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!