Category: Confessional

Blogger without a Brain

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Some say imitation is the highest form of flattery. Well, what do you call plagarism? A friend came up with the perfect word, asinine. In my world it’s “I am not smart enough to write my own sh!t.” In my world it’s “I’m so stupid I need to take other people’s ideas and call them my own.” Colin Deslage, if that’s even his real name, fits this description. IQ of a sand flea. Or, more accurately, a sand flea’s fart. Why else would he take my book review and post it on his blog? I don’t think he’s an azzhole. I think he’s just floundering in a sea of smart people and doesn’t want to drown looking like a dolt. When you are that obtuse looking intelligent is a really, really hard thing to do.

When I was first alerted to this odd occurrence I seethed. I thrashed around with so much anger I couldn’t sit still. Not long enough to write anything anyway. Then I considered the blog Colin Deslage stole – it’s an odd one to steal. Consider the facts: it’s a freakin’ book review (a very unprofessional one at that), it’s about chick lit (which says something about Colin’s reading preferences, or maybe I’m mistaken and he is really a SHE), and it mentions my hometown, a place where few people have ever heard of (let alone visited).

What does anyone have to gain by posting something that obviously isn’t original? Sand flea fart credibility.

Anyway, the rant is over.

Hellish Hope

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obsessiveBack in April I thought we had a house. I started thinking of knocking down walls and walling up old plaster. I started thinking about corner lots and corner cabinets. Back in April I heard the family ghosts welcoming me home. A little red house called home. I had hellish hope for a house.

Back in August I obsessed about a house. I started talking to my AnyoneWho WillListen. I started dreaming of treeshouses and tree swings; big back yards and big family cookouts. Back in August I thought I heard neighbors welcoming me home. A little white house with green shutters I obsessively called home. I had hellish hope for a house.

Back in November I held out an offering for a house. I started dreaming about 2,000 square feet of house. Big house. Lots of room house. I started planning master bedrooms and multiple bathrooms. Back in November I made deals with lenders who wanted to welcome me home. A little(big) grey house with no neighbors. I held out for the hope of a house.

Back in December I dreamed about a oldnew house. A haunting of what I dared dream of before. I started having visions of well stocked stockings hung by the fireplace; a Christmas tree with festive twinkling lights in the window; the Merrymen singing O’ Come All Ye Faithful. I wished and prayed for a golden, sunlit kitchen complete with breakfast nook and built-in cabinets. Back in December I dreamed of having a second chance at getting a first house. A little beige house with cute cape windows. My hellish hope for a house heated up. Again.

Now I am here. I dream of a house with a dragon bowl in the bathroom. I dare to dream yet again. The dream is so close to reality I am this close to nausea. I told my dearest friend I am sure to puke any day now. I don’t think I am up to all this wait and see stuff.

But, here is the thing. This is the one. I am past the little red house with the family name; beyond the white house. I have forgotten the grey house and gotten over the beige house (honestly, I have). I have moved on to a little green house on a big hill. Hellish hope yet again.

25 days and counting.

Had To

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Someone pointed out to me that I’m a sucker. She got in my face and said “a deal’s a deal.” Said I went soft on a bargain. She’s right. It’s not that I went back on my word. It’s more like I jumped the gun. False start. Penalty for pushing it. I made a promise before the ink was dry. Signing my life away before reading the fine print. Making promises I can’t keep.

I really admire people who are true to their word. Say something and mean it. Say something and follow through with it. Know what I mean? I think I admire them so much because I have trouble with that “just do it” attitude from time to time. I’ll buy gifts for people and then forget to give them. I’ll write letters to people and then forget to mail them. I’ll buy expensive goat cheese and forget to cook with it. I’d like to think I have good intentions, but if I don’t follow through it’s just as bad as not intending at all. At least that’s the way I see it.

I’d like to get back to that Just Had To – as in “Just had to send you this gift because it had you written all over it,” “just had to call you because…” “just had to say hi because I missed you.” Find that good intention and make good on it. Seriously. 

So back to that jumping the gun thing: See, so I admire those people who say what they mean and mean what they say. I really do. Those industrious, get-it-done people. I made a deal with someone, they fell short. Should I sucker up my end of the bargain because they didn’t mean it in the first place? What does it mean when a deal’s a deal yet there’s no deal in the end? Maybe they should find that Had To attitude, too.

Just had to ask. Just had to.

The Way It Should Be

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We spent forever initialing and signing until it was time to go home. All I kept thinking about were the trees. I mean, we are in the 21st century, are we not? Will we ever get to that paperless (or even less paper) society? Never mind.

When we got home it was nearly 9:30 at night and I was no mood to walk anywhere. Treadmill be damned. Training schedule be damned. I have been walking. Just not blogging about it. Nothing very exciting to say when it comes to walking, sad to say. Some days I care about mileage and I churn and burn. Other days I want to walk and read. Leisurely. Like this morning. This morning it was walk, read and drink coffee. My husband almost didn’t want to give me a cup until I reminded him, “honey. I’m walking.”

But, anyway. Back to last night. I got a phone call. And this is what I’m talking about when I say this is the way it should be. It should be this: a friend should be able to put it all into perspective without even trying. A friend knows what to say – exactly what to say – that makes it all make sense. Such is the conversation I had last night. I had residual drama on the brain. Things that were sort of bothering me in a lingering, lamentful sort of way. Not in an insomnial, oppressive, rant-on-the-way way, but still there nonetheless. Like I said, residual. Like smudges on a glass. I was eager to wipe the drama clean and when I was finished, without even trying, the conversation cleared the air. Everything took on a new perspective – the way it should be.

So I learned a lesson. Even when things seem petty and unparticular it is always best to talk them out. In the light of a brand new day and put before a brand new ear persepctives can change.

How I’d Like To

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webs

How I’d like to talk to you right now. How I’d like to explain this fear that snakes around my lungs, making me think of choking, feel like drowning. I am a sea of nerves and awash with panic. I am not good enough for this journey. I have not the strength to take this next step. The fortitude of a fortress surely cannot be mine. I feel the fall of failure before it has even happened.
“Daddy, come quick! The dreaming tree died.” ~ David J. Matthews
They accepted the offer and we have accepted the responsibility. Only now do I think I am wrong to think I deserve so much. Why can’t you be here with me? Be here now to walk me through this thing called a process. You have missed out on every little thing, but it’s the big stuff that bugs me. We are so distant by design. Apart on purpose. How I’d like to break that barrier.

Biggest Elvis

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Kluge, P.F. Biggest Elvis. New York: Viking, 1996.

I like sarcastic, witty books. I like books with a bit of bite to them. Biggest Elvis has bite, wit, and dare I say, balls. Really fun book to read.

Written in the first person from the points of view of six different characters Biggest Elvis tells the story of the reincarnation of Elvis…in Olongapo, Philippines. Elvis lives again in the form of three Elvis impersonators portraying the early young-stud years, the middle movie years, and lastly, the portly, pudgy, final years. Their nightly performance is a huge hit in Olongapo, but as with all things, it has to end. As the performance gets bigger and more permenant so grows the obsession. In addition there is a sinister commentary about American greed and power that lurks behind the entertaining Elvis trio.

I realize that in the Philippines sex and prostitution are commonplace for a community. Just like homelessness or alcoholism it’s viewed as something the just exists and is shrugged off on with regularity. Because Biggest Elvis essentially takes place in a whorehouse disguised as a bar the references to sex are plentiful. For me, it was a little excessive.

Lines that I liked: ” – well, he would be a lost ball in tall grass” (p 6), “Olongapo had contaminated me. It leaked out of my pores, dripped off my tongue” (p 58), and “The kind of woman who always brings along something to read because she might get bored, the book is like a warning to the world she’s in, that if the people aren’t up to expectations, in a minute she’s out of here…” (p 124).

BookLust Twists: In Book Lust and More Book Lust. In Book Lust in the chapters, “Elvis on My Mind” (p 79), “First Novels” (p 89), and “P.F. Kluge: Too Good To Miss” (p 139). In More Book Lust in the introduction (p xii).

Sometimes I doubt myself to the point of silence. It’s hard for me to point out an error when I don’t think I have all the facts. So, it’s with a great deal of trouble that I have to say I think I found an error in a Book Lust chapter. Here’s the deal: Biggest Elvis is in three different Book Lustchapters: “P.F. Kluge: Too Good to Miss” (p), “Elvis” (p), and “First Novels” (p). It’s this last chapter that has me so bothered. According to Kluge’s website, he wrote a couple of other books before Biggest Elvis. Unless I misunderstood Pearl’s content for “First Books” I think including Biggest Elvis is a mistake. There, I said it. Somebody, anybody, please correct me if I’m wrong!

The Last Word

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I’m having a battle with my email. One of my 2009 resolutions is to pare down the amount of shouting shopping emails that sneak into my inbox. You know the ones: 70% off sale through this email offer only! Newest arrivals – first peek in this email! Keep your new years resolution! Lose more weight with this email!
Every day I “unsubscribe” to one. It’s interesting how each company handles the UNSUBSCRIBE process. Some are incredulous, “what do you mean you want to unsubscribe? Are you sure? Are you really sure? Really, really sure?” Some are stubborn to stay, “Can you tell us why you want to unsubscribe?” I almost expect them to say ‘Give us your excuse and make it a good one. If we don’t buy it we’ll continue to send you crap.’ Others make you work for the unsubscription: fill out this form, reconfirm your name and email address, give us your first born. Some sound pitiful by claiming it will take weeks to get off the mailing list. They apologzie for the emails that might continue “in the interim” but, rest assured, they are working to save your profile changes. The threatening ones are the best, “You will no longer receive announcements from —. You will miss out on great savings opportunities!” I almost expect them to add a shrug and sniff and add, “your loss!”
Today I received a new reaction to my unsubscribe request. All I had to do was click ‘unsubscribe’ and I was done. Deceivingly simple and painless. No incredulous attitiude. No forms to fill out. No apologizing or threatening. One click and supposedly I was off the list…Too good to be true. This company just had to have the last word. They not only sent a follow up email saying “your request will not be fulfilled until you reply to this email, but they also sent a confirmation that my request had been received. Are you keeping track? In the process of trying to get rid of one email they sent a total of three. And here’s the kicker – I still don’t know if I sucessfully unsubscribed!

It’s All Eggs

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DSCN0019

Eggs. The word I use to sum up “half of one kind, six of another.” Eggs. Means makes no difference to me. One way or another it doesn’t matter. It’s the answer to ‘where do you want to go for dinner’ when the craving for something obvious isn’t there. Eggs. It’s my verbal shrug.

This weekend we found two houses and in my mind they are all about the eggs. In answer to which one I like more – I would definitely say they are eggs. Penny has glitz and glamour; “pimped out” as my realtor would say. Instant hot water in the kitchen. Fireplace. Deck. Pool. Surround sound. Granite. Cathedral ceilings. His and hers in everywhere. Appletree has a clean slate and lots of potential; “vanilla” as my realtor would say. White walls. Not a drop of color anywhere. Naked rooms. Empty kitchen. But, side by side Penny and Appletree are eggs. Almost same size. Almost same style. Almost same type of neighborhood. Almost the same price. Almost the same stubborn sellers. Lots of almosts. So, one is scrambled with herb cheese and chives served with crispy bacon and the other is poached with salt and pepper served in a dainty white cup with a side of dry toast. One is bring nothing but your attitude, the other is if ya got it, flaunt it – bring it all.

We went back and forth, forth and back. Trying to decide which eggs to order. Where would our appetites take us? Have we exhausted the menu and this was all that’s left? Neither of us thought so. That wasn’t the right attitude to take. These were good eggs. Worth their weight. We want to order both. See what happens.

So we shall. Try one. Then the other. See who satisfies this house-hungry appetite.

Bird Song

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Lone dad

It has taken me some time to come to terms with her passing. Doesn’t seem right. More than doesn’t feel fair. I’ll say it yet again – cancer just isn’t fair.
They came to the island as love birds; a dating, doting couple. Binoculars and a sense of biology, they came to the island year after year to love the birds. The years gave way to marriage, kids, property, and a dog. A sense of belonging to the community became so strong the island couldn’t remember a time without them. It was as if they had always been there.
I don’t remember the first time I met her. It was that long ago. I can only remember her as I last saw her four months ago. Feisty and forcing fresh baked cookies on us, she commanded from the couch. Slipping water through a straw she surveyed the world outside her kingdom. A huge picture window afforded her a priceless view. She smiled as she watched a pheasant family creep jauntily through the high grass. Father pheasant’s neck arched and stretched searching for bugs, pecking as he went. His eyes were bright, watchful and wary. He paused as if to say I know you are there and she paused, the glass lifted halfway to her lips, as if her stillness could keep him there.

Binoculars, books and Bean gear. She was always ready for the birds. She kept a journal of the season’s best spyings. A log of feathered friends encountered throughout the seasons. As she grew sicker, too ill to hike her ornithology conquests had to be counted from the couch. Her bird’s eye view of the birds was limited to the ones who came to her big picture window. Mostly it was the pheasants. Soon she could tell us how many families were in the area. How many babies were born that year. Always the pheasants. They became her friends. That is why when I see a family of pheasants I will always think of her.

Meditation Monday

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My sister gave me a book on awareness. At this current moment the book is nowhere near me and I’m too lazy to get it. So, I won’t be telling you the title at this time. But, I’ve added it to my January list of books to read and I will be “reviewing” it in my half-azzed manner.

What got me thinking is the idea of mind over matter. December was an awful month because I let it be. My car was in the shop no less than five times. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be such a big deal. Kisa and I carpool all the time, but it sucked something out of me. A sense of independence was lost. I lost sensibility, too – trying to make plans without transportation was just plan stupid.
We “lost” three houses. Since we never really had them, technically, I’m overreacting. I’m making a big deal out of this real estate game. I’m letting my emotions get the better of me whenever the houses get away. I guess I make it emotional because it seems like we have been losing for so long.  
We lost two friends. That we did. When N died all I could focus on was 49 was too young to die. Her kids are teenagers – at that perfect age when mom just starts to become human, possibly even a friend. I couldn’t get to the point of relief that she was no longer suffering, no longer fighting a decade long battle. When T died all I could focus on was how stupid it is to be alive. Senseless and stupid. I’m angry because I’m selfish.
Death has had me mean. When someone blurted out “he’s just going to die anyway” I wanted to agree, I wanted to say, “I think you’re right” but I couldn’t . You don’t wish death on someone just because the statistics say it’s time. What is time to someone 22, 49 or 92?

December was an awful month for work, too. I vow to give reviews in November next year. To plan better. To direct better. The whining will stop. The whimpering will stop. I had a chance to talk to my boss one on one. He said the sign of a good leader is recognizing exhaustion; knowing when you are dangerously close to your breaking point and need a break. He ordered me to take the entire vacation off and do something a little less “urgent” with the time. It was the best advice someone could give me. He doesn’t need to know I didn’t refuse work from somewhere else!

So now I’ve meditated on most of what bothered me in December. Most of it was out of my control, but I let it get to me just the same. In the process I learned a valuable lesson. Let go. I didn’t send Christmas cards to people who have never sent me one. I’ve given my last gift to someone who never has the decency to say thank you. I’ve let go of superficial signs of sentiment. It’s time to pay attention to what really matters.

Just Have to Say

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So. Merry belated Christmas and all that happy hoohaw. I had one of those “nice” times. Eating lots of great food, watching one child open gift after gift after gift after gift…and did I mention the gifts? Well, you get the point. It seemed silly after a while. We left four hours later for a little while. I thought I would nap or run or something. Instead kisa made me open gifts. Knives and money – Lamson Goodnow knives and JJill gift cards. I’m not sophisticated enough for Jill, but I love their stuff just the same. I amsophisticated enough for the chef knives, though! Those, I do know how to use! Cannot. Simply, cannot wait to dice my way through some unsuspecting innocent vegetable. Funny, how I was just talking about knife skills at the staff lunch….weird. Anyway, back to the day. After trying to find graves in the snow we went back for more great food and…you guessed it…one child opening more and more gifts. Somehow she kept track of every bitty baby and barking furbie puppy. Four going on fourteen they all said.

Later still. Tried to call mom. Didn’t go all that well. Why am I the one holding the bag of guilt when I wasn’t the only one who went away? Every sentence was torturous and drawn out. Pulling answers from her mouth was worse than the proverbial teeth. Everything felt battle ready and weary. Long periods of silence on either end. Nothing to say. Nothing to make it better. Sorry I asked. Sorry I couldn’t say anything except Sorry I couldn’t be there.

Later still. Tried to find a friend. Found I was too late. Sighed and went to bed.

Too distracted to send cards this year. Each one went out as a reply instead of a greeting. Lame. I still don’t know what is causing this delayed reaction in me. I need to get over this Don’t Care attitude before 2009. Someone else claimed the new year for themselves. Yet, I say you have to share it with me. I just have to say you better.

When it Snows

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The past week has been a little on the hellish side, without the heat – if you know what I mean. Two major storms; one with weather and one in my personal life. I’ve managed to dig out from both.

Thank you to the students who were so appreciative of the extra library hours. Staying open an extra 5.5 hours for you was my pleasure. I had nowhere to go and, apparently, neither did you.

Thank you to my mother-in-law for braving the weather to see Miss Rebecca sing last night. I couldn’t have asked for a better pilot. Now that we know how parking works we should do it again.

Thank you to Rebecca for making the four hour trek to Northampton. You and your funnier than all get out father are amazing. Thank you for singing your heart out. I must insist that you stop saving ‘Hold Me’ as your last song. I couldn’t hold my camera steady thanks to the tears. I’m sure the video is going to reflect that grief. Don’t worry, I will blog about the entire thing…maybe even post a snippet of the video (depending on how shaky it is).

Thank you to my friend. I understand your absence. I missed you just the same.

Send Me Superman

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I got the call during the worst moment. I was dealing with a bad attitude. I was trying not to deal out a bad attitude just the same. “She died” was all my mother said. For a moment I couldn’t speak. My mouth gaped open, I nearly dropped the phone, the world slowed down and drained away. Silence. She died. Just like that. Mother, wife, friend, neighbor. Gone. Just like that.

Send me Superman to take away this sorrow. Send me Superman to keep me strong. Send them Superman, too. I think of her kids, her husband, her community and hear their hurt loud and clear. Send them every super hero heart to love them during this trying time.