How do you feel? We've been digging ourselves out of snowbanks for 3 days (see how hard he's pushing? That, children, is called leverage). The post I wrote on Saturday? Yeah, at 7am, at the START of the great Blizzard of 2010. The roof of the Metrodome collapsed, the cities pulled all the plows off the road because it was too dangerous, and Tim drove a sweet lady to work at the hospital. When he came home, he said it was like Armageddon; trucks and cars sideways in the exit ramps, countless cars in the ditches, insanity. She took an overnight bag. People on Facebook and blogs had all sorts of names for the blizzard: SnOMG and Snomageddon were my favorites. At the end we ended up with 22 inches or so, and then it blew all around in little snow tornadoes all over the place. You could hear it from inside the house (the call is coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE!!!) Incidentally, C. Awesome went through 3 snowblowers. Big ones.
So there you are. Now pictures. :)
Looks harmless, pretty even. But you can't even see where C. Awesome snowblowed...
Where are all the cars, Santa?
Our neighbors. I believe this is their first winter outside of Mexico. They shared their shovels with the Nigerians...Minnesota nice went international on my street.
I decided to walk the dog this morning. It was against my better judgement and my principles of weekend blizzard activities. Today is a day to sit inside and bake gingerbread cookies, and at some point today, I will. You’ll see.
The news has been blaring warnings of 13 inch snowfall for the last 3 days. This excites me, as I have the weekend off (not like 2 weekends ago where the whole world was an ice rink and I slid through an intersection whilst a cop waved at me helpless…true story). I decided whether the snow falls or not, I’m locking myself indoors and baking my amazing soft and chewy gingerbread cookies. If the snow falls, I won’t have TV anyway, because I have satellite, and we all know what happens when a cloud passes over the orbiting metal box. Minnesotans never quite believe the weatherman anyway, and seemed pretty glib about it, only making a run to the liquor store before going home. This is another side of Minnesota I don’t get; quiet, Lutheran Midwesterners who swear in everyday conversations and think, “if it snows, I better go get some booze, cause I’ll just be home shoveling.” Incidentally, it snowed 8 inches overnight, and we’re supposed to see snow until 10:00 tonight. I only know this because of the weather texts sent to my phone, as my TV is…you guessed it; out.
After work yesterday I went and bought everything for gingerbread cookies (I hope), and a friend gave me 6 of her own chickens’ monster sized, fresh and fluffy eggs. I’m excited. But this has nothing to do with walking the dog. Captain Awesome had gotten up at 5 and gone out to snowblow; a tragic endeavor, as it all blew back as soon as he went past. I decided, since he’d been out working since 5 and I was inside drinking tea, I could be nice and take the dog out, a sheltie who LOVES losing himself in snow. I don’t get it; that low to the ground and having to leap everywhere. Maybe he hates it and is forced to leap, giving the impression of winter jollity. I don’t know. Are any of you a dog whisperer?
I got up, pulled my hair into a side braid, thinking about my lovely friend in Norway and a stupid picture we took together once, to show ourselves at our most Scandanavian. I pulled my hat down over my eyes and tied a scarf up to meet my hat. The dog was all excited, running in circles around me, looking for treats, and whining at the snow. This was the moment I realized that I had left my winter boots in my car for the last big snow, about a week and a half ago. Moral dilemma; do I call Captain Awesome and ask him to go get my boots so I can walk the dog? Do I tell him I simply can’t walk the dog and go back to my tea? Do I go get them myself and walk the dog with wet socks (I HATE wet socks)? I tried to wimp out, I texted him, but he couldn’t hear it over the snowblower. I went out the front door (a rarity, I don’t even have a key), walked along the once snowblowed sidewalk, trudged out to my garage (I am so thankful for my garage) and got my boots out of the car. I put them on in the garage and went on my way. It wasn’t so bad. Wind at my back, coat covered in white, dog leaping and bouncing through mountains of fluff. It was actually pretty cute. I started to walk down towards the pond, and the snow quickly climbed to my thighs. I gave in and fell. I really should have made a snow angel…I wonder why I didn’t think of that. Anyway, dog that he is, wouldn’t leave my side to go to the bathroom, so I got back up and we started back.
Ouch. The wind was no longer at my back, and I couldn’t see or hear. My mind immediately went elsewhere so I wouldn’t have to pay attention to the elements. I thought about how my Scandanavian ancestors would be so proud of me (not very likely…”oooooh, you went out in the snow….did you also eat rotten, 8 month old fish you buried?”), and how my Irish ones would think I’m nuts. The German ones would think it’s romantic, and the French ones…I really don’t think they’d care. No clue how my Cherokee ancestors would feel about me trudging out in the snow to walk a dog. Seems kind of small compared to hunting and surviving and the like. To my right, a noise pulled me out of my ponderings. Then I realized it was the sound of my snowpants, I just hadn’t been able to hear until I got to a wind-less place.
Poor Captain Awesome, still out there at almost 9, snowblowing into futility. Maybe I’ll make those peanut butter cookies with the Reese’s in them….I need Reese’s. So I made it back home, came in the back door (because I had my boots!) and noticed that I had left the front door wide open in my snow-shock. Nothing like going for a 15 minute walk and letting all the heat out on a snowy Saturday morning. You know you’ve been there.
Today’s song of the day should be no surprise. I'm sorry about the way it looks. Grooveshark and I have had a serious falling out, and they now offer a lot less for a lot more work. And they don't save anything for you anymore. Boo.
I haven't written for some time, as I have been quite physically miserable for the last 3 weeks or so. I am now starting to feel better. But that is another blog for another time.
It's fall. I can not deny it. Not that I want to, I love fall. I know it's a time of death and preparation for destitution, but it's so lovely. How brilliant it can look! To me it's more like a rebirth, a phoenix blazing with flames that will rise again.
I got up to walk the dog this morning and there was frost on the ground; sharp and rigid, yet soft, like manna that just appeared overnight. The sun was rising at the time, and created this fog over the frost. It was lovely. Of course the dog had no care, but to pee on it. Bygones.
The sad thing about frost is that it goes away so quickly. It creates a half hour of beauty, and then is melted away, dripping down into the roots in the grasses. If you get up too late, you will miss the sight of sun hitting frost, making fog. I don't know. It's just so magical; it makes you realize why people made up fairy stories and other magical tales.
I just had to share, because I love fall, and the first frost is kind of a big deal. I brought in a few of my plants yesterday, and have a couple more to bring in today. This brings up another item of progress; my tolerance of spiders. I hate spiders. Like many of you, they freak me out and the thought of them crawling on me is unbearable. I try not to kill them, but let them be. Last year when I brought in the plants for the winter (a sad happening; they always dwindle. It's like I'm sentencing them to prison, being inside), I got an influx of insects. They drove me absolutely batty, little gnat-type flies buzzing around my face. We started not killing the spiders, and lo and behold, our insect problem went away. I'm sure there is some genius way to bring in plants for the winter, like changing out the dirt, but you live and learn. So we have 2 spiders in the living room and one in the basement. Captain Awesome discovered the one in the basement that is a large, hairy, jumping spider. He came crawling out one day and C.Awesome pointed at him, making him curl up in that spider ball, and said, "you can stay, but you earn your keep." And I'll be darned if that spider didn't nod, and scurry back under the dryer. As an added bonus, the spiders are not eating the crickets, so we still have summer sounds in the basement. Nice.
So there you are; my randomness this morning. My stream of conciousness regarding fall, spiders, and life. And here are some photos from this morning's jaunt.
Today's song of the day is:
I just like the cadence, and it's about time for a change :) This song needs to be so much longer.
Last week was hot. I mean Minnesota summer hot. It was sticky, impossible to enjoy; the kind of day where you leave for work at 6:15am and you feel like you're breathing in water (this is the main reason I don't live in India today. I'm sure you were wondering). Of course my air conditioner in the car was on the fritz, and when I called the mechanic (the LOVELY boys at vroom), I wasn't even sure what to tell them. It went something like this, "It's working, it just doesn't seem to be at full capacity. Unless it is and it's just so hot I can't tell, like there's no winning in this situation..." for about 15 minutes, probably. Anyway, for you boys and techies, it was a pound low on free-on. Can we move on now? :P
I came home from work one day last week and could not wait to get out of my clothes; too hot to wear so many clothes plus an apron to work. I went to the kitchen sink to wash my hands (I love the way I turn clean water brown when I wash my hands after work...I really feel like an effective hand-washer), and there was a common toad in the sink.
Now, this shouldn't really surprise any of you. But what made this interesting is that I had just spoken with my dear friend, Didi. I was telling her how hard it is to go out to eat when you always go out with someone who is deathly allergic to onions. She told me about this little Indian place in Minneapolis on Central that cooks Jain food. Now of course I had to look into this, and to why it would matter to me (or C.Awesome, who secretly hates curry). Turns out, Jain is a sect of the Hindu religion that believes life in all of it's forms is valuable. They only eat sustainable food, nothing they have to kill to eat, even vegetables like onions and garlic (because the root is what you eat, and that is it's life). They live to never offend anyone and wear a lot of white. Apparently their version of Karma is a little different, but I can't remember how. So C.Awesome was intrigued by this idea, as it is basically the rules of his made up land, "Timtopia," with the exception that in Timtopia, if someone is a big jerk face, the rest of the people have the right to kill him...or something. It's self policing, I remember that much, and there is a lot of emphasis on underwater basket weaving. But I digress.
There was a note on the counter about there being a toad in the sink. Turns out, Captain Awesome had found the toad on the sidewalk, dehydrated, and unable to get out of the burning sun. He put it in the sink to cool it and rehydrate it. Cool.
As the day went on, we noticed that his right side had been crushed, apparently by someone stepping on him. He had a collapsed lung and his right arm didn't seem to be in socket. We are told we are hilarious when this stuff happens, because immediately we take action. C.Awesome went and found an aquarium, we put foliage in there from the turtle's terrarium, and real ferns from our plant collection. We tilted the aquarium slightly so there was water on one side and dry on the other. We researched online and found that often toads and frogs will heal if left alone, and may not eat for a few days. So we monitored him from afar and left him on the kitchen table. The next day C.Awesome went and bought crickets from the pet shop in case he got hungry.
The crickets immediately got out, except for a few larger ones. The toad didn't seem all that interested anyway, and when we began to corral the crickets back in, they crawled right over his nose and he didn't make a move. We kept him for three days, and he showed progress, but that right arm began to shrivel, and it was clear he was not going to have use of it. I did call the Wildlife Rehab Center and left a message, somehow believing that toads may be below their list of concerned animal rehabilitation options. They called me back the next day in a bored voice and left a message for me to call them back. Nah. They weren't going to do anything different than I was, and I've have interesting experiences putting Ferrel animals in cars and driving them around.
On the fourth day, we decided to put him out in the backyard and see if he was well enough to be free, or if we should bring him inside, but in any case, he needed sun and fresh air. As soon as we put him down, he began to hop around; his back right leg had completely healed and he seemed to not really need that right arm as much as one might imagine. He hunkered down in the grass and we watched him watch the world for a while. Then we put him safely in our garden where we knew there were other toads and went inside.
So now, a week later, I have two male crickets; one in the basement and one on the main floor. It's odd, having crickets in the house, but at least they aren't following me around anymore. I see no problem with it. In China they are considered good luck. I even moved my lucky bamboo to the southwest corner of my most used room. Apparently that should help me win the lottery, according to the ancient art of Feng Shui. :P
So I sit here, on a Sunday morning, with the patio door open, listening to crickets chirp in the basement, and birds chirping on the patio, and I am content. So, if your kid wants a pet, or your house is too quiet, I suggest you run out to the pet store and spend 2 bucks on a little pile of crickets. It's like camping all the time.
Today's Song of the day is
Because it's a great song, and it's by Toad the Wet Sprocket. And because I woke up with it in my head today.
And here's a Poem by Charles Dickens, though my toad fared better than his.
Can I view thee panting, lying
On thy stomach, without sighing;
Can I unmoved see they dying
On a log,
Expiring frog!
Say, have fiends in shape of boys,
With wild hallo, and brutal noise,
Hunted thee from marshy joys,
With a dog,
Expiring frog!
Did I tell you I had a tick on me last week? I had a tick on me. It was on my lower back, and I thought I was going to throw up. Ticks may be nothing to you, especially you in the South, who find enjoyment in the hunt and demise of ticks; I lived in Michigan. I heard of ticks, but never once saw one, and I was quite the Xylana. If I were to ever be on the show "Fear Factor" (uh-oh, she just dated herself), I would have to go home at the site of multiple ticks. Ticks are only good on cartoons and TV shows, and I hope you get that reference (in my mind I am hearing the distant cry of "Batmanuel!").
I don't mean to be a nature basher. I love nature. Save the whales and polar bears. Heck, I don't even scare rabbits and squirrels out of my garden, and I have a nest of yellow jackets that coexist quite peacefully with me and my brood of pets. I even stopped killing spiders. But come ON, what is the biological reason for a tick!?!?! Creationist, evolutionist, alienist, I don't care what you believe, you can't come up with a good reason for the existence of ticks. Can you imagine being the creature that is known for spreading disease? Can this creature really exist just to "thin out" populations of animals and people? I shudder. SHUDDER, I tell you.
So, here is my thought on how ticks came to be.
Ticks were actually formed as spiders, but they lacked the desire to create webs up high where insects would be prone to become ensnared (evil is often lazy in this regard). They also felt the fine web material they released to be beneath them and thought other insects and arachnids would see them as feminine. They formed a posse and decided, for the good of the group, which of COURSE was inherently evil, they would breed with insects and take off the extra two legs of their offspring, as in a ceremonial mass bris type situation (this in NO way implies that Jewish people are evil. We are talking ticks, the bane of existence. I am not speaking in metaphor). After 3 generations of breeding with insects (poor insects...didn't see the ticks coming like Vikings across the sea), they lost their silk, and, having really no place to live, settled in low lying, wet and cool areas (this is the reason I am so happy to have a dryer today). They then bit each other in territorial wars, and realized they had a penchant for blood, but ticks really didn't supply enough (ohhh, they're vampires!), and they realized cannibalizing their own tribe was detrimental to the population (oh my gosh, a tick realized something! The horn of destiny honks!). They began their experiments of terror, biting and latching on to ducks and birds (can you imagine living off someone else's blood? Ewwwww). They would not be stopped (evil is often ambitious in this regard), and continued to campaign across creation for thousands of years, swelling to the size of golf balls (gluttony) and eventually dying of obesity (ha ha ha ha ha).
I have no end to the story, as there are still ticks, but my hope is that one day every tick in the world is attracted to a trojan horse of some kind, and they all latch on to eat, and none of them survive the engorging. I mean, seriously, with all these vampire books and movies, we actually have a creature that only dies when set on fire to implode. Wow, this post got kind of gross.
Anyway, I hate ticks. Could you tell?
Today's song of the day is Based on quotes from the Tick (the live action show from 2001), in an attempt to assuage my passion against ticks.
"You're on a first name basis with lucidity, little friend. I have to call it "mister" lucidity... and that's no good in a pinch."
"Gravity is a harsh mistress"
"Death. The eternal blink. The capricious dance of Now Ya Stop Movin' Forever. Well contrary to popular belief, death isn't just for dead people. It can happen to anyone. I know, it's news to me too. And it's not just people either, it's all kinds of stuff. Horses, fiddler crabs. Did you know that even a potato... can die?"
"When society says jump, we say pass the salt"
So, a snippit of a song. It's "Hey, Mr. Caution" by Eddie Constantine.
Hmmmmm. I can't seem to post the file. LAME. Like ticks. I will figure out something else.
well, here is another song. Today's song of the day is NOW:
You may or may not know that I have recently gotten back in the pool, the last time I swam was likely the last post you read about swimming. I enjoy swimming immensely. This past weekend I took my very first class ever: a water dynamics class. Yes, I was the youngest one there, good guess! The people were lovely, and the teacher reminded me of someone...in a movie...it will come to me. She was middle aged, brown mousy hair, black shirt and shorts, and a black excersise headband reminiscent of Flashdance. In the movie, I can see her, and she's really trashy with a cigarette in her mouth. Oh man, it's on the tip of my tongue!
The people were very nice, but there was some concern lurking in my mind about the fact that I was the only one who showered prior to entering the pool. One woman came in, and the familiar smell of ammonia wafted in my direction. This was worrysome. At least the other women smelled like Aveda products! :) No one else had wet their hair, they all wore makeup, glasses and earrings. I was severely out of place.
The class started and I kept up just fine. I never felt like I got my heart rate up, and I think the teacher was surprised she spent more than a half hour on warm-up. Her CD playing boombox kept skipping, then dying, then repeating...it was a long hour music wise.
Everytime someone new came into the pool, I would move so as to include them in the circle. The circle kept growing until we were 2 rows, one on each side of the pool. I was by the pool wall until the noodles on the ledge plugged up my sinuses. See, I have an allergy to mold and mildew. I was not excited about the noodles. I plugged away, and was fine once I got my noodle underwater, but the woman would forget to tell us when we were using the noodles and when we weren't, so I found myself doing all the exercises with the noodle, and she would giggle, "aaaaahh ha ha ha ha" in her high pitched voice, "we're not using the noodle now." Thanks a wahoo :)
Speaking of wahoo, there was an older gentleman in the pool who was a "wooter." This is a general term for someone who screams, "woooooooot!" Every time the words, "Double Time" are spoken. It was like a hootenanny, and he liked the music. I laughed a lot.
Anyway, I survived, spent 90 minutes in the pool moving the whole time, and never took any breaks. I love the pool, but it really dries out my skin and my hair. I bought a swim cap today.
So, I've been staring at the screen, and I cannot remember who this lady reminds me of, but it's uncanny. I can't place the movie. I hope you can. She sits with her hands on her knees, smoking, and sounds drunk when she speaks. I'm thinking late 80s, early 90s. When I think of it (and I WILL :P), I will let you know.
Today's song of the day, in light of my newfound pool hobby and the way I don't yet feel slim is from Veggie Tales. If you don't know it already, I'm surprised. Just push play.
Last night was one of those nights where it stormed a lot, you could tell, but pretty far away. Constant bright lightning and latent thunder with just a slow tapping of rain, as if the storm was actually being polite. I for one was thrilled, as it was a full moon, and the activity seemed to keep the bored, destructive teenagers at bay, like pacing wolves. The courtyard was pretty quiet and I had the window open. Somewhere in the night, a small dog called me out of my dreaming with a little “Yip.” Subconsciously I knew the sound belonged to a trendy dog name, some sort of “oodle.” I ran through the possibilities in my mind as he continued yipping in the courtyard. Labradoodle? No (yip!). Chihuahuadoodle? Is that a word (yip yip yip!)? What was that one I read in a magazine, the new one? It was like a dachshund and poodle, right (yip yip yip yip yip yip yip)? Oh, Dachsuhuahua, no poodle there. Boy that dog (yip yip) is annoying. Someone should tell that dog to shut up! Yip yip…yip yip…yip! Then suddenly, mid-yip, BAM! Lightning hit the park with an instantaneous thunderclap shaking the whole house. There was silence. No owner, no yip, no sound whatsoever. It was the only close lightning strike the entire storm. Against our nature as nature lovers, in our stupor we started laughing. Half conscious and imagining a smoke ball with a fluff spot in the yard, our cartoon side won out. We laughed hysterically and uncontrollably, describing the scene we thought may be left in the yard, and God laughing at this joke, this rogue lightning strike.
I don't even know if I should tell you this. Yesterday was ridiculous. Where do I begin?
It was my day off, but I went in anyway to make sure things went well for the evening-girl-who-is-me. There was quite a bit of stuff to put away, so I borrowed 2 morning stockers and had them help me (there was complaining, yes! How did you know?) Anyway, I got it all finished with a certain amount of satisfaction that she would come in and not have to worry about too much. I came home and decided to pick up some items for Thursday night dinner, which we are hosting this week. Captain Awesome gave me his prepaid card, and away I went.
I went to the grocery store that was farther away, to see my cashier buddy, Mary. Mary cracks me up. She has a crackle laugh, crazy barrettes tied into her short hair, and a height of about 4' 10". And I forgot she doesn't work Mondays. I was having a ball, though they didn't have my greek yogurt with Honey, I had to get regular. I got stopped by old ladies asking where the gravy was, and gave them a tour of the boxed dinner aisle (it's aisle 7, you know). Anyway, checkout didn't go so well.
I rang through all my items, and swiped the prepaid card. The lady asked to see my ID. I gave it to her, not knowing that the prepaid card with Captain Awesome's name on it had arrived. She immediately slipped into fraud mode and said she could not take the card. I said, "should we call him?" "Wouldn't matter, you could be calling anyone." So I said I had another card. Here's where it got ridiculous. She had already accepted it. So she called the manager over, who was also unable to void the transaction. They had to push it through, then take the card to customer service to refund the card, then charge my card the exact same amount. If I did not go to customer service and switch it all, they would have to assume the card was stolen and report it as such. Are you hearing me? The cops, on a prepaid card, on which I am an authorized user. People in line behind me were giving me "the look" and I was starting to feel pretty criminalistic. Since it had to be pushed through, she turned away from me, jerked her shoulder back and said, "I am going to need to you scribble on that again, to make it go through." Like I couldn't even sign a name. UGH! Humiliation! I didn't even do anything wrong!
I could have done this (does anyone else do this? Revisit the situation and say, "I SHOULD have..."
- I could have left all that meat and frozen food and just walked away. Have fun putting that away!
- I could have gone to the ATM and forced her to ring it all back up again.
- I could have said witty comments, pointing out the ridiculousness of a prepaid card being treated like a credit card and the way they pushed it through anyway.
Whatever. So I got home, put the groceries away with ire, and went with Captain Awesome to my workplace to pick up a few things. I saw the girl-who-is-me-in-the-evening, and walked over to say, "Isn't this nice? You didn't have to do all the lugging!" But before I could say anything, she was asking me who did this, because it was all done wrong and she had to redo it. So I really didn't help at all. Glad I came in on my day off to help. Sometimes it feels like it doesn't matter what I do, there is just no pleasing people. Why am I working so hard? Why should I care? Whatever! :P
What did I do after this wasted day? What any self respecting girl would do. I watched the new Chuck and ate sushi at home. And that was the best part of my day. Sad! :) I am done with THAT Cub Foods. I will stick to the closer one from now on. You should have seen the way she looked at me, like everything I said was a planned lie.
So. Anyway. The song of the day for yesterday is
The Steve Miller Band - Take the Money and Run, as I am clearly a criminal with intent to steal and commit fraud. Yes. That sounds like me.
One day, not too long ago, I was sailing the sea of status updates on that ever-ridiculous, but seemingly necessary Facebook. After 3 pages of farmville updates from friends that I no longer talk to because of Farmville, I saw this random post, almost shoved in the middle of a barn raising and a lost manta ray in Seaville (the villes are getting out of control, people). It was from my friend in Georgia, and it said simply,
"Anger always comes from frustrated expectations. -Elliot Larson."
Since that day, that phrase has subtly stalked me, popping up and teasing me, like a snack I know I don't need, and I'm not particularly hungry, but is something I can chew. I pull up in my mind a time when I was angry, justified or not, and I find this to be true. Whenever I am angry, I am angry because of my frustration that reality doesn't look like the picture in my head. To be fair, I think the picture in my head is always the ideal; such as last week when I came home from work and Captain Awesome had planted the garden, not everything was in the pot I wanted, blooming. How silly; they are seeds, I can move them when they bloom, which some are already doing! But I digress.
Even when anger is justified, I think it comes from the same place. When someone turns their back on you, humiliates you, disappoints you, it's because of this picture in your head that you expected. You expected them to be a better person, you thought they really loved you for yourself, you expected them not to be so selfish or untrue. All of these things lead to anger (they also lead to sloth, depression, overeating, and lots of other things that will keep you on your couch for days...not that I know, or anything!). When Christ lost his temper in the temple, He expected the religious leaders to be generous and to follow the spirit of the law, not use it as a power tool over others, and He was angry. Why wouldn't He be? He expected better. Just like (on a MUCH smaller scale, not even comparable), I expected better yesterday when I walked in to a massive mess in my storage area that took me a while to clean up. I was angry, and I was right to be angry, but all that could really be done about it was to clean it up. My expectation was frustrated. I did clean it up and received commendation from my boss. Woot. :)
I started this blog out of my frustrated expectations; I expected I could walk into a job last year, and put it off. Then I needed a job, expected to get one easily, couldn't, and continually freaked out. I expected that my experience, perception and people skills would help me. They might have, if I could have even gotten interviews. I expected that I was more than a resume. I wasn't. Oh well, ce'st la vie. Incidentally, my pastor is looking for these stupid types of coping/anti-stress phrases...there's one (also acceptable: It is what it is, it's all good...).
I don't know the answer to this. Logic would say, "don't expect anything." How do I not expect things? I'm a planner. I can't even half-expect, because you do or you don't, it's like if you like curry or not. There's no middle ground there. Imagination, the unreasonable force behind everything good, also leads you believe that your life is going to be everything you wanted when you were 10. It leads you to believe when you're happy it will stay that way, when you're sad, it will pass. That is why there are mid-life crises, identity losses, and people who run away from their families and responsibilities; in their anger over their frustrated expectations, they leave for something better; no doubt something they have in their mind, an expectation. How's that work for y'all? I mean, no wonder people say things like, "he's a sensitive artist-type." Likely they can't make the picture on the easel look like the one in their head.
I don't know how I got on this, but there it is. I think that statement is a true one, and I have been trying to keep it in my head so as to not overreact or to keep a little logic. I'd love to know what you think.
Today's song of the day is a repeat from November. Sorry, I will think of another, but for now,
I'm sorry some mean bully-type person found your journal.
I'm sorry they chased you around with it and read it out loud.
I'm sorry you were humiliated, watching your innermost thoughts and drawings be ripped out and
thrown into the wind.
I'm sorry that you feel like your life is over and you can never go back to school.
I know it feels like nothing is secret or safe, but it will be again, someday.
I know it doesn't help now, but eventually everyone will forget that you like Kyle.
I know it hurts, but eventually you will not think of it again until one day when you are 30, and you find some little girl's journal in the park and you remember how it felt.
If it makes you feel better, in the 5th grade, the Morin twins (Megan and Becky) tricked me on the playground; one of them picked me up over their shoulder and the other pulled my skirt over my head.
It is important that you "chin up" about this and know that you are a strong person. You must be; only strong people keep journals. Weak people just remember fun times and reminisce about them well into their adulthood, living in the past.
Most of those bullies will peak in highschool, and you will peak much later, for much longer.
Big picture, here, young person. In the long run, this will be a blip that you remember with some hurt, but you cannot let it define you or change who you are right now. Not all people are as horrible as elementary school kids.
Whatever they did to you, they did because they wanted to feel better about themselves by pushing you down; only you can let them make you feel bad. Be stronger than they.
Start a new journal; eviscerate them. Maybe keep it at home. Only you need to know about it.
Do not seek public revenge; that only makes you stoop to their level. Also, the likelihood that you will get in trouble rather than them is good.
Today's song of the day is for you. Actually, you get a playlist, little girl. You go.
PS: The butterfly song at the end might make you cry. It's good for you :)
I begin today's Blog with the following side note: Yesterday I cleared off all the pictures on my camera's card, in order to take more today. I took a few this morning for this blog post. Here I sit at 8:00am, and whlist dumping my photos onto my computer, I see the shocking number: 83. How did this happen? How did I just take 83 shots in the last half hour? Will I delete the ones that I think aren't great? Will I? This is today's blog.
I have long had this issue, for which I take more than a little cajoling, that I do not use everything I buy when it comes to food. I have this mentality of, "I need to have a little left in case there is a nuclear holocaust or emergency," or "I love this, and it's hard to find, so I will not finish it; then one day, when I REALLY need this taste, it will be here." Therefore, I have cans of fruit and veggies from 2004, I have 8 containers of honey, approximately 1 Tbs each, and I have this enclosed photo, an entire shelf full of tea. OK, OK, a shelf and a half.
The tea is really interesting, because today I decided to make a cup. This was my thought process:
-Oooh, I love black currant. But I got that in Ireland, and it's so hard to find.
-Oh! My tea from Austria with Elderberry (holunder! Something that was life changing and mind boggling to me, but likely means nothing to you)! But it's loose tea, and I don't know where my filter bags are.
-Hm.. This tea has never been opened. Organic Peach Detox...what is that? Can I drink it with toast? Probably not; I bet it's a fasting tea.
-Green tea...yech. Sick of it. What's all the hype again?
-I need to buy more Ginger Lemon tea; that's my favorite, and I only have 2 bags left. NO. NO MORE TEA. You must drink this entire shelf and a half of tea before more tea comes in to this house!
-My fancy, expensive tea from Mackinac Island...*sigh*. Same problem of no filter bags.
-Jason Winter's Tea. An herbal blend that only gets stronger, even after removed. I don't like it. But it reminds me of my fiance, who drank it as part of a therapy before he died. It would be wrong to throw it away. I wonder if anyone who has cancer would want it? (seriously, this is how I think...maybe I should have a garage sale for tea? Surely is an absurd idea...)
-Fine. Peach it is. Boring old peach.
So as I sit here drinking my peach tea and listening to the chickadees out on my patio thrash about in my pile of birdseed, I can't help but think that this is a problem. I'm not a hoarder or anything, but when it comes to food, I make all these excuses not to enjoy it all, and it inevitably goes bad, so I've missed out anyway. The tea is just one of many indicators.
Another example is that one day I was having a particularly hard day (for those avid readers of my blog, I refer you to the horrid day at the spa back in December of 2009). It was three days after my abomination of a hair cut and style (from a near GRADUATE, I remind you), and I was having a tough day at work (as tough as retail can get...). My friends located Bulmers, an Irish hard cider that I drank in Ireland with my newfound friends and locals, and adored. In the U.S. it's called "Magners". They drove to Minneapolis and brought me a six pack at work. My friend, Crystal, knowing me too well, also bought me a single bottle, which she knew I would keep on my shelf and never drink. She is so wise. That bottle is still on my shelf...as well as one in the fridge, which I had every intention of drinking on St. Patrick's Day, but instead sat at O'garas drinking Jamie-Gingers that tasted more like Jamie-Soda Waters. Oooh! I may have a photo of that too!
Not a great picture, but all the good ones have me and other people, and I don't want to assume it's ok to use them. I stole my friend's camera and tried to make a kissy face, but started laughing. I know, so unlike me, right? Hey! Back to the post, lady!
So I write now to admit this issue, and to address it in the following manner:
-I vow to get rid of any tea I don't find particularly tasty, even though I will feel SO wasteful to throw away tea. Don't ask me why.
-I vow to get "smart" selection of tea of no more than half of ONE shelf, such as Earl Grey, etc.
-I vow to drink it, not to use it as decoration
-I vow that if I have one bag left, I and do NOT drink it, I will put it in a tin, where no more than one bag of any flavor will reside.
-I vow to make LOTS of iced tea on my patio in the next few weeks and use up whatever I can.
Here's the rub. If I just keep this stuff in the hopes that one day I will really want it, when I finally eat or drink it, it will be stale and disappointing. You can't keep Manna, can you? It all goes bad. Even tea. *sigh*
Today's Song of the day is "Out in the Country" by Kristen Hall. For lots of reasons, one of which being the line in which she sings, "brew me up some twinings tea...tell me that you love me..."
I came across this article, and it gave me a chuckle. Rogue knitters are ensconcing the city's trees and parks in knit scarves. I will let you read for yourself.
I have had the same song in my head for 3 days. It's called The Cave, by Mumford and Sons. I heard it on my way to work the other day, and sat in the car to let it finish (thank you, 89.3 the current, a part of Minnesota Public Radio :P). The mandolin is amazing. I gotta have more mandolin.
Two lines from this song keep ringing in my head. Just stuck in there, on repeat, and I love it. How can a song capture so many thoughts with one line? "Let me to the truth which will refresh my broken mind..." What a great line! Their show here in the cities is at least 2 weeks away, and it's been sold out forever. I'm sure I'm taking the song completely out of context, but I just keep hearing, "I need freedom now, and I need to know how, to live my life as it's meant to be..."
The other thought that comes to my mind is a memory from Ireland. In Doolin, we took a cave tour. The longest stalactite in the Northern Hemisphere (or was is stalagmite...which one hangs from the ceiling? Stalactite)...We had to walk down almost a mile of stairs, and then walk up them. When we came out, the sun burning our eyes, and our lungs burning from the climb, Carolyn said, "Oh, I still have ca-vay on my pants." So when I hear this song, I think of ca-vay, and the climb out of it. And I gotta have more mandolin!
Here are a couple of pics of us and the ca-vay day. We all still joke it was the worst 13.50 Euro we spent. But we helped the economy in Doolin. Yay. :)
So there it is. The mulling of my mind over the last few days. Spring has sprung, and perhaps we are all coming out of our caves. Maybe we'll come out walking on our hands, and see the world hanging upside down. Maybe we're all backwards :)
Today's song of the day should be no surprise. The video link is below, as well as others. I'm a fan. Way to go, Mumford :)
And, we now know (almost a year later) that the banjo/mandolin debate is finished, and tied. He plays the Banjolin. Surprised you didn't know that. :)
As many of you know, I have taken over leadership for the food section of my retail store. This is not all that exciting, but it is interesting. It's like a mini puzzle every day, creating spaces for new stuff, keeping everything else in order. It can be mundane (ie stocking), and the mind can drift, but I can't complain.
Yesterday I was stocking the Twizzlers Cherry Twists, when a man walked up to me. I greeted him as per usual; "Good morning. How are you?" I have to stop doing that, asking how are you (although if I didn't do that, I might miss out on oddly entertaining stories of outdated frat-boy-try, forgive the gummi word). He began telling me about the odd things in his day. People cutting him off, parked strangely, odd vibes from people all over the city, and he's driving a new car! It is an externally unknown fact about Minnesotans, that they cannot drive in rain or sun. They can handle snow just fine, but give them rain and the accidents are exponential on those days, and they all make stupid mistakes. It should be a case study for some doctorate student, because it happens every time. The alternative oddity is the sun. Everywhere I have ever been, sun makes people roll down their windows and drive faster, crank the music, have general merriment. But in Minnesota, drivers consistently keep their windows up, and slowwww dowwwnnnn. It's like hitting the power button on some electronic device, and listening to it wind down. I don't know where this thought process comes from, other than perhaps they are hoping if they trap all the air and let the sun stream in they will thaw, and they don't want to drive out of the sun? I have no idea, but I just want to "go baby go" when the sun comes out, and I always get stuck behind some frigid Minnesota-sicle. But I digress.
I listened to this man's story, actually interested (a trait I no doubt learned from my father). Since I was listening, he continued in sporadic, seemingly random statements, all equally entertaining. I will sum up for you in flowing language what I remember from this conversation.
"I haven't had a day this odd since I returned from the service in 1970. I got back, and picked up my buddy in my new 65 Lincoln (I think), and we went out on the town. First we went to get gas, and there was a woman in the lot trying to change a tire. Well I walked right up there and said, 'Hey darlin', why don't you let a real man do that?' Well she got up and chased me around the car, saying she was a real man and she didn't need me to do it. I didn't know what got into the lady. Then I look and see my friend watching me, laughing, and he's spilling gas all over my new car! So then he asks me where I want to go. I told him last time I came home from the war I grabbed my gal and we went out to this diner, so we went there. I walked in and it was like Heaven, all the girls over here, and all the guys over there. I hadn't ever seen anything like it, girls with girls and guys with guys. Some guy came up and put his hands on my shoulders, I told him 'that's dessert, and it's for the ladies!' Then he blew in my ear, and I had to break a bottle on the bar and point it at them to get out of there. I'd tell you the rest but you'd get jealous."
I laughed and said, "probably" more out of confusion, I think, but I really was enjoying the story. I realized though it didn't look like I was working so I asked him if I could help him find something. We started the walk back to the rear of the store while he continued.
"I got pulled over that day too, by a cop that I KNEW, even. He pulled me over on Arcade and asked me by my name if I knew the speed limit. I said 55, it was Arcade. While I was gone it switched to 30. I didn't know. Then he told me not to smoke anywhere near my car because it smelled like gas."
"How old were you?" I asked. It was his second tour, both times from the draft, and he was 23? I was unclear if he was drafted the second time at 22, or if he returned at 22. Not important. I thought that was quite young, but he assured me that was an "Old timer" in war years. Every few minutes he'd say, "wow, I haven't had a day like this since 1970, that's 40 years. Oh my gosh, that's 40 years!!!" It was funny to me, but I kept saying, "Stop saying it, it won't be so bad.!" He was fascinating. He used to be a talent scout for the Kansas City Royals, and the Mets. I really enjoyed our conversation. Incidentally, he came in for bird food, because he likes to see the deer come up with their fawns and eat. I thought that was nice, if not a little ironic, considering all I had just heard about him.
I started thinking about veterans, the wars. How different are things when they come home, and see for what they were really fighting and protecting? How much has this country changed since 2001, and what do our troops see when they come home that is so different? I work with at least 2 soldiers, both who did tours in Iraq. Things come out in little ways, like, "oh, we had that energy drink in Iraq. It's the desert, you drink what you can..." or "I woke up today, and there was 140 degree difference between here and Iraq. Do I miss the desert?" I find it interesting, but I wonder if it is like when I take an international trip and things remind me of it. If it is like that, it has to have so many more levels.
Anyway, that is my story. He has a friend who's son is a producer, says it should be a movie, or at least a scene. I'm glad I got the interest in people's story trait from my father.
Yesterday was a good day. It had little phenomenons in it. Wednesday is kind of my Monday, because I am off on Tuesdays...nevermind. Usually I am groggy and everything goes wrong on Wednesdays. I woke up, had a lovely breakfast with a friend I hadn't seen in a while, and went to Bath and Body works to pick up my splurge of "Twilight Woods" (clarification: this is not because I am a raging Twi-hard, this is because it smells AMAZING.) It was funny, b/c I had lent her the last 3 of my Twilight books, and she gave them back at breakfast. Then I found a random book in my car, and it was the first Twilight book, and then I had the stuff. I repeat, I am not a raging Twi-hard.
I then went to work and worked 2 hours, caught up on things, and had not much left to do (besides, they were having a hard time affording me), so I left and went to the gym. I put on my swimsuit and went to the pool, marveling that the scale said I was another 2lbs lighter (liar), and stepped in with one foot, when I realized I hadn't showered. I went back in, hosed off, came out, got in (everyone caught up now? Good). The pool was active, but not crowded, and then I realized I was the only female. In a pool that usually accommodates seniors, who I am comfortable with, 3 of these guys were young, upwardly mobile previous frat boys. Crap. So I did my thing. Whatever. Then 2 more came and sat there, watching everything. After about 3 minutes, I thought maybe if I vacated my lane they wouldn't watch. Yay! They just wanted a lane to themselves...the open lane wasn't good enough or something. So whatever, I went to the open lane, which was shared by 2 men; one in his early 40s, and one power walking 72 year old that just had back surgery. This would not be anything of note, except that 40's guy was the biggest splasher in the world. Both legs out of the water, arms hitting the water like a fat kid doing a canon ball, constantly spraying all of us in the mouth and eyes. One guy, as he was getting out, said, "please tell me I don't look like that." No. You look like the guy who wears skin colored shorts, bordering on Speedos, and likes to walk around in them (on the inside). I have issues with skin colored clothes.
Anyway, when things started getting even more crowded (with men), I stood in the corner and did yoga twists and stretches, treading water and doing pullups. 72 year old power walker (he's really fast...I can't keep up with him) mentioned I wouldn't get anywhere standing still. I acknowledged my self consciousness about being in the pool with lots of people, and especially men. He was not helpful. "Of course we look. We're old, not dead. Doesn't mean anything." Great.
So I left the pool eventually, proud I stayed my half hour, showered and went home. Captain awesome had some tailoring he wanted done, so I took some things to the mall for him, and went to Old Navy while I waited. I wanted some new Sweetheart Jeans, and they were on sale. I tried on the size smaller, with no hope whatsoever, and they fit! Really comfortably, but I could see my muffin top a little more, so I bought the same size I had. I figured I could buy one pair now, and when I was truly the next size down, I could get more. I found some tops, too, by some miracle, and left feeling pretty good.
By this time it was almost 4, and I hadn't eaten since 8:30. I was feeling really hungry. In a mall, what are my choices...anyone? I walked past the dairy queen with the karmelcorn, and THROUGH the entire food court, up to each vendor. And I didn't buy a thing. I was AMAZED at my will. I went to Barnes and Noble (yes, THAT Barnes and Noble) and contemplated the ease of soup (not much). I looked at all their pastries and was able to get out with just buying a water. I was on cloud nine. The lady offered me a fresh oatmeal cookie, and I said, "you know, I do want one, but I am so proud that I was able to walk past that cabinet." She said she understood and wouldn't suggest screw ups for me. Nice girl :)
I went home, noshed some almonds, went out with Captain Awesome to run errands, and hit my staff meeting at 8. And I had energy for it!!! And, I skipped the cake that was brought in. I rocked yesterday. Let's see if I can do this today too :)
Today's song of the day is the Hamster Dance. C'mon. Do it with me!
So I haven't written in a while. This has come to my attention by various readers of my blog, some of whom I did not know exist. While I have been busy and falling into new routines, I still love to write, and miss telling you stupid stories about what I am up to. Not that it's all about me...but it is in here, actually.
So this week I started swimming again. I love to swim. To feel light and airy, to watch the waves break before you, to move along silently while under the water everything is moving. I used to swim all the time. Yesterday during my laps I remembered the summer I learned how to swim at Interlochen Arts Camp, under the tutelage of Twink, a lovely woman that is no longer with us. At Interlochen there were 2 places to swim. Safe in the shallow area and out past the buoys, where I was certain life was terrifying. You had to take a 15 minute swim test just to go out past the line of buoys. In my 5 year old head it was another world. If I have a regret about this, it is that I never, not once, took the 15 minute swim test to see if I could do it (to be fair, I thought if I tread water for 15 minutes, I would be too tired to swim back in, and I would drown). But I digress. One day, Twink took us all out to the raft to test our skills in swimming. We had to jump off the raft and swim about 8 feet to her, waiting with her arms open to catch us. I was the last one in. I climbed off the raft backwards, and turned around in the water. I ducked underwater and swam to Twink, looking for her suit in the water. What I actually saw was murky water with algae growing from the bottom, but I remember so clearly in my mind how it looked like an aquarium; coral and tropical fish, sunlight cutting through all the clear blue water to highlight an anemone. I will never know why I remember it that way, but I do. Anyway, due to the murky water, I couldn't make out Twink's form, until I ran into her bosom, floating out halfway of the suit, which DID look like an aquarium. She was so proud of me, and I was so proud of myself, but that was the last time I was out that deep in that lake.
These thoughts came to me yesterday as I was swimming the length of the pool at the gym, using the breast stroke and chasing the ripple in front of me. It was so Zen to make the ripple, see the ripple, chase the ripple. I just focused on that, and I never needed a break.
My first return trip to the pool was not so lovely. Tuesday I decided that I was going to go to the pool, no excuses. I packed a gym bag and put my suit on under my clothes so there would be no drawn out preparation that could deter me. Funny how something like this can make it feel like junior high all over again. I checked in and took look at the pool; full. Ugh! I will still do this, it may be less busy by the time I get out, I told myself. If I walk out now, everyone on the ellipticals will see that I checked in and walked out. I walked into the locker room and didn't know where to sit. I chose a place and took off my shoes, socks and pants. Then I sat down and stared into space as the motivation conversation began in my head like the angel and devil that sit on your shoulders (you know the ones): oh no. I didn't shave. I can't go in the pool. And my skin is so dry, what is chlorine going to do to my skin? I can't do this. I don't have a swim cap, my hair is going to turn green. I should really go. Then the other side started to state its case: You're already here. Your suit is on. No one will notice your legs. You will feel so much better when you are done. You love the water. You're going snorkeling in 17 days, you really need to be able to stay in the water. You'll never be ready if you don't take the first step... on and on they went while I sat in my shirt and stared off to the right. After about 7 minutes of this, I looked up and saw the same look on the face of the woman sitting across from me, clearly having a similar conversation in her head, but in Hmong. We both sat there, unmoving in our swim suits, staring, clearly terrified of taking off that shirt. It was then that I went to autopilot and stood up, taking my shirt off and heading to the showers. I dug deep to find that confidence problem I have, in that I am OK with myself on most occasions. Fake it til it's true, right?
I came out of the shower and saw that she was also coming out of the shower, and I followed her to the pool door. She went out and immediately turned around to go back inside the locker room, passing me on her way back in. I stopped and turned around as she turned to give me a helpless look. I squared my shoulders and said, "can we do this?" and she straightened up her back and said hesitantly, "yes," and then disappeared back into the locker room. I got in the pool, which was not much less crowded, but worked out OK with 2 older men power walking and talking about their Bose radios and some converter to record DVD movies onto VHS (What???? WHY?). A lane opened up, and I left it open, hoping my commiserate would see it and come out. After about 5 minutes, she did. She swam to the other end of the pool and stood in the corner in the sun doing stretches and kicking up water. In an odd way it motivated me to just keep moving. I only spent a half hour in the pool, but I kept moving. It didn't really seem odd to me until I told my friend about it and she found it fascinating! :P
So, I went back on Friday, after calling my friend and asking her to remind me that I was NOT, in fact, too tired to go to the gym, and how great I'd feel after (and I did). The scale said I was down 2 pounds from Tuesday, but I don't believe it. I don't know how it could lie, but it is.
So, today's song of the day is twofold;
This song because it was on at the gym, and I just really like to move to it. But it's not how I'm feeling, I just love the beat.
But, in honor of my lame attitude I have about myself, and the stupid extent to which I need to motivate myself, today's song is:
Many of you know I sporadically dog sit for my friend, Crystal, opening our doors to Mr. Henry Magoo, whom we have known since puppy-hood. Henry is a lovely dog, and our dog plays with him often. They know when they are within a mile of the others' house, and they both just....well they frenzy, really.
As my best friend has recently jetted off to Ireland (without me!!! In a show of good sportsmanship, I gave her the phone numbers and info for all my friends, and their bands, and where they are playing during her trip. See? Good sport, me!), Henry is at the house. I forget how he is so enamored with the aging, loud and irritable cat. It must be quite a sight for him, to NOT win someone over for once.
This morning, after Henry woke me every 4 hours to go out, or to revel at the cat's hissing, I took him and Ed out for a walk at about 6:30. Sometime in the last 12 hours, for that is when I last ventured out into the great tundra of St. Paul, a soft rain fell, then froze in a layer of ice about 3/16" thick on everything. Everything. What this means for you, dear reader, is that the streets of St Paul are currently as smooth as if they had just been caressed by a Zamboni. I should have worn my ice skates, but I opted for my boots. I try to imagine the look on the faces of the people driving by as I mushed these two dogs on long leads of 20 feet. Arms flailing, feet unsteady as I was pulled along ungracefully by a Shih-Tzu-Cavalier mix (i.e. lapdog) and a sheltie (size of lapdog). I was laughing so hard, I had to cut the walk short and let them run without leash. It was almost funnier seeing them slide all over the place.
It reminded me of this great news story by Jana Shorthal, here in the cities. She put on ice skates and went down the street in minneapolis. Here's the link, the video is on the right side, and it is AWESOME. http://www.kare11.com/video/default.aspx?bctid=60508402001
Today's song of the day is tricky. I could focus on the fact that I didn't sleep much, the house is a mess of couch cushions and dog toys, the cat is constantly hissing and clearly holds me accountable for the dog intrusion, and the basement is flooding, due to a blocked main under the house. Meh. Let's reminisce about mushing behind a shih-tzu.
So, funny story. I just woke up and rolled out of bed and walked in to the office to write an article about cheesecake. First, as is customary, I checked my email and calendar. The oddest thing showed up on my calendar. Today, at approximately 7:13am, I am scheduled to have an epiphany. I have no idea how that got on my calendar; I'm sure I didn't write it. Maybe Google is trying to encourage me. Is it April Fool's?
I better hurry, I only have 6 minutes before my epiphany. I should prepare. But if I prepare, it won't be an epiphany (was THAT my epiphany?). Epiphanies, I am told, are sneaky creatures that are hidden under the mundane, and they are found by wandering around talking like Steve Erwin ("Todaiy we are liooking for the elUUsive epiphanay, croikey!"). Hm, that may not be right...
Oh, sad. Epiphany passed. I guess it was that you can't rush an epiphany. You rush an epiphany, you get rotten epiphanies.
So there it is, the comical start to my day. Hope you have one too! I still have to write my article and take a shower before work. That's life!
Today's Song of the Day: A Happy Working Song, from Enchanted
SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!! I just found out what it is...it's an Italian Holiday called Befana, or Epiphany. An old woman comes and delivers toys like Santa, on January 5th. I didn't know I had Italian Holidays in my calendar, but thank you to my Italian friends....in Ireland :) I love you.
Where are all the cars, Santa?
