Wednesday, February 25, 2009

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!

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

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.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

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!

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

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."

Monday, February 16, 2009

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.

Friday, February 13, 2009

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!

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

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!