Category: Confessional

Not Missing Much?

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NatalieSo, I didn’t make it to see Natalie. Why? For reasons I’d rather not get into, I guess. It turns out I wasn’t missing much soooo I don’t feel as bad.

Here’s the setlist (maybe not in order):

Motherland,
The Times They Are A-Changin’,
The Erie Canal,
Break Your Heart,
Kind & Generous

 Youtube has a 38 second vid of Nat doing her thing. She looks great…if a bit “shrouded”. I’m not going to bother to post it, but if you are interested, search for Natalie and sort by last added. The Albany “show” should be at the top. Tell me what you think of the hairstyle, Spanish skirt and shawl…very Old World.
If I sound a little jaded, a little Natalie worn I’m truly sorry and that’s not the case. In truth, I’m spoiled by intimate concerts (1/1/07 was in an arena for bitching out loud), and shows that are 100% Natalie (this was Natalie as 3rd performer, sharing the stage with at least three others and Jimmy Fallon). True, I would have liked hearing Dylan’s tune and the Erie Canal one (by Judy Caplan Ginsburgh, I think)…and it would have been nice to start the year off by saying, “I saw Natalie.” Butbutbut (here I whine), I didn’t want to see her that way. Things worked out and I didn’t miss much. Or so they say.

January in Weirdness

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January is

  • National Blood Donor Month
  • National Braille Literacy Month
  • National Hobby Month
  • Hot Tea Month
  • National Oatmeal Month
  • National Soup Month

I’ve never donated blood – never weighed enough. I probably could now, though. I’m up to 113 lbs
The only time I read braille is when I’m bored in elevators or museums.
Good thing I decided to make a resolution out of all those unfinished hobbies!
I bought my husband a gourmet tea set complete with travel mug.
It’s not oatmeal but just today I made cream of wheat – pumpkin pie style with pureed pumpkin, cinnamon, cloves, ginger and sugar (okay, Splenda).
I will look into the soup thing.soup

On this day…in 1879 E.M. Forster was born. From librarything I will read (or read again and again) A Passage to India, A Room with a View & Commonplace Book. No, I haven’t seen the movies. No, I don’t think I will either.

Resolving I 2007

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resolutions New year resolutions. Who makes them? For the longest time I saved my (im)possible good intentions for my Birth Day. To me, that was my new year, my personal day to kick my own ass. I didn’t like January 1st promises. Just the thought of making resolutions on that particular day always seemed to spell failure, as if they could be jinxed from the very start. And they all sounded the same: exercising, flossing, drinking more water, drinking less beer, whatever. It always sounded so rote, so ridiculous. Butbutbut…there is something about wiping the slate clean, starting over. I like the idea of going into that confessional of promises and being able to come out brand new. To begin again.

Back on that OtherSpace I grumbled about having the best intentions with projects. I don’t think it was anew year but I ranted anyway. I ranted about projects left half finished, neglected and mostly forgotten. After that rant guess how far I got? I got as far as hanging artwork. All the important pieces are on the wall (thanks, Scott). That’s it. This is the time, I have decided, to step it up. Finish it up. Do it up. Rock the resolutions. Now really is the time. Let’s review:

  1. Finish the rock quit
  2. Finish the honeymoon blanket
  3. Cook up the recipes
  4. Organize the photo albums
  5. Cork the frame
  6. Pen the cards

Blog Bogged

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mazeIn this blog saturated world it is incredibly easy to develop a complex, whether you are a reader or a writer. With so many on-line blatherings to read from I know I find myself asking not only, “why do you read me?” but, “how did you find me in the first place?” Throw in statistical capabilities and that only adds fuel to the inquisitive yet insecure fire. Like slugs to beer, surely this is our downfall and doom. It’s like we are contestants in a popularity contest – it all comes down to the numbers. It’s a source of sheer fascination when you think, no, you absolutely know your babblings are boring beyond your scope of belonging…yet someone reads you.

I know why some people read me. It’s their only way of staying in touch with me. My explanation for dropping out of sight, for not showing up, undoubtedly will be here. People check here for my pulse. As for other blogs and bloggers, I’m not sure. Over the weekend I was treated to a humorous story of supposed blog stalking – told from the stalking side of the fence. An individual discovers a blog and, for reasons known only to the individual, finds it interesting…really interesting. This isn’t the funny part. People stumble on blogs all the time and they return again and again because something fascinates them. In this case it was the blogger’s reaction to the sudden popularity that had me giggling…and taking notes.
The author not only felt stalked to the verge of violated, she felt the need to publicly protest the new traffic to her site. Didn’t I do the same thing? It totally reminded me of my own situation just a few months ago. Didn’t I freak out about a reader? Call it self-censorship but now I won’t write about things too sensitive for others to read. My perception of the threshold, the tolerance level, of criticism is different from what it actually is for some. I don’t trust my words around the hearts of others…(well, except Now & Zen. I know if I complain that my arms kill after a class or a pose really frustrated me the owner won’t take it personally to the point of hatred).

What I could say to the offended, as well as myself is this ~ I can completely understand your reaction to being read. The numbers are intimidating. But, here’s the thing: you are on the Internet, otherwise known as the WORLD wide web. It’s the bulletin board to the masses. Like it or lump it, people will read you for whatever reason. I know I have.

All Souls’ Rising (with Disappointments)

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Bell, Madison Smartt. All Souls’ Rising. New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

I’m having a love/hate relationship with this book. Only 110 pages into it I waiver between devouring it and chucking the whole thing across the room. The first chapter opens with a description of a women nailed to a pole. She is being punished for killing her child. She drove a nail through her newborn’s skull. Lemme back up – she’s a slave and she was raped on a ship bound for Haiti. The year is 1757. Need I say more? When the woman finally dies, her feet, hands and head are chopped off and displayed as an example for other slaves. Some example! As a rule, I don’t get “into” historical fiction, especially those with such a political, violent underbelly. However, this is a Booklust book and I’m bound to at least give it a try. When I started this venture I agreed to Pearl’s 50 Page Rule (stop reading if by 50 pages you can’t get into it). In All Souls’ Rising‘s case, when I got to page 50 I was in the love phase and couldn’t put it down. C’est la vie.

Booklust Twist: Pearl labels this, “novelistic history” of Haiti (More Book Lust p55)

12/30/06: Update~ I am admitting defeat with Bell’s book. After the slave uprising it has been nothing but vivid descriptions of violence. I think this book is responsible for my week’s worth of nightmares about war. Here’s an excerpt. I warn you, this is one of the tamest scenes of cruelty!

“He cut a bracelet all around Maltrot’s wrist, just above the thong that bound it to the branch. He made a vertical incision into the palm and turned back the flaps of the skin from the whitish fatty layer underneath and began peeling it back towards the fingertips as if he were slowly taking off a glove…” (are you getting the picture?)…”Maltrot ground his teeth and bit his lips until the blood ran freely, but finally he could not contain the scream and when it came it was large and loud enough to split the sky.” (p235)

I realize flaying, raping, torturing, murdering, baby impaling, etc is common in times of war. It’s happening today. My problem is Bell. He is such the amazing storyteller that not only do I believe every eye gouging, I can almost feel it too!

BookLust Twist: Found in Pearl’s More Book Lust under the chapter, “The Contradictory Caribbean: Paradise and Pain” (p.55). She wasn’t kidding.

Commercially Crazy (old post)

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It has turned out to be a miserable week. Let me count the ways: I am coming down with a cold, my blistered heel isn’t healing so I haven’t been able to run, I haven’t seen my husband in three – count ’em – three days, work has me boggled (again), I’m not going to Ruth’s funeral, I have to see a doctor about a suspicious “lump” under my jaw, I’m lost without my music, and did I mention I haven’t seen my husband? That last one is the killer. I hate eating alone. I abhor going to bed alone. I detest watching television alone.
But, here’s the thing about watching tv ~ I’m finding the commercials highly entertaining.

I saw stealth in a Cold-Eze commercial. Swear to Pete. He definitely could have been doing the voice-over and the facial expression were dead on.
I think the astronaut, you know the one in the sleep aid commercial, I think he’s cooking up some meth. Watch him stand there and you tell me. Highly suspect.
The shark that goes “raauuggh” in the icecream commercial makes me giggle, but the deadhead rolling down the hill makes me laugh outloud.
What’s with the nuns in the Scrooge credit card commercial?
What about the woman in the allergy medication commerical who says, “that one, please!” and the street vendor holds up her chosen piece of fruit? What? Like the woman can’t pick out her own fruit?
I’m addicted to the car commercial with the guy trying to buckle his daughter (?) into her seat and she won’t stop talking. My husband and I quote her all the time with phrases like, “his little legs…”, “I don’t know what it is…” and “his head is so tiny!” At any point in time I could blurt out, “…and I don’t know what it is!” and my hero will know exactly what I’m talking about.
I like the beer commercial with the Holiday Five Pack. I’ve done that – bought things intended for someone else and ended up keeping them for myself.
“There’s that moose again.” gets stuck in my head.

Commercials make the SuperBowl a chick friendly event; only this last year’s offerings weren’t that funny, nor were they clever. I see they’re reaching out to the general public for some help writing the “best” SuperBowl commercial for this year. Good luck with that. I’d rather watch the game.

Like Never Before

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mean santa

The Hero worked through the night so now he’s out like a light.
And I have an ugly cold I am trying to fight.
Alone by the unlit trees, I’m trying not to sneeze.
Got nowhere to go, nowhere to be
for I left my wallet across the sea.
With my nose on the run I’m definitely not having fun.
We cancelled presents, we cancelled holiday cheer
For sleep in the form of “have more Nyquil, my dear.”
Feeling doped up for hours, my mood – how it sours.
I reread a diary of Christmas long ago
A time when I couldn’t tell family from foe.
I can’t sleep for the noise in my head,
not to mention the cat who hogs my side of the bed.
I know this rhyme is crude, and I’m being rude
All ‘cuz I’ve copped a ‘tude.
It’s Christmas day and I’m sick as a dog.
Maybe I’ll go back to bed, sleep thru this fog.

Merry Christmas and to all a good night!

Posted in Bad

Message in a Bottle

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bottle   This year I sent out gifts and cards like never, ever before. I sent to people not on my list. I have no idea why. I guess it’s a simple as I saw something, it made me think of you, so I sent it your way. I would wonder how these OutOfTheBlue presents would be received. Would they even be received? I couldn’t help but wonder. I couldn’t help but care. I had no idea. Like messages in bottles I sent out my goodwill not knowing how anything would end up. I’m insecure so of course I wondered. Like a shipwrecked sailor I wanted my bottles to not only arrive somewhere safely, but I wanted their messages to be taken seriously because I was serious…Here’s what I know now:

This was how my blog for 12/23/06 was supposed to go. I was going to babble about the care I feel for people I barely know. Then, last night happened. Why go on about people who barely factor into my life – who barely blip on my radar screen when things like last night happen? Combine cappuccino, snaking the drain, family “fun” with barely keeping it together and an even better story is born.
It had started out as a pretty rough trip home. Exhausted, dirty and frustrated I couldn’t stop ranting, raving and complaining like a lunatic about the things I always seem to leave behind. All because I am stupid. Stooo-pid. I swear I need professional help, hypnosis, and shock therapy to cure what ails me. Seriously. My already busy sister has to come to my rescue..again. The miles went by and if I wasn’t seething I was sleeping. Trapped in the truck with me, I’m sure it was a tedious, tiresome drive home for my husband.
I had almost run out of bitching steam when we met up with R & C for a show that wasn’t. Upon seeing them (and fueled by the thought of a new audience), I caught my second wind and so launched into a repeat performance of disgust. I couldn’t stop talking ranting. C countered with crazy stories of his own and soon had me laughing.

Why blog about the barely anybodies in my life when J & I can meet up with someone who has known me for 20+ years and make every embarrassing instance laughable? R & C offered advice and had me crying with fill-the-room laughter. I love these guys.

Mind & Spirit Gifts

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Natalie

I have to write about this because when I look around the corners of my mind it’s what I see first. Heavy in the thought, light in the heart, making me smile all the same. I’ve been following the post-tour career of Natalie Merchant. How could I not? I’m spurred on by the hope she’ll actually get back in the studio to record, step back on the stage to perform, stand in the spotlight of another tour. For the meantime, here’s what my hero humanitarian has been up to:Natalie

Clear Path International: Natalie contributed “This House is on Fire” to a benefit cd. Ruby and I have classmates actively involved in CPI.
For The Lady: Natalie contributed “Motherland” to a benefit cd. Aung San Suu Kyi is still in exile.
Go Further: Natalie performs in Woody Harrelson’s movie about green living. I have yet to see this documentary.
Red White & Blue: A Tale of Two Americas: Natalie contributes “Motherland” to a documentary about Americans.
Unicef PSA: Natalie contributed “The Worst Thing” to Unicef’s PSA about AIDS. It’s a powerful 30 second spot. Check it out.
The Killer Within: Natalie recorded “Bird on a Wire” for a shocking documentary.
Dan Zanes: Natalie recorded a Scottish traditional folk song “Loch Lomond” for Zanes’ childrens album. I just picked this up for my nephews for a spur-of-the-moment-Christmas gift.
Nothing Like The Sun: Natalie will participate in a project to put Shakespeare’s sonnets to music. My friend, Rebecca Correia, has already done this with one sonnet. Very cool.
For New Orleans: Natalie contributed to a cd to benefit the musicians who were victims of Hurricane Katrina.
Give Us Your Poor: Natalie participated in a documentary about homelessness. This is a really interesting project worth reading about (and watching – there is an eight minute excerpt).

Natalile

Why do I babble about these things? Why do I care? Surely there is little to no effort in allowing someone to use a song in a documentary or in a benefit cd. Surely it’s not big deal to record one measley song for something. But, here’s the thing: everything Natalie does is either for a good cause or a thought-provoking project. This is why I argue with my husband about an athlete’s paycheck and why I’ll never understand the price of sports.

Happy Humanitarian Holidays.

Sweet Desperation

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platypus

I dreamed of my father the other night. Even today my nighttime images are as clear as daytime. I stood on the other side of a door, watching him through the screen. He was bent over a dark green, almost black trash bag sorting through hundreds of papers. The longer I watched the more it was clear to me what he was sifting through: multitudes of colorful drawings of my childhood, mountains of homework of my youth, many writings of my young, just starting out, adulthood. My life in his lifetime. In print. I saw a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt fall from his hands with barely a glance, a poem about summer slip to the ground without care, a stick drawing of a cat thoughtlessly drift away on the breeze. I knew what he was doing. He was on a quiet, desperate quest for what wasn’t there. He thought if he searched long enough he would find my maturity on a piece of paper. The answer to how I turned out, for he needed to know. Desperately. Despite fearing he wouldn’t find his answer I asked the obvious. I don’t remember his response, but it prompted me to step out onto the porch to join him. I’d like someone to analyze my dream and tell me the significance of three platypus wandering across the lawn. A mother and two babies. Or was it a father? Mine barely gave them a glance as he kept searching for something he would never find.
Desperation is an ugly word. It’s an even worse state of mind. If I could I’d send my father a care package. In it would be a business card, a diploma, a wedding license, a bill for Indy’s shots, my drivers license, a certificate for running, pictures of my nephews…and a note. “These are the things you missed, daddy. This is what I’ve been up to since you’ve been gone.”

Time to Get Cooking

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CranberryLast night J & I brought saucy kielbasa and Riley’s famous Muddy Buddy’s to R & C’s non-holiday party. You can’t get any simpler than those two dishes to literally throw together. He chopped, I poured. We took turns stirring. Simple as that. For both dishes. We make a good team.

Today, I start some of the preparations for Christmas in Maine. Twice baked Cajun sweet pototoes with salty sweet pecans served in orange shells, SpencerSpecial Stuffing with apple cider, onions and Grannies, a cranberry sauce of some kind (haven’t decided but something with fruit)…and the freezer pie that we always, always make. Mom’s bringing the bread, and another pie. I have the sweet potatoes, cream cheese, cajun spices, the nuts, the onions, butter, celery, chicken stock, bread crumbs, herbs, apples, cider, sausage, cranberries, whipped cream, chocolate chips, pie crust, cinnamon…yet, with all this food I feel like I am missing something. I’m not sure what it is. I still have time. No need to freak.

MuddyBuddy (vaguely)
* Chex mix *
* butter *
* peanut butter *
* chocolate chips
* vanilla (the good stuff)
* powdered sugar

This Life

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peaceI am positively giddy with life right now. I am this close to finishing my 110 holiday cards, this close to getting all the presents wrapped (another one came today – yay), this close to getting a menu together for my sister’s holiday party. Everything is coming together and I haven’t stressed about a thing. Not even once. Haven’t broken out in hives in worry. Life is good right now. If I were in my normal mind, I would find a way to say, “too good to be true so something bad is bound to happen…” but, I’m not feeling that vibe right now. Maybe it’s the good mail day: a pic of my beautiful nephews, two Christmas cards from people I normally don’t hear from, an announcement of a friend being in town for the holidays, AT’s gift on the doorstep, andand a n d   a notice saying I have one payment left on Bug. I thought I had until February to suffer through car payments. If I had been paying attention to what I was paying I should have expected this. I should have seen it coming, really. I always overpay my bills. Call it a lack of math skills, call it laziness, call it what you will, but I always round up when paying something. Not to the nearest Washington….to the nearest Hamilton. It makes balancing the checkbook easier. I don’t do this on all the bills, just the ones that have an end in sight – like a car payment.
Or maybe this good mood comes from the good moves – we’re going to R & C’s holiday get-together and uncharacteristically, I am looking forward to it. Not a single DoIHaveTo in sight because I want to. I’m bringing gifts for the special faces and the special place. There is happiness in the bringing. Seriously. Later tonight, we’ll move to Pittsfield for sirsy. I have gifts for the band. A band of gifts for the giving. Flute. Drum. Guitar. I’m looking forward to the show but know we won’t stay entirely. Two parties tomorrow…
If it’s not the mail or the moving, maybe it’s my mother. She called this morning and we talked 2007. She hadn’t gotten my card. She didn’t know about Christmas on the island. The surprise in her voice was happiness to my heart.
If it’s not the mail, moving, or mom – maybe it’s the mea culpa I’m experiencing. There are people out of my life that I want to acknowledge. Maybe because it’s Christmastime, maybe because the dislike is not so Dis anymore. I’m certainly not looking for peace, love and happiness…but I can hope for something like it.

Took a Chance on You

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I don’t know what made me do it last night, but I called a friend and invited him out. I’ve never done that to him before. Ever. I’ve sent emails. Invitations to things have come up in conversations, yet almost in jest. I’m not jesting about the inviting, just covering up the anticipation of the polite decline. I’ve said before that I feel like I’m his space-filling friend and it’s obvious I’m being hurtful in saying that. I only joke to obscure the DoYouHateMeNow questionmark above my head. I’d erase it if I could because I’m quite sure he doesn’t hate me. He has caller ID on his phone, I’m sure. I caught him driving. What else is new? I told him, “I’ll probably pee my pants if you show up.” Even though I  laughed when I said it, I know my bladder.  It’s probably no joke.

calendar
He has another commitment. Or, he thinks he does. No, he is sure of it…but he is just not sure when. Or something. I have to laugh for real. I can see him, trying to check the mental calendar. He doesn’t even know what day he’s on. He asks when Christmas is. I’m confused, too because I say, “in two weeks.” He thinks there is a chance his other commitment is next week. I’ve (inadvertently) given myself false hope by not being on the same page. I guess it’s better than not being on any page at all…or something like that.                        

Is There Anybody Out There?

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magnetIs there anybody out there? ‘Cause I know three someones who need dates…and I just met someone else who is perpetually lonely. So, make that four someones looking for somebody. How does this happen? What’s wrong with them that causes them to be decidedly single when they have decided they don’t want to be? Because that’s what they have also decided – something must be wrong with them. To be in your 30’s and single with no marriage or even a partner to speak of in sight. They all want to know, “how did you meet your spouse? How’d you get to be so lucky?” (as if the answer wasn’t so obvious with my brains, beauty and bank account). They all want pearls of wisdom when all I have to give them are rocks of nothing. Solid chunks of I-Have-No-Freakin’-Clue. All those philosophies about meeting people are true: you have to love yourself before someone else can love you…stop looking and love will find you…blah blah blah. Could it be as simple as Right Time/Right Place? More like, Right Time/Right Place/Right Face & Patience. Seriously. I wasn’t wanting, neither was he. We were magnets pushing each other away until one of us got turned around.
The running joke is, “If you have any single friends…” and the punchline is, “you guys are my single friends.” Oh yeah.

Getting Back

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knitting

Rob Thomas said something about “get it back to good” when he was with Matchbox 20 (or is it Twenty?). I think I’m taking it out of context, but I can see my own “getting back to good” going on.
This morning I cleaned out an envelope of what I thought were old receipts and found a gift certificate for knitting. Yes, knitting. I took it up at one point…but then put it down for whatever reason. I’ve taken it up and put it down a bunch of times and upon looking at myself from the other side of the couch, I think what it boils down to it this: I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m frustrated by only half-knowing something. Tired of winging it where yarn is concerned. Lessons. I need lessons. So, using that gift certificate (thanks, Sue!) I signed myself up.
I’m also planning to get back to yoga. My friend doesn’t know it yet, but her class will have one more student tonight. Me. This is a trial run. A test of the schedule. The plan is to meet my husband at his work after this yoga class and head to the gym. I’m hoping Tuesday nights will be a yoga-zen-run day on the calendar from here on out.