writes what's on his mind, but he does it cleanly and clearly. He has super cool links (like this one) and he actually answers his fan mail. And now and then, some of that delightful British-ness that so fascinates me (and much of America, I'll warrant) will shine through. Who but a Brit can call a party "a lovely bash with nibbly bits" and get away with it? I totally didn't even snicker when I read it. (BTW, you have to scroll almost to the end of the post to see the quote and its context.)

So he already gets more traffic than Atlanta at rush hour, but here's yet another plug for the delightful Neil. Go forth and read.

Less hearting of I Heart Pgh

2007-02-25T19:35:00.001-05:00

I miss the halcyon early days of iheartpgh.com. Or at least the early days of my readership. When the Folks Who Started It All were posting in an endearingly random way about places they loved in and around tahn. Piquing my interest, making me want to like this place after all. Exposing the little hidden gems like the local-mama-owned Pittsburgh Candle Company, the fun little dive bar Big Jim's in the Run, the places in Pittsburgh that were smoke-free before it was required by law. Things like that.

I applaud the fact that the originators of i-heart are gainfully employed (and moving up in the world, too), and I still enjoy reading the "Git Aht" posts by Patrick. I mean, who wouldn't love someone who can write like this:

Well, regardless, the Pittsburgh Lunch Club is the local chapter of the larger social networking site “The Lunch Club” which says it ain’t about the hookups, so right there, I mean, bad marketing. There’s a reason Tom sold myspace to Fox and skated out on all the emo kids with a half billion pieces of silver or whatever it was strapped to his Web 2.0 back… Still though, seems like a good idea, a way for people to network a bit, get out and press the flesh, even if said flesh-pressing is meant to be platonic.

But lately? That's all there is. Weekend to weekend it's a bit of a desert, and then some todo's for the twenty-something crowd for the F-S-S timeframe. And it's not like I can start submitting or something. Even after 3 years here I still feel like a newbie, and besides, I have no life outside of the dajamou.

So someone, out there, please. Jump on the iheartpgh.com bandwagon and start submitting. Tell me (and everyone else) about your favorite hole in the wall, your fondest childhood Burgh memory, your version of Pittsburgh's Best Kept Secret. Because lately, I feel like Pittsburgh's Best Kept Secret is Pittsburgh.

Toxic

2007-02-19T00:03:00.000-05:00

My doctor told me that I suffer from adrenal fatigue. Among other things. And one of the things recommended for relieving this adrenal fatigue is releasing "toxic" emotions.

So here's one for you.

I'm just starting to read this biography of C.S. Lewis called The Narnian, not even through the introduction. I had to put it down and go do something else for a while, because according to this book, while Lewis was writing The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, he living a life that the author called "very miserable." And what made his life miserable? He was taking care of two people who were "dependent on him for their care."

Is any of this sounding familiar? On the next page there's a quote from Lewis that "Dog's stools and human vomit have made my day today: one of those days when you feel at 11 A.M. that it really must be 3 P.M."

Welcome to my fucking world.

I don't want to belittle Lewis or his troubles; what really gets my ire up is the way the author paints this picture that being a primary cargiver for someone (adult or child) is so exhausting and heart-wrenchingly burdensome for such an important, intelligent, gifted man as C.S. Lewis.

Why doesn't someone write a God Damned Book about how exhausting and heart-wrenchingly burdensome it is to be a mom? That it's not all love and Pooh and giggles and kissed scrapes? That wiping butts and planning meals and teaching manners and soothing feelings can Burn. You. Out. within a handful of years, but somehow you have to keep going and keep going and keep going and pour it all out, and at the end of the day still find a way to give some more.

I'm absolutely positive that Lewis wasn't a wuss for collapsing after years of the care he gave to his brother and the elderly woman who lived with him. What I'm objecting to is this implication by the author that his situation was so unique in its direness. We should all clasp our hands to our breasts and sigh at the travails of the Poor Tortured Genius who had to set aside his career and his creative endeavors for a time because someone needed him, needed him until he had to escape to a hospital. And then turn around and thank God that nobody we know has to deal with that.

Well. Let me tell you something. Almost every mother you have known or will know in your life has to deal with that.

Toxic enough, doc? I'm not feeling much release. Maybe if I sleep on it.

I swear this person crawled inside my head.

2007-02-18T07:16:00.000-05:00

Everybody: This is what I need from you! Descend into your slough of pointless pleasure and be sure and wallow long enough to fail to accomplish much in your life. Please? Pretty please? It will make me feel so. much. better. I'm not even sure what I was doing when not accomplishing. I wasn't even wallowing, there was very little pleasure. And I've still never written a book. So as long as none of us ever writes a book I might be able to avoid the incessant self-recrimination.

I done found me a new blog.

Ranting and raving and foaming at the mouth

2007-02-16T12:39:00.000-05:00

”The blueprint for Bush-era governance was laid out in a January 2001 manifesto from the Heritage Foundation, titled "Taking Charge of Federal Personnel." The manifesto's message, in brief, was that the professional civil service should be regarded as the enemy of the new administration's conservative agenda. And there's no question that Heritage's thinking reflected that of many people on the Bush team.

“How should the civil service be defeated? First and foremost, Heritage demanded that politics take precedence over know-how: the new administration "must make appointment decisions based on loyalty first and expertise second."

Second, Heritage called for a big increase in outsourcing—"contracting out as a management strategy." This would supposedly reduce costs, but it would also have the desirable effect of reducing the total number of civil servants. “The Bush administration energetically put these recommendations into effect. Political loyalists were installed throughout the government, regardless of qualifications. And the administration outsourced many government functions previously considered too sensitive to privatize: yesterday's Times article begins with the case of CACI International, a private contractor hired, in spite of the obvious conflict of interest, to process cases of incompetence and fraud by private contractors. A few years earlier, CACI provided interrogators at Abu Ghraib.

The ostensible reason for politicizing and privatizing was to promote the conservative ideal of smaller, more efficient government. But the small government rhetoric was never sincere: from Day 1, the administration set out to create a vast new patronage machine.”

This stuff totally pisses me off. So much so that I can't even read the news very often. Because I either get so angry I can't function, or I get so depressed I want to down a fifth of rum and watch [insert your fave crime show here] until my eyes bleed.

But this? This I can do: point people (whoever stumbles on my blog) at articulate people like David Brin, who has a knack for pointing out the glaring (but still blindly ignored) flaws in what's going on today. He also writes some verra nahce science fiction, which is why I sought him out but not why I keep going back to his blog. Credit goes to him for the above quote.

Where are my priorities?

2007-02-16T10:18:00.000-05:00

So just now, I was reading a story on dooce about how her daughter puked for the first time, and I was laughing in that hunched-over, vintage-Eddie-Murphy kind of way that I do when I don't want to attract the dajamou's attention, because then she'll come over and ask me about it, and I'll have to explain that I think a story about puking is funny, and she'll ask me over and over to explain to her why it's funny, and I've only had one cup of coffee and no shower and no vitamins so that's not gonna turn out well.

So I'm really into this story, right? And I hear the dajamou calling from the bathroom (she's taking a bubble bath) that she wants more hot water to warm up the bath again, and for some reason I called out (while still reading dooce), "I'll be right back!"

The first thing I thought was "That's a dumb thing to say, since I'm not in the bathroom with her, or leaving the bathroom."

The second thing was, "Maybe I was talking to my computer."

And the third thing was, "Hey, I'm going to write this on my blog so I won't forget!"

And that's progress, ladies and gents.

My hero is back

2007-02-13T09:52:00.000-05:00

OK, I've been a little slow on the uptake, lazy about researching it, and so I haven't heard anything about what's going on in the life of one of my favorite blog heroes, Liz. She used to have a wonderful blog called Granny Gets a Vibrator, but that fell by the wayside when she was diagnosed with lymphoma last year. Even the archives were taken down. I would check the page sometimes, and look at her son's blog once in a while to see if there was any news, but there was very little.

Until I went there today and found that she is in NED-land. And that she has a whole other blog.

And so, I have spent this entire, snow-filled morning allowing the dajamou to watch extra TV -- allegedly because she's coming down with a cold, partly because I have a red-wine hangover, but mostly because I had this visceral NEED to read all four months of archives at the new blog to find out what's been going on.

I can't tell you how much I admire this woman. I know that I am seeing about one one-hundredth of one percent of what her life is about. But she is so articulate, so witty, so open, so freaking REAL in the way she writes and shares that .01%, that I feel like I know her, and want to know her better.

Reading her cancer blog has a new relevance for me as well, since my friend was just diagnosed with leukemia. It could not have come at a better time to read that someone else I know and care about (however remote and unreal the knowing and caring allegedly may be) is fighting and so far winning the battle with cancer.

My friend's journey into The Big Ick is just beginning, and I know absolutely nothing about what she's going to go through, besides what I've seen in movies and TV shows. Which? Not the most reliable or accurate source of knowledge. But something in my heart has eased a bit, knowing that Liz is kicking the ass of her tumor. And I'm feeling a little stronger knowing what my friend might be dealing with, and perhaps knowing a bit more of what I might be able to do to help.

It's probably transitory and I'm probably still harboring a lot of misconceptions and I just might be blowing sunshine out my ass. But I'm going to cling to this feeling while I can.

WTF

2007-02-09T11:44:00.000-05:00

I just found out that one of my dearest friends in the world has leukemia and I'm having some trouble dealing with it. I want to be a help and support to her but I don't know even where to start. This is totally out of the blue and of course my culturally trained gut reaction is to hear that "L" word and immediately feel like she's already gone, which she totally is NOT, she's of course going to fight it but I worry about her, and her two boys, and them living with their dad instead of her because he has anger issues, and I don't want it to be about me and my feelings and my reactions but I think it's natural to have some self-reflection when you find out that someone's life is suddenly threatened like that, and I don't want to thrust my help on her if she really wants this to just be a time for her to be close to her family, but she has a history of not asking for help even when she could use it so I don't know what to do.

I don't know what I'm saying but if there's any random goodwill floating around out there in the blogosphere I'd really appreciate some of it being pointed in the Cincinnati direction.

Nothing nothing nothing

2007-02-05T14:54:00.000-05:00

Nothing is coming to me. I try every day to write something here and I can't even think of anything to say to myself. I started this as a place to vent, to quantify or qualify or textify my thoughts. But all my thoughts are of escaping, getting out, turning away and I can't bear that so I do things that help me think of nothing instead. Like let the dajamou watch hours of TV so I can watch hours of video online. Or read 20 some odd blogs for some kind of vicarious life. Or lose myself in a novel.

But those things don't give me much to write about.

Forecasting by Dajamou.

2007-01-29T16:36:00.000-05:00

"I wonder how old you're going to be when you can play all by yourself."

"Twenty."

"That's probably the most depressing thing you've ever said to me."

Boundaries.

2007-01-27T21:24:00.000-05:00

I had this totally messed up dream last night in which I was staying at a B&B and this suave, 50-ish guy with prematurely white hair (it's some actor, I can freakin' see him in my head but I can't even think of what he's been in recently so I can't IMDb him*) made a totally obvious pass at me. As in, trying to dance with me and rubbing his hard-on against me! Which, let me tell you, hardly ever happened to me even before I got married. And when he put his hand on my ass I grabbed his hand and tossed it away from me, said, "You may not," and walked away angrily. Yes, I remember that in my dream I walked away angrily. If I were taller it would have been stalking away angrily but I'm only five-four and you can't pull that off with legs that only come up to here instead of there.

Anyway, later I noticed that I was naked.

Let's pause for a second and remember that I'm in a dream, here. But still, WTF?

So I'm naked, and now I'm feeling a little guilty like maybe my being naked gave Suave-Silvery-Guy the wrong message. (Which idea fills me with outrage now that I'm awake and I'll be having a talk with my dream-self someday when I take that lucid dreaming seminar I've always wanted to take.) But I'm feeling guilty and so I grab some kind of cheap-graphic-printed blanket (like a Spiderman or Batman blanket or something - this B&B was a classy place, let me tell you - did I mention we had to wash our own dishes there? That was in the dream too) and I wrap the cheesy blanket around myself and go upstairs, where I debate on telling the dajadaddy about the whole ordeal. (Which also bugs me, why would I even debate it?) But it turns out to be a moot point because he's asleep. I didn't even occur to me to wake him...I'm wondering why, now. Anyway.

Then I don't remember how, but I end up with some sleeping pills in my hand and I try to take them so I can go to sleep just like the dajadaddy, but they kind of fall apart as I put them in my mouth, so now I have nasty medicine powder coating my tongue and useless, icky, empty capsules rattling around in my mouth and scratching my throat as I swallow them. And that's all I remember.

That was a lot more fun to write after two goblets of mead and two goblets of wine than it was to tell this morning before breakfast or coffee. But it's still bizarre. Which? Totally par for the course. Every time I tell the dajadaddy one of my dreams he tells me some variant on "You crazy."

But why, why, why did I title this post "Boundaries" when I should have titled it "Crazy Woman! Run Away!" Because in some weird way, I'm proud of myself for that saucy, little "You may not" that I tossed off to Silvery Guy. Like no way I'm gonna let my boundaries be crossed without permission, boyee, so watch my big white you-know-you-want-it-cuz-you-tried-to-grab-it butt go walking away from you for good. Three snaps and all that.

Hey. I take 'em where I can get 'em. Um, empowering moments, that is.

*Come to think of it, I'm glad I can't think of who it is. It was messed up enough without having permanent weird creepy sexual associations with someone I might actually recognize in real life. That's happened to me before and I'm just glad I don't work with him anymore. Nuff said.

Is this creepy?

2007-01-21T23:06:00.000-05:00

Every single time I flip to TBS this weekend it's come to the exact same scene in The Mexican where Brad Pitt says "Maybe he does sit naked in his garage soaking in gasoline and lighting matches, I dunno."

Every. Single. Time.

Have I mentioned my love/hate relationship with TV?

I feel like someone's telling me I'm meant to see this movie. And I really don't want to. Not that much. But now? Julia Roberts is doing her tearful "No, No!" thing and maybe I do. Because I'm a sucker for tear jerker moments. Which is why I also watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition every week too.

Is this sad, or what?

Behold the power of television

2007-01-21T22:22:00.000-05:00

OK, so most times? Most times, when I think about it, I'm scared to death of having more children. The dajamou is wonderful, she's creative, she tells me she loves me several times a day, and she totally. wears. me. out. And I'm thinking, more? More of them would just wear me out faster, more often, and in all new creative ways. Add to that the fact that my mother is an identical triplet, and you've got grounds for drool and the jacket with the extra-long sleeves.

But.

Put a couple of glasses of wine in me, put me in front of one of those ensemble comedies about families like Brothers and Sisters, and it actually makes me want to have more children.

Behold.

The Power of Television.

In case you were wondering.

2007-01-16T19:09:00.000-05:00

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Boot Knife of Sweet Reason.

Get yours.

Not quite ready to sing the blues

2007-01-15T09:48:00.000-05:00

My roof isn't leaking. I've still got my man, my kid and my dog. I'm not out of food or booze. The law isn't after me.

But.

It's dark and gloomy and raining. We haven't had any snow to speak of all winter. (I'm in PENNSYLVANIA here, aren't we supposed to have snow?) I haven't had a decent night's sleep since we got back from our trip to Oregon. I'm achingly lonely for the kind of hanging-out friends that don't need a reason to come over. The dog hair on my bedroom floor is three inches thick, and if we walk on it some more it will just turn into carpeting. I'm tired of initiating, inviting, reaching out, and never having anyone do the same to me. I dread going to bed at night, but I never want to get up in the morning. People are DYING because of some stupid men's overbloated egos. I have no self control when it comes to snacking.

But.

The dajamou is playing on her computer so I can have some alone time. I got to snuggle with her AND the dajadaddy this morning. My hair is looking pretty good today. And I'm going to see my doctor in an hour to see if she can fiddle with my brain chemistry so I won't be so blue. So maybe this is where things start looking up again.

At least I have good coffee.

It's the little things that keep me going.

2007-01-12T15:35:00.000-05:00

It's been a relatively warm, mild winter in Pittsburgh this year, which while good for our heating bill, is not as high on the loveliness scale as some good old-fashioned new-fallen snow.

But I just went out to put a new bag in the garbage can (which seems apropos on a grubby, muddy day like today) and I saw a whole flock of cardinals (which I've only ever seen in ones or twos) take off from my lawn. Like rose petals falling up.

Little things.

Back to the real world.

2007-01-08T14:26:00.000-05:00

And a whirlwind holiday it was, with Christmas at Babbaloo's, a day and a half at home, then off to Portland to ring in the New Year. This time the Dajadaddy got to come too, for the first time since we moved to da Burgh almost three years ago. It was wonderful as usual to see everyone, and we ate at almost all of our favorite restaurants too.

And now we're back and I'm dealing with the post-vacation blues. Dajadaddy doesn't get it; he thinks that vacations should re-energize me, and send me back home with renewed zeal, vim and vigor, all that rot. And I suppose he's right; that's the way vacations should be. But how can I be happy to come home and leave a place where I was surrounded by friends and family, people I can really relax and talk to, children for the dajamou to play with...in what way is it good to go back to life without my village?

I'm not saying I hate it here, or that I'd want to extend our visit any longer than it was. It's tiring to live out of a bag, working your normal routine around someone else's, all three of us in a single room, hearing the creaks and pops of a house that's not ours. But there's also a period of adjustment when we get home. There's food to cook and dog hair to sweep and a girl who wants to play with me ALL THE TIME because suddenly there's nobody else. I've always prided myself on my adaptability to different routines, but it takes time, that's all.

So I'm feeling a bit gloomy and not liking how I look and finding the stocking-stuffer chocolate that I forgot to stuff in the stockings. All in all, it's going to be a while before I'm feeling perky again.

On the bright side, I have another appointment with my new doctor on Friday, where she tells me what she found out from my million blood tests. (OK, 15. But still.) And hopefully we can start to figure out what I need to change in my lifestyle in order to battle back the depression. So that's a forward step, and I'm clinging to the anticipation of it to get me through the post-vacation blues.

Blah blah blah, whine whine whine, it's my blog and I'll piss and moan if I want to.

the end.

I'm still here

2006-12-31T00:06:00.000-05:00

We went out of town for 5 days for Christmas. Had a lovely time, and the dajamou got some good loot. I relaxed and read an entire book in a day and worked on my cross-stitch and let everyone else be the caregivers for a while. Lovely stuff.

Then we came home for a grand total of a day and a half and then we got on a plane and flew to Portland. Somewhere in there, the dajamou had a cold, and then dajadaddy got it, and now I'm battling it. So it's been rather a full couple of weeks. And now that we're in Portland (using Unka's wireless, thank you Unka), it will continue to be quite full. So I'll be rather sporadic for a while longer.

But I haven't abandoned my blog.

I'm working on a post about my feelings about Portland and Pittsburgh, and being a metaphorical transplant, and seeing a place I loved perhaps a little blindly in a different light now that I've been away almost three years. But it's still percolating. There's a lot in there.

Note to self.

2006-12-19T16:35:00.000-05:00

Dear self:

Putting candles in the oven on low heat, to soften them up and reshape them a bit, is totally fine.

However.

Leaving them in there for three days after turning the oven off, and only remembering them after you've preheated the oven to bake cookies for the playgroup Christmas party?

Not so fine.

Who knew?

2006-12-14T11:58:00.000-05:00

Who knew there were doctors in the world who let you babble on about yourself for 45 minutes? Who knew there were doctors who would ask questions about your past, your family, your lifestyle, trying to really discern the patterns and the signs of what might need to be changed to make you a happier, healthier person?

I went to see one of those doctors yesterday. I am in awe. I'm also a good deal more hopeful about finding a way out of this depression. And perhaps even without medication.

Oh Holy My Bleeding Ears

2006-12-12T22:56:00.000-05:00

The world's worst rendition of "Oh Holy Night." Your dog might sing along if you're lucky.

For the first minute or so, I kept comparing it to different, painfully but hilariously bad things: A stereotypical 80's movie rendition of a drunken sarariman doing Boy George karaoke. No, wait! Cameron Diaz's deliberately awful karaoke scene in "My Best Friend's Wedding." (sensing a theme, here?) No, wait! Some random Monty Python sketch where Eric Idle pretends to be an old woman singing after she's been in her cups too long.

But after a while it just got too bad for comparisons anymore. I keep shuddering, just thinking about it. Wah, I want my 2 minutes back!

Link credit goes to the fabulous Diane Duane over at Out of Ambit.

Off my game

2006-12-12T09:37:00.000-05:00

Despite the fact that I didn't stick it through for all thirty of the NaBloPoMo days, I like to think I did pretty well. I remembered almost every day and posted almost every time I remembered. And they weren't no "Here's a post so I qualify" kind of posts either. I actually wrote stuff. Nothing along the lines of my new hero, Twisty Faster, or my less new hero, Laid-Off Dad (I shall never call him old), but I did OK. I was on a roll. And it felt good to be letting some of it out. I didn't realize how much I had to say. It was nearly addictive, I tell you.

So what happened? Here it is, nearly the middle of December, and I have, what, two posts for the whole month so far? Piffle. (I just checked, it's actually four. Yay me!)

I could dredge up the usual excuses of unseasonably warm weather drawing me outside; or the stresses of Christmas shopping and card-writing and travel plan-making that take up all my time; or the extra-specially needy dajamou who has been suddenly (probably due to the aforementioned Christmas havoc) having what we emotionally repressed parents tend to refer to as "accidents," and what I refer to (under my breath, natch) as "god damn messes that suck all the joy out of my day;" or any other number of reasons. But those reasons applied in November too, in large part. So what's the difference?

The difference, I have to conclude (which is really no surprise to anyone who knows me in any depth), is that if I don't have some kind of externally-applied motivation, some kind of commitment I've made to someone or something outside of myself, then I don't have the gumption (I love that word) to do things on my own with any kind of regularity. Is it guilt? Fear of being laughed at if I screw up? Who the heck knows?

I was hoping that the feeling of striving to do something creative would be a little more than nearly addictive. That I would pick up on the ol' clue phone and say "Hello! I like this whole writing every day thing! I think I'll keep it up even after the furor dies away!" And I'm sure that I wasn't alone in both this desire and the failing of it. (Do you fail of a desire? What is the grammar of desire?)

Well, I've pinpointed the root of the problem (or at least kind of shot-gunned the general area of my psyche that needs to be electro-shocked back to life), and mixed nearly every possible metaphor that I could, so I'm going to just say that I'm making a new, personal, just-to-me commitment to keep posting. If not every day, then at least every couple.

Well. I obviously should write more when I'm on the first tingle of my morning caffeine rush. This is fun! And crazy! And completely unreadable! Quick, someone press the Publish button before I get cold feet and erase this whole thing!

Doomed, I tell ya.

2006-12-07T19:56:00.000-05:00

I am doomed! (I omitted all the O's that are echoing through my head because then it just starts to look like a Google page. But think zombie-ghost-Vincent Price type voice crying out a long drawn-out "Doomed!")

I just discovered the Pennsylvania board at Chowhound. And contrary to other Pennsylvania-general boards I've found elsewhere, there is a decent representation of Pittsburgh and other points not-Philadelphia. Which means I'm hearing about all these restaurants around here that people love, and why they love them, and what's good there, and oh my! There goes my food budget for the next decade.

On the bright side, I found out where I can get Dim Sum.

Ancient magic from the dawn of time

2006-12-05T21:14:00.000-05:00

That's a chapter title from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, but really what I'm thinking about tonight is more like ancient technology from the bottom of the sea. Reading this sent tingles up my spine:

The Antikythera mechanism has been discovered to be a mechanical computer of an accuracy thought impossible in 80 BC, when the ship that carried it sunk....Its wheels and gears create a portable orrery of the sky that predicted star and planet locations as well as lunar and solar eclipses.

And the thing that amuses me? NASA is drawing on Wikipedia as a research resource.

Sometimes, if I try really hard not to think about vanishing civil liberties, I can still feel like this is a pretty damn cool world.

Music Meme

2006-12-01T11:07:00.000-05:00

Thane over at The StoryWhore has a cute little meme.

You go to this site and select the year you turned 18. Then you copy-paste the list of that year's top songs onto your blog. Bold-face the songs you liked, strike-out the songs "that made your ears bleed" (in the words of someone named Tom) and italicize the ones you don't remember or never heard of.

The hard part is not imposing my current tastes on the list. You're supposed to try and remember how you felt then, which is, shall we say, a smidge diferent from how I feel about these songs now. My tastes were rather indiscriminate when I was in high school. If it was played on the Top 40 station, I memorized the words and sang along. That's pretty much it.

Also? I recognized a lot more songs on Thane's list than I do on mine.

Anyway, here goes:

1. Humpty Dance - Digital Underground
2. Here and Now - Luthor Vandross
3. I Wanna Be Rich - Calloway
~~4. Ice Ice Baby - Vanilla Ice~~
5. U Can't Touch This - MC Hammer
6. Groove Is In The Heart - Dee Lite
7. Vogue - Madonna
8. Pump Up The Jam - Technotronic
9. Here We Are - Gloria Estefan
10. Everybody Everybody - Black Box
11. Blaze Of Glory - Jon Bon Jovi
12. Tom's Diner - Suzanne Vega/D.N.A.
13. She Ain't Worth It - Glenn Medeirous
14. Step By Step - New Kids On The Block
15. Unskinny Bop - Poison
16. From A Distance - Bette Midler
17. Cherry Pie - Warrent
18. The Power - Snap!
19. Love Will Lead You Back - Taylor Dayne
20. All My Life - Linda Ronstadt & Aaron Neville*
21. The Way You Do The Things You Do - UB40
22. Just A Friend - Biz Markie
23. Black Velvet - Alannah Myles
24. Hippychick - Soho
25. Get Up! (Before The Night Is Over) - Technotronic
26. Jerk-Out - The Time
27. Janie's Got A Gun - Aerosmith
28. Rhythm Nation - Janet Jackson
29. Miracle - Jon Bon Jovi
30. Joey - Concrete Blonde
31. Epic - Faith No More
~~32. It Must Have Been Love - Roxette~~
33. Cradle Of Love - Billy Idol
34. This Old Heart Of Mine - Rod Stewart and Ronald Isley
35. Close To You - Maxi Priest
36. (Can't Live Without) Your Love and Affection - Nelson
37. Vision Of Love - Mariah Carey
38. Wiggle It - 2 In A Room
39. I Don't Have The Heart - James Ingram
40. All Around The World - Lisa Stansfield
41. That's What I Like - Jive Bunny (50s medley)
42. Heart Of The Matter - Don Henley
43. Swing The Mood - Jive Bunny (1940s medley)
44. Personal Jesus - Depeche Mode
45. Do Me! - Bel Biv Devoe
46. Enjoy The Silence - Depeche Mode
47. Up All Night - Slaughter
48. Something Happened On The Way To Heaven - Phil Collins
~~49. Downtown Train - Rod Stewart~~
50. Freedom - George Michael
51. Suicide Blonde - INXS
52. Pictures of You - Cure
53. Dirty Deeds - Joan Jett
54. King Of Wishful Thinking - Go West
55. Escapade - Janet Jackson
56. Cuts Both Ways - Gloria Estefan
57. Think - Information Society
58. Lambada - Kaoma
59. Two To Make It Right - Seduction
60. Oyo Mi Canto (Hear My Voice) - Gloria Estefan
61. Got To Get - Leila K with Rob 'n' Raz
62. L.A. Woman - Billy Idol
63. Bad Love - Eric Clapton
64. Free Fallin' - Tom Petty
65. Black Cat - Janet Jackson
66. I'm Free - The Soup Dragons
67. Dangerous - Roxette
68. You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) - Jimmy Somerville
69. Deadbeat Club - B-52s
70. Doin' The Do - Betty Boo
71. All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You - Heart
72. Hungry - Lita Ford
73. Opposites Attract - Paula Abdul & The Wild Pair
74. 911 Is A Joke - Public Enemy
75. I'm Your Baby Tonight - Whitney Houston

* Aaron Neville is a singer that I love to hate. That nasal, quavering moan he uses instead of a regular voice sets my teeth on edge. It's like some bored 8 year old boy is playing with the volume dial, twisting it back and forth as fast as he can. Feh.

Stains

2006-11-29T18:27:00.000-05:00

Isn't it amazing how the dajamou having an accident on the living room armchair can suck the joy out of an otherwise lovely day? My mood was ruined for a good hour after that.

Piffle.

Speechless

2006-11-28T21:59:00.000-05:00

I used to pride myself on my eloquence and writing style. I used to think, "Anyone can write well. People think it's so great that I write well. It's just because I read a lot, and I absorb the styles of the people I read. And I just write the way I think." I was humbly smug, and smugly humble.

I used to write poetry, keep a journal. I wrote a freaking 90-page thesis for my senior project in college. (To be fair, so did just about everyone else there.) My boyfriend (the future dajadaddy) kept telling me I should write novels. I even entertained the notion.

What happened? Now when I read something provoking -- whether online, like I Blame the Patriarchy or Body Impolitic, or offline, like The Ghost in the House or Perfect Madness -- all I have is this roiling mess of emotions and random snippets of phrases floating around in my head. I can't seem to grok it, to really express what I'm thinking or feeling. It took me three months to write a book review for a local newsletter.

Have I dumbed down? Am I not reading enough? Am I too exhausted from being a 24/7, total-immersion mother? Do I not have enough intellectual outlets? Am I so actively repressing frustration or anxiety or disappointment that I can't even put a coherent paragraph together without losing it? Am I too used to talking to a toddler? Am I just out of practice? Is this a symptom of my depression?

No answers are forthcoming. And the questions are drowning out the thought-provoking thoughts I'm trying to be thinking.

haiku

2006-11-25T17:35:00.000-05:00

Just because today was too beautiful not to share, and because any picture I take wouldn't do justice.

black trees, red sunset;
crescent moon, deepening blue --
it feels like winter

Clean sweep

2006-11-25T11:05:00.000-05:00

For the holiday we had a lovely visit with Babaloo and Nanabarb, as well as the dajadaddy's cousin (hereafter known as The Cuz) who's going to grad school at Virginia Tech and is therefore closer to us than to his family in Portland. So we get him for all those short holiday weekends that make a gazillion-dollar plane ticket so not worth it.

For me it was almost like being on real vacation, because I had three extra people around who thought it was the coolest thing in the world when the dajamou popped up with "Can you play with me?" As opposed to my reaction which is to close my eyes in silent despair and feel the tension creeping up my spine. I've gotta work on that, neh?

Anyhoo, I had a wonderful relaxing Turkey Day where we all pitched in and tag-teamed on everything (including the butterflied roasted turkey a la America's Test Kitchen, which worked wonderfully and only took 6 hours for a 16 pounder, which is some kind of world record let me tell you), and went for a walk, and it was a beautiful sunny day and I couldn't ask for a nicer. Then yesterday, dajadaddy and his cousin started their very first batch of mead which I am SOOOOOO excited to try but it won't be ready for like a year and I'm not feeling very patient about it. But that might be the 2 cups of coffee I've had right before writing this, which would also explain the preponderance of run-on sentences.

But none of that is the point of this post! While all the mead-making and whatnot was going on yesterday, I went outside to rake leaves because it was so beautiful and dry and our lawn was covered and dying. (More running on, must stop!) So there I was, raking and raking and already getting exhausted, and swearing in my mind at the dajadaddy for not mowing it all up, and swearing at myself for not being able to use the lawn mower, and wishing for all the world that I could forget that we have no extra money right now so I could hire someone to just come and take care of it for me. Then the dajadaddy came out and said:

"Why aren't you using the lawn mower?"

"Because it's too heavy for me."

"Even when you use the drive wheels?"

"What are the drive wheels?"

"You know, that red handle you hold down and the lawn mower pulls itself along for you."

A long and not very clear discussion went on while we discovered that we were not talking about the red handle that keeps the cutting blades engaged, no! There's another red handle that he'd NEVER TOLD ME ABOUT which makes it about a million percent easier to, say, deal with hills. Which is about all our yard is made of.

It was an odd reaction I had to that news. Part relief that it would be easier for me; part exasperation that he didn't tell me about it before; part disappointment that I wouldn't be able to permanently pass the buck on the lawn mowing; part shame, even, that I hadn't been able to either figure that out or be strong enough to master that machine on my own. I was oddly close to tears.

But then after dajadaddy brought out the lawn mower, Babaloo came out and offered to do it for me. Hmm. Let me see now. Um, OK. Far be it for me to refuse help with the manual labor! Then when he ran out of energy for it, I was about to take over (using my newfound knowledge of the drive wheels) when The Cuz came out and offered to finish it up for me. So while my lawns got trimmed and cleaned and my compost pile increased by about 300 percent, I got to sweep the driveway and the walkways, and clean up the wood pile, and prune my shrubs, and do all kinds of fall clean-up stuff. It was truly delightful. Almost as good as a Chick Day. (Which I will someday describe if I remember, but don't count on it as I am a flake.)

And this morning, as I look out the window on the great green expanse of nice clean lawn all ready for the first blanket of snow, I am feeling pretty thankful for my family. All of them.

Twisting, twisting, in the wind

2006-11-22T09:50:00.000-05:00

Right now, I can't remember if that was from the Violent Femmes or They Might Be Giants.

But no! That's not the point. The point is that I am hopelessly embroiled in my new fave blog, I Blame the Patriarchy. Oh, I knew it was out there. My sister reads it; she loves to tell me about it. But I resisted for a while, partly because I have too many blogs to read already, and partly because I was leery of reading yet another blanket-statement, angry-with-the-world kind of writer. But Twisty! Ah, Twisty. You make my heart sing even as you break it. You are a mistress of the art of commentary.

I mean, who wouldn't love someone who can wax erudite on all kinds of patriarchy-blaming, bullshit-disdaining, crazy-making topics of interest in the world today...and then end a post with "but you know, language means stuff."

That is my kinda writing, boys and girls.

More words to resurrect

2006-11-20T22:30:00.000-05:00

Bobita wrote a wonderfully thoughtful post on the responsibility of mothers to "live the change" in attitudes towards body image, both for themselves and for their daughters. I wholeheartedly support this kind of disussion and dialogue among women everywhere. But what tickled me most was in her invitation for comments at the end of the post, where she said "DO NOT VEX ME."

Vex. What a lovely, succinct, almost onomatopoeic word. I am going to try and use it at least once a day from now on. Considering I have a four-year-old daughter and a nine-year-old dog, I imagine it won't be hard to find appropriate applications for it.

To Reach The Unreachable Star

2006-11-19T23:13:00.000-05:00

The dajadaddy and I watched Serenity again tonight. God I love that movie. It's just so much fun. My beloved husband particularly appreciates the brand of sarcasm that the captain, Mal, uses. After one particularly cutting and hilarious line, he paused the DVD just to take extra time to admire it.

Him: I mean, how can you ever hope to compete with that kind of sarcasm?

Me: All you can do is hope to one day aspire to such greatness.

Him: Yeah, with a whole team of writers behind me and months to prepare.

Me: That's how you become clever!

Comic Relief: It's No Joke. No, Really.

2006-11-18T22:13:00.000-05:00

I've been ripping all my CD's into iTunes (again!! Damn those hard drive crashes) and I was all set to write this post about how old and dated my collection is. But I remembered about an hour ago that Laid Off Dad already did it. I guess that aspiring to emulate such fabulous writing ain't so bad, but something else has taken the place of my lameness in my attentions.

I'm sitting here, right now, watching Comic Relief, and it's painful in so many ways for me.

1) I've had 2 glasses of wine, so every one of the "human interest" clips makes me want to cry, join a Habitat project in New Orleans, sell my house and send the proceeds to the 1-800 number they've been flashing on the screen.

2) The improv by Billy, Whoopi and Robin is so far rather stilted and contrived. I was so excited when I saw all the ads on TBS about the show. The hype, the expectations, the precedents set...I'm reminded of the lead-up to(and the total let-down of) Episode I.

3) The first half dozen acts or so have been so freaking politicized. I mean, I am seriously. Really Truly. Honestly. NOT a Bush administration fan. But there's more in the world that's funny or relevant than the government. I want to go back and watch all the old Comic Relief shows and see what they did before that was so wonderful and wonder why they don't do that anymore?

4) What is up with all the people saying "shit" on network television? Yes, it's TBS and not CBS, but still!

5) Vonage donates $50,000 and gets to be onstage and announce it and give out one of those big Publishers Clearing House sized checks? Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick. They probably have some kind of gazillion dollar profit margin and all they can pull out of their asses is fifty grand?!?

I should so not blog live. Or drunk.

My van is possessed.

2006-11-17T23:14:00.000-05:00

The gauges and dials on the van's dashboard just randomly stop working, then randomly start working again. Natch, every time we take it to the mechanic, they start working.

They've been going strong for a couple days now, but when dajadaddy and I switched vehicles this evening, he called me to say they'd cut out again. Then 2 minutes later he called to say they had come back on when he honked the horn at someone.

Gimme a W!*
Gimme a T!
Gimme an F!

*No, not him, yuck! I want the letter, please.

More phrases that should be resurrected.

2006-11-16T23:08:00.000-05:00

Someone, a month or so ago, posted on their blog about old-fashioned expressions that should be brought back into vogue. My current candidate: "By Jove!"

We've been reading "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" to the dajamou at bedtime. Peter the future High King says it a lot. And I get a little secret smile every time.