Set the Bar High

Inspirational song: Emotional Rescue (Rolling Stones)

Do you ever have those days when it feels like your heart has been stomped on, for absolutely no reason? There is no justification for me feeling quite this emotionally vulnerable, unless one counts me feeling sorry for myself about spending Thanksgiving alone, pouring my heart out in last night's blog, and then spending the bulk of my afternoon watching sappy Christmas movies on the sappy movie channel. I did mean everything I said yesterday. If you didn't read it, please do. If you did and thought I was being flip, look again. I truly believe love is not quantified though the exchange of stuff. The problem with what I said is the realization that I have not been living up to my own standards of being present in the moments I spend with others. I let myself be distracted and overwhelmed, and I haven't devoted enough of my own focus to the times I'm with people who I care about. In person, I don't comport myself very well. I get nervous and say incredibly dumb things, or I space out and completely lose track of what I was saying and what was said to me. It's only through the written word that I feel eloquent. But tonight, not even this refuge is soothing me. It's just making me feel even more stymied. I think I need to pack it in for the night and hope for being happy and glib tomorrow.

All I Want for Christmas

Inspirational song: Black Friday (Steely Dan)

I wanted to be able to proclaim with pride today that I did not leave the house at all on Black Friday, but I am committed to being honest. I ran out of half & half and cat litter, and those are substances on which this house depends, separately, so at nine this evening, I made a quick run to a mostly deserted Publix, and calmly made my purchases. Thus endeth the entirety of my Black Friday shopping. I did not buy anything online, nor did I go out yesterday to harass underpaid retail clerks who weren't allowed to nap off their turkey coma like I was. 

Let me say something that I want to be perfectly clear. Friends, family: I love you. Period. I love the time and attention you have given me. I love the beings that you are. I love the arguments we have had, good natured or not. I love the lessons you have shared with me. Please believe that this is true, because what I do not want to do to express my love for all of you is to buy things made of plastic, assembled in distant sweatshops for meager wages, shipped around the world burning fuel and polluting the skies and the seas, sold by clerks who receive too little money and less respect from their corporate overlords, that will later be obsolete or unused, and finally a burden on a landfill somewhere. If I give gifts this year, I want them to be consumed. I want to give my time and attention back to you, in the form of company, or food, or art, or entertainment. I want to be of use to you somehow, if you would only ask. And if you want to give something to me, make it the same. My favorite thing in the entire world is attention. It always fits, and the color always flatters. If we live far apart, and can't share company for Christmas, then do something and think of me. Go visit your grandmother, and talk about the distant past. Or tip your waitress ludicrously well. Or remember something really stupid I said once, and laugh at what a dork I was, but in a nice "bless her heart" sort of way. Any of these would be the best present I could get this year.

I long ago soured on the idea that our sole purpose as humans was to be consumers. It makes my stomach clench to remember when we were told, "everything is fine; just go out and shop." I am not a consumer. I am a citizen. That carries with it so much more responsibility. It is my goal to be informed, conscious, and active, not just in a political sense, but in a human sense. I live to learn and to grow. I have everything I truly need. From here all I want is to be connected to you all, in a thoughtful and caring way. Will you accept this gift from me?

Group W

Inspirational song: Alice's Restaurant (Arlo Guthrie)

I thought I was tough. I thought I was wearing my big girl panties, and handling being away from my whole family for Thanksgiving just fine. And then the day arrived, and there was no one to share a cup of coffee with this morning, no one to bake a turkey for, no one to tease me when I got excited to see the Hello Kitty balloon in the parade. The middle part of the day was very difficult. I waited for a long time for the man to show up online. Apparently he was invited to several Thanksgiving dinners during the day, including a football party for the Lions' game. The later it got, the heavier my heart got today. Eventually he appeared, but by then I was already down in the dumps, and had a hard time pulling myself out. I may need to rethink my "I'll just skip Christmas and save everything for his vacation" plan for next month.

Luckily, I was not alone for the entire day. We had a huge Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, with the superfriends over at the Bonfire house. The food was terrific. Everyone showed up with their specialties, from what I can tell. I do not know what I would do without these people. Of all the backup families to have, this one is overstuffed with love, much as we all were overstuffed with food today.

A large percentage of the Bonfire crew originally hailed from Pennsylvania. Tonight, right as we were beginning to serve our plates, we were instructed to mute the football game so that we could listen to Alice's Restaurant in its entirety. It was suggested that this was a Pennsylvania tradition. (Turns out that song is in my Oklahoma tradition, and my man's Colorado one too. I was pleased to participate.) When I heard the hissing and popping, I realized it was being played on the original vinyl, which was an even better nostalgic flashback. Back in the dark ages, I used to own this particular vinyl pressing as well. While it played, as we prepared our meal, several of us were grooving to the record, singing along a line here and there. It's the closest I have ever been to a spontaneous re-enactment of the kitchen scene from The Big Chill.

Family Tradition

Inspirational song: Family Tradition (Hank Williams Jr)

My fingers are stained brown, and my fingertips are sore. My nails are getting torn up. And I'm starting to wonder whether I would have been a disappointment to my grandfather. It has taken me all night to crack and shell two cups' worth of pecans. My grandfather excelled at this activity. I did not inherit his pecan-shelling dexterity. I would have liked to get mostly intact halves, so that my pie for tomorrow comes out looking pretty. I'm going to have to rely on its superior recipe, rather than looks. It really is the best pecan pie recipe of all time, I say in all seriousness. The terrific woman who considered my grandmother as an honorary daughter created this version in the early half of the last century, and it is the only one I've ever had that wasn't unbearably sweet. It has been a family tradition to take this pie to all important gatherings, like the one I am attending tomorrow. My grandfather would expect no less.

Since my kids will be a couple thousand miles away this Thanksgiving, and my man won't be home for a while yet, I started thinking about how I would like next holiday season to be different. Assuming we are all in the country, and in jobs that allow us to have the whole weekend off, I have already put out the request that we spend the next Thanksgiving at my house, wherever it may be (here or elsewhere). I want as much of my family to be together as possible. If I can get my parents and brother to join us, all the better. My older daughter said she would come on one condition: she be allowed to cook quite a bit. I have trained her well. I started teaching her to cook for real by the time she was seven years old. She is brilliant in the kitchen, and fearless. Sometimes that lack of fear leads to unusual experiments, but I am totally willing to take those risks, letting her have free rein.

It's going to be strange, not getting up at dawn to start a turkey tomorrow. I need to set an alarm early enough to bake the one pie, to assemble the candied sweet potatoes I started tonight, and bake a few plain sweet potatoes too, and then put together a requested twice-baked cauliflower. That sounds like nothing compared to what I'm used to. I learned how to overdo it from my father's mother. That whole side of the family excels at excess, when it comes to dinner parties. Watching that grandma start cooking at 4 am taught me everything I needed to know about commitment to the meal. And believe me, if you had a choice of holiday dinners to attend, you would be wise to sit at her table. There are some family recipes there that make keeping the traditions so worth it. And I am nothing if not a traditionalist at the holidays. 

Completion

Inspirational song: Incomplete (Fish)

I am one of those people--one of THOSE--who almost never finish anything they start. I have to focus so hard to get all the way through anything. Without a hard deadline, I accomplish nearly nothing, and even then, I miss things that aren't critical to my survival. I have half paintings, half sculptures, half gardens, and half stories littering my house and my mind. I carry them around with me physically and emotionally, in their unfinished states. I often wonder what it would take to go through all of them and finish them. I suspect it would have to start with getting cut off from the Internet, telephone, and television. But even then, I would find ways to be distracted. I would suddenly need a nap every time I picked up an abandoned needle work canvas. I would decide I need to cook an elaborate dinner if I were confronted with a row of bedding plants still in their tiny nursery pots. I would forget how to crochet if I were told I would freeze without that 90% done blanket. It must be a sickness, right? What is my primary malfunction? Why can't I finish a project, when it is for me?

I haven't given up on the ghost story yet. I know I haven't a chance in hell of getting to fifty thousand words by Saturday. But I'm not sure that was my true challenge. I need to just tell the story, all the way to the end. If that were only twelve thousand words, I would be okay with it. I know how it ends. That's better than where I stand on a lot of other stories I started over the years. I brainstormed on details of the story with my older daughter tonight. She knows well the inspiration behind it, and she had a great way to make the ending work right. I just need to put it into words. And that is the hardest part. I'm down right now, but I am not out yet. I've already made changes for the better. I write every single day, even when it is just my three or four paragraphs right here. I want to take days off all the time, and I don't do it. I haven't in months. I'm already through seven of the twelve months of my original challenge to myself, of writing every day for a year. If I can complete that, I can complete anything. I will change my ways. I will conquer my .. Uh.. Hey, look. Kittens. Aren't they cute when they sleep?

Decompression

Inspirational song: I Could Have Danced All Night (My Fair Lady)

Today was the big reveal. I had an appointment for which the physical therapist was a no-show, and I was able to jet out of the clinic early, so I could get home in time to meet my fellow club member who helped me transport the sign to the holiday display. She showed up exactly on time, in a short bed pickup that brought back some memories (of me feeling badass as I drove into the home improvement yard in Oklahoma in my man's short bed Nissan Frontier, to pick up a bunch of insulation, and the man in the yard drawled, "No one ever come here in a truck that small 'afore.") We balanced the board in the back, and she had tie-down straps to keep it from taking flight while we drove. My resistance band they gave me at physical therapy served as our red flag. It was the best I could find. I think we were the second to last of the cards to arrive. Several others were already stood up, back to back, along the route. I looked a few of them over, and, dammit if I didn't suddenly feel deeply inadequate. I posted my picture on my personal facebook page, of us standing in the sun holding the completed sign, and my dear friends have commented with words of encouragement. But really, I saw at least three I liked better than mine. I have to hope that my lettering and my message of family and inclusiveness appeals to the judges. I will be amazed if we place.

Once the sign was submitted, I came home and spent a few hours just dumping stress. I cleaned a little, took some trash out, and gave myself time to decompress. And then, just when I was getting my second wind, I went to get the massage I so fortuitously had already arranged for tonight. I was positively manic when I met up with my regular massage therapist. Even he said he'd never seen me acting so goofy and energetic. I was just so relieved to have the big project done. Well, one of the big November projects is done. Tomorrow I need to get back to writing. I need to write about 11,000 words a day to get the deadline. That is so not going to happen.

There were a few pictures that didn't make it here as I painted. The cats considered the sign their personal dance floor while it was here.

Fire

Inspirational song: We Didn't Start the Fire (Billy Joel)

My song is not entirely accurate tonight. I DID start a fire. I just never managed to figure out the flue. I thought I had it open, but even though I had a nice start to my first fire of the season, the first I've tried to start in years, it never, ever blew smoke up the chimney. I tried the flue in both positions. I tried it halfway in the middle. I started getting more frantic with my attempts once the smoke alarms started going off in the house. No matter what I did, the house continued to fill with smoke. I decided to give up on the fire, and grabbed the squirt bottle I use to impress upon the kitten that she does not belong in the ficus tree in the living room. That's when I learned just how well I had gotten this fire started. It didn't go out. I had to pour a pitcher of water on it, and then another after I took a break to let my eyes stop burning. Once I had had enough of the smoke alarms, and unplugged them, I got a talking to from my big rabble-rousing boy kitty. He is usually quiet, but he was displeased with me to say the least.

The house is still full of smoke, but at least now the alarms are quiet, I don't feel so bad about opening a window. The last thing I need right now is one of my neighbors making assumptions and calling the fire department. They just don't teach people (specifically girls) how to do this properly anymore. I guess everyone else has gas logs in their fireplace. I feel like a failure now. I may never qualify for a man card at this rate. I suppose it's a good thing I already painted the walls gray.

I'm having a hard time writing around the frantic loving of a kitten under my chin. Is she as tense as the boy and I are, after the alarms and smoke? The other black cat was giving me baleful looks, very different from the grateful affection I got this afternoon when I let her go out and play, while I collected the firewood. She was quite pleased with me then. She rolled in the dirt, ran, climbed trees, and generally had a great time. Now, she's presenting her backside to me, waiting for the smoke to clear.

It's frustrating to go from feeling on top of the world, viewing my completed holiday sign, to sitting in a house full of smoke, wondering how much of my stuff I have ruined. I was on such a high, and not just from the fumes from the spray varnish I used to seal the sign. I am super proud of this year's entry. I can't wait to deliver it for display and judging. I wanted to relax with a little fire and maybe some hot chocolate, and then get a good night's sleep. So much for good intentions.

We Are the Musicmakers

Inspirational song: Pure Imagination (Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory)

Oh, Internet. Why do you insist on ruining my childhood? I didn't need to know that extra detail about Roald Dahl. If you don't know, just wait. Someone will send you the link too.

I realized that I've been spending the entire month of November entirely engrossed in my imagination. Not gonna lie, it feels pretty good. When the girls were very little, I had some deeply unfulfilling jobs, doing a lot of data entry. I spent a lot of time daydreaming about what it would be like being able to spend my all time being creative, instead of stamping advertising codes in catalogs for hours. For the last three weeks, I have done little but create. I have been able to crawl deep into my imagination to write the ghost story, write the blog, and design and paint the holiday sign. From where I was, to where I am now, I guess I can tell myself I have arrived. Or perhaps I will when I actually start making a living doing this. For now, my only compensation is the way I feel when I'm able to step back and survey my creations. Or view them from above, from upstairs, as I have been doing with the sign, so I can see how it looks from a distance. It's feeling really amazing, as it is all coming together, exactly like I imagined it.

I saw another ad for a movie I have been anticipating today. They've remade the Secret Life of Walter Mitty. I haven't checked the release date, but I must hope that it will still be in theaters when my man makes it home for his vacation. If there is anyone in the demographic for this movie, it's the man who still hasn't decided what he wants to be when he grows up. You can't imagine how many plans and schemes I have heard over the years. Every time I think he has found the best one, and I'm ready to wrap my mind around a crazy idea like selling our house, buying a school bus to convert to an RV, and traveling the country being landscape photographers (he's a way better photographer than I am), then he will come up with something entirely different, and I have to change directions, and start planning the menu for our restaurant, or wondering where we will get the investment cash to start flipping houses. I guess together, we are the dreamers of dreams.

Getting Dark

Inspirational song: Where Have All the Flowers Gone (Peter, Paul, and Mary)

I am surprised to find this day nearly over. I had a hard time getting started today, and I don't know how it is already so late. I don't feel like I got enough accomplished on the sign. I focused primarily on the figures of the three elves, but to me they still feel very roughed in. Two of them only have one layer of paint on their clothing, but the idea of leaning over and reworking such a large area is off-putting. My muscles are strained, and my knees and the tops of my feet (yes, really) are bruised from kneeling on the floor. I seem to get about ten minutes of painting for every twenty minutes of rest. I had this crazy idea of adding holiday symbols, like holly and whatnot, but I'm not so sure I can physically handle the extra painting now. I still love how it is coming, but it is taking a lot more out of me than I expected it to.

I have one last picture of progress, and then I am going dark on it. I am letting my fellow club members have that design show reveal moment. They know what is coming, but I will let them see it complete in person at the end. And to preserve my facade of anonymity, I will not show the final product here. I hate to disappoint, but I need to stick with my principles.

I hope I get the chance to do things other than paint tomorrow. The weather is turning bitter on Sunday, and while my flowers survived the last light cold snap, I don't expect my geraniums to survive the predicted 29 degrees. And my pretty orange ones are starting to bloom again. I do hate what bringing them inside does to them, though. They get so weak and yellow. But I have managed to keep that particular plant for four years now, so I can't give up on them now. They're like old friends at this point. I would hate to see them go now.

Everything's Goin' My Way

Inspirational song: Three Little Maids from School Are We (The Mikado)

Just past midnight, and I'm already singing Oh, What a Beautiful Morning. Maybe it's the fatigue talking, but I feel like things are really going my way right now. I am absolutely thrilled with how the sign is coming. As my stepfather (and favorite artist) pointed out, the figures have simple, bold, flat colors, with a strongly defined outline. He understood what I was going for, to be easy to read from the street, and to be eye-catching. I had my friends pose for me, so I could get proportions and tough things like hands and feet a little easier, but I stopped well short of trying to make any of the faces or bodies be an actual portrait of a real person. I would still be sketching and erasing and sketching again to this hour, ready to pull my hair out, if I had wanted to match real life.

I plan on finishing the image of the three women tomorrow. It looks like I have a chance at some help again Saturday and Sunday, so I'm going to leave the lettering and the finishing touches until a little later. I think the people who have offered to help out would be great for completing the design. I've been on record for months now for never being able to recognize when an art project is at the correct stopping point. I'm a little leery of thinking I need to add too many things, and then being miserable when I put in too much, thus ruining the balance of the piece. I need someone with a good eye, and it looks like I'm set there.

As miserably sore and headachy as I am right now, as tired as I am at this late hour, I don't think I will be sleeping well tonight. Tomorrow is going to be a big day, and only this giant piece of art is under my control. Things are happening behind the scenes at Smith Park, things I can't speak of, for fear of jinxing them. Big changes could happen next year, and the determining factor may be what happens tomorrow. All I can do is wait and hope, and try to believe that things really are going our way.

Coloring Book

Inspirational song: With or Without You (U2)

I'm in a much happier place tonight. I was dissolving in stress, until this afternoon, when the same friends who drove with me to bunco last night both came over and helped me paint. And one of them, my mah jongg master, read over the contest rules, and pointed out that there is a date discrepancy. I had heard two different due dates, and was assuming the earlier one is correct. The rules say I have until Monday to finish this sign. Considering I thought I had about 24 more hours to finish, Monday seems weeks away. I now have the luxury of time.

I was up until around three this morning, working on the part I find most difficult, the design and layout. My picture, which will feature three women (representing generic club members), dressed as elves, is still in the rough sketch stage. That's tomorrow's project. Today was all about the calligraphy. I penciled in all the lettering, then when my friends came to help, I outlined them in Sharpie. I created a giant coloring book, and handed them green paint. I hope they enjoyed coloring as much as I did. I swore, as we were all sore from sitting on the floor, and painting coat after coat, that I would publicly proclaim how much I appreciated their help. It is the honest truth. I am so glad they were here. There might have been a little smack talking about quality of work. But as the photo shows, they did a great job, and it made a huge difference.

I think my body is done for tonight. I've been staying up too many late, late nights in a row. There is a small, fuzzy kitten next to me who needs to be hauled upstairs to take her place on the electric blanket, and I need to rest up for a big day of art tomorrow. (And said kitten needs to be revealed as the egg-stealing weasel that she is. Photos to follow.) 

Pantheon

Inspirational song: After Me (Marillion)

I have around forty-eight hours to complete the sign, and I am nowhere near where I need to be. So forgive me, I need to be poring over calligraphy books and roughing in my script across the board, not writing a lengthy post. I did have a couple people promise to help out tomorrow, so I do have hope that this will all work out okay. I was starting to feel physical effects of stress, and it was no fun. I hope neither of these women is easily offended by a messy house, because writing is not the only thing falling by the wayside this week.

I got a surprise via email tonight. I was taking a painting break long enough to play bunco, and my stepmother called to ask why I missed her email. Had I known it was there, I would have responded immediately. I'm a big sister again. Their new baby is about four months old, and is absolutely gorgeous. I think this is the first cat they have had in something like fifteen years. I can't wait to meet her. She arrived with a name that happens to be the same as my younger daughter's alter ego. Dad isn't sure he will keep the name, but I'm trying to convince him it's perfect. I have a kitten named after a Greek goddess, so I think it's a fitting match for him to have one named for a Norse goddess. I like the symmetry.

Art Czar

Inspirational song: Protest Song (Neil Innes)

Performing live with Monty Python, Neil Innes introduced his Protest Song by announcing, "Ladies and gentlemen, I've suffered for my music. Now it's your turn." Last week, when I was so upset with my reversal of fortunes, my man referenced that line, when he told me that now I can actually say I have suffered for my art. I'm not sure getting well and truly pissed off at a financial injustice counts as suffering, but I went with it.

Tonight, the real suffering began. I don't know why I keep doing this to myself, but over and over, I try to create while sprawled out on the floor. It hurt when I was twenty-five and cutting fabric for my costume designs on the floor, and I has never improved, the older and less flexible I have gotten. When all of my promised helpers vanished into the ether, I decided it would be a great idea to drag the plywood into the room with the television, so I would have no excuse not to be working on it all day long. It's right in front of me, so I can't blow it off. I moved furniture and put it on the floor, thinking it was the only place it fit. I managed to get half of the exterior white paint down it longwise, before I was crying in pain, and had to take a break. I think I need to try to prop it up on the two ottomans in here. I don't think I can take it getting back on the floor for the other side. And crouching over that bucket of vile-smelling paint, killing my brain cells--I'm not going to protest it. THAT counts as suffering tonight.

Unsurprisingly, less than thirty seconds after I sat on the couch, there was an exceptionally naughty kitten racing across the still tacky white paint, tracking it on my wood floor. She protested when I picked her up and made her leave the room.

Distractions

Inspirational song: Play the Game (Queen)

I had so many things I could have done, and more importantly should have done today. Primarily, I was supposed to spend the afternoon working on the holiday sign. But my assistants bailed on me (one canceled and one dropped off the face of the earth), and I still don't have a hard and fast design. I sanded down yesterday's spackle, and put one coat of old paint from the garage as a primer, and that is where I left it.

How could I be productive when the sports were calling me? It was an interdisciplinary sort of weekend, and so far it has all gone my way. I heard the second half of my team's basketball game yesterday, and it was a blowout win for us. And then, that evening, I caught a little of our football game last night on the radio, in between the parties and fun. That game also went well, and we ended up with our first conference win of the year (and our second one since joining the PAC 12--how sad). Today, the flashy lights of the television entirely distracted me. When not painting a pale gray on a sheet of plywood, I spent most of my day watching pro football, and watching my fantasy football team rack up points. Not that I expect to win that match-up. My team is 2-8 on the season, in the basement of the league. I'm even the league commissioner, and I have the worst record of all. I do find it funny that the first place team is called "Please, Please, Not Last Place." She needn't have worried. I have last place all sewed up.

One of the photos I have today is of Athena, supervising me while I prepared the board. This was before she slapped her paw down on the wet paint and then stepped on our vintage record cabinet (the aforementioned "time machine"). Luckily the prints came off. The other shows how extensive the board preparation was. I thought about smoothing it out further, but how can I when the football is still happening? All the orange and blue and white is distracting me.

Hail and Farewell

Inspirational song: Kind Fortune (Fairport Convention)

Some days pass quietly into oblivion, and some days pack a whole lot of living into a few hours. This day fell into the latter category. I had no idea what was in store for me when it started, innocently enough, prepping for the holiday sign. Today was a joint baby shower for a friend of mine and for another pregnant friend of theirs. I expected to know only my friend and her husband, but instead, I was surprised to find people I haven't seen in a long time. I was thrilled to have time to get caught up with one old friend, to get to know better someone I only knew from her work, and to spend time with my pregnant friend, and her family who are absolute wizards with little kids. It was terrific, from the company, the games, all the way down to the food (I finally ate venison, in the form of chili, and didn't freak out like I imagined I would). As for the games, watching two daddies-to-be compete by bobbing for nipples has to be counted as a highlight of the day. 

I swear, I am NOT trying to rush things, but I did find the first thing to go in the hope chest for my first grandchild. I couldn't help it. I was there, unsupervised, in the bath aisle at the baby superstore. It was a teeny little bathrobe in my younger daughter's favorite color, with duckies on it. I had to buy it, and there was no one around who could have stopped me.

A husband and wife from the Bonfire group are about to move away, and tonight was their going away party. Everyone except the husband of this couple and I were excited about it being a Low Country boil and an oyster roast. There was no way I was going to consume sea creatures voluntarily. The party was terrific. This couple is going someplace super cool, and I can't wait to see pictures on Facebook, and hear all about it, so I can live vicariously through them. I wish them well as they move on. 

And we closed out the evening around the bonfire, having a great time, and skyping with my man. And one couple celebrated their wedding anniversary by the wife surprising the husband with an impromptu vow renewal ceremony. It was sweet and endearing, and made me love these guys all the more, watching them enjoying the hell out of their special moment.

Blank Canvas

Inspirational song: I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus (Jimmy Boyd)

I have a fresh, blank sheet of plywood leaning against my piano right now. It is destined to be our club's holiday sign, one short week from now. What I don't have yet is a clear plan for this year's theme. And that is today's source of consternation. When my fellow club member brought the wood to me (she drives a much larger vehicle than I), we kicked around some detail ideas. We both really like Americana themes, and we talked about ways to incorporate that. And we checked the rules of the contest and were disappointed to learn we can't use a battery-operated anything, nor any wired power, so solar-powered twinkle lights are out. One possible alternative would be to buy little mirrors at the craft store, and dangle them so they catch sunlight and car headlights. It was her idea, and it was great. This is a competition, y'all. We need to grab the eye.

We either need to keep the message non-specific, as in "happy holidays," or we need to be inclusive of all of the different celebrations on our entry. I don't know why, but I feel strongly about using a wreath this year for a three-dimensional effect. Unfortunately, that's as far as I have made it. (Not entirely true. I did come up with a visual pun using the wreath and our club name, but I suspect it would be highly inappropriate and disqualified.) I'm supposed to have some women come over on Sunday to work on it. I hope they have spent enough time on Pinterest to have a ready plan.

I wish I had found a way to rescue last year's entry, before the deadline in January, after which it was headed for the woodchipper. I was so very proud of it. One of our club members inspired me to use the iconic image of the Times Square kiss, and I decided to blend in a hefty dose of the homecoming videos that are so popular, with a smidge of I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. It was all done with paint, two-dimensional. I was super pleased with how it turned out, and it was good enough to win third place. I had some input from other club members on wording, but I only had one person give me any help at all on the actual painting. She helped to rough in the lettering. This year, I am going to try and distribute the work load a lot more evenly. But the benchmark has been set. I only want to improve over last year. Second place or first. I'm in it to win it.

Aw, Shoot

Inspirational song: I Shot the Sheriff (v. Eric Clapton)

Has today really only been one single day? Or a magnum opus in three movements? This morning started gently enough. I slept as long as the dogs would let me. I felt sore, as I have lately, like I did something to my back, and sleeping in the world's best bed makes it worse instead of better. My apps for satellite radio failed to work, both on the phone and on the iPad. All things that barely rated the term "mild annoyance." I had work-arounds for pretty much everything, and it was all fine.

At noon, I finally sought help for my car, which has been misbehaving since summer. The problem was intermittent, and I was afraid that if I went in with something that wasn't constant, I could never recreate it, and they would treat me like I was just a silly girl who was imagining things. But it has been getting worse, and I have stopped feeling confident in my car's functionality in low gears. Turns out this is something they've seen before. I don't think it approaches recall status, but I didn't have to work very hard to get them to take me seriously. I was offered a ride home, while they did my oil change, and ran the diagnostics on the car. I accepted the ride, and the nice shuttle driver dropped me off in my driveway. He was already leaving when it occurred to me, I almost never carry a key. I had been relying on the garage door opener, which was conveniently located on my visor, in the car, at the dealership a couple miles up the road. I tried the front door, tried to lift the garage door by hand, and hoped against hope that for once I was sloppy and left the back door unlocked. No luck, all the way around. I texted a friend, to see whether she still had my spare key. I had it backwards. She had returned my key, but I still had hers. At least she came to my rescue after I got tired of writing in my notebook for the story, once all my batteries ran down. She took me back up to check on the car, and to get food and a bathroom (separately), all things I needed after three hours sitting in the shade on the deck. The report on the car is that they had to order a new clutch assembly, and the parts are on back order (there is a large back order nationwide -- I wasn't kidding that they were seeing lots of these problems coming back on my model year). Freaking shoot me.

I had an excellent avenue to relieve stress this evening. My club had a trip to ladies' night at a local gun range. For a low fee, we got a whole package: a short instruction, gun rental, bullets, targets, and t-shirts. I have only gotten to go do this a few times in my life, mostly in the last two years, and this was the first time I had a lane to myself. I also had a choice of guns and a pile of bullets. It was (singing falsetto) Awe-Some. I was not upset that we were only shooting 22s. I have little wimpy hands, and it was perfect for me. I went back and forth between the 8 shot revolver and a 10 shot semi-automatic, and I surprised myself by really preferring the semi-automatic, even though mine shot distinctly off to the right compared to where I was sighting it. The revolver was far more accurate. But the semi-automatic was a much softer pull. If the resolution on my photos when I upload them is clear enough to read, I did a lot of grouping in different parts of the target, each time I switched weapons. And yes, every time I was using the one, the groupings were several inches to the right of where I was aiming. Even my play time was slightly off tonight.

First Freeze

Inspirational song: The Heat Is On (Glenn Frey)

I finally caved. I had to do it. Last night, I turned on the heat. I feel like a weakling. I'm justifying it to myself by saying there are two geriatric cats here, as well as a dog with the thinnest fur coat of all, and one needy rabbit of a cat who, it is well established, Does Not Like Cold. The huge dip in the jet stream that brought arctic air to the rest of the country got to us too. There was snow in the state, but not in my neighborhood. The wind was sporty, though. I was awake until the wee hours of the morning, as usual, and I spent hours listening to the wind howl and throw sycamore pods and branches all over my deck and roof. Gosh I'm glad I spent an hour yesterday sweeping the leaves up off my porch and front walk, and bagging them up. In reality, I think I'm glad I didn't spend MORE than an hour working on it, because then I might have been upset rather than resigned by what I found this morning.

Tonight is colder than last night outside. The ground floor doesn't feel any warmer than it did yesterday, but upstairs is going to be sweltering, I just know it. I love my house, I really do, but the uneven heating and cooling is a big negative. And now that it is too cold for me to have any interest in stepping outside, it occurs to me that I should have pulled my geraniums inside. I hope they survive the freeze.

After a lunch with some entertaining women, I came back and finished typing up everything I had handwritten for my little ghost story. Now that all my work thus far is digital, and I have a word count, I am depressed. I have probably 20-25% of what I should have had by this date to be on target for NaNoWriMo. Fifty thousand words in thirty days. I haven't pushed myself nearly hard enough to meet this goal. But now that I have all the technology I said I needed at my fingertips, I have the fire lit under my tail to start cranking this out. The heat is on.

Mixed Sports Metaphors

Inspirational song: You Better Think (Aretha Franklin)

So there we were, my credit card and I, seriously studying the descriptions on all the laptops in Best Buy. My credit card was in a three-point crouch, ready to spring into action when I gave my hard count in my best Peyton Manning voice, "Omaha! Omaha!" (I don't really have a good Peyton Manning voice.) All we needed was a sales rep to talk things over with us. I wandered around, looking at every single laptop two or three times over. One associate was with a man asking a lot of questions. Another was by their customer service desk handing something to another customer. I waited. I did another lap of the displays. And another. No one so much as made eye contact with me, much less actually asked me if I needed help. So I decided they didn't need my money, and I left.

I tried another store. Same problem. I stayed there about as long, and got as little notice as the first. A third, smaller store had a sales associate who spoke to me, but had an odd, off-putting manner. And since the store was smaller, they only had one laptop in stock that was a touch screen, and it was nowhere near what I wanted. My confidence was shaken. I was 0-3. I had already driven to two different towns to strike out repeatedly. I tried one more town, this time up where I often go for Target and movies. I was tired and hungry and decided to regroup with soup in a bread bowl. Finally, I thought, I would try Staples, and if they didn't have it, there was nothing left but to order online and wait.

It was different from the start. I immediately got approached with an offer of assistance, and the young man knew his way around their selection. He was ready with good answers to all my questions. He had a strong favorite machine, and a clear explanation why it was something he would recommend. Was it so hard to get someone like this guy? Apparently it was. But happily I did find him eventually. I had a decent idea of what I wanted by the time I got there, from all my reading and quiet contemplation. So when the laptop he indicated ticked off all the boxes AND cost a couple hundred less than I expected, I didn't wait. I bought it on the spot. I acquired the football, so to speak. Here I am now, with my first laptop in two years, trying remember how to do all this stuff. It's coming back to me, slowly. Two years only using an iPad and a phone will do that to you. This whole Windows 8 stuff is going to take getting used to though. I feel so old.

I spent the last couple hours typing my NaNoWriMo novel into Word. The bad news is that I don't have as many words as I thought I did. I'm probably a few thousand words behind where I thought I was, and several thousand behind where I ought to be by now. I'm glad I went ahead and started putting it in digital media. This decision was a home run.

Adrift

Inspirational song: A Professional Pirate (Muppet Treasure Island)

I find myself with very little to say, neither here nor in my NaNoWriMo story. I can probably come up with one or two short paragraphs here, but where I really need to focus is on my little ghost story. So far today I have struggled to scratch out one short paragraph for the book. I have so many scenes I want to write, but I let myself be stuck by trying to write it all sequentially. What I should do is write out the bones of the story, and then flesh out the scenes I want to add in later. I may have to cave in and switch to typing it out now, instead of living so closely with my story with pen and paper.

Here's the problem: typing on a touchscreen sucks. It's only tolerable for short compositions like this, and even then I have ten times the typos I normally would because of the surface. I also never put a super functional word processing program on this tablet, and since I bought the smallest, cheapest iPad, I am rather stingy with my available memory. My desktop computer is a dinosaur, and it is in a large heap on my upstairs office floor, where it was unceremoniously dumped when I rearranged my living room and stole some furniture from the unused room. It will probably stay there for the time being. I have been thinking, on and off, for several months that the time is approaching to replace my laptop. I have been without for two years, since my Minions of Chaos were just kittens, and they threw a piece of my pottery--a large masque of a Green Man--off of the wall and onto the laptop on the floor. Both were shattered. And if I am to upload any kind of manuscript to be judged for NaNoWriMo, I am going to need a machine I can work on. I have started looking at what is available in a touchscreen laptop. My main priority will be massive amounts of storage, I think. I plan on continuing to write this blog for a very long time, and I will have quite a collection of photos the longer I do this. I'm tired of feeling like I have to delete lots of them to save space.

I sat by my mah jongg master's pool today, watching her dog run in circles, sniffing everything she could reach, including me. I'm not sure she ever took care of the business we were there to accomplish. But it was such a pretty day, and it was such a calm, pleasant place to be, I let her get away with it. Apparently it was my day for cute, furry girls to tease me.