Beauty In The Simple Things

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be an artist.

Bob Dylan's lyrics She's got everything she needs/She's an artist/She don't look back were the words I wanted to live my life by. I still get a secret smile on my face when I hear the song or think the lyrics.

I have a friend who is an artist and she has always intimidated me. I love her work. I think I am what is called in art circles, a major collector of her work. We probably own 20 pieces.

But my work tends to be a little too much on the craft side for her. I know she has great expectations for me that I haven't fulfilled. Charles Schultz said it best, "There is no greater burden that great potential."

Today as I was starting a project, I opened my inspiration book and discovered the page headed

WHO ARE YOU?
AND WHAT IS IT YOU ARE TRYING TO SAY?

I have struggled for years with what I was trying to say. My artist friend is big on having something to say with one's art. And until today I didn't consciously know my answer.

Today I realized I do have something to say. And what I want to say with my art is that Life is Beautiful. Beauty is all around. Beauty is in the simple things.

I don't want to address larger political issues when I am creating. I don't want to right the wrongs of the world. Those are important things and I care about them, but when I am creating I just want to make beautiful things that make people smile or catch their breath and feel good.

OK, I'm at the end of what I want to say. How do I conclude in some grand way? Maybe there isn't a grand conclusion. Maybe it's just enough to know I do have something to say and get on with making art!

The Wisemen's Gifts

"you'll get a live mouse for Christmas and like it. so there."
I was writing a comment on the above blog and as it turned into an essay, I decided to write it here instead.

My family was insane at Christmas.

I always ended up crying (emotional overload I think) and getting yelled at for it.

So, when our own were born we swore to tone it down. Since I knew I had the makings of Xmas Insanity in me, I made a rule -- we would give 3 gifts only to each kid. I figured if it was good enough for the baby Jesus, it was good enough for my kids.

I didn't eliminate Christmas insanity completely, but it hasn't been a yearly event!

Of course there was the year I raced around San Diego seaching for a playhouse for the kids on Christmas eve. I have no idea what made it so important, but there I was 30 miles from home buying a lovely yellow and orange Sesame Street themed plastic playhouse with built in slide, doors & windows that opened and a built in telephone.

We built it in their bedroom that night! I'm pretty sure they stayed asleep. The look of surprise the next morning was priceless. They were still playing in in when they entered middle school 10 years later!

My kids have sent their lists this year. My son, ever mindful of the cost of his sister's college education, even said we only had to get him one thing this year. But since my kids have been as precious to me as the baby the holiday is named for I'm sticking with 3.

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh anyone?

Sitting on My Duff

It was been a tough couple months.

I went out to an "wonderful" art weekend/glitterfest and didn't have a wonderful time. I was so excited about it and told lots of people - my friends, of course and folks like the tellers at my bank, my hairdresser, waitresses at my fav restaurant -- who all remember and have asked me. I hate having to say it was a disappointment. I hate that it was a disappointment. I put so much energy into it. The travel, getting things ready to sell, making things for a couple of swaps. And after all that it was such a let-down.

I meant to make things, sell things, be a dynamo when I returned and I find I am spending way too much time playing computer games and watching dvd's. It's like the disappointment has just sapped all my energy and I don't wanna do anything!

And the craziest thing is that the classes were fantastic. They were really world class. I learned so much stuff in them and made such wonderful things. And the teachers and special guest speakers were wonderful. They are women I have admired for years. Half of the books in my studio are written or published by them. I connected with the teachers, at least I felt they thought I was interesting. If I would get out of my self-pitying state, I might discover the connection was not short lived. Or I might not, of course.

But the whole problem with this weekend is I expected to feel a part of the group. It was billed as a place where one can find instant connection. Where people "get" you and the bonding is strong and lasting. No one got me. I felt no instant (or otherwise) bonding with women who I have read their blogs and they mine. I felt an outsider, not part of the group. No one came up to me and said, "Hi." Everyone was quite stand-offish and even the people I met at meals didn't make any effort to hang out with me.

On the way home I realized how tired of feeling lonely and isolated I am. I have real friends, but most of them do not get any of my art interests or style. I even called my best friend and asked her if there is something wrong with me that I didn't make any friends. She, of course, was no help at all! As she said, "how can I tell you why you didn't make any friends, I love you, I can't see why you wouldn't make friends."

Writing this all out is actually awfully helpful. I realize as I write that the issue really wasn't one of making friends. I really do have some wonderful friends, even if most of them live far away and I miss having them around to go out to lunch with. But the issue is feeling part of a group. Ever since moving to the East Coast 10 years ago, I have not felt part of any group. Back in CA I was part of a bunch of groups -- Girl Scouts, PTA, soccer moms, creative women who were also moms (yes, I do see the theme there). Here I haven't found any groups to be a part of. My kids are grown so PTA & Girl Scouts & AYSO just aren't my thing anymore. I really thought a group of artists and bloggers would be perfect. I thought because I read their blogs and they read mine that we were part of a group. Meeting them proved that was sadly not true. *sigh* Perhaps its telling that the teachers and speakers, who welcomed talking with me, are more my age. Most of the participants are probably 15+ years younger. And the ones my age were there with their daughters!

I'd actually love to return to this event next year. The classes really were amazing! Even with high expectations for those I don't think they would disappoint! But would I be able to enjoy it if I felt just as on the fringes as this year? I don't know. Would I go thinking it would be different cuz it was my second year and then be disappointed all over again? I am glad I went for the experience. It would be nice to say I'm glad I went for the experience and it was fantastic!

Thinking, but not Writing.

I have not spent the whole month talking to computer techs in India.
In fact, our modem/router are working just great.

I probably even have had things to say.

But I have been super busy. Or at least I have a very long to-do list which is focused on an art weekend/vintage goods, handmade fair I am going to as a student and one night as a seller. It has taken all my thoughts and I haven't taken the time to think of clever things to write here.

The trip, a road trip, will probably inspire me, as driving, and standing in the shower, are the best places I know to have a really good think.

I should probably get one of those small hand held tape recorders so I can drive safely and still remember the brilliant thoughts. I wonder if they make them in a waterproof version?

Talking to Mombai

Our wireless router died on Saturday. It didn't even have the courtesy to make that s-s-spitz-z-z sound like when a lightbulb fizzes out!

We got a new router.

Then we needed to get it to work with our modem and computers.

So today I spent the day speaking with tech support people in India. If I can understand them, I love speaking to tech folks in India. It kind of reminds me of connections I feel with India. My daughter spent time in Dharmsala, in the foothills of the Himalayas, where the Dalai Lama lives. My college advisor spent her undergrad college year abroad in India. I rather like Bollywood films. I could probably go on listing things I like about India, but I'll just get on with the story.

The first young man was charming and unflappable. A good thing, as half the questions he asked triggered tears. When mechanical things or electronic things don't work I go a bit crazy. This young man laughed a lot, was patient. We were stopped when he asked me my Verizon login and password. I hadn't a clue. He was actually apologetic that he couldn't get the set up complete. He was a lot of fun! Point A.

Next I called Verizon hoping they could tell me my login and password. That young woman was less patient of me, but I sounded less teary, so it probably all evened itself out. And she could give me my login and help me establish a new password. Point B.

Then back to Linksys to finish setting up the new wireless router. It was done quickly, easily and without a single tear or panic attack. This young man invited me to come to India. I was welcome anytime, but Dec has better weather.

Viola! I am on the internet, it is working wirelessly. I'm wrung out. I'm hoping tomorrow is a less fraught day!

A New Year

For me, the year is shaped like a wave. The bottom of the wave is when school starts. It moves up in an arch. The top of the wave is January 1st. Then the wave gracefully falls toward the sand, the end of the school year.

In other words, the year starts in September, ends in June, then you spend the summer playing at the beach.

Today, at sundown, Rosh Hashanah, begins. It seems so right to me that the new year starts now. New clothes and a new pink pearl eraser signaled beginnings to me more than champagne and "Auld Lang Syne." I am not Jewish and this isn't a holiday I celebrate, but I grew up in a neighborhood where many of my friends and classmates did. I always thought theirs was the better calendar!

So, even if this isn't the beginning of your new year, may you find peace and prosperity in the coming months... "for a good year."

Telling Stories

Time has just gotten away from me. I think that's what happens when you go from no structured job to one with specific days and hours. I'm getting to like the new employment venture. Yesterday I made money. Today I got a lot done.

But tonight when I went to visit my favorite blogs, I realized I had missed a whole week of "As the Trout Turns." It shocked me. Where had my time gone? What did I have to show for my time?

I like to write, but I'm not a writer. Writing this blog is great, but I don't have to. What I know about writers is - they write. No matter what. My friends Susan and Madora are writers. They write essays. Susan keeps me in stitches with her commentary on life, children and chickens. Madora catches the truth about everyday life. Many of her essays have been published and she collected the ones on family life into a book. She once wrote an essay about me. It was a real thrill.

And while I don't think of myself as a writer, I am a storyteller. Mostly when I write it ends up a story. I actually get that from my mom. I know I kind of bashed her in my last post. And yes, there are good things I got from her (thanks for the reminders), and one is the storytelling. She told us great stories as kids. They were mostly about her and her best friend Marillyn and their adventures in Depression-era Los Angeles. Some of the highlights included a high power water pistol at a movie theatre; Sneaking into the glamourous hotel The Garden of Allah; and a day spent watching Sonia Henie movies over and over.

I hope my kids learn the joys of storytelling. My daughter doesn't like my stories the way I liked my mom's. My daughter is a poet. Not matter what, she writes poetry. And not the long wordy ones, but clean, sparse poetry that says in 10 words what I as a storyteller would say in 100. I wonder if her moment of "dear lord, I've turned into my mother" will come when she tells a long, rambling tale, a story, worthy of me or her grammy!?

My Mom Really Should Blog

I was leaving a comment on a blog just now and was struck (it hurt) by how like my mom my comment was.

You see, my mom will listen to whatever I say . . . for about 3 sentences. And then she will proceed to tell me about someone in her life that my sentences reminded her of.

I do not know if she has always hijacked conversations. I think mostly she just talked. About other people. A lot. She really likes talking about people. Not gossipy or mean, just relating their stories. She is a master of making a short story very long!

It's only been since I actually wanted to share stuff with her that I noticed how she doesn't exactly listen to me.

Anyway, I read a post of a friend of mine. She talked about a lot of things, she often does and I really like her blog. My comment responded to a small thing she wrote and it was all about a family member of mine that sort of relates.

I have turned into my mother, oh my!

More Tales of Cheap Travel

I went to New York recently. I was all set with my reservations on Amtrak. Then my neighbor asked if I had heard about Bolt Bus Line. They have a $15 or $20 one way fare.

I know what it was like the last time my friend and I were in Manhattan together. We did fabulous things, ate a wonderful restaurants and spent oodles of money.

So I checked out Bolt on the web. Bolt wasn't available, but the Fung Wah bus was. It's $15 one-way from Chinatown to Chinatown. This was good and they are very flexible about reservations.

I didn't sleep well the night before I left. I stayed at my daughter's new apartment -- on a camping mat on the floor. It could have been the "bed," the unfamiliar surrounding or the worry I would miss my bus, but I was awake the next morning at 5 am.

I arrived at the bus terminal at 6:25 and they asked if I wanted to get on the 6:30 bus. Sure, why not? Perhaps I should have asked how many seats were still available.

Turns out 1 seat was available.

In the back row.

Between 2 really large men. They both probably played football in high school.

They were pleasant enough. The guy on the left slept the whole way, while being blasted by music on his iPod. I'm sure it was blasting his eardrums since I could hear it. The guy on the right didn't speak to me either. I sat upright, read a magazine, and vowed to get there early for the return trip.

Besides the obvious financial benefit of this mode of transportation, the 6:30 am bus to NY took only 3 1/2 hours to get there.

I was early for the return trip. Didn't matter. I got a window seat. Ooh, maybe I would have the whole seat to myself? Nah, to make any money Fung Wah has to fill every seat! A woman, not particularly large, sat down next to me and proceeded to take up all her seat and part of mine.

Earlier in the summer I camped at a KOA after dropping my daughter at summer camp. Again, I chose these acomodations for the savings. The camp site was pretty. It included water, electricity, and wireless internet. There was a swimming pool and showers and a bathroom (tho not near my tent site). I slept in the van and it wasn't uncomfortable.

Tent camping was ok, the bus was ok. I don't know if I'll do either again. I think the train is an easier trip. I know a motel is an easier night. It was fun starting out on both these adventures! They reminded me of some of the crazy travel I did in college. Maybe its time for traveling in style to be my next adventure.

Songs To Make You Smile

I have On Demand on the tv and they're previewing Joe Cocker. What is it about his voice that is so wonderful? What is it about songs from my youth that are so compelling? Is it that they remind me of the hopeful future? Or it is just they made me smile then and they still make me smile?

Joe Cocker has nothing to do with what I came over here to write about, but who can ignore him? I'm not sure anyone before or after has taken a Beatles tune and made it so very much their own.

I'm rather glad to have been distracted by "A little help from my friends," cuz I came over here to kvetch. I have this great shop. Today two ladies commented on how peaceful it felt, how much they liked it. But they didn't buy anything. And I'm not selling a lot of stuff. Over in the pretty pink blog world, friends are posting pictures of things they have bought or gotten in swaps that they love. And guess what? That's the kind of stuff I have for sale in my shop.

I was just feeling sad that the people who would probably love my shop (and buy stuff) just don't live or vacation here to take advantage of it. And I'm probably not going to sell where they live. And I'm tired a lot from the long days.

And now Joe Cocker is back and who can be upset when he sings? And maybe I'll get by with a little help from my friends . . .

The Glass is Half Full!

A little past noon my company called to say he had a better offer! Well, no not really. He had an appointment he had forgotten (did he make this up to save face?) and a friend of his was in town and wanted to hang out (this I believe).

Could he visit in a week when my daughter is home? Sure, that makes sense! He and my daughter have known each other since infancy (we have great videos of them at Sea World in their strollers) and they went to the same small boarding school in the Midwest.

Was I upset, getting up early and cleaning for someone who didn't show? Absolutely NOT! I'm thrilled I started the cleaning process, it really needed doing and I sure wasn't motivating myself! Now I'm on a roll, I'll keep going til the place is habitable again. And it doesn't matter when he shows up!

It was a good day and I will definitely sleep well.

Getting Stuff Done

I am taking advantage of one of the ways I get my house clean -- invite company!

Actually a young man we have known since birth had his mom call me last week and ask if it was ok if he came to visit. So I didn't plan to clean. But he loves the beaches here, his family rented a cottage near our rental a couple summers, and it's hard for me to say no to company.

I think my son may be disgusted with me. The house has been a disaster area since he returned home for the summer. In order to get my shop open I had to move things out and the house was the cheapest option. But that made the house cluttered. Plus the boxes of Christmas decorations had not been put back into the attic. Most of them were in the guest room.

Now that company is coming, I'm cleaning. My son kindly took those big plastic tubs up into the attic. And this company is a young man who used to bug my son with his hyperactivity when they were kids! Hardly seems fair to my son, I'm sure!
(completely unrelated, click here to see what my son is going to do for the final camp banquet, where he's cooking this summer).

The other way to get my house clean is to get up at 6:30 am and start working. What a novel concept! I would rather stay in bed reading the novel until 10, wander downstairs, check my email, putter about for a while, go out to lunch at 11 or so, come home and putter about for another couple of hours, play spider solitaire til I win or give up, plop myself down on the couch to eat dinner and watch tv in the evening, then back to bed, the novel, and sleep. You can see why that model does not get the house clean, neat, or anything close!

Dang! I start a business that means I now have to be somewhere most days. Then I discover to get the house clean I actually have to get up early and work! Whatever happened to a life of leisure, soap operas and bon-bons? Not that I ever really liked soap operas or bon-bons, but still!

I love Laggin's pictures of houses!
Here is my attempt to find a tiny dancer-related pic!

Work boots for a cleaning dancer.
Hope you all have a productive day.

When All Else Fails, Move Furniture.

I can't say it's been a bad week, just a very exhausting one.

I had to go to the city to sign a lease for my daughter's new apartment. As long as I was going, I decided to bring things she would want or need. It took a day to find stuff, also to buy cleaning supplies. Being out in this heat wasn't fun. Then up to the 4th floor walk-up 6 or more times and I was ready for a nap!

I've been worried about my business, It's a bit slow and I'm not sure there's anything I can really do to bring more people in. I hope it will pick up. I still have so many things to do each day and the worry I am experiencing has also gotten to me a bit.

And then my husband did not take the microwave to the dump today. I should be nicer. I should be kinder, I shouldn't pout or say how disappointed I am, (at least according to the voice in my head that sounds just like my mother), but that damn thing is big and took up almost all our kitchen counter space, the inside paint is flaking so it can't be used anymore, and he promised he would get rid of it. whew! run-on and whine-y.

So, I moved furniture. Bookcases to be exact. I do not know what it is about rearranging books and bookcases that soothes. But I notice in times of stress I turn to books anyway. I didn't have the peace to sit still and read, but I could re-assembled an IKEA bookcase and put it where it would be useful. I've put so many of those bookcases together, I actually could assemble it without instructions.

I have to find the shelves, but I'm done for the day. I'm glad tomorrow starts another week. I'd like it to be better somehow.

A New Job

Who knew I could be so scared!? I'm not exactly sure what is scary, but I'm pretty sure it has to do with my new job.

I have opened a shop and it has been incredibly difficult to get everything priced. For some reason, pricing has taken way more time than expected. I'm selling antiques and vintage treasures, and as such, there are no "set" prices. It's pretty much what the market will allow. Even I realize it's silly to think there is a way to have all prices not too high (to avoid criticism), not too low (don't want to give the goods away), but just right. The idea that there is a perfect price for everything haunts me. Probably would have haunted Goldilocks too!

Haunts is really too strong a word, but I don't know where the thesaurus is.

I've been working on this idea seriously for about 3 months and half-heartedly for about 3 years! And it's not exactly a new field, I've been in a bunch of antique mall spaces and this shop was open for about 16 days in 2001. Last Thursday night I realized I would never get this shop open if I didn't just open. So, Friday, with slightly more than half the items priced, I put out the open sign and waited for customers to find me. They did. And they found the not-priced items. I made prices up for customers and when the shop was empty I just kept pricing.

Vintage shoes for the dancer in me.
Notice the strings? They're attached to price tags.

My daughter has been IMing me each afternoon. I told her I was open and she gave a big HOORAY. The next day she asked, were you open today? I said yes and got a "cool! congratulations." She knows me. She knows how easy it is to close the doors and run off to lunch. I didn't. Maybe that's what's scary.

I even opened this afternoon. All along it has been my plan to close on Sunday. But yesterday a customer said she'd like to come back and look at the vintage clothes and a fellow dealer wanted to come by.

So that's what I've been doing this month. I'm closed Monday and Tuesday. I kinda want to stay in bed til noon, but while I have been focused on my shop, things like the laundry, dust bunnies and weeds have been building up.

My parents joined facebook.com

My daughter loves Facebook. It is a lifeline to her. She has specifically asked me NOT to join Facebook! And I'm really glad!

Now, I'm not against parents checking out their kids' Facebook pages. For some, this is the most responsible thing to do and I applaud that. Any tool to take care of your kids and keep them safe is wonderful! But my girl is 22, a senior in college and she calls me whenever something bothers her. I don't need to see her Facebook page. She's earned her privacy. Just like I haven't told my family about this blog. I like the privacy too.

What triggered this was a program on NPR about a 40-something woman who had set up her mom's Facebook account and then was agonizing because she really didn't want to allow her mom to friend her. She definitely didn't want her dad to either and she was feeling enormous guilt about the whole thing. The program mentioned a website dealing with this very issue! Oh Crap . . .

It was the mom who spends so much time viewing her son's page she feels like a stalker, that reminded me how glad I am not to be on Facebook. This mom knew she was being obsessive, but couldn't help herself. I heard her and thought I would be just as obsessive about my daughter's life and her friends' lives. My daughter would be mortified if I tried to friend them! They might be too, for that matter!

I think I'm going to send an email to my girl telling her how glad I am not to be on Facebook. I won't tell her its because I would spend all my time checking up on her. That's best left unsaid. She'll think it's weird, but then anytime I'm too self-analytical she thinks its weird. Hmmm d'ya think she thinks I'm weird all the time? Maybe she doesn't think about me enough to do so? I hope!

I was having a lovely time . . .

I was having a lovely time on my road trip until I rear-ended a less than year old sedan driven by a young woman who is probably very friendly when you don't hit her car!

No one was hurt. I was only going 20 mph and I don't exactly know what happened. It was stop and go driving and all of a sudden the car ahead of me was stopped and I saw the brake lights. I slammed on my brakes, but sadly, not soon enough to avoid a crunch!

My car was not damaged. She thinks hers was, I couldn't see any, but I don't know. She called the local police. That was the best thing she did. He was nice. Calming. Told me accidents happen. Gave me a written warning, not an actual ticket. Lent me his cell phone to call my insurance co, when my cell phone had no service. Told me not to worry, it would be ok. Said the same calming things to the young woman and made her feel ok too.

That was Wednesday late afternoon. It is now Saturday and I have finally stopped replaying the screech, crunch and upset. I have spent a lot of time reading. watching tv, listening to the radio. Silence has not been my friend.

But today I feel more like myself. I don't have any trouble driving around town. I called my insurance co. They told me my rates would not increase as long as the repairs to her car were less than $500. I can hope. This is the first time, since I got my license, I have had an accident (and my record of no moving violations is still intact). Sadly I'm sure the insurance company will not consider all those years of good driving if they have to pay more than $500 to fix the young woman's car.

I'm glad to be back home. I had some fun adventures and I'll share them when I'm feeling a bit more gounded.

Road Trip

I'm going to be away next week.

My daughter returns from her 3 week Central European mini-Abroad, only to jump right into her summer job as Waterfront Director at a cool co-ed camp. She & her brother went to this camp together as kids. They each did the LT (leadership training) and CIT (counselor in training) programs and were counselors.

I met my husband at summer camp when we were counselors, and as a teen, I spent 2 glorious summers on Catalina Island at Girl Scout camp. Summer camps hold a special place in my heart!

My daughter could take a plane to camp. I don't really need to drive her, but I want to. I'm hoping she will talk about her trip. Driving in the car together, if she's not bummed about stuff, is one of those great places she opens up and shares what she's doing or thinking. (The local CPK near her college is another. Good thing I like the food!) Of course, she may sleep after the long flight.

My other ulterior motive is to do a bit of antiquing. I mean, as long as I'm there. . . I'm familiar with the area and there's one antique mall which usually takes me all day to peruse. I'm slow, I admit. I know folks who can walk in and zero in on the things they want. Not me. This mall also has a really good little cafe, so I can stop for lunch without leaving the premises. I'm sure they planned it that way!

I'm trying to do this trip on the cheap. I'm even considering car camping in my van. I don't expect to have internet. So I'll see you all when I return.

Aha

I love discovering new things about myself. You'd think, having lived with my self lo these many years, I would know me. And I do . . . and yet . . .

Perhaps it's a little like being in a long-term relationship and discovering a new thing about your partner. Or learning something new about your kids. . .

But back to my "aha."

I am working on opening a new business. The current stage is completely solo. I work in the space, getting it ready by myself. I have put a few feelers out for help, but no takers, so it's all up to me. This is fine, I know how I want to do things and I like my own company. Usually I take a lunch break and go out to a place that is close and cheap, but I have been worried that it was a financial luxury I ought not to do.

Yesterday I stayed home and worked all day. I must admit I got a whole lot accomplished. But at the end of the day I felt rather isolated, and unappreciated. I read a response to a comment on Vanessa's blog, which made me feel really good, and it hit me. The difference yesterday was the human contact I missed at lunch.

Since I go to lunch there most days, the workers know me. They smile. Actually, some of them light up when they see me. They ask about my kids, tell me about theirs. I'm not sure you could call it friendship. I only know their names because they wear badges. If they know mine its cuz sometimes I use my debit card. Whatever it is, it matters.

The funny thing is that once I get my food, I sit in a back corner with my nose in a book. I don't talk to anyone else, I read.

But just the act of getting in my car, driving to lunch, walking in and ordering makes all the difference in my day. It is the human contact we all need. That feeling of being seen and "gotten" and also seeing and getting others.

The other nice thing about this revelation is I no longer feel guilty going out to lunch. It's not a frivolous waste of money, it's just a way to stay connected to the world.

I wish you could see the smile on my face! It's nice to learn something new about myself!

A Silly Rant

When did people start calling California "Cali?"

And why?

I have never in my life heard any one who lives there call it that. My extended family has lived there lots of years, they don't call it that! The kids I went to school with don't either. But recently I have noticed a whole bunch of folks in the blogosphere calling it Cali.

Don't ask me why it bugs me, but it does! aarrgghh!

So if you are visiting, say you're going to California. And if you have to abbreviate, use the postal codes of CA or Calif. But don't call it Cali. It kinda makes you sound like you haven't got a clue.

I hope I don't get a lot of angry mail.

The Laundry Fairy Has A Complete Meltdown

In the time scheme of things, this should have been posted the next day. But as the title indicates, I did have a complete meltdown.

In fact, if you see the laundry fairy, she should be walking around with both arms in slings, having broken them patting herself on the back. They do say pride goeth before a fall!

Here I was, doing all my daughter's laundry from the last month of college. She was leaving for Europe and the day she returns I need to drive her to her summer camp job. I was being a good and kind mama. I was feeling virtuous. Someone should have stopped me!

She emailed me her concerns about some stains and I thought, I will use bleach. I have had success with bleach. Unfortunately not this time. I was careless, I splashed bleach into a laundry basket of wet clothes just taken out of the washer and well, you get the picture.

Crying, knashing of teeth, recriminations. Who knew laundry could make a mother want to drive off the nearest bridge.

The bleach removed color off the worst possible item of clothing. A sweatshirt she has had since she was 10. It's from her summer camp. The one she still goes to (she's now Waterfront Director). It was huge then, it fits now. She's the only one with this particular design cuz she has taken such good care of her clothing. She's really proud of having this sweatshirt and she loves it.

She has enormous faith in me. It's really scary. She really believes that I am going to be able to fix this. I love that she has this faith. It means we might just escape having the relationship I have with my mom. But what a responsibility.

It has been more than a week since the incident. She has gone off on her mini-abroad to the Czech Republic and Poland. She's due back mid-June. I know I have to fix this by the time she returns. I even think I might have found the proper tools to do so. But I keep procrastinating. I don't want to fail. And I want her to be happy!

The Laundry Fairy

I think the whole concept behind the laundry fairy got established one Thanksgiving when I was a teenager. For some unknown, and absolutely wonderful reason, our family was spending Thanksgiving Day just the five of us. No grandparents, aunts, uncles, nieces or nephews. Just us!

My extended family was chaotic. My grandmothers were in serious competition with each other, my uncle was quietly rude, ignoring most, the noise level was always intense. Someone was always sick at the holidays.

This particular Thanksgiving we each picked a name out of the hat and were told to do nice things for that person secretly. I loved it. I ended up doing secret stuff for everyone. Something about doing nice things in secret just seriously appealed to me. It still does, actually.

Flash forward a couple years to college dorm life. Laundry room. Someone else's dry clothes in the dryer and my clean, wet clothes ready to go in. I took her things out and put mine in. It seemed so rude just to leave them in a pile to get all wrinkled -- voila -- The Laundry Fairy! I folded up her things and left them there. I was actually a bit furtive. Didn't want to get caught. I wasn't sure how weird it would seem to someone I didn't know. All through college I would do this whenever clothes were left in the dryer and I wanted to use it.

It would be a great story if this had become some sort of big deal, who is that masked woman thing. But it didn't.

This morning I went out to do my daughter's laundry. I was s'posed to pick her and her stuff up yesterday from college. Instead I picked her stuff up and volunteered to do her laundry. The dryer was full of our tenant's laundry, so I pulled it out, stuffed YRR's wet clothes in the dryer and folded his stuff up. It will be no secret it's me. Still it was fun to do something nice for someone is a kind of secret way.

They would probably throw me out if I wandered into a local laundromat and started folding clothes. Actually, I would throw myself out. . .that would be just too creeepy! Still it was fun to be reminded of nice stories from the past!

No Harm, No Foul!

Did you hear the one about the crazy (lady) driver who backed over a boulder and dragged it 20 feet across the credit union's parking lot?

No? Well, if you lived here I bet you would have by now!

When the AAA driver arrived he looked at what I had done and said, "Don't tell me your name. I want to be able to tell this story and not embarrass you."

Most of the time people completely ignore me in this bastion of New England reticence. I try to talk to them in public places, they look at me as tho something is seriously wrong with me. So when something happens and I don't want to talk with anyone, they all come out of the woodwork. Those coming into the credit union stopped and looked. I think some people actually came into the parking lot just to find out what happened!

Apparently these boulders are hit and nicked all the time. I was told many times of how drivers had hit the rock trying to get around this miserable parking lot. (I thought it was miserable before this). I think maybe I did a public service. The boulders have now been removed from that corner!

The AAA guy had to jack up my van. Then he had to figure a way to get the boulder out from under the car. This piece of rock was 3 feet wide, tall enough to get completely wedged under my van and easily 100 lbs, maybe more! It had rained earlier and the pavement was wet.

We had help (not that the AAA guy let me do anything) from a burly guy named Joe, wearing a Harley jacket, a long chain holding his keys. He was pretty happy to help. The AAA guy not so much. By the time they had gotten this boulder out from under my car, I don't think the AAA guy cared a whit about embarrassing me. He was just glad to get out of there! I'm gonna send thank you cards. The credit union will give it to Joe and I know where the AAA garage is located. I'm just not gonna sign my name.


in case you wanted to know how the car fared -- I drove immediately to the Toyota dealership, less than a mile away. They got the car up on the lift and well, lets just say I live a charmed life! The gas tank was unharmed. The rear axle was unharmed. My rear brakes were shot, but the boulder wasn't responsible. They had time to fix the brakes and do a much-needed service. Maybe I'll add that happy news in my thank you notes!

Transitions

I have not spent all this time watching teen TV series on DVD's, in case you wondered.

I've been reading college English papers. In the last 2 weeks I have read 5+ papers, at least 3 revisions each. College papers always have deadlines. I hate deadlines.

My daughter ignored the fact that she is a writing, literature, publishing major until it was too late to change. She was enjoying taking sociology, women's studies and gender studies courses. To graduate on time, she had to take 4 English courses this semester!

Reading the papers is easy. I always learn something -- Aeschylus, Dante's Inferno, Maggie A Girl of the Streets, Billy Collins. The tough part is being reassuring one more time. She writes beautifully. And if the first draft isn't great, it gets there. But I am not a very reasuring person. I never have been. Ask my mother.

I'm glad the semester is over. And not cuz I don't love the connection with my girl. But cuz it's time to do some things for me. Get a business re-started. Make pretty things. Sell those pretty things. Put myself first. Or, if as a mom that's too tough, at least equal with first!

Guilty Pleasures

My local Borders bookstore was having a blow-out on CD's and DVD's. Seems they can't really compete with the likes of discount stores. Their decision was my gain, sort of.

I have always liked teen-age TV shows. I watched Dark Shadows and Mod Squad as a teen-ager.

My daughter & I watched Gilmore Girls together. I think she was 13 when the show started. I'm not sure she was always talking to me. I don't remember us liking each other too much then. But, we both liked Rory and Lorelei and somehow it bonded us. We could discuss that mother-daughter team and I don't know what it was, but things were never as bad after that.

So, when boxed sets of a fav of mine went on sale for 50% off, I bought the remaining seasons I didn't have. I have been watching it in the afternoons this week when I should be working on a business I am putting together.

Despite being quite past the teen years, I really remember what it felt like. So the shows that deal with teen angst, unrequited love, outsiders, pretty girls that no one pays attention to. . . they still kind of resonate. My daughter is away at college, so I watch these shows by myself and don't let on how much I like them!

Stand By Me

For an uplifting musical experience, click here.

I love the words, the music and these incredible, unexpected musicians!

I hope this makes you smile and feel like the world is a pretty wonderful and connected place!

why i love blogging

Somewhere else in the blogsphere, in the pretty, pink section, there is a party going on entitled "Why I love blogging." I'm not participating officially, but unofficially, I wanted to weigh in. I started out in the pretty, pink section and love the creativity there. And then I found I wanted to have this voice, this real comment on my life, which isn't always so pretty or pink and I came here. I don't think this will turn into a segment to be recorded for the NPR program, This I Believe, but I've only started to write, so who knows!

A virtual friend posted about how no one wants the real answer to "How are you?" Actually I do want it . . . I don't listen very well to a litany of physical aches & pains, and I don't talk about my own either. But the other answers, the real ones about how your kids are really doing, or how crazy your life is or how you just did this amazing thing and you have to brag. . . well those are the things I do want to hear.

There's a certain "let it all hang out," 60's honesty that appeals to me. It seems blogs encourage this. Maybe it's self-indulgent. But then the 60's had a serious self-indulgent component along with peace, love, equality and the women's movement. There's a lot my generation has to answer for and a lot of good we can be proud of. Something about a weblog allows, encourages, forces one to share things. And I love it.

I see humor and irony in all sorts of odd things and circumstances. In real life try noticing someone's kid do something funny and kidlike, in say TJ Maxx, like crawl on the floor near your stall in the woman's bathroom. Remark on it to the mom, even sharing that you find it funny and you get the feeling the mom would be happier if you had just stayed quietly in your stall til they left!

In the blogosphere, commenting on a kid crawling on the floor in the ladies room is required. The funnier your telling, the better. See the irony in it, the humor, the relief it's not your kid or oh my it is my kid and what if he or she turns into a peeping tom. Here no one rolls their eyes or wishes you had stayed quietly in your stall! This is a community I really enjoy belonging to! It's a place I get to read stories, tell stories, see pretty pictures and make friends, even if I never actually meet them. There's feedback and love and a real pay-it-forward attitude.

And here I get into the "this I believe" part, I think people are basically good. And over and over I see that -- in really supportive, super supportive comments on posts where life is not as nice as the author wants, from people who may or may not have ever met said author! Or someone will compliment a stranger on her artwork and photos. Or friends are made by participating in art swaps where the generosity of the items sent is amazing and way over what anyone was expected to give. Both in the comments and the posts, this goodness and generosity comes out. I like being part of that. That's why I love blogging.

Oh and its a great place to hone one's writing ability!

Volunteering

Sometimes you volunteer to do stuff and you just get overwhelmed. And then sometimes you volunteer and get given a gift you never could have expected. That is how my week has been.

I have done a LOT of volunteering in my life! Right now, with my church, I am in volunteer burn-out. I do a lot and I thought it was ok. But today as I was making a sign for a talk we are giving, it hit me -- I am doing way too much for them.

Years ago I did the est training and volunteered with them for a while. One of their rules was you had to get more out of volunteering than you put in. I love that philosophy. How useful is a volunteer who resents it? Who wants to be a volunteer who is resentful?

So, when a friend was going out of town this week and asked me to look in on a relative of hers, I said yes. On the one hand it's my usual of always saying yes. On the other, she's my friend. She needed my help. And she would do the same for me.

As I was helping her relative with breakfast, we talked. I told stories of my life and she told stories of hers. I even asked her if she minded my stories. My daughter thinks I tell too many stories and I had been thinking of my daughter as we talked.

Instead of minding the stories, she said the most profound thing. She said, "Your stories are like melodies. You like telling them and hearing them again because the stories, like melodies are pretty and have appeal." I have never thought of my stories as songs or melodies.

And unlike my daughter's attitude that telling stories more than once is just wrong, my friend's relative had another take. It is that hearing or telling a story once makes it complete. But like a pretty song, telling it or hearing it again gives one the experience of when you heard it for the first time. Which obviously is good or you wouldn't repeat it!

And just writing it here takes me back a few days to the sunny dining room and feeling completely gotten and appreciated. It cancels out the feeling of burn-out I had when I sat down to post. It's a wonderful story to tell and I will probably tell it again. Just not to my daughter!

Kids and the Weather

Kids may be a little like New England weather. Don't like it, wait 10 minutes, it will change. And that's what's happened. I got a phone message from my daughter yesterday. The paper she has stressed out about, the one she was going to quit college over, she got a 95. And lots of positive comments from the professor. The feeling she would never be able to study abroad while an undergraduate, was dealt with today when she was accepted in a 4 week mini-abroad to Eastern Europe. I can let go for now.

My son called every night on his drive to Yosemite. He was letting me hold on just a bit. He discovered he could drive 12 hour days. There's family precedent on my DH's side and it worried me a bit that ERR would drive himself off an overpass. He didn't. His accommodations seemed even odder than my forays into cheap motels. When he told me he thought he might stay at a nicer place the next night, some place like Motel 6, I hesitated to ask where he had been staying. I guess Motel 6 seems a big step up from places that rent for $24 a night!

I haven't heard from him since he started the job. (No cell phone, limited internet access, I hope he hasn't been eaten by bears). But the morning he was driving into the park to check in, he told me, "Mom, I don't know why I took this job. But I know why I drove out here. The desert is an amazing place."

I do not know if I will ever not worry about my kids. But this week has reminded me that there's an equilibrium and when things have been stormy for them, pretty soon, like the weather, it changes to sunny skies.

Holding On & Letting Go

It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon . . .

Last Saturday my daughter came home to get fitted for contacts lenses. Perhaps we should have waited a month til the end of the semester. But it is nice to be able to see the blackboard and know who you are waving to.

Coming home may have been too much of a contrast with her school life. This past week has been real tough for her. She had a paper due (since she is taking 4 English courses this semester to complete her Writing, Publishing, Literature major, when doesn't she have a paper due?) and it was not going well. I even promised she did not have to return to school next year. But in the meantime, please eat something.

The paper got completed and turned in on time. She took herself out to eat with my credit card, things were good for a little while.

Then the left contact lenses started giving her a hard time. It hurt, it wouldn't go in, it wouldn't come out. No I was not mad that I had spent the money on them. Yes, I was pretty sure the doctor could sort them out and give her a new one that fit better when she sees him in another week. Why don't you take them both out and just take a nap.

My daughter's week was all about holding on. (r)

My son's was about letting go. (l)

On Thursday morning my son got in his car and drove west toward Yosemite, where he has a job as cook's helper at the Yosemite Lodge. On Wednesday night after everything was packed, he sat down next to me and said, "I don't think this is where I want to go."

It is a fine line between pushing my kids to do what they have agreed to do and telling them it is ok to bag it. The rules are clear. They have to have given it a lot of thought and prayer. I want them to be happy. I want them to be good people.

We talked. He decided to go anyway. If he hates it, he can come home (as long as he gives them adequate notice). I understand his dilemma. He's tired of people going ga ga about Yosemite. The desert is what calls to him -- he would prefer to be at Joshua Tree National Monument, or Death Valley National Park. And he's so done with culinary. Summer jobs since HS, college work-study in the dish-room, he's just not that into food! He has a degree in environmental studies. Just being at Yosemite may open lots of doors. He knows it's a good thing to go -- he just has to find the balance between head and heart.

I wanted to hold on to my son and let go of my daughter, but that's not what my job was this week.

Taxes

I'm taking a break from taxes.

I must make it perfectly clear, I do not do my own taxes. I hyperventilate at the sight of them. I send them to a wonderful woman who happily deals with all that.

I am in one room and my son is in the adjoining room. He is muttering, peeping, and asking me questions like, "Why don't they speak English?" and "Is there a reason these forms are so confusing?" For which I have no good answer. Maybe tax people think differently from us?

I'm glad I can help him a little. Maybe just being here while he works on them is useful. So many of my answers are, "Uh, have you looked at the instructions?" I used to do his taxes when he was in college. I needed them for financial aid forms, he was someplace else, I had the W-2's, eh I just did them.

The deadline for financial aid is coming up, so now, I'm doing my daughter's taxes. 1040ez really is that. State forms are more complex. I've completed one, but have yet to look at the state we don't live in, where she worked as a summer camp counselor. The camp is probably required to take out state income tax, but I wish they wouldn't. I have to go to a lot of effort to get her $67.43 back!

Time to go get the paperbag, just in case I need to breathe into it!

I will miss him

There's a lot they don't teach you at mothering school.

They don't teach you that wanting them to grow up to be productive, independent adults does not make it a bit easier when they take a job on the other side of the country.

When my son was 12 years old, I walked into his room. Probably to put some laundry away. I had to walk out quickly or explain why I was crying for no understandable reason. You see, I looked at him, and he was no longer a little boy. He wasn't grown up, but he had turned some corner. Even knowing this, half his life ago, it never occurred to me and they never told me in mothering school if you do a good enough job and like your kids, you just might want them to stay at home forever.

They do tell you you have to let your kids go. I know this. My mom was always so adamant that sons really need to be independent at 18, though daughters will always be there. She didn't get it quite right. My brother has only now moved out of her neighborhood, and I was the one who left home at 18!

Roots and Wings. You have to give them roots to feel firmly planted in a place, a philosophy, a religion, a family, a community, something that is grounded. You also have to give them wings to soar in their imagination, in travel, in new ideas, in education, in love and friendship, a sense of limitless possibilities.

So next week, my son heads off with all the worldly goods he can fit in his compact car to take a job in another beautiful place. His new job is in a field he is ready to leave, but he hopes the place, a national park, will offer more opportunities to use what he studied in college. That part I am really happy for! Actually, I'm happy for everything, the independence, the need to be his own person, to find that calling that makes him happy to get up in the morning.

I'll just miss him.

*Masters of Mothering Arts -- cuz it sure ain't a science!

There's a lot they don't teach you at mothering school. I'm pretty sure no one gets a Master's Degree, but it would be nice.

Think of it -- Graduate level courses, a practicum, internships, a required thesis paper on something you actually know in your bones; recognition you have done a good job; a set of letters that signify you have gone beyond the basics of feeding and clothing them; acknowedgment they have become exceptional people because of your great work, not in spite of it! Your Name, MMA.* Maybe even deference and the best table at hip restaurants.

Nancy Friday states in My Mother, My Self that children survive if they get good enough mothering. This was helpful to me. I figured I could be "good enough."

But I actually viewed myself as a really good, exceptional mother. You know, one of the best. I said that to my daughter while we were traveling last January. Her face . . . then her laugh . . . then her exclamation that I was joking wasn't I, made me revise my view of my mothering skills.

Interestingly enough, my feelings weren't hurt. I was just sorry that what I had taken for great mothering was not seen the same from her side of the (sometimes closed) door. I wanted her to have experienced me as an exceptional mom -- not for the accolades or great tables at fancy restaurants -- because I love her so much and wanted to give her my best.

But mothering is a dance. I love to waltz, my daughter is a tap dancer. My mom is a tap dancer, I never learned the steps. I know what would qualify as great mothering if it was directed toward me. If asked, I bet my daughter could say the same. (Actually when she was 13 she told me the kind of mother she would be. It didn't look a lot like me). What is considered wonderful by one daughter, is considered laughable by another!

This post started as a comment on my son leaving home. Obviously I got a bit off track. Tomorrow I will start my post the same way, "There's a lot they don't teach you at mothering school."

My Kind of Travel and It's Nice To Be Back Home

This post is partly about being home and party about travel. I think they are connected and related. They seemed so when I first wrote and then I read it again a day later and don't know.

Still I'm keeping what I wrote and just adding these two paragraphs in case some 'splaning is needed.

I am back home after being away for almost 2 weeks and it really is nice to be home. I did keep waking up last night wondering where I was and who was next to me though.

This was a trip where I stayed with a friend for half the trip and with my mom the second half. There was a lot of scheduling -- lots of friends to see and lots of people for my mom to show me off to! It was nice on the whole, but I spent all yesterday catching up on my sleep.

I think I like the kind of travel that is all about exploring a new place. Getting in the car and driving. Getting to 4, 5, or 6 pm (depending on the light) and looking around for a place to stay. I should add I do not like to spend much money on motels when I am traveling by myself. Really, what's the point? If I'm out antiquing all day, at night all I need is a place to sleep, a TV to keep me company and a good reading light. Pretty standard whatever the cost. Now that does open one up to some very odd accommodations!

I have stayed at a motel with glitter on the ceiling. Lots and lots of glitter amidst the stucco. The bedspreads were a satin-y fabric. It did not rent by the hour, but I wondered about its former life. I stayed a night and then moved to the local Best Western.

In Maine, before the season got going, I stayed in a little stand-alone cottage with a porch. I think it was $40 for the night. You couldn't reserve it ahead of time and you had to pay in cash, but all those things worked for me.

After the summer season, I discovered a one-bedroom condo on Lake Michigan that was cheap if you just walked in, no reservation. It had a kitchen, so I ate in. The balcony overlooking the lake was so wonderful I stayed an extra day just to play with paper, watercolor pencils and crayons.

I have just learned about an art weekend that is not too far to drive, and I am thinking about the possibilities. Yes I could fly. It might even be cheaper. But what funny, funky places would I miss if I just went from point A to point B?

Lemonaide

Susan over at Trout Towers has awarded me the "When Life Hands You Lemons" award. This really is an honor. Specially cuz she said I have a snarky sense of humor! From Susan that is high praise indeed! My daughter is the one with that sense of humor, so to be anything like YRR is very special.
Thank you Susan!

Here are the rules:

1. Post the logo on your blog.
2. Nominate at least 10 blogs that show great attitude or gratitude.
3. Link to the nominees within your blog post.
4. Notify the recipients of the award by commenting on their blog.
5. Share the love and link back to the person from whom you received your award.

These are the blogs I know and love, and nominate for this award:

Laggin's under the roof of a great house. Great attitude!
I love how she deals with motherhood, it's not always easy, and this woman deserves an award!
VanessaLeigh. Great gratitude!
Her appreciation for life and the joys thereof are so great. A very generous blogger.

I like this, a step by step. So, I've done 1, 2 (not so many, oh well), 3, I'm off to notify the recipients 4, and 5 it's always easy to share the love!

Have a great day all!

Comments

I really love it that people write comments on my weblogs. It just makes me feel happy. And connected. It's a good thing!

I have it set up that I get an email when a comment is posted. I like to email back saying thanks for your nice comment, or answer a Q, or say, hey I feel like that too, or some such. But I have noticed that when I hit "reply," the return email address, if it is an address, sometimes looks like this: noreply-comment@blogger.com with < > around it.

What does it mean? I have sent emails to that address. Or I thought I did. Have they been received? How sad to think I emailed a nice response, only to discover that noreply is the black hole of the internet! Is there a big bin in the blogosphere where all these replies, which are probably noreplies, go? Does anyone read them?

These are questions I really want the answer to.

Home

I don't live in California any longer. But I was born in Hollywood and grew up here. Whenever I visit, it still feels like home. My son flew in and out of LAX about a month ago and commented how sprawling it looked and too big.

LA is big. It has been ever since the 30's/40's when they stole the water rights from the Owens Valley. The choice was either be part of LA or find your own water. LA is a desert, water is very important. Hence, the sprawling nature! In college I drove from the west end of LA to the east -- it's 100 miles long! So flying in at night is amazing. The streets are laid out in a grid, the lights are twinkling and to me, it's familiar!

I also really like driving in Southern California. This morning I headed south from Orange County to San Diego County. I stopped in Carlsbad for lunch and to visit some antique shops. We lived there once. Then I kept going, keeping the Pacific on my right and as close to me as I could get. It is a beautiful drive. You go through such cool little towns like Del Mar, La Jolla, Leucadia, Encinitas, Mission Beach . . . pretty places with lots of people out in the sunshine on a Sunday.

I'm now staying at an old friend's place. Her daughter and mine became friends in pre-school and still talk on Facebook. I have plans to visit with other friends (they are taking days off work just to hang out with me -- how cool is that?). And when I'm not with friends, I'm gonna drive around and just feel at home.

Don't Upgrade My Rental Car, Please!

In the past 3 months I have had the occasion to rent cars twice. So what has happened is not even close to any statistical certainty . . . still it seems a pattern.

I always ask for economy or compact cars when renting. The difference between those two is the number of doors, not the size of the car. But otherwise, I like driving small cars. I learned to drive on a Volkswagon Beetle. I once owned a Honda -- y'know the car they first made with the modified motorcycle engine. It was about the size of a Mini-Cooper.

So, when in a new city or driving an unfamiliar car, as one does with a rental, I like it small. And I keep getting mid-size cars. The nice men at the rental counters seem to think they are doing me a GREAT favor by upgrading my car size. Really, they grin and say, "Oh I've got a great car for you."

In January, when we walked out to find our car we saw a Prius and got really excited, this was a treat -- small and great gas mileage. Sadly, the treat he had in mind was the Sebring in the next space. It felt like a boat to me. The guy at the counter was startled to see me back a few minutes later. It was after midnight, all the small cars were gone so after the Sebring he offered me an SUV, which on general principles was completely out. Next he offered me a van and that I took.

I know, I know, it may make no sense that I won't drive a mid-size car but I will drive a van. I can't explain it. I drive a van at home. It doesn't feel like a boat. Maybe it's that they are higher up?

This latest rental (yesterday) was just funny. Or awful. It depends on how you look at it. We arrived at LAX at 8:30 pm and at 10:30 pm we were driving out of the lot with an unrequested mid-size car. Honestly, it took a full hour just to get to the counter. The computers were down. Apparently this is a scheduled thing. On Saturday? At the beginning of other state's Spring Break? There were a lot of tired cranky kids and parents.

I tried to switch cars but didn't have the heart to wait another 45 minutes. Luckily, I wasn't staying in LA, so I drove south and this morning called the rental counter at the John Wayne Airport. If I got there within an hour, they were willing to exchange my car, no problem.

I think the next time I rent a car I am going to have to have a fit at the very start of the process. I'm not very good at fits, actually. Most of the time I have such good experiences travelling or getting my money back for tickets I can't use or other things running so smoothly. . . my daughter actually bragged to one of her friends that I was a whiz at this!

Maybe just a note in the car reservation form that says, NO UPGRADES, PLEASE! Give them to someone who really wants them!

Crowning Glory

I really need to get one of those small tape recorders, the kind you can operate and still drive a car safely. I have most of my best thoughts either in the car or in the shower. Do they make them waterproof?

The title of this post came to me while I was driving away from my hairdresser's. Writing while driving is a task I have never mastered, hence the tape recorder. And even tho my mom says if you forget it, it must not be important, I'm pretty sure that is not always true!

So, crowning glory. Where did that phrase come from. Wandering over to the internet to check out Bartlet's Quotations, Shakespeare, The Bible. . . Hmmm, and 30 minutes later I was not able to find the origin of the phrase. Perhaps if I had access to the OED . . .

So, the topic of this post is hair and the wonders of getting one's hair done. I used to have issues. Perhaps anyone who has had their dry hair cut with a razor would. Necessity (it's getting grey) and vanity (I don't want to be grey) have forced me to get on with it and now I regularly get my hair cut and colored professionally.

Today, my hairdresser did an exceptional job. The cut is great -- she got the bangs wispy and short enough, which is a good cuz if not I tend to cut them myself and I don't have any real skills. The color is fantastic. Actually she really out-did herself and that's saying something cuz she regularly does an amazing jov. I kind of danced out of the salon.

An actress friend of mine would travel though Los Angeles when going from one location to another, allowing time to visit the hairdresser. When another friend moved from NYC to Miami, it took her quite some time to find a new hairdresser. Her hairdresser regularly visited her in Florida to do wonders with her hair and mood! The first year I moved from west to east coasts, the person I missed most was my hairdresser. My actress friend has the most beautiful hair color. The NYC hairdresser did the bridesmaid's hair when my friend married, it was inspired, we all felt beautiful. And while I now miss my old friends more, it did take a whole bunch of bad cuts, color and perms to find the gem I visited today.

Perhaps in another post I will write about inner beauty, feminism and self image, things I care deeply about. But today, I just want to say how nice it is to have a really good hair day!

Playing Hooky

I am going on a trip soon and I really should be getting ready. In addition to packing what I will need, it seems that the prerequisite to any travel is to do all the laundry, clean the entire house as if Merry Maids had been there, and to either re-arrange the furniture, re-organize my clothes closet or re-shelve my books in a more pleasing order.

I have no idea why this seems imperative, but it always does. No wonder the idea of taking a trip puts me in a state somewhere between panic and Atilla the Hun. My family knows to give me a wide berth.

Add to this the fact that we have to get our taxes to the accountant (2 weeks ago would have been good) so they can be ready to send in for college financial aid and you get the idea that it has been a bit of a rough week. Is it only Tuesday?

So when the feeling of overwhelm hit me this morning, I did what any self respecting woman raised in LA would do -- I got in my car and drove! There's a Chili's restaurant and Michael's craft store next to each other and about an hour away and that's where I headed.

Driving always calms me. I loved our family Sunday drives when I was a kid. I got to lunch, ate while I read a book, then went shopping.


I'm a sucker for stuff on sale and here were some magic wands to wave about. They won't clean the house or take on the projects, but they sparkle and shine!

And Susan, even if you do find Lucy's wand, I think the pink one has her name on it!

The Kindness of Friends and Strangers

People in the blogosphere have been amazingly kind to me this past week!

One of my creative heros loves the same wonderful, quirky place I do. So I wrote him an email. I just wanted to tell him how much it meant to me and thank him for presenting the place in a way I hadn't thought of before. I had no expectation of a response. This is a guy who's amazingly busy. He sometimes gets 300+ comments on his blog for goodness sake! And what did he do, but write back a wonderful response! I'm still smiling!

There is a circle of ladies with beautiful blogs, ones I visit every day, who regularly reach out to each other to say a kind word, give encouragement, do artistic swaps, or make someone laugh! Sometimes it's in their blog and sometimes in their comments. I have so appreciated the notice taken of an art project I am involved in. It's not tons of folks commenting, but its enough.

A member of my church has started a new position. She wasn't sure she really wanted to do it, but we really needed her and she agreed. Today was her first day and she did a fabulous job. I told her so after the service and she had such a surprised tone in her voice, saying how everyone had been so kind.

We shouldn't be surprised at the kindness of friends and strangers. People are kind. They want to say nice things to others, they want to share kind words and pretty little trinkets. People want to reach out to others who share the same aethetics or world views. I heard on NPR that people who blog are actually happier because they feel a sense of connectiveness with other people.

Even as flawed a character as Blanche Dubois, stated, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. " It's not such a bad way to live. And if strangers can make one feel appreciated, think of how much we can make our friends feel loved. I may be on my way to turning this into an essay for This I Believe.

So be nice to strangers and even nicer to your friends. After all,". . . In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." (With a title like Tiny Dancer, I sorta had to use a lyrical quote, ya know?).

Wise Words From Glinda

Has anyone ever noticed how The Wizard of Oz is one of those perfect stories? It touches me so often. I love the books. I love the movie. I love the truths it tells about life and love and family. And I wish the Wizard, humbug or not, would give me a heart, brains, courage and a sense of home right where I am.

I struggle daily with my less than stellar ability to open a venue for selling stuff. It could be the antique shop in my barn. Or handmade items on Etsy. Or a combination at the flea market this summer.

I want to know why I don't. I want to blame someone. I want to stop blaming myself or stop wondering what is the block that keeps me stuck. It is very wise to remember resistence equals persistence. It probably would be wise to just get over myself! Still I don't have the answer.

This would be a good post to have the thundering hoards reading so they could all tell me what to do. They aren't. Maybe just as well. My mom used to call me Mistress Mary, quite contrary. But I think that's just cuz I wouldn't do what she wanted me to do. Would I do what commenters told me to do? I don't know.

Would it help if I asked for exactly what I wanted? Ok, here goes. I want the beautiful fairy godmother (she looks like Glinda the Good) to wave her magic wand and say in her beautiful voice, You have had the secret inside you all along. You don't need to go searching over the rainbow when all the love you need is right there where you are. There's no place like home, there's no place like home.

Don't Worry, Be Happy!

Ok, so I am over the stuff about my sister. I've talked to DH, who has a really good perspective on all this. He reminded me that this is not the first time I have declared the need to get out of the craziness that is my family. And since my sister not showing up for an event doesn't bother the person for whom the event is being thrown, and it doesn't bother DH or the RRs or even me, why worry?

D'you think it is possible to stop worrying? I don't know. Maybe if one did enough drugs? I'd hate to get addicted. . . that would not exclude worry one little bit! I don't do drugs, legal or otherwise, so best not to start now! Maybe if I looked at it from the other end of the cylander. . . Instead of "Don't Worry . . . " I need to jump to the next part of the song and ". . . Be Happy."

So, I'm gonna try happy as the mode and see if it doesn't get rid of the worry. I do know that if I'm feeling down, all I have to do is sing or listen to a happy song and it lifts my spirits enormously.

I'm off to find my Jimmy Buffett CD. Off to see the lizard . . . Now there's some tunes that make me smile and dance and feel like a kid again!

The End of A Relationship

I wish this were a post where the punch line was that after years of loving Best Foods/Hellmans mayonnaise, someone introduced me to Miracle Whip and I switched. It would be lovely to go on and on about changing tastes and why hadn't someone told me about the fabulous new taste. But alas, this is not that post.

I am pretty sure I have lost my sister. She is 18 months younger than I. We have never really been close. My mom often says it is her dearest desire that we be friends as adults, but I really think you have to make an effort when your kids are younger to encourage friendship. It doesn't just spring up when you hit 21. As kids, we were never encouraged to do the same things. She had horses, I had Girl Scouts. I had competitive swimming, she had horse shows. I was considered the intellectual, they never gave her much credit for her smarts. We both tried tennis, but our brother was the ace, so he had that!

In addition, it never felt safe to share confidences with her. In 6th grade I had a crush on a neighbor boy and I told my sister. Instead of giggling about it with me and our spying on him together, she organized the neighbor kids (all 15 of them) to march around the block singing, " Sissy loves Petey, Sissy loves Petey." I snuck home from school for weeks after that and never shared the secrets of my heart again.

And now, someone has convinced her of something that is not true. I know it is not true, but don't confuse my sister with facts when her mind is made up! I understand why she feels she has to believe, even though I think she probably encouraged these false stories, even if inadvertantly. But drama and being right have always been more important to her than calmly looking at the facts. In fact, I'm not sure she would even consider there is any other reality. And the person telling the untruths has gotten so much attention for the stories, who can blame them for persisting. Sadly, it feels like the whole family is being hurt by this. I guess that sounds a little harsh. I see my sister very clearly, I have ever since the 6th grade. But that doesn't mean I don't love her or miss her.

We have long held differing views on religion, and she believes I am going to hell. I have looked at that possibility. I really have. I believe most folks make it to heaven; that living a life of good works and compassion count, that heaven is not reserved for only one faith. And if we do not make up this horrible rift in our relationship, I have the consolation of believing that when my sister and I have both passed on and are wandering around heaven, I will find her, gently tap her on the shoulder and say, "Hi." And it being heaven, the truth will come out and we might just get to be friends.

Beach photos

About a year ago my daughter found photos of me and moved them into her photo box. That was pretty amazing since, at the time I didn't think she liked me. Turns out she thought it was cool to have a hippie mom. She figured her 20 year old self was a lot like my 20 year old self and she thought that was pretty neat. I moved the photos back to my stash so I wouldn't lose them.

This photo and a couple other ones were taken at the beach next to the Santa Monica pier by a boy I liked. He was in my theatre/stagecraft class, and a group of us all hung out together. I was awfully shy about boy stuff so I don't imagine he ever knew I liked him. Or if he did, he never let on.

This was taken the summer before I left for college. We moved about 50 miles away sometime after this and I lost touch with a lot of my school friends. . .

. . . I am back in touch with my friend who took this photo and a few of the other folks who did theatre in our high school. There's something nice about talking with people who knew that girl in the photo. It makes her feel not so long ago and far away!

Who am I writing for anyway?

I do not write this blog for anyone but me. I'm not sure anyone but me sees it. Which is really ok. But I have another blog that I really, truly, madly wish more people would go to and leave comments and think I am wonderful and a cool artist and like that.

D'ya think when you want acknowledgment as much as I do, it just does not come? And it's funny, ironic really, that I want this acknowledgment from people I have never met. I guess it's cuz I see their blogs and they are beautiful (the blogs), and they are all writing wonderful comments to each other. Or so it seems to me.

I did send my blog address in our Christmas letter this year and only one of my friends has gone to it and posted comments. Maybe blogs are like Facebook and all my friends are just too old to consider it. Or maybe they don't like me either. OK, I am getting silly. I know my friends like me. I just wish more people would visit and comment.

There is one woman in the artful blogging world who writes something every day. She always has pictures and really great art. I truly admire her. And usually NO ONE has commented. And I wonder, when I see no comments, does she feel slighted? She seems so calm and happy in her posts and I hope she doesn't care. Cuz if I put in that much effort, I would care that no one comments. (Well actually I think that is what this whole post is about, isn't it?) And I do post comments for her, but I don't do it every day. Not cuz I don't want to, but I've never met her and I do not want to appear to be a stalker. But she inspires me and I do tell her so when I comment.

This has been kind of a whiny post. I was going to say, so what, no one will read it, but of course this is the time someone will discover it (how, I have no idea).

It is probably time to avoid checking the comments lines of my and the other blogs I follow and post when I want and do it just for me. It is probably also the time for me to say, "Goodnight Gracie." "Goodnight Gracie."

My younger self

There might be some downfalls to having a long memory. I can remember myself at my very best and when I'm not operating like that it's hard on me. For instance, in high school, I automatically prayed about every problem. It was the first thing that occured to me to do.

Well, I guess I need to be perfectly honest. It was not the first thing I thought to do in my advanced math class. At the time of the final, there was the distinct possibility I would fail. I did pray before the final and actually got an A on the test. Sadly I think the teacher thought I cheated (he had that look on his face when he returned my test) and I was too embarrassed to tell him that instead of studying the night before, I had prayed. I always felt bad for him that he was disappointed in me. He might not have believed in the prayer method of study but it might have been nice to give him that info. Probably too late now.

But math (and chemistry) aside, I expected things to go well. And prayer kept me from worrying. I had a really cool Sunday School teacher. She was an actress, who gave acting classes to stunt men. I guess to help them look more like the actors they were doubling. I went to Sunday School every week and it was a cool class. All of us were in high school and we all talked about the good that went on in our lives and how prayer was helping us.

So now, when I seem to worry all the time, I remember a time when I didn't worry or plan what I will do when the bottom falls out or all hell breaks loose. And it's not like I have stopped praying. I still go to church every week. I still believe God is listening, it's just, sadly, prayer is not always my first response. And I worry a lot that things won't go smoothly.

Home Alone

I have the house all to myself. My husband, hereafter referred to as DH (dear or darling or dang husband as the case may be) is off at work. My son, hereafter referred to as ERR (eldest rug-rat) is in Yosemite camping and hiking and having a good time (I hope). My daughter, hereafter referred to as YRR (youngest rug-rat) is away at school/college. (There is no middle rug-rat) The house is mine. . . mwahahaha.

I have no plans to trash the place (cleaning would actually be something someone might notice, it's already pretty trashed), it's just amazingly wonderful to be here by myself. I can spend the whole day doing nothing, I can be productive. I can wander over to the barn/shop/studio and work or putter or listen to NPR. I can sit in the great room and revel in the amazing southern light that streams in the oversize front window.

There is just something freeing about knowing no one will interupt me, that I don't have to fix any meals or apologize for anything. I seem to feel the need to apologize a lot and it's nice to know there is no one here to apologize to, so I can save my breath and my worry.

A really good friend, a woman I've known since high school, was relaying a story about being alone. She's never married and doesn't live with anyone and may never. And someone asked her if she was ever lonely. She relayed this to me and I knew instantly that her answer would be: emphatically NO. She has so many resources, inner resources, that loneliness just never occurs to her.

Being alone has always been a cool thing to me. There are so many things I can do or think about. I get lonely sometimes, but never when I am alone. So I'm looking forward to a peaceful day and I will think about my friend. And tomorrow when the house is full again, I will be grateful for the people I love and grateful they leave me alone sometimes!

The End of Crazy

I have a friend who writes the most wonderful weblog posts. I really wish I could write the same kind of posts. I don't know what makes them so wonderful, but I think it's that she doesn't get bogged down in trying to explain who she is. She just writes who she is.

I'm always trying to introduce myself to people. Explain myself. Tell why I am the way I am, as tho where I grew up or when will tell the story. As though the ethnic make-up of my neighborhood or high school explains what interests me. Or the long and involved stories will make sense of or explain the point I really want to get across.

It's even tough with this post not to explain why I need to explain. But I'm gonna resist. I want to write who I am, not why I am.

There's a lot of interesting things in my daily life. There's enough to muse on, to rant on, even to share without asking the question, "Why?" After all, 'Why' will drive a person crazy and I've got too much crazy goin' on to add more!