Self delusion

I have come to the startling conclusion (well, I was startled- my friends and family, probably not so much) that I am far more fun online, and in my head, than I am in person. I’m not saying this to down myself- I know I can be witty, entertaining, and pleasant company, even when standing next to you! My problem is I rarely WANT to go stand next to someone! I’m not agoraphobic, but I REALLY like staying home. A good day is when I don’t have to get dressed and go somewhere. I don’t like going to picnics in the summer, because I hate to be hot and I hate bugs. I would just as soon hibernate like a bear from November till March, so that I’m not shivering. I do like to explore museums and points of interest in optimal weather conditions, but then my knees hurt because I’m fat and I’m old. When I went on a whale watch, while everyone was gasping, “Look there’s ANOTHER whale, and THIS one has a calf with it!” I was thinking “It’s the tenth freaking whale we’ve seen- can’t we turn around and go back, before I toss my cookies? Get a high-def TV and watch Nat Geo- it’s a much better view.”



Even one of my favorite “not at home” activities is (go figure) almost an extension of being home. I love to drive in my car. My own little isolated bubble. When I was in my twenties, my friend Marie and I would just go out driving for hours. Talking, listening to music, and exploring the area. My theory was and is that you’re never lost, because you always end up SOMEWHERE. My daughter shares my driving quirk- some of our best conversations have happened during car rides, and there were countless times she’d say, “No, don’t go home- I like this song- let’s drive some more!”


Good news for me though....some studies say your subconscious mind can’t tell the difference between imagining doing something, and actually doing it. (Your conscious mind knows, of course, unless you are delusional) So there! If that’s the case, as an avid reader, I’ve done a LOT, subconsciously, all from the comfort of my couch! In fact, new research is suggesting that visualization can actually strengthen muscles, not to the extent of performing an actual exercise, but in a measurable amount. See here. No one will even have to go to the gym!


 I don’t want to jump out of a plane. I don’t want to climb a mountain because it’s there. (Although I WILL look at pictures of it on Google) I don’t want to go to most gatherings and make small talk, or go shopping for hours, or go bar hopping. I hated tubing down the river (rapids were scary)  and I’m convinced that either that a shark will eat me, or I will drown in a rip current, if I go past my knees in the ocean. (although I REALLY like sitting on a deck OVERLOOKING the ocean, while I read my book : / )

Yes, in real life, I’m Boring with a capital B. But in my mind, damn I’m fun to be around!

The New Adventures of Old Clyde

This morning I staggered into the kitchen to pour a much needed and very large cup of coffee. Clyde, as usual, was at my feet begging loudly. I decided to grab a piece of cheese from the fridge, and rest my coffee on the sink/ counter lip. Oops. Not a good idea. Over goes the cup, and a giant waterfall of coconut coffee cascades to cover both the kitchen floor AND my idiot cat, who then runs through the house like the coffee fairy from hell, sprinkling each room with a lovely spattering of coffee drops. I test the Quicker Picker Upper theory and throw some Bounty on the flood in the kitchen, then go in search of Clyde. (Easy to do- just follow the java trail through my house.) I find him sitting indignantly on my bed (of course), which now also has coffee across the entire king-sized spread. Despite my attempts to sponge him off, his once white hind quarters now have a tan mottling, and a distinct coconut aroma. He's still stalking around the house, complaining loudly, further annoyed by Jade the dog, who has decided Clyde's butt smells like breakfast. I haven't decided whether to piss him off further by trying to bathe him, or to leave him be. Have I mentioned he has a vet appointment today at 3? This will be an interesting visit.

Autumn Leaves

One of my dad's favorite family events of the year was my sister's annual Labor Day Clambake. Some of my last happy memories of him were at  last year's picnic: my dad and his brother Armand talking away as they loaded up on steamers and homemade chowder, and the picture I have of my dad and mom opening the presents of their final wedding anniversary (the only picture I have of my mom where she looks truly happy and in the moment).

Needless to say, as much as everyone was looking forward to our annual get-together this year, I think we all also dreaded it a little. My dad passed away 18 days after last year's picnic. What would it be like without him there?

One of the things I remember about my dad is how he always saved the pop tops from aluminum cans for the Shriner's Hospital in Springfield, which collected them  to raise money. There'd always be a bag or cup of them by the kitchen counter, and he'd remind me to save the tops of my sodas for him.

As I walked through the yard at the picnic today, this was in my path:

Now, I know, someone had been playing with their soda can, and it came off, and it then somehow got knocked off the table, and it landed in the grass, and any other day I wouldn't have even noticed it.

But today, I'd like to think my dad was there at that picnic with us, and that's how he let me know.

Since you went away
The days grow long
And soon I'll hear
Old winter's song
But I miss you most of all
When autumn leaves
Start to fall.  

"Autumn Leaves" adapted to English by Johnny Mercer



That could have been my child

Over the past week, both Kaite and Nick and Kali have faced the death of girls they knew. Both girls were in their early twenties; one lost to a heinous murder, one to an overdose. You expect older people to pass on eventually, but to see a life of promise cut short is inexplicable. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. 

 How can I guide my kids through their grief and confusion, when it doesn’t even make sense to me, as an adult? I found myself googling things like “making sense of murder”, “dealing with the death of a young person”. I didn’t find much advice at all. I realize people who commit violent murders are insane to some degree, and that you can’t explain such acts rationally, because they aren’t rational, but there is such a feeling of impotence wrapped up in untimely death. All the articles regarding murder talk about forgiveness being healing… well, screw forgiveness… I hope they find the bastard who stabbed Amanda and rip him to shreds. THAT COULD HAVE BEEN MY CHILD!


When I was younger, I was into reading all kinds of metaphysical books, and came across something that described envisioning a “bubble” of light around people you loved to keep them safe. Every night before I went to bed, I would go down the row, picturing each person I loved, surrounding them with my “bubble” to keep them safe. Bubbles around their car, their house, their bed…wherever they were. I slept better, hoping I was doing my little part in counteracting the evil of the world. Years later, I know that sometimes evil triumphs. Sometimes really horrible things happen, and I can’t keep anyone I love safe from danger, pain, or grief.


Either one of those girls could have been my child. Or yours. It makes no sense, and my heart screams for the anguish their parents are going through. I try to believe that everything happens for a reason, but there is no reason for these deaths. Sometimes the world just sucks.

 Rest in peace Robyn and Amanda.

♫ I'd like to buy the world a Coke....♫

So lately I’ve been all earthy crunchy. I started reading Eat Pray Love, and started eating semi organic. Which means I spread my Skippy peanut butter on Ezekial Bread toast. (“Ezekiel 4:9® Bread, made from freshly sprouted organically grown grains, is naturally flavorful and bursting with nutrients”) The book and the health phase aren’t related…I have to blame the previous book I read, and Jillian Michaels who wrote it, for the organic, healthy eating.

Whether it’s my spiritual side, or my arteries gasping in relief at two days without transfats and pesticides, I do feel pretty good today. Much better than the last two days, when I thought my head would shoot off my neck like a bottle rocket gone mad, due to a combination of work stress and Coke withdrawal. (Not the snort or smoke kind- my monkey comes in a bottle full of high fructose corn syrup that you can buy at the 7-Eleven down the street.)
 

I don’t think I would ever be able to eat entirely organic, though- even the cream for my coffee has some kind of chemical in it! It’s CREAM for crying out loud- who knew I would have to look for extra ingredients in it?! (Not to mention I’m supposed to find cream from cows that haven’t been injected with rBGH- some genetically created bovine growth hormone). 

On the plus side, the organic food section at Stop and Shop has lots and lots of cookies. I guess that makes sense- if you have to spend your day eating twigs, sprouts, and trying to find cream without chemicals, you need cookies to keep you from making a sling shot out of your Birkenstocks and firing pesticide-free grapes at passersby.

 Now on to the book- I have to say, I’m thoroughly enjoying it. No desire to see the movie though- I figure they’ll just bastardize it. Kind of like they did with “He’s Just Not That Into You.” There are so many light bulb moments in it as I read, even though it’s just one woman’s journeys, that I’ve actually started marking pages off to refer back to.

I’ll give you an example!

"There is so much about my fate that I cannot control, but other things do fall under the jurisdiction. I can decide how I spend my time, whom I interact with, whom I share my body and life and money and energy with. I can select what I can read and eat and study. I can choose how I'm going to regard unfortunate circumstances in my life-whether I will see them as curses or opportunities. I can choose my words and the tone of voice in which I speak to others. And most of all, I can choose my thoughts."

- Elizabeth Gilbert

And another:

"There's a reason we refer to "leaps of faith" - because the decision to consent to any notion of divinity is a mighty jump from the rational over to the unknowable, and I don't care how diligently scholars of every religion will try to sit you down with their stacks of books and prove to you through scripture that their faith is indeed rational; it isn't. If faith were rational, it wouldn't be - by definition - faith. Faith is belief in what you cannot see or prove or touch. Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be... a prudent insurance policy."

- Elizabeth Gilbert

Of course the book isn’t ALL like that- that would be tough to read. It’s mostly a warm, funny story of one woman’s journey to find herself. (Oops, I’m turning this into a book review.)

It’s all very enlightening, but I still have no desire to go an Ashram in India and sit on stone floors for hours to meditate. I can’t even sit in a comfy recliner without fidgeting.

The Path of Decay

I've been reading lots of great blogs lately, and it's intimidating me. Plus, I'm worried that I'll subconsciously plagiarize one a few months down the road, when I think a good idea has miraculously come to me in my sleep! I need to not read other blogs.

Anyway, David's 50th birthday is a few days away, and he's in somewhat of a funk about it. He's kicking and screaming in protest as he marches down the path of decay. I, on the other hand, am going to make an awesome old person, and here are 12 reasons why:

1. I  frequently get up at dawn. I like mornings. (If I have coffee. Preferably coconut.)
2. I think restaurants should start serving lunch at 10:30 a.m. (Unless it's a pizza place, in which case they should be open all night. WHY aren't pizza places open for breakfast?!)
3. I'm so lazy that I can't wait to have my very own motorized scooter/ chair.
4. I see nothing wrong with dinner at 4:30.
5. I laugh hysterically at shows like "Golden Girls" and "Hot in Cleveland." In addition, I clap and yell "Good answer!" when watching Family Feud (unless their answer sucks, at which point I tell them they're stupid), and I'm great at solving the puzzles on "Wheel of Fortune"
6. I already cut my meat up into really small pieces; when I'm old it will be easier to chew.
7. I have no problem asking for directions if I get lost.
8. I already pee a little if I laugh too hard. Or cough. Or sneeze.
9. I'm all set for when I go deaf, because I like having the closed captioning on when I watch TV.
10. I have 4 cats.
11. Gravity and I have already come to terms with each other.
12. And best of all, I have a huge bank of wild memories for when I go senile and live in the past.
    
    

I just want my coffee

There is something wrong with my house elves.

Myths abound of magical little beings that come out at night to clean people's houses and complete any unfinished work. I'm living in opposite land. My elves have run amuck.

I can go to bed at night with a sparkling counter and an empty sink, but when I stagger to the kitchen at 6 am to feed the cats, and make coffee, something has happened overnight. Crumbs all over the counter. Dirty glasses and food encrusted dishes piled precariously in the sink. Half full water bottles scattered randomly about the kitchen. An empty Triscuit box. The  "pull here" top of a tortilla bag. The quesadilla maker left out on the table.

I've inherited the elves from Animal House.

I fully accept the fact that I'm the one who does most of the cleaning. I tell myself that some day, I will clean my counters, and they will stay clean, and I'll miss the chaos. But at 6 am, all I want is to shut the cats up, and have a cup of coffee, not bulldoze a path to the faucet.

Dear frat house elves, there is a dishwasher right over there-->. Put the dishes in it. There are paper towels right under the sink. Wipe the counter down if you make a mess. The trash can might be little harder to find...it's shut in the closet so that it's animal proof. If you'd like, I'll make a big sign with an arrow so that you can find it easier.

Forget Cinderella.

I'm living in an episode of "Fractured Fairy Tales".

I just want my coffee.

My dirty little secret

I hate taking a shower. Before you go, "Ewwwww!", let me state that I DO shower. I'm sitting here right now, all squeaky clean, with still damp hair.  I just hate the THOUGHT of showering. I love water. I love swimming. I love when I'm IN the shower. I just hate the thought of  getting in.

I'm not sure why. It only takes 5 to 10 minutes out of my day. Lord knows I waste that in the blink of  an eye on Facebook. Then again, unloading the dishwasher only takes 5 minutes, and I hate doing that, too. (A real 5 minutes, not my version of, "Maybe we should paint the living room- it will only take 5 minutes!")

I know two other people who are the same way about showering. Maybe it's more common than people admit. Maybe it's a female thing, since the men I know seem to want to shower at the drop of a hat. (Insert your own little thought here __ about men spending too much time washing one particular area) Maybe it's inherently human- the reason why little kids resist bath time, even though once in, they don't want to get out.

I'll just have to trust Mark Twain: "Water, taken in moderation, cannot hurt anybody."

Oops!

Just remembered I haven't blogged yet today! Made it in with 15 minutes to spare!

Went to Hartford with David today to see "Bride Flight". Not sure why, but I love subtitles.(It was Dutch)  I even put the close captioning on regular TV half the time. Must have to do with my reading obsession. "Look, I can watch a movie AND read!"

Tonight Kaite came over at 11 PM to get more financial aid documents for SMC. I thought I was making it easier on myself this year, by having her do her own FAFSA filing. NOT! Next year, I'm doing it for her, so that it's over and done with!

I know it when I see it

I don't know much about photography, but, while watching a recent episode of "The Fabulous Beekman Boys", I was struck by the work of Paulette Tavormina. I love what she does with light... her photos remind me of certain paintings I used to stare at, while wandering through the Museum of Fine Arts at the Quadrangle. (I'm as ignorant of art as I am of photography, so I couldn't tell you the period or artists; I just know it when I see it.) Unfortunately, until she is mainstream enough for them to sell her work on posters.com, her prints are out of my budget, and all I can do is gaze longingly at them on Google Images.

I've shared the link below.

Paulette Tavormina

The itsy bitsy spider....

Last night, as David and I were watching a movie, I discovered there was a spider on the living room ceiling. Naturally, I couldn't hit the pause button fast enough, much to my husband's annoyance. "There's a spider on the ceiling." "Why did you even look up there? We're watching a movie." "I don't know, but there is a spider on the ceiling. You need to kill it." He hauls himself out of the recliner, grabs a paper towel,  and disgruntledly starts to wander around looking for something to stand on. At this point, my spider-related neurosis kicks in. "Stand on this. You're taking too long. It's going to get away." Dirty look shot my way. "Be careful, don't drop it. Make sure it's dead. Is it dead? Did you drop it?" He steps down, crumpled paper and spider in hand. "Did you get it? Don't throw it in the trash! Flush it down the toilet!" (In Alanna land, spiders can magically resurrect unless squished AND drowned.) I get another dirty look, "It's under control. I GOT it. I'm GOING to flush it. " At this point I'm trying not to hyperventilate, because as he stands there pontificating, HE IS STILL HOLDING THE SQUISHED SPIDER! I take on a note of mild hysteria. "Flush it! Flush it! Why do you have to be so difficult?! You KNOW how I am about spiders!" "I know and I'm going to flush it." He is still standing there talking. It's probably been ten minutes (OK, thirty seconds). The spider is IN HIS HAND and he is just standing there! He finally flushes it, and we glare at it each other as the movie restarts.

Let me stress that this happens pretty much the same way EVERY time he has to kill a spider for me. In my head, there is a specific spider killing ritual that needs to be followed, without deviation, every single time. I don't know why he can't just stick to the rules! There aren't that many things I am this anal about (spider killing, the handling of raw chicken, his dirty briefcase on the kitchen table, and the way the dishwasher is loaded) (Shut up- that's not many.) On his part, he figures if it's dead, it's dead, regardless of the disposal method, and he gets irritated with what he sees as the "much ado about nothing" that each arachnidian encounter brings. (I know that's not a word, but I'm using it anyway)

I'm hoping by the time we're 70, he has the ritual down pat. No doubt, he's hoping by the time we're 70, I'm too blind to see any damn spiders.

These dreams

So, here I was wondering if I would have enough to write about, and then woke up so eager to post this morning, that the time it took to start the coffee brewing seemed interminable.

This morning I was dreaming that David and I had a condo, and that we had moved in so quickly that we had stuffed everything into the drawers and shelves of a multitude of bookcases and bureaus that lined the walls of the living room and kitchen. Unfortunately, this included a myriad of embarrassing personal items as well, shoved in willy-nilly with the household goods. My entire family had come over to visit unexpectedly, and I walked out of my bedroom to find people looking through the drawers, not maliciously, but because they needed this item or that. ("Oh, where would the tablecloths be? Can you find the coasters? Gee, look at all the books they have!") The topper on the cake was that three people were smoking, yes, SMOKING, in MY house! I ran about frantically shutting drawers, stuffing away incriminating items, and yelling, "Smoking? Really? In my house? With my lungs?" (I get asthmatic bronchitis) The dream took a much less paranoid turn at that point, and I decided that with my awesome new condo, I could host the next family picnic, which I promptly scheduled for the following day. (All the while planning that, in the next eighteen hours, I would sort through every drawer, in between grocery shopping and cleaning. And I wonder why having company stresses me out?)

Hmm. OK, so that dream wasn't as interesting typed out, as it was when it was happening. Well, there WAS a dream once about Mikhail Baryshnikov...

Time flies?

Gee, it's only taken me almost two years to make a second post. I've been reading "The Happiness Project" by Gretchen Rubin, and one of the suggestions in the book was to start a blog. Hmm, think I have one of those somewhere... oh yes, here it is. Granted, it started off as a place to log my corny poems (see Post 1), but it will do.

Not sure where I'm going to find enough fodder for my daily musings, but hopefully the creativity fairies will smile on me, and the words will flow.

One of the other writing subjects mentioned was the "Write a novel in 30 Days" or something like that. You write a 50,000 word novel by doing around 1666 words a night. Mentioned to David tonight that I thought it would be fun for the two of us to give it a try. He didn't seem as enthusiastic as I had hoped he would be...not a trumpet fanfare to be heard... but maybe he'll warm up to the idea.

So, in my typical all or nothing fashion, I expect to go from not writing at all, to a blog AND a novel? Oh what the heck, it's better than blowing up balls on Zuma Blitz.