Yes, I love editorial. Garden centers need newsletters and hand-outs and fun things I could still make. I could have plant classes for kiddos and flower-arranging classes for adults. And orchids. Orchids everywhere. It. Would. Rule.
Yesterday, I stopped at the local garden center to pick up some flowers for this New Year's orange peel blessing ceremony. I picked out some roses and some purple things. There weren't a whole lot of single flowers to choose from--mostly arrangements or large plants. And I said to the woman behind the counter, "I want to buy this place SO BAD." And she said, "DO IT!" and I said, "I don't have any money. And I have no idea how to run a business."
See, the garden center has been for sale since I moved home to Farmsville. I've seen the price fall fall fall as the economy steadily bit it. It even comes with a house. And a barn. And all of the things this farmie would adore. Alas, I have no capital. So every so often, I try to convince someone I know to buy it and let me run it. I hit up Auntie on Christmas Eve. She laughed. I told Marshall's mother one day. She laughed, too. I told the Nerds. They fell on the floor and rolled around. No one wants to buy me the garden center. Hrumph.
So I went on amazon.com and looked up books about owning your own flower shop or greenhouse. I can't order these books because I have no money. The one I could find at the Council Bluffs library is checked out. Boo on that. I thought about asking for a part-time job to learn the business, but considering that they're trying to sell it, I doubt they want any help.
It really would be a lovely business. It's well-established, already has a steady clientele, and we all know there are a billion funerals here in Farmsville, not to mention Homecoming dances and weddings and Valentine's Day. And I really do feel the ladies in town would love love love flower-arranging classes or seed-planting classes or flowers-for-hummingbirds classes. Oh HOW FUN, I say!
But alas, it's just a pipe dream. Perhaps one day I will have my little garden center. For now? I will just be surrounded by a table full of orchids, two amaryllises that won't grow for some reason, an aloe plant, a Wandering Jew, a philodendron, and the plants I drug in from outside before the frost: begonias, a passion flower vine, and a fuschia. And maybe in spring I'll invite over some friends and have a little gardening class all my own right here in the Farmhouse Villa yard.
Anyone want to be my business partner? You do the taxes, and I'll do the pretty stuff!
This morning while Marshall and I were chatting, I mentioned that I'm starting to really like older people. Eh? What do I mean by that? Well, you know, OLD PEOPLE, like my relatives. Hahahahaha. I'm so funny.
But seriously, I've noticed lately that I long for the company of my aunts, uncles, parents, town friends, and Marshall's parents. Who are older than me. No, they aren't all geriatric 100-year-old people, but you know what I mean. They have some years on them. Which makes them extremely interesting and wise.
I've found that at the last few family gatherings, I'm extremely drawn to my uncles. I find myself sitting next to Eagle's and Kira's fathers. I want to ask them questions. On Christmas Eve, I started asking them which Christmas presents they remembered most from their childhoods and why. It was a really fun experience to see their brains clicking and whirring and then the sudden remembrance of something so grand--their eyes would light up. Kira's mother squealed: "BETSY WETSY!" with such happiness on her face. I want to hear their stories and memories and struggles and victories. When I was younger, I totally didn't care. I just wanted to know when we were opening gifts already.
In college, Portland, and Chicago, I didn't hang out with anyone over 10 years older than me. My friends in college were two years older than me at most. In Portland, it was the same thing--with lots of people who were actually younger than me thrown into the mix. In Chicago, I had a healthy dose of friends who were exactly my own age at work, Featherplume and Buttercup who are each one year older than me, and then my dear friends Coco, Pinkie, and Latina, who were older than me, but not by that much. So I've always been surrounded with people who live in "my world" with "my ideals" and who understand "my generation" very well.
In Iowa? Not so much.
Just when you think you can't change anymore, you do.
I find myself softening. The incessant voice of my youth ME ME ME is disappearing. And with this comes some regrets.
My Gran had two dolls that lived in glass cases in her old person home. I loved them. They were antiques, but she would let me take them out of their special stands and hold them once in a while. After she passed away, I was stunned to learn that she had given me one of them--Mary Jane. No, she has nothing to do with pot smoking. She's just a beautiful, antique china doll with real hair and eyelashes. My mother has always hated this doll, so when I moved away, Mary Jane made it into storage. I came home and pulled her out and put her in the closet where Ma wouldn't have to see her. (I will admit that she's a little creepy-looking and could probably scare small children, so I understand.) Anyway, I now find myself so curious about this doll. Auntie has the other one. I don't even know her name. I don't know where they came from or why Gran had them. I want to know when she was made--what her story is. Why they were special to Gran. I recall at one point seeing a typed sheet of paper that had Mary Jane and the other doll's name on there. But what did the sheet say? It's forever lost in the dust of my childhood memories.
I think that is why I enjoy talking to Marshall's father about his own antique collections so much. He has some trapping items and historical signs from Farmsville over at his house. I love to hear their stories. For example, he has a special saw that was used to cut ice out of the Missouri river back before people had freezers. Can you imagine? Sawing out your own ice? How interesting and unusual. I love hearing about things like that. I find myself looking around, focusing on random objects, and saying, "Tell me more."
When I see small children--especially ones around 4 or 5 years old--I think of them as sponges. They want to know everything. Why? Why? How? What? I'm coming into this phase of life again. I'm questioning and pondering and full of rabid curiosity. Where did that clock come from? When did they build that building? What did Farmsville look like when it was first settled? How does that combine work?
Tell me tell me tell me.
Strange. Given the choice between a wild night on the town and couch filled with my elders, I find myself swinging toward the old peeps. They are so incredibly fascinating. And their hangovers are way easier to manage.
One of the things I love most about my family is that we are all readers. We love us some books. Ever since I was little, I can recall both parents digging into novels in their spare time, carting books on vacations, and falling asleep on couches with one folded across their laps. Same with Dorothy. And my cousins and aunts and--well, I'm not sure I've seen my uncles reading, but I think they do it. I know they read the newspapers for sure.
Anyway, I requested that Dorothy buy me Mr. Playboy: Hugh Hefner and the American Dream for Christmas. As you can see by clicking here, I've been looking for a definitive Hugh Hefner bio for some time. He's an amazing editor and businessman. Strip away all the hot chicks, and he's a nerd tried and true. He allowed Steven Watts access to his personal archives, which are extensive and amazing, in order to put together his life story. I'm all over it. One of the most powerful editors in the world? Gimmie! Gimmie! I don't even care if it somehow involves naked chicks, I just want to know about the editorial parts. Whoppee! So I was pleased as punch when I opened this puppy up.
Here is a short list of other books I encountered this holiday:
1. 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl--Chicago Cousin turned my mother on to this book. However, it turns out there are some confusing science and math bits involved. Ma keeps getting stuck. I keep finding the book in different locations around the house, but the bookmark doesn't seem to move. Luckily, Chicago Cousin is waaaaaay good at science and math. So on Christmas Eve, she explained the long calendar of the Maya and different reasons why people think the world will end in 2012. Or at least the long calendar will. It was very interesting, indeed. Especially because the pastor was sitting right next to us when Chicago Cousin explained the book. One eyebrow raised slowly...
2. Wesley the Owl: The Remarkable Love Story of an Owl and His Girl--I bought this book with a gift certificate from Borders, but I haven't had a chance to read it. I have a bunch of books I need to review, so I passed it over to Ma, who read it in one sitting. I left it at their house so Pa could read it next. So it's sitting there tempting me each time I come over. I remind myself that I have a stack of books I have to read FIRST. Ugh.
3. Eat, Pray, Love--One of the best books I've ever read. Buttercup gave this to me when I was a bridesmaid in her wedding. I gave my copy to Dorothy on the condition that she would give it back because this particular copy is very dear to my heart. I'm stunned that Dorothy hasn't read this book yet, but then I remember my own huge stack of books and work and then I consider adding a husband and a four year old into the mix and it suddenly all makes sense. Just sayin'. I made sure that she took it home with her when she left.
4. Atlas Shrugged--I saw this book sitting on the side table and PA was reading it. Pa? Reading a book with that many words??? It's a giant book. And lemmie tell you, even though I've heard it's supposedly one of the greatest works of literary genius ever or some such thing, I've never read it. I have no idea what it's about. I've never read any Ayn Rand actually. But there it is. Which means that one of these days, I'll have to steal it from Pa.
5. A Pussycat's Christmas--My mother picked this book from her shelves to read to Little because the kitty looks just like Bella. It really does. I adore Margaret Wise Brown, but it's really the illustrator in this book--Anne Mortimer--that wins the prize. Her gorgeous paintings of the cat are SO realistic. I wanted to reach out and pet it. Perfect kid Christmas book.
6. Kira and Jen insist that I should be reading Voltaire. I know this stuff was on my reading list in college for some wacky English major class. Probably twice. But I have zero recollection of ever reading it. But when Kira says something is good, it is. I read Fahrenheit 451 for the first time because of her, and now I read it every few years. Love that book.
7. Kira also mentioned that she bought her stepson The Shining. If you regularly read my blog, you know how I feel about this book. I. Love. It. Nuf said. We decided Eagle's son had some "shine" because he won Apples to Apples by using some strangely adult concepts.
8. When I went to visit with Marshall's family just before Christmas, we discussed The Chocolate Touch, a book from my childhood. I read this book in second grade and decided I needed to write a story for my teacher. I basically rewrote the book--I remember it was like 17 handwritten pages or something--and gave it to Mrs. G. She wrote on it that she really liked the story, but she would like it better if I made one up myself. It was my very first lesson on plagiarism. And from them on, I made up my own stories. And they've always been a little bit crazier than The Chocolate Touch. Ah, Mrs. G. You have no idea of the monster you created.
9. Somewhere in Nerdtopia is a yellow book about Peter Rabbit. Where is it? I don't know. But it's one of my favorite books from when I was little. I actually made an effort to locate it in my childhood closet, but I couldn't find it. I will locate it one day when my parents are long dead and I'm finally cleaning out their house. It's hardcover, fat, and delicious. Ah, memories.
10. When I used to come home for any holiday or vacation, my suitcase would be about 60% books. For some reason, I felt the need to always bring spares. And then I would go to the bookstore while I was home and need another suitcase to bring back all the ones I bought. Now that I live at home, I can travel lighter. So the only book I kept lugging to my parents' house this week was Vanilla: Travels in Search of the Ice Cream Orchid. The thing about vanilla that you might not know is that all of the vanilla in the whole world comes from orchids. And it's really the extracted flavor from the bean that you're tasting. The beans themselves have no purpose. If you see some beans somewhere, they are just for show. Seriously. I'm all over this book because I love orchids so dearly. I had to get it through intralibrary loan because my small town didn't have it. My copy is from Bettendorf. And it's due tomorrow with no renewal and a 25 cent late fee for each day it's overdue. I'm only halfway through. I've been so busy with holidays and people and work that I can't get through it. But it's soooo good, so I will try to hurry up already. I absolutely love this type of writing--fascinating, odd, informative nonfiction. Whee! I'm currently on an island off the coast of Africa dancing through vanilla vines.
So there you have it--the books I encountered this week. Happy reading, everyone!
OK, I'm back. I can't stay away from my own blog. I don't like getting thoughts stuck up in my brain with no way to express them. Boo. So Christmas was wonderful. Eagle's Wife outdid herself with chili, sausage balls, meats, cheeses, wine, etc. My stuffed mushrooms were a hit. And I wore a pretty new dress that made me feel like a princess and allowed me to eat whatever I wanted without anyone noticing. Then we went to church and I sat behind a small blonde child who reminded me of Little and insisted on lifting her small stuffed Cookie Monster up into the air to sing or pray whenever we all stood up. It ruled. Then it was back to Eagle's for more food and Christmas Bingo (I won a tin of popcorn and another full of chocolates) and then off to bed in my childhood bed with my childhood Bear.
Christmas morning we opened presents. Ma made me take them all home and hide them because, you guessed it, Dorothy and Beloved got the same things. Hahahahahaha. We got George Foreman grills. WE RULE. I love this gift because I don't have an outdoor grill, so now I can cook it up indoors. Rock on. I also got a gorgeous necklace I requested and other assorted goodies. Ma outdid herself this year.
Yesterday, Dorothy, Beloved, and Little showed up and, despite receiving many larger and more exciting gifts, she liked the one Ma and I picked up at Hobby Lobby for like $2 the best. It's that girl up there in the photo who can change clothes. I used to have something similar when I was young, and I loved it. I understand, Little, I really do.
She can look like this:
Or sass it up with pink?
Good times. I'm going to go buy her a bunch of cloth swatches to add to the mix. She seriously just wanted to play with that. That only. Only the girl with the clothes. Ma bought her Hungry Hungry Hippo, which I ADORE. I got her Don't Break the Ice, a flashback to my 80s childhood. I also love that game. Dorothy and Beloved gave Pa some kind of electric scissors/knife thing. It's like a really small circular saw. He held it on his lap for the rest of the day. He was in heaven. And Dorothy gave me an amazing frame full of my Gran's postcards from her travels around the world. She always sent us postcards, even when we were just born. So the homemade art/nostalgia trip blew me away. Thank you, Dorothy.
But Marshall wins. I had to leave Nerdtopia on Christmas Day to come home and work. Ugh. So I worked from about 3pm to about 8pm. I was beat. Exhausted from holidays and having to use my brain to figure out complex things for work. I was only half alive by the time he showed up with this:
It's GORGOUS. And HUGE. WTF? He likes me? My neck flushed when I put it on. It is not used to nice jewelry. And I was wearing a really ratty sweatshirt, which didn't do the necklace justice. I gave him a new winter coat. It didn't really compare to the necklace, but it was given with love, and that's all that matters. I wore the necklace over to see the family and Ma and Dorothy almost dropped dead. The best part is the box it came in--one of those that is like a book and folds out and has velvet in it and stuff. This Farmie felt very loved and happy and bewildered and magical all at the same time. Little looked at the sparkles. I said, "Am I a princess?" And she said yes.
Yes, I am a princess. Even with this horrible month and wild ride to Christmas, I am still a princess. Hidden behind a ratty sweatshirt.
This is another of the beautiful pieces of art my grandfather welded. Lovely, eh? Remember a while back when I took the holidays off from blogging? Well, I feel the need to do it again.
Have a wonderful holiday season--Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, etc. I wish you love.
It's Christmas Week everyone! Are you all ready to FREAK OUT yet? (snickers) There is work to be done, presents to be wrapped, and in-laws to visit. No pressure.
In honor of this lovely week, I've decided to dig into my musty, cobwebbed brain and think of the earliest Christmas memory I have. I have numerous ones from Grandma and Grandpa's Christmas Eve, but as a tribute to Little having her first Christmas at home, I'm going to go with my nuclear Christmas morning.
Picture it:
Sometime in the early 80s. I have no idea what year it is. We live "downstairs" in our house. My father built our house one layer at a time. So for many years, we lived in the downstairs part. I can't recall in my memory if the stairwell was in place yet. The upstairs may or may not have been being built at this time. But I know for sure it wasn't finished or we wouldn't have been having Christmas downstairs.
Red shag carpet. A really large living room. Think a basement-entertainment type room. There's a pool table involved. Behind the pool table, there is a tiny tree. In fact, this tiny tree is now used as the Grandparents' Memorial Tree. Oh crap. Forgot to email relatives about getting ornaments. Will do after I post. So anyway, there is this tiny tree. We are somewhat poor. I don't know who gave me the gift--Gran? Mom and Dad? Not sure. It's a shoebox. I open it. Well, Dorothy and I have to open them at the same time cause we're twins and all.
Inside, nestled in some tissue paper, I find a stuffed head that has long, red yarn braids. Dorothy's has brown hair. Or was it blonde? I think it was brown. The head has a ribbon on the back. You hang it in the bathroom and use it to put all your little girl hair clips in one place. You know the 70s and 80s hair clips? None of that fancy sparkly stuff we have now. These were plain red, yellow, blue, orange. They had a log with a bird resting on it or a flattened-out butterfly. Not attractive hair clips, but they worked.
For some reason, out of all of those Christmases at home, this is what I remember. I think the reason it stuck with me is because the head had red hair. As a redhead, it's hard to find people or dolls or things that look like me. I was amazed. I loved my little redheaded head. It's long gone, but her memory stays with me. Along with the piles of wrapping paper over in the corner behind the pool table on the red shag carpet.
This absolute love of my redheaded head is what lead me to get Little a redheaded Cabbage Patch Kid a few years back. It's critical for redheads to have dolls that look like them, as it is for little girls of any race or hair color. And it's truly important for any little girl to have her Christmas at home with her mommy and daddy.
Little, Beloved, and Dorothy, I wish you the most Merry Christmas ever. And I have a special idea. In honor of our dear uncle, why don't we start a new tradition? I'll call you on Christmas Eve to read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. My uncle has called my mother to read this story for as long as I can remember. She cries with happiness every year when she hears his voice. She yells for us all to shut up and sits down from her twittering and just listens. It's so special. I don't want Little to cry, but I can carry on the grand tradition. Ma, go find your copy of the book. I'll practice on you later. You can be my coach.
Remember when Dorothy and I used to write on She Doesn't Get It all the time? Yeah, we don't have time for that anymore. In fact, I think Dorothy might incorporate it into her own blog and then we'll dissolve it or something. Plus, my feelings about being Childless have changed significantly in the last few years--especially now that I'm out of Chicago. Childful and Childless work waaaay differently in cities than they do in small, rural communities. I actually like kids here. Kinda.
Anyway, as we all know, I'm not a parent, and I don't always understand parenting. This is why I recently sent out a call for dating advice when you're dating someone who has a child. There are things, dare I say it, that I just don't get. But I really want to learn and grow as a person. I'm interested in diving into this particular area of life.
Recently, I questioned Marshall about something he did in my presence with The Boy. I won't get into it, but I will assure you it was no big thing. Just something that made me go, Huh? I don't get it. But of course I didn't mention it to Marshall because it wasn't a big deal. But then we were talking to some friends of ours and I brought it up. Um, yes, you heard that right. I was a TOTAL ASSHAT GIRLFRIEND. Anyway, I wanted advice from our guyfriend about this because he used to be a married stepdad, and he's still involved with the kids' lives. So we went back and forth and he explained it to me. Kids are subtle, he said. Sneaky. Only the parents will notice a flash of defiance. Not any bystanders. Hmmm. Quiet defiance. Interesting. Very sneaky.
So I thought about Little. I know Little quite well. She is an actress like no other. She takes after her mother's and auntie's drama queen ways. But she's only four, so when she's being sneaky, it flashes across her face. Just for a second. I see it, and I call bullsh*t. Ah yes, turns out I do know what quiet defiance is. You can tell that Marshall and his ex are extremely good parents because The Boy is so well-behaved. I don't pick up at all on hidden messages when I'm around him. I think he's an angel. And I'm not now saying that he's not an angel--I just know now that there are hidden tests going on, especially if say I'm around, that I'm unaware of. I've seen other children test their parents and it's WAAAAAY obvious. Just sayin'.
Anyway, the point of this post is that Marshall and I talked about it and he said to me, very sweetly with no condescension in his voice, "You don't understand because you aren't a parent." And he threw this one in to boot: "You are also young, so you're still learning." Whoa. Double-whammy. Dorothy would be proud. But in all seriousness, this didn't bother me one bit. All it did was humble me. No hurt feelings. No anger or sadness. Just a good old taste of humble pie.
I feel so old all the time. I feel like I get it and know that and understand blah blah blah. But I still do have so much to learn. I feel like I'm always educating myself because I read a lot and love to learn new things. But there is a huge difference between book smarts and life smarts. It's true that there is this whole aspect of life that I truly don't understand. Some say having children is the meaning of life. That's huge. And I don't get it. I'm trying.
It has helped immensely for me to be around Little and The Boy and Eagle's children. Not to mention all the various kids I see when I'm around all my new farmie friends. In Chicago, I was so hardened to children. There were No Children signs on some restaurants. Ear-piercing shrieks spoiled my El rides to work. I was run over by children on sidewalks and regularly had to dodge them while driving down streets. They drove me NUTS. But here, in this family-oriented rural community, children have a softness--an innocence from not seeing the chaos of city life. And now I have to swallow my foot and learn how to really be around them. I don't just see the kids at Christmas anymore--I run into them at the grocery store. They want to tell me about school and sports. I attend their birthday parties. And I actually enjoy it.
Wow. Shocker: I am being assimilated. It's a huge challenge. But I think I'm finally up to it.
Oh dear readers. You have no idea how good your comments made me feel on that last post. It's good to know that there are people out there in the world reading my words and responding with kind ones of their own. Thank you.
Yesterday, I was given a healthy dose of love from friends and family. Marshall and I went to his parents' house for lunch and to visit for a while. We filled up with delicious homemade chili and then sat around petting kitties and chatting. Then we were off to my parents' house for dinner--homemade chicken pot pie. Mmmmmm. We were full. We are convinced that we just need someone to make us breakfast and we'll never need to grocery shop again. Just a thought.
Then we drove to a neighboring town to see my friend's band play and celebrate Sprinkle's birthday. We had cocktails, sang along with songs, and braved the treacherous, icy roads from our recent ice/snow storm. Marshall is a good driver. He makes me feel incredibly safe. I love that.
So yes, I do have many things to be grateful for despite the utter chaos that is life at this moment. I have wonderful family--including my new Marshall Family. I have great friends who CARE if I show up somewhere or not. And I have a fantastic boyfriend who keeps me safe and still loves me, despite my many and obvious flaws. I just wish I could get myself to love myself right now, too. It's a process. You can't stop the Titanic on a dime.
This steady decline into brokeness and job weirdness has taken its toll. I've been home for a full year now. I totally thought by now I would own my own house, have paid off my debts, and be living fancy free of the heavy burdens I carried in Chicago. It hasn't really worked out that way. In fact, it's gotten worse.
But I remind myself:
1. When I was sad in Chicago, there was no one to hug. Well, I could hug my coworker friends, but I didn't see them outside of work. My two bestie girlfriends Featherplume and Buttercup lived just far enough away to make me not want to drive over for hugs. Here, hugs are within a 2 mile radius. Lots of hugs. I just need to learn how to ask for them. I need to pick up the phone and call aunties. I need to learn how to ask for some emotional support. I need to quit saying, "I'm fine."
2. I have amazing friends. I need to call them. I've lost track of Kate and Featherplume even though they just live in Omaha. Bad Blondie. Bad, bad Blondie. I still haven't seen Featherplume's new Baby Plume. I need to learn how to modify my working hours to include day trips to see friends, or at least make phone calls. I will learn how to juggle. I can figure this out. Because girlfriends are so important to our mental health. And I'm so so so so so lucky to have them.
3. I don't have to fly home for Christmas. That was the WORST part of my life in Chicago. Midway Airport = A Really Good Taste of Hell. Every year, without fail, something happened to make getting to the airport my worst nightmare. Snowstorm. Flight cancellations. Stripping down to my socks and underwear to pass through security. A crash on the freeway leading to the airport. Taxiing. Breathing recycled air. And that dreaded flight back. Saying goodbye at the Omaha airport. Trying so hard to not cry. Waving goodbye to the Nerds without knowing when I would see them again. It was awful. So I am blessed 150% to live in Farmsville and be close to them. So close.
4. I have new woodpeckers. I got a new kind of suet--peanut raisin mix. The woodpeckers are coming out in droves. Red-bellied, redheaded, flickers. The flickers are GIANT. Suet costs $1. It's the cheapest form of entertainment I've found. And right now nothing brings me more pleasure than watching the birdies from my home office window. Nuthatches, titmice, black-capped chickadees, a billion finches, cardinals, blue jays. One squirrel. Farm kitties who hunt the moles under the tree and then leave their frozen carcasses everywhere. (Does anyone know why cats refuse to eat moles?) I am blessed to have nature right here in front of me instead of the brick wall of my neighbor's building so close I can reach out and touch it. The distinct lack of concrete is so refreshing. I have fat little birdies with full bellies instead. And they even sing to me.
5. Marshall is a good man. Polite, forgiving, gentle, hilarious. He opens my car door. And regular doors. He forgives me when I'm an asshat and laughs with me when I do something dumb. He's teaching me how to be a better grown-up. And he actually enjoys hanging out with our parents. I was worried I would never find someone who loves his family as much as I love mine. I was wrong. And even though he isn't entirely sure what's going on in my brain right now, he's trying. And trying is all that matters in the end.
Yes, Miss Growly Growlerson from Growlsville, you do have many blessings.
Miniature Disasters by KT Tunstall
I don't want to be second best Don't want to stand in line Don't want to fall behind Don't want to get caught out Don't want to do without And the lesson I must learn Is that I've got to wait my turn
Looks like I got to be hot and cold I got to be tart and old Got to be good as gold But perfectly honestly I think it would be good for me Coz it's a hindrance to my health If I'm a stranger to myself
Miniature disasters and minor catastrophes Bring me to my knees Well I must be my own master Or a miniature disaster will be It will be the death of me
I don't have to raise my voice Don't have to be underhand Just got to understand That it's gonna be up and down It's gonna be lost and found And I can't take to the sky Before I like it on the ground
And I need to be patient And I need to be brave Need to discover How I need to behave And I'll find out the answers When I know what to ask But I speak a different language And everybody's talking too fast
Miniature disasters and minor catastrophes Bring me to my knees Well I must be my own master Or a miniature disaster will be Will be I've got to run a little faster Or a miniature disaster will be Will be I need to know I'll last if a little Miniature disaster hits me Or it will be the death of me
Yesterday, any remaining cheerfulness I had bit the big one. I was CRABBY. I couldn't put my finger on why, however. I was actually in denial about it. Marshall called, "Are you growly?" Me: "No. Just tired." But I was growly. Really growly.
As the day went on, it got worse. I went into town to get gas and saw it: the Love Tree bucket. Where you're supposed to put in your money. And as I scraped together some change to get a pack of cigarettes, it dawned on me why I was so growly. Because the economy sucks, and I'm super tired of hearing about it.
I don't know where I saw/heard it: 20/20? Dateline? National News? NPR? Someone, a well-known economist who projected this year's fall of Wall Street, said the economy would continue to plummet for 3 or 4 MORE YEARS. WTF? Sure, anything can happen, but this dude seemed to know what he was talking about. I internalized it. I checked my stocks. Down 50%. Still. And falling.
Every day, I am bombarded with bad news about the economy. No jobs. Layoffs. Companies actually CLOSING. Bankruptcy. Empty houses. Mortgages falling apart. Credit being reigned in or not given at all. Mess mess mess mess.
I was not old enough in the 80s to understand whatever recession we went through at that time. So here I am--experiencing really bad luck that I have no control over whatsoever, and I guess I'm not that good at coping with it. Dare I say it, I'm feeling a bit Dorothyish about money.
I worked really hard to get where I am professionally. I did my time, as they say. I earned my dues. And it took a lot of work and perseverance to get here. So why can't I buy f*cking presents for the Love Tree this year? Why can't I feel free to rent a movie or go to a museum? Because I have no money. I have no money because there are no jobs. So I'm freelancing. But with freelancing, they can take up to 45 days from when you invoice to actually pay you. I can't even remember the last time I received an actual paycheck. How. Did. This. Happen?
While bawling about this recently to my parents, I asked if I was supposed to move away? Go back to Chicago or some other giant publishing mecca in order to survive? But I wasn't surviving there--spiritually or financially. So if it doesn't work here and it doesn't work there, where does it work?
When I moved back to Farmsville, I was so filled with hope for the future and happiness and love. I was putting out positive energy everywhere, and I attracted good things. I was good at talking myself out of growly days. When I look back at blog entries from last year, I was so full of HOPE and promise.
Now, every day, I feel like a huge failure.
There. I said it. I feel like a huge failure. Failure failure failure.
And no matter what is going on with the economy, it IS my fault. I can't get a job. No one will give me one. Not even companies I don't want to work for for sh*tty wages. Not even people who know I would be an asset. What am I doing wrong?
My bank account has been empty for so long. Even when I was just out of college, struggling to make ends meet and working for $6.50 an hour at a bookstore, I was NEVER this broke. Never. I have no idea how to make it work when I don't even have a spare dollar for the Love Tree. The only thing I can do for now is keep charging everything. To my credit card. Before they reign in the tiny limit. Dig back into my 401K. And try ever so hard to keep my head held high.
I will work on bringing myself back up. I don't like being growly. Today, I will take a drive. I will get out and be around people. Real quick. Before that ice storm hits at 3pm and I'm locked in my own head again.
Yesterday two--maybe three, actually maybe four--different people scraped off my driveway. I can only confirm one for sure. Sprinkle's husband. He got a job doing snow removal for a nearby city and stopped at my house on the way home. He came flying up and down the driveway and left, so I had no clue what was happening. I heard something, and then it was gone. Marshall called to tell me Sprinkle's husband was now scraping off HIS driveway. Mystery solved. It was early in the day, they were projecting up to four inches, so I was extremely grateful.
But then later in the day, as I was downloading files for work, I heard something. It was the familiar sound of machinery going back and forth. But I assumed it was coming from one of my neighbor's houses. Right? So I kept downloading files and cleaning the house while I cranked Mannheim Steamroller's Christmas music. Loudly. This blocked out all sounds from outside. House = clean = YEAH!
So then I went back to the files. And I heard it AGAIN. I went to investigate. I stuck my nose through the miniblinds on my front door. I could hear something, but I couldn't see anything. It was pitch black outside. Hmmm. Must not be my house. Must be my neighbor.
But then later I went to turn on the lights for when Marshall got home from work. I noticed a trail going through the snow from my neighbor's house to my house. Then I noticed another track where a plow had gone almost all the way to my propane tank (just in case it needs to move, I guess), and the driveway had been cleared off in a different direction. WTF?
Last year, only one neighbor (and his brother) spent the winter clearing my drive. I knew who they were for sure. And I planned all last winter to get him a gift certificate to somewhere or some beer or money or something as a thank you when spring broke through. But then I forgot about it. And after that, as this winter approached, I felt like giving a gift now would be some kind of bribe to clear my drive THIS winter. And it would make me look like a schmuck for waiting so long to thank him. Given, the first time he did it, I called his wife and asked if I could pay and she said he probably wouldn't take my money. But still. I am a SCHMUCK.
Marshall and his family know my neighbor well, since he lives smack in the middle of me and Marshall's parents. Now perhaps he feels that he must scoop my drive? Like the Marshall Mafia might come after him if he doesn't? Hee hee. I kind of like that idea. That Marshall's father is secretly a mob boss. That would RULE.
But anyway, I am now not entirely sure who is responsible for the incredibly good scraping of my driveway. Perhaps later I will actually drive my car out of it, since I haven't moved my car in three days and it's still covered in snow. And I will slowly create a master plan to trap the scoopers in action one day, so I will know who they are for sure.
All I know is my neighbors and friends have some incredibly good karma right now. And I clearly don't.
It's -5 in Farmsville. That's not even the windchill. I have no idea how cold it "feels" outside, but because of some leaky home office windows, you can see that they have completely frosted over. There are no heat vents in my home office. This little room was added to the house long after it was built. So it's a wee bit cold in here. And that's why I have a little portable radiator thingie. Perhaps I will actually use it today.
I skipped Sunday Night Star Trek last night due to the Arctic blast. But I did have to go into town at one point, so I stopped by Marshall's. As I got in my car to drive over there, I realized that I do not often go out in the cold anymore. There is no need. I work from home. I could sit here all day in my pajamas if I wanted to. I am right now because it's too cold to change into something else.
A lot of people don't understand how I can work from home without losing my mind. I must admit, it takes a certain type of person to do it well. You have to have a personality that works well with complete strangers--over email. You have to have enough social contacts outside of work so you don't become trapped in your work life. And you have to know when to Stop and Find Balance, which is a skill I'm still working on--and one that I had to work on even when I did have an office to go to.
When you work from home, you can literally go for days without leaving your nest. Weeks without speaking to another human being. And perhaps the worst part--the part I struggle with every day--is that no one in your life knows what you're doing. They think you just sit there at home and don't work. They have no idea about the files and excel charts and pages hacked up with red ink. They don't sit in on epic conference calls or read the endless updates that come via email. They just hear that you work from home, raise an eyebrow, and go "Oh, OK. That would RULE." Yes, yes, it does rule. Because I don't have to go out in the cold. But it also means that work is always in my home. Watching me. Calling to me. Making me feel guilty. I have to choose daily when to start and stop work.
Speaking of which, I need to crank up the heater and start right now. I have a lot of work to do today. For reals.
Last night I went to Nerdtopia for a wild night of food, a movie, and Mexican Train Dominoes. I had never played the game before, but the Nerds recently learned the game from some friends, so they wanted to teach me. OK, sure. And so I beat them. Terribly.
Pa total points: 219 Ma total points: 210 Blondie total points: 42
The person with the lowest score wins. Bwah ha ha ha ha! You don't have to have the cute little station and trains to play, so if you want to know how, here are the rules. And despite my best efforts, I was unable to find the origin of the name Mexican Train. Something tells me it's probably not a PC origin. And it's very easy to accidentally create a swastika with your train tracks, so be careful. Just sayin.'
I remember playing dominoes with Gran. I got a kick out of her calling the pile of dominoes a "boneyard." She often drank a beer while we played. Since she lived in the HOT HOT HOT state of Arizona, we often needed these indoor activities to keep us busy. Last night, we played with Gran's old dominoes. Every so often, I could picture her, concentrating. Fingering ivory dominoes. Cackling when she won.
I like playing games with people because you get more face time. If you're just watching a movie, you don't get to interact or talk. When you play a game, you get chances to have conversations and look right at the people you're with. It's the same with a family dinner where you sit at the table instead of on couches. I also did this at Nerdtopia last night. I truly interacted. It's been a while. Because of my somewhat odd work/boyfriend schedule, I haven't been going over to Nerdtopia very much.
Last night, I was thinking about how I used to go over there like every day at this time last year. I miss that. But I also knew that I needed to see more people than just my parents. I wondered if I would ever find a more healthy mix of parental/friend/relationship time. I think I'm getting there now. And in this way, it's making me appreciate my Nerd time even more. It's gone back to being precious instead of constant. But I still could use a little more time with them. So I will make a better effort to get over there. And kick their a$$es at dominoes.
OK, seriously. Lost Season 4 was released on Tuesday. It's been 2 days, and I still don't have it. Because I've been working. All the time. Last night I was working until 11:45pm, when Marshall promptly showed up from work. Hopefully, this next assignment will be easier than the first. The first one almost killed me. There were lots of "pieces."
Anyway, because I've been busy and I live in a small town, I don't have Lost yet. I'm wiping the drool off my chin as we speak. Getting Lost requires driving to Council Bluffs. No biggie. It's just a timing issue. Can I go now before the next assignment comes? Do I need to wait until later? Where is Sawyer already?! I can't even REMEMBER Season 4 at this point.
Puff puff pant pant.
Every time a Season 5 trailer flashes across the TV screen, I squeal with delight. But I have to prepare. I have to remember everything that happened previously on Lost. And I need to watch commentaries and special features and gag reels and stuff.
I've been a bad blogger lately. I've missed a few days. It has something to do with this thing called Big Work Deadline.
Anyway, I'm seeking advice on dating someone who has a child or children. It seems there are no rulebooks about how to get along with said child. Hmmm. There are books about EVERYTHING out there. I just watched a murder show that showed a book about how to be a hit man. Yet there are no books about dating with children?
There are, however, a lot of books about being a step mom. Um, I'm not a step mom.
When I'm confused about something or want to learn about a new topic, books have never let me down. I learned how to be an editor that way. I learned various specialties within my own field that way. I learned that I should not buy a house that way (Buying a House for Dummies). Books are my own little universities just waiting to be gobbled up. So where is my missing information?
I've queried a few of my friends who have children or have dated people with children. I tell them I'm not sure how I'm supposed to act or what I'm supposed to do. They all come back with completely different advice. The first time I met The Boy, I acted very casual, asked him a few questions, and let him go about his thing. It was easy. But the times I've seen him after that, I've been a little confused as to how I'm supposed to act. Am I supposed to become more friendly? Ask him about school? Feed him? This all seems really simple, but it isn't. You have to be careful to not step on mom's toes--or dad's toes. There are house rules you don't know about. The child/children may or may not initially (or forever) reject you or your presence in the home. It's strange because I have no problems interacting with my friends' kids--or even random kids I see wandering around town. But this kid--The Boy--well, it makes me nervous. I don't want to mess anything up.
So give it up, readers. Share your stories, advice--heck, I'll even take a horror story or two. I just want someone to tell me about dating someone with a kid. OK, throw in your step parent stories if you must. Just helpie. Thanks!
See that look on Little's face? That is the exact same look I got on my face when my mother announced yesterday that we won't be opening any Christmas presents until Dorothy, Beloved, and Little arrive. After Christmas.
Ahem.
Um, no.
I'm always willing to make concessions for Little. I'm all about her joy and happiness. But actually moving Christmas? No.
So I immediately said no. Ma stared for a moment.
I said, "You realize that isn't fair, right?" Then I explained how I shouldn't have to postpone my Christmas happiness just because Dorothy and Beloved want to have Christmas at home this year. I'm still planning on going to Nerdtopia and spending the night on Christmas Eve and waking up on Christmas Day with my parents. Just as I have for 31 years. No, my sister won't be there, but that doesn't mean that everything has to change.
Ma asked, "Do you mean we will open our stockings, too?"
"Yes."
"OK, well you can't tell Dorothy what you get because you might get some of the same things." Yes, yes, I know. Dorothy and I receive many duplicate items. I can't tell if Ma is lazy or just into being fair. Or if she thinks she had twins. Sometimes it works really well and we both love the gifts. Sometimes it backfires, as in the electric can opener that my brother-in-law really wanted but that I have never used in the three years I've had it. Just sayin'.
I kid. My mother's gifts are wonderful.
But my gut reaction was to have my Christmas on Christmas Day. Not the day after or the day after the day after, but on that exact day. I said it was fine for Dorothy & Co. to open their presents later, including stockings, but that I was giving my gifts to my parents on Christmas, and I fully intended on opening my gifts from the Nerds that day, too.
Am I 12? No. I'm just heavily into tradition. You, my dear readers, know this about me. There are some things in life that need to remain the same for the sake of sanity. I've learned how to adapt to change, particularly in adding a little one to our mix. I like exploring new traditions for her sake. And I've also enjoyed the additions that have popped up in our extended family over the years. I bit the bullet when Kira couldn't make it for Christmas Eve last year. I readily ate chicken instead of Turkey for Thanksgiving. But Christmas? I need Christmas. I need one thing to stay exactly the same. At least for right now. I've been through so much change in the last year that I'm not sure I can take any more in these last few months of 2008.
So on Christmas Eve, I will spew tradition over at Eagle's house with the extended family, hit up the church for the candlelight service, and then snuggle into bed at Nerdtopia (it remains to be seen if Ma will allow the meows to come spend the night on Christmas Eve...I just heard her snort her coffee out her nose). And then I will wake up on Christmas morning to present my lovely gifts to the Nerds, have a yummy breakfast, and lie around in my jammies bonding with my parents. Last year, I had just moved here and I was still adjusting to life in Farmsville, so I couldn't truly appreciate Being Home for the holidays. This year I intend to soak it all up. And then Dorothy, Beloved, and Little will arrive and I'll do it all over again and need 4,000 Red Bulls to keep up with my tiny firecracker.
Thank you, Ma and Pa, for still having Christmas with your youngest daughter who no isn't married and no doesn't have children and yes has awkward employment. You have no idea how much it means to me.
It's not often that I get really stumped by my own Native American medicine cards. This year, they've been pretty straight forward: Spider, Prairie Dog, Salmon, Lynx, and Blue Heron. I have yet to talk about Grouse, which I'll get to by year's end. But Dragonfly? Dude, didn't I write about Dragonfly last year (click here for that)? Yes, yes I did. Which is why Dragonfly baffles me a little bit this year. Didn't I do all that dreamtime changing last year? Yes, yes I did. Hmmm...
"If Dragonfly has shimmered into your view, it is encouraging you to see the magic in everyday life. As time is fleeting, make the most of it. It also tells you to be open to change, especially to becoming who you are rather than who you think you are. Are you too rigid and programmed? Ask Dragonfly to show you how and when to make changes. It reminds you to refine your skills to enhance your material abundance, but remember to thank the little nature spirits who help everything to grow and blossom."
Hmmm....
What do I need to change?
Let's take a looksee. How do I view myself?
1. I am an editor and a writer. This is what I do. 2. I am a single, independent woman. 3. I adore my family, am a homebody, and love my kitties.
Back up.
1. I am an editor and a writer. This is what I do.
"It reminds you to refine your skills to enhance your material abundance, but remember to thank the little nature spirits who help everything to grow and blossom."
Refining my skills. Yes, I am doing that. I'm learning new skills based on the current work I'm doing. Am I putting too much emphasis on work? Am I in fact obsessed with work and finding work? DING DING DING! Perhaps it's time to take a break from that and seek out the nature spirits.
2. I am a single, independent woman.
"As time is fleeting, make the most of it. It also tells you to be open to change, especially to becoming who you are rather than who you think you are. Are you too rigid and programmed?"
I must admit, I've had some difficulty adjusting to being in a couple again. I'm not used to it. I've had some struggles. DO BY SELF my inner 3 year old screams. There are ways that I want Marshall to help me, but I refuse to ask him. But even though I'm all tough and stuff, I have a soft underbelly. I actually do want to be taken care of in many ways. Did I just say that out loud?
For example, the other day I was burning things. Basically a whole year's worth of credit card applications that had come in the mail and other private documents. And then there were all those branches that fell out of the sky to go on top. I had a few wheelbarrows full. Marshall showed up somewhere in the middle of this. As I plunked cardboard boxes in there in my delicate way, he finally pushed me aside, grabbed a whole pile of stuff, and shoved it down into the burning barrel. He clearly knows more about this than I do. And I liked it. He took a giant branch and snapped the crap out of that thing in 30 seconds. It would have taken me forEVER to do that, as I'd already been snapping at it before he got there. Not only was it kind of him, it was manly. Prrr. And even though I'm an Alpha, I wanted him to burn the crap.
I'll admit it, I'm SICK of taking care of everything by myself.
There. I said it.
Does that make me weak? No. Shrinky would be proud.
3. I adore my family, am a homebody, and love my kitties.
Hmmm...not really seeing too much wrong with this one. Except I need to work on my friendships. I've been horrible at keeping in touch. Sprinkle and I met at the bar last night for some girl time without our men. It was so fun to just chat away like girlie girls. I was feeling kind of sick before I went out (I've had a cold all week), but I remembered that you have to work on friendships or they disappear. After working on actual work all day yesterday, I knew I needed some fun, some beer, and some girlie time. And it was wonderful. Yes, I will keep working on that. I will make some phone calls and schedule some girl dates. Just not right now. Cause I have to work. Vicious circle, I tell you.
So I guess that is Dragonfly reminding me to change. It helps to work it out on the blog instead of just staring at the card and the book all afternoon. I will work on changing. For the better.
It's the opening of deer season in Farmsville. Wear orange.
I've never been too fond of deer hunting. Perhaps it's because my mother sees God in every deer. Or because the babies are so cute. Maybe it's my internal hippie wanting natural selection to take care of the deer. But this year, I feel slightly different.
Because the deer are EVERYWHERE.
It's quite amazing how many of them I see. Especially the ones that are right in front of my CAR out of NOWHERE. And then they stop completely and stare. The phrase "deer in the headlights" exists for a reason. They park it and freeze, like you can't see them anymore. Uh huh. Yeah, that works real well, Bambi.
There is a large herd that lives across the road from me on the neighbor's farm. On a daily basis, I see about 30 out there. And there is a bend in the road right before you get to my house where they like to play frogger right at dusk each night. Every day, I see deer in the ditches, mangled by someone's bumper. Or I hear sirens. And see flipped cars in the ditch. Not. Cool.
Recently, I noticed a small herd by our local park. It's on the way to my parents' house, so I drive past it often. I've NEVER seen deer in the park in my whole life. Now? There they are. At least 10 of them. Does, fawns, and one large buck. And--get this--a calico cat. Every time I see this particular group of deer, there is a small kitty following them. She must think she is a deer, too. Hey man, we all have a dream. Just sayin.'
I decided to educate myself about hunting this year, so I could better understand the process and mentality. Marshall explained to me how the licenses and tags work in Iowa. He doesn't hunt, but he knows plenty of people who do. In fact, there's a whole herd of hunters behind my house right at this moment who started out down at Marshall's parents' house in the wee hours of the morning. I have yet to hear a gunshot. And it's really really really cold outside. I do not envy the hunters. I will stop down there later for food though. And to see if anyone has had any luck. I have one buck in mind that I would like them to "take care of" mafia-style. He jumps out in front of me multiple times in the same day right by the corner. I've had to slam on the brakes and almost careen off down the hill many times. Bad buck. I've left plenty of skid marks on the road because of him. Grrrrrr. I do NOT want to know what happens when my air bag hits my glasses--OK?
Anyway, I can totally see my Chicago friends reading this post and thinking I'm an evil deer killer. Not so much. I just agree with hunting as a means of population control in these parts. And the hunters around here are very respectful of the land, the deer, and the rules. Even the vet is a hunter. And after almost hitting a deer or plowing into a flock of wild turkeys virtually every day since I've moved home, I'm ready to thin them out a little. Although I will not be mounting Bambi's head in my home office.
But maybe this afternoon I will make someone teach me how to shoot a big gun. Watch out!
Something strange is going on in Farmsville. I'm reading fiction. And I like it.
Screeeeeeeeeeech!
Yeah. I know. Weird, eh?
After majoring in English literature and working at a bookstore for years, I'd had enough of fiction. I felt like I'd read it all. And I've read some really really really good fiction. Every few years, a book comes along that knocks my socks off fictionwise (like Henderson the Rain King or Blindness or 100 Years of Solitude) and then I can't read fiction for a while. Because everything else pales in comparison. And then I did a library project for work and had to read like a billion middle readers and YA titles. So that put me off fiction, too. So I moved on to Really Bizarre Nonfiction. For example, I'm currently reading Vanilla: Travels in Search of the Ice Cream Orchid. Yes, that is right up my alley.
So anyway, after I did the author interview with Mary Roach, I sent the link to my pal over at W.W. Norton, who published her book. I thought he might like to read it. He mentioned he had a new book coming out by Joe Meno. Would I like to take a looksee? OK, he didn't use that language, but you get my drift. OK, I said. And then I thought to myself: Self, are you really going to read fiction again? What about the vanilla orchid?
So the package arrives and the book sits on the table for a few days. It eyes me. It woos me with its pretty cover. I am rather fascinated with the giant squid. And the pigeon? I spent YEARS of my life staring at pigeons while waiting for El trains. Hmmm. Maybe I should take that book and snuggle up the couch. Methinks yes.
And then it happened.
I was drawn in.
My curiosity was piqued.
I was going to wait until I was all the way finished with the book to write about it on the blog, but I can't stop thinking about it. So there's this guy who has seizures whenever he looks at clouds. And he's married to a woman who's studying pigeons and has a daughter who wants to build a bomb for a school project just to prove she can and another daughter who is praying all the time. Got that? The characters--they fascinate me. Particularly in Chapter 2, which is basically a character study on Madeline the wife divided into little chunks. What a GREAT writing exercise Chapter 2 would have been back when I was in college. I remember doing something similar, but not nearly as good. Chapter 2 is what locked me in. And I'm off! Reading fiction again and really enjoying it. WHO KNEW?!
And, better yet, there is a little video of Joe Meno reading the first chapter right here for your enjoyment. I love love love that he stumbles a few times on the words but just keeps going. It shows he is a humble man--not seeking a perfect reading, just wanting to share his story:
The only problem for you my dear readers? The Great Perhaps won't be published until May 2009. However, there are some other Joe Meno titles out there waiting to be gobbled up in the meantime:
Personally, I'll totally be digging into some of his other titles because now I know that he's an amazing talent. And that fiction can be good and fun and mind boggling. Thank you Joe Meno for renewing my faith in fiction. But I do have one little beef--now everywhere I go, all I see is clouds.
This year's Christmas puzzle is one of those where if you turn it a certain way, it will look different. It is MUCH easier than last year's Christmas puzzle that had no picture to go with it (click here for that one). But it's also difficult because it looks different depending on which way you turn it:
I got spring, summer, fall, and winter up in the hizzie.
So I got started:
And then finished it:
Hmmm. That was a little easy. All done in about a day and a half, with some slight help from Marshall, who attacked the puzzle while I was getting ready the other day. Apparently, he did puzzles with his great grandmother. I now have puzzling competition. Hrumph.
So the puzzle is all done, and it's only the first week of December. Hmmm.
Get another puzzle out? Maybe. I did NOT enjoy having to pick up the entire puzzle off the floor and redo it after Webster discovered that the puzzle was just hiding under that towel on the table. TOYS TOYS TOYS. But I also can't imagine going the whole rest of December without puzzling. Luckily, I have some spares that Featherplume gave me last year still tucked in my art closet. I will get Marshall to show me what he's really made of, eh? Bwah ha ha ha ha!
I heard this song for the first time yesterday. It's called Dear Mr. President by Pink. I was putting together my new Christmas puzzle (more on that to come), and I decided to play the Pink music I recently got off iTunes. I'm just now discovering her. I know, I know--a little late.
Anyway, it was dark. I was cozy with the puzzle. The song came on. I stopped puzzling. I just sat there. On the tracks, she is singing with the Indigo Girls--one of my favorite groups of all time. Their voices mixed together perfectly. I ran over and hit repeat, sat back and listened again. And again. And before I knew it, tears had squeaked out of my face.
Bush has been a nightmare. A nightmare.
And I totally support Obama. I voted Obama. But what if our country is so f*cked up that it's impossible to fix? We're all over the world sticking our nose in everyone's business. We don't give our troops enough supplies or body armor. New Orleans is still a WRECK. The economy tanked. My friends are losing their jobs and struggling to support themselves and so am I.
We need a hero.
But sadly, so sadly, a president can't always be a hero. There are too many things involved in politics for Obama to just come in and wave his little wand and make it all better. It's going to take a loooong time to repair what has gone wrong.
But at least that Bush asshat is getting out of there. He drives me NUTS.
I usually don't get all politicked out on my blog because it will just drive in trolls by the masses. But I really do want to have hope for our country. I want to be proud and hold my head high and feel like my government is on Team Blondie. I worry for Obama that people will expect him to show perfection within his first 100 days. Clean up our country. Create a gazillion jobs. Sadly, this all takes time. I wish him strength and endurance. Go Obama, go. Please don't make Pink write a song about you some day.
Dear Mr. President by Pink
Dear Mr. President Come take a walk with me Let's pretend we're just two people and You're not better than me I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly
What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep What do you feel when you look in the mirror Are you proud
How do you sleep while the rest of us cry How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye How do you walk with your head held high Can you even look me in the eye And tell me why
Dear Mr. President Were you a lonely boy Are you a lonely boy Are you a lonely boy Are you a lonely boy How can you say No child is left behind We're not dumb and we're not blind They're all sitting in your cells While you pave the road to hell
What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay I can only imagine what the first lady has to say You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine
How do you sleep while the rest of us cry How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye How do you walk with your head held high Can you even look me in the eye
Let me tell you 'bout hard work Minimum wage with a baby on the way Let me tell you 'bout hard work Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away Let me tell you 'bout hard work Building a bed out of a cardboard box Let me tell you bout hard work Hard work Hard work You don't know nothin bout hard work Hard work Hard work
How do you sleep at night How do you walk with your head held high Dear Mr. President You'd never take a walk with me would you
His Highness of the High Seas, Meester Pirate, has tagged me for some book memes.
1. Nearest Book Meme
The rules are as follows:
Pass it on to five other bloggers, and tell them to open the nearest book to page 56. Write out the fifth sentence on that page, and also the next two to five sentences. The CLOSEST BOOK, NOT YOUR FAVORITE, OR MOST INTELLECTUAL!
OK, OK.
The closest book is The Tree, which I bought when I started dating Marshall the Tree Man, but I haven't read very much of. I keep it close in the hopes that I will have spare time to do some comfort reading. Alas, I don't have much of that time.
p. 56 sentence 5:
"Fish, like trees (and human intelligence) reflect this innate, implicit orderliness."
I love the fact that the sentence makes NO sense on it's own, so I'm just going to leave it that way. (snickers)
Now I will move onto Meme Part 2.
Seven Weird Book Facts About Me:
1. I prefer nonfiction over fiction. This tends to be a male trait, so it shows my manliness. But seriously, I love learning, and nonfiction books make me learn stuff.
2. Even though I love all things Wizard of Oz, have watched the movie a billion times, and dressed up as Dorothy for Halloween multiple times, I've never read the book. Which is why I used an old Border's gift certificate last week to order the Annotated Wizard of Oz. So I can read nonfiction factoids along with the fiction. Rumor has it that Dorothy has silver shoes in the book. Odd.
3. I love children's books almost more than adult books. I would rather spend my day in the children's department of a bookstore than any other section. If I could, I would bathe in them. This is slightly weird because I do not share this same love for actual children.
4. I really really really hate it when people CRACK the spine of a book. My mother does this. If I'm lending her a book, I have to remind her not to destroy it. People make fun of me because they don't know how super thick books can be held open without a little cracking. Trust me, you can do it. But I don't mind at all if a book gets dirty or is dropped in water. Just the cracking bugs me.
5. I go back and read The Shining by Steven King once every three years just because it's that good. Same with Fahrenheit 451.
6. I don't speed read, but I can read really fast. Because I had to read hundreds of middle reader/YA titles for a library project I worked on once, I can read about 100 pages an hour when I want to. People who speed read bug me because I know they're missing things (cough, Ma).
7. I own a really old old old version of The Little Prince (which I actually hate) that is hardcover, in color, but has exactly one page that is entirely in French. I also own a 1st edition Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (it's in safety deposit box, so don't bother breaking in), and an advanced reader copy of The Golden Compass. My prized children's book is Sleepy Bears by Mem Fox because I love the book and I had her sign it when I worked at the bookstore. It's the perfect "go to sleep now" children's book.
So there you have it. If you want to do the meme, be sure to tell me so I can go read your answers.
When we first saw the trailer for Wall-E, Pa and I knew we were going to have to see this puppy. But knowing myself and my father, I realized we'd probably have to wait until it got released on DVD and just go buy the thing. Going to movies = expensive and time-consuming. It's not like there's a multi-plex in Farmsville.
So I bought it and took it over to Nerdtopia. And was blown away. Beyond the of-course-incredible Pixar animation, the story itself spoke to me on many levels: the responsibility of humans to Earth, loneliness, love, friendship, and humility.
I don't want to tell you anything about this movie because I want you to go get it. Immediately. Forget Christmas. Get it now. Then cuddle up under a blanket, get some popcorn and something to drink, and perhaps snuggle with a loved one. It helps if you don't watch the movie alone. It's something that is meant to be shared--with everyone.
