Inspirational song: Music Box Dancer (Frank Mills)
I started thinking about my obsession with storytelling today. It's not just my enduring need to write a trio of paragraphs every night before I go to bed. I can't carry on the briefest of conversations without wanting to paint a picture with words. I always want to embellish--not in the sense of embellishing the truth in order to prevaricate, but rather to make the transmission of information more fun. I know not everyone shares this compulsion. I just can't imagine being the reticent type though. How boring it would be only to use simple, straightforward language with an unimaginative lack of imagery.
It was while I was working up my metaphors for how I was going to explain how I felt to my massage therapist, to tell him what to work on and how, when I noticed how often I rely on such descriptors. I wondered why I'm like that. Is it just me? Is it common for people like me, who have had to find ways to describe pain to doctors and friends in such a way that they can understand even the weird stuff that normal people don't feel? I think of it like non-mechanically inclined people trying to tell their repair shops what is happening to their cars, making noises and gestures and using an endless stream of metaphors and similes. I also think most of my doctors looked down their noses at me like mechanics do to the goofier storytellers handing over keys to their cars with desperation in their eyes.
For the record, the sensation I needed to tell Slow Hand at the beginning of my massage today was this: think of the mechanism of a music box. It's a little brass cylinder with sharp points sticking out all around it. As it spins, and a stiff brass comb brushes against the tiny spikes, the teeth of the comb strike, making noise. Ever since the day after Christmas, when I stayed in bed with the beginning of flare that has kept me moving slowly and stiffly, if I move at all, I have felt like a music box. I am as rigid as brass, and all through my body, like it is in my blood, I feel the tiny needles flicking against the teeth of the comb--little shocks of pain that are gone in an instant but linger with a momentary resonance. I wanted to explain to Slow Hand that if I could be hooked up to a machine that could catch all the electrical impulses shooting through me, I would probably play a tune. It's not a song I'm enjoying playing.
Saturday, December 30, 2017
She's Unusual
Inspirational song: I'm Not Like Everybody Else (The Kinks)
Two weeks ago, we were issued a challenge. Only one of the five of us met the challenge. I was one of the group who failed, not the one person who succeeded. This has grated on my nerves ever since, because it was the kind of challenge I really should have breezed through. It was tailor-made for me, pun intended. We were supposed to dress up like our characters in the game that we have been playing for more than a month. How did I not do this? Okay, yes, so I was spread too thin, trying to do too many things. A lot of those projects are now either completed or close enough that I can take on something new. I drove down to Boulder today, to the large fabric store (we don't have one of sufficient size here), and with a photo from the internet in hand, I got what I needed to do it right. I refuse to show this in progress. No pictures of the materials. No sketches. Not saying what picture I had on my phone when I found fabric and notions. Not describing colors. I have confidence that most of the people whom I want to surprise with this completed costume will not be reading this column. I don't care. I'm keeping this a secret until it is revealed at our next game night. It's going to be a flurry of activity to get it done in time. I hope it gets done correctly. It's sort of weird, and the materials were sort of expensive. This would have been a good time to own a dress form, to make the piecing together go faster. And just watch if I don't try to wear this to some sort of cosplay event over the next year or more. I'm going to get miles out of this costume.
I have felt particularly aware of my weirdness this week. I have a few people who support my eccentricities, and several people I know who seem vaguely bemused by them all. That doesn't mean I don't feel like the majority of people with whom I interact on a limited basis look at me sideways, like I don't always make sense. When I was running around the fabric store today, or when I was at the pharmacy, prattling on about where I was going next, I really felt like a square peg. If I was still living in the south, I am certain my heart would have been blessed several times over, politely calling me out for being a harmless freak. I'm not as self-conscious about it as I was in my teenage years. I sort of like being unusual in my own way. Don't most of us embrace that which sets us apart?
Two weeks ago, we were issued a challenge. Only one of the five of us met the challenge. I was one of the group who failed, not the one person who succeeded. This has grated on my nerves ever since, because it was the kind of challenge I really should have breezed through. It was tailor-made for me, pun intended. We were supposed to dress up like our characters in the game that we have been playing for more than a month. How did I not do this? Okay, yes, so I was spread too thin, trying to do too many things. A lot of those projects are now either completed or close enough that I can take on something new. I drove down to Boulder today, to the large fabric store (we don't have one of sufficient size here), and with a photo from the internet in hand, I got what I needed to do it right. I refuse to show this in progress. No pictures of the materials. No sketches. Not saying what picture I had on my phone when I found fabric and notions. Not describing colors. I have confidence that most of the people whom I want to surprise with this completed costume will not be reading this column. I don't care. I'm keeping this a secret until it is revealed at our next game night. It's going to be a flurry of activity to get it done in time. I hope it gets done correctly. It's sort of weird, and the materials were sort of expensive. This would have been a good time to own a dress form, to make the piecing together go faster. And just watch if I don't try to wear this to some sort of cosplay event over the next year or more. I'm going to get miles out of this costume.
I have felt particularly aware of my weirdness this week. I have a few people who support my eccentricities, and several people I know who seem vaguely bemused by them all. That doesn't mean I don't feel like the majority of people with whom I interact on a limited basis look at me sideways, like I don't always make sense. When I was running around the fabric store today, or when I was at the pharmacy, prattling on about where I was going next, I really felt like a square peg. If I was still living in the south, I am certain my heart would have been blessed several times over, politely calling me out for being a harmless freak. I'm not as self-conscious about it as I was in my teenage years. I sort of like being unusual in my own way. Don't most of us embrace that which sets us apart?
Thursday, December 28, 2017
A Reason to Gather
Inspirational song: Meet on the Ledge (Fairport Convention)
The last time I saw these people, it was at a wake. Today it was the opposite reason to be together: it was to celebrate a birthday. You can't tell me that any one of us preferred the former over the latter. Two decades ago, we got together every single weekend during the days, and we spent several nights a week with each other, and at least once a year we would all go camping together. In more recent times, it took me two full years to make it to my first Independence Day picnic at the home of the couple who hosted tonight's gathering. It made me wonder, first, how was it that we had the time, energy, and freedom to spend several days a week with each other when we were in our teens and twenties. Secondly, I wondered how we could possibly recapture some of that closeness. People grow and change and develop different interests and intensity of feelings. These folks still retain a lot of the qualities that attracted me to them in the first place. I still like them. I'd like to see them more often. I can only hope that my energy and pain levels will let me get more face time with them. As a group, we suggested what would constitute good reasons to throw parties in the new year. The last two or three years have been so miserable for me, I would jump on any of those minor or major victories to meet these folks for a cocktail and a laugh.
Because our scheduling needs were at odds, we weren't able to get River sent back home today. We got one more night to play with her, so when we returned from the bar in Denver, we spent another hour getting kitten time. There was less snuggling, more playing this time. We made a video call with my daughter, and with River's mother and two brothers on the other end of the line. Much as we were disappointed when we carried Harvey over to say hello to her, River has fully transitioned to being a solitary cat. She couldn't care less to hear or see her mother, brothers, or her kitten doula (my daughter). We humans kept visiting even while the cats ignored us and did their own things. Sheba, my grand-dog, was most put out not to be the center of attention in that conversation, but there wasn't much I could do about that. The ginger brothers, all three of them, have grown so differently than River and Harvey. I saw an Instagram screenshot of Mowgli (formerly Johnny Rzeznik), and he is stocky and fluffy now. Ziggy is much the same. The runt of the litter, the space alien who has carried more names and identities than all of them, and is currently referred to as the Spyder from Mars, looks a bit like Harvey now: tall and lanky rather than stocky and fluffy. It makes me a little lonely in my own life, thinking that these kittens who were once so close will never have a litter-family reunion. I've seen cats recognize each other after a year or more apart, and act like they aren't going to snuggle, but neither will they fight. I don't think these brothers and sisters will have even that much.
The last time I saw these people, it was at a wake. Today it was the opposite reason to be together: it was to celebrate a birthday. You can't tell me that any one of us preferred the former over the latter. Two decades ago, we got together every single weekend during the days, and we spent several nights a week with each other, and at least once a year we would all go camping together. In more recent times, it took me two full years to make it to my first Independence Day picnic at the home of the couple who hosted tonight's gathering. It made me wonder, first, how was it that we had the time, energy, and freedom to spend several days a week with each other when we were in our teens and twenties. Secondly, I wondered how we could possibly recapture some of that closeness. People grow and change and develop different interests and intensity of feelings. These folks still retain a lot of the qualities that attracted me to them in the first place. I still like them. I'd like to see them more often. I can only hope that my energy and pain levels will let me get more face time with them. As a group, we suggested what would constitute good reasons to throw parties in the new year. The last two or three years have been so miserable for me, I would jump on any of those minor or major victories to meet these folks for a cocktail and a laugh.
Because our scheduling needs were at odds, we weren't able to get River sent back home today. We got one more night to play with her, so when we returned from the bar in Denver, we spent another hour getting kitten time. There was less snuggling, more playing this time. We made a video call with my daughter, and with River's mother and two brothers on the other end of the line. Much as we were disappointed when we carried Harvey over to say hello to her, River has fully transitioned to being a solitary cat. She couldn't care less to hear or see her mother, brothers, or her kitten doula (my daughter). We humans kept visiting even while the cats ignored us and did their own things. Sheba, my grand-dog, was most put out not to be the center of attention in that conversation, but there wasn't much I could do about that. The ginger brothers, all three of them, have grown so differently than River and Harvey. I saw an Instagram screenshot of Mowgli (formerly Johnny Rzeznik), and he is stocky and fluffy now. Ziggy is much the same. The runt of the litter, the space alien who has carried more names and identities than all of them, and is currently referred to as the Spyder from Mars, looks a bit like Harvey now: tall and lanky rather than stocky and fluffy. It makes me a little lonely in my own life, thinking that these kittens who were once so close will never have a litter-family reunion. I've seen cats recognize each other after a year or more apart, and act like they aren't going to snuggle, but neither will they fight. I don't think these brothers and sisters will have even that much.
All Things End Sometime
Inspirational song: The End (The Doors)
I needed time to mourn a little this evening before I started writing. And I made the mistake of mourning one thing by getting emotionally involved in something else that I had to process before I could move on.
According to the arrangements we made last week, River is heading home tomorrow. Her mommy's roommate is picking her up and taking her back to their house in the morning. I spent extra time cuddling with her today, now that she has gone past just being used to me as the human who feeds her to deciding I was okay and worth her attention. The first day or two she would scamper away anytime we reached for her, and she bounced around, talking to us, letting us know how bored she was in an empty house by herself. By yesterday she was willing to curl up with me in a blanket I brought over, after she was through eating, playing, and reciting her monologue. Today, all I had to do was sit on the couch, and within a minute or two, she was crawling all over me, purring, and settling in to snuggle and nap. I feel like I have been blessed by Mother Nature when this tiny girl trusts me so much that she finds me relaxing and soothing. Tomorrow will be so sad when she goes home.
After I put her to bed and shut off the lights at my neighbor's house, I came back and crawled into my own bed. I indulged in watching the Christmas episode of Dr Who that aired two days ago. It was the end of the twelfth Doctor, and the first glimpse of the thirteenth. I came into this fandom very late. When Peter Capaldi was hyped as the twelfth, and there were marathons and biopics to get me up to speed. I binged on as much as I could to teach myself the basics, and then I came in ready for Capaldi to be my forever favorite Doctor. I like the direction they are going to go with the next Doctor, but I am unavoidably sad over the loss of "my first Doctor."
I needed my break from the world after a rough holiday, but today was back to work to some extent. I have clients flying out here in about three weeks. I liked hiding from my responsibilities, but that little "vacation" (if it could be called as such), has come to an end. The real world intrudes. Tomorrow will be busy too.
I needed time to mourn a little this evening before I started writing. And I made the mistake of mourning one thing by getting emotionally involved in something else that I had to process before I could move on.
According to the arrangements we made last week, River is heading home tomorrow. Her mommy's roommate is picking her up and taking her back to their house in the morning. I spent extra time cuddling with her today, now that she has gone past just being used to me as the human who feeds her to deciding I was okay and worth her attention. The first day or two she would scamper away anytime we reached for her, and she bounced around, talking to us, letting us know how bored she was in an empty house by herself. By yesterday she was willing to curl up with me in a blanket I brought over, after she was through eating, playing, and reciting her monologue. Today, all I had to do was sit on the couch, and within a minute or two, she was crawling all over me, purring, and settling in to snuggle and nap. I feel like I have been blessed by Mother Nature when this tiny girl trusts me so much that she finds me relaxing and soothing. Tomorrow will be so sad when she goes home.
After I put her to bed and shut off the lights at my neighbor's house, I came back and crawled into my own bed. I indulged in watching the Christmas episode of Dr Who that aired two days ago. It was the end of the twelfth Doctor, and the first glimpse of the thirteenth. I came into this fandom very late. When Peter Capaldi was hyped as the twelfth, and there were marathons and biopics to get me up to speed. I binged on as much as I could to teach myself the basics, and then I came in ready for Capaldi to be my forever favorite Doctor. I like the direction they are going to go with the next Doctor, but I am unavoidably sad over the loss of "my first Doctor."
I needed my break from the world after a rough holiday, but today was back to work to some extent. I have clients flying out here in about three weeks. I liked hiding from my responsibilities, but that little "vacation" (if it could be called as such), has come to an end. The real world intrudes. Tomorrow will be busy too.
Tuesday, December 26, 2017
Curtains Drawn, TV On
Inspirational song: Promises in the Dark (Pat Benetar)
I lived up to my promises. I did exactly what I swore I would do today. After weeks of running around like crazy or doing too much at home when I said I'd slow down, I did absolutely nothing today. I stayed in bed as much as I could legitimately get away with, finally saw most of the first season of Game of Thrones (which I missed a few months ago when we first got HBO), and my big accomplishment of the day, my real hat trick, was showering, putting on clean PJs, and going next door (still in said jammies) to play with River for an hour. Ta-Da!
With the holiday lunacy, I missed refilling several of my pharmaceuticals, but I still have quantities of my vitamins and supplements. I'm a little behind on the things I'm supposed to be taking. I got what I could. I braved through my day spent in bed with no pain killers, no alcohol, nothing but rest to deal with the makings of a stress-induced flare. I won't know for a while whether this was a smart or stupid strategy. I cut myself off from the outside world as much as possible, other than a few flips through Twitter and the seven or eight hours of GoT. I made the mistake of looking at my email notifiers once today, without actually opening the emails themselves, and it instantly sent spiky tendrils of stress hormone lancing through my arms and legs. I stopped looking at the phone so much after that. Tomorrow is soon enough for letting myself reconnect. January is going to be busy, so I need to take care of myself now.
I am not sure how it's possible, but I'm actually wiped out. I feel like I dug trenches or helped someone move. I would have thought at the end of a day like this, I'd be getting wiggly and worrying about how I was going to fall asleep before dawn. Instead, I'm really glad that it's bedtime and the house is silent. It's about to be dark too. Lights out for me.
I lived up to my promises. I did exactly what I swore I would do today. After weeks of running around like crazy or doing too much at home when I said I'd slow down, I did absolutely nothing today. I stayed in bed as much as I could legitimately get away with, finally saw most of the first season of Game of Thrones (which I missed a few months ago when we first got HBO), and my big accomplishment of the day, my real hat trick, was showering, putting on clean PJs, and going next door (still in said jammies) to play with River for an hour. Ta-Da!
With the holiday lunacy, I missed refilling several of my pharmaceuticals, but I still have quantities of my vitamins and supplements. I'm a little behind on the things I'm supposed to be taking. I got what I could. I braved through my day spent in bed with no pain killers, no alcohol, nothing but rest to deal with the makings of a stress-induced flare. I won't know for a while whether this was a smart or stupid strategy. I cut myself off from the outside world as much as possible, other than a few flips through Twitter and the seven or eight hours of GoT. I made the mistake of looking at my email notifiers once today, without actually opening the emails themselves, and it instantly sent spiky tendrils of stress hormone lancing through my arms and legs. I stopped looking at the phone so much after that. Tomorrow is soon enough for letting myself reconnect. January is going to be busy, so I need to take care of myself now.
I am not sure how it's possible, but I'm actually wiped out. I feel like I dug trenches or helped someone move. I would have thought at the end of a day like this, I'd be getting wiggly and worrying about how I was going to fall asleep before dawn. Instead, I'm really glad that it's bedtime and the house is silent. It's about to be dark too. Lights out for me.
Monday, December 25, 2017
Gifted
Inspirational song: Christmas Day (Squeeze)
A long, wonderful, action-packed Christmas has come to a close, and I am stretched out on a couch, with a purring kitten on my lap. Problem is, this is neither my couch nor my kitten. I’m about twenty yards away from my own bed, and assumably 40-60% of my cats, but tiny, beautiful River Song was here by herself, in need of some Christmas snuggles. It took her more than 30 minutes of playing and recitations to settle down on my lap, and even then for the first 10 minutes of lap time she was wiggly and bitey. I got so little sleep last night, and today was so full of activity, I am desperate to be in bed, doing absolutely nothing. Yet here I stay, reveling in the trust I have earned from this spunky calico, reluctant to leave her. It’s a cold night tonight, and my neighbor turned his thermostat down when he left. I feel compelled to share my warmth as long as she will tolerate me.
I never finished all of my handmade presents, but I got them close enough to give out. I need to do clean up on three of them, and one is going in the mail this week. I still can’t show pictures, but I’ll show the insignia I drew on stickers to put on each one. Full disclosure, I pulled up pictures on the internet to copy, but everything was drawn out freehand. So I can take partial credit for the art.
We had a lot of fun exchanging gifts. The traditional white elephant at the Smiths ramped up a notch this time. It might have had to do with the vague implied threats in the rules laid down by the site host about crappy gifts getting left behind. The gifts were actually things worth having, or at least I thought so. I ended up with a gift from the same nephew as last year, and while last year’s present was cute, this year’s was awesome! He had traded a banjo for a trumpet at some point, and he decided he didn’t need to keep it. Do I play trumpet? Not yet. But I will!
We waited until late tonight to do our regular gifts, and I couldn’t help but notice we were all on a similar wavelength this year. I had wanted to upgrade the Mr’s table saw to the kind that stops instantly if the blade touches flesh. Then I realized how ridiculously expensive those are, and how hard they are to find in town anyway. So I scaled it down and got him a small cordless circular saw he can take up to his mountain when he starts building the cabin/shed again. It was the last thing I had him open. A minute later, I was opening my last present from the kids. It was the compound miter saw I have been insisting I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeded for about twelve years now. I am so excited to build my next piece of furniture now. Wasn’t it just yesterday I was complaining out loud that I needed more bookshelf space?
A long, wonderful, action-packed Christmas has come to a close, and I am stretched out on a couch, with a purring kitten on my lap. Problem is, this is neither my couch nor my kitten. I’m about twenty yards away from my own bed, and assumably 40-60% of my cats, but tiny, beautiful River Song was here by herself, in need of some Christmas snuggles. It took her more than 30 minutes of playing and recitations to settle down on my lap, and even then for the first 10 minutes of lap time she was wiggly and bitey. I got so little sleep last night, and today was so full of activity, I am desperate to be in bed, doing absolutely nothing. Yet here I stay, reveling in the trust I have earned from this spunky calico, reluctant to leave her. It’s a cold night tonight, and my neighbor turned his thermostat down when he left. I feel compelled to share my warmth as long as she will tolerate me.
I never finished all of my handmade presents, but I got them close enough to give out. I need to do clean up on three of them, and one is going in the mail this week. I still can’t show pictures, but I’ll show the insignia I drew on stickers to put on each one. Full disclosure, I pulled up pictures on the internet to copy, but everything was drawn out freehand. So I can take partial credit for the art.
We had a lot of fun exchanging gifts. The traditional white elephant at the Smiths ramped up a notch this time. It might have had to do with the vague implied threats in the rules laid down by the site host about crappy gifts getting left behind. The gifts were actually things worth having, or at least I thought so. I ended up with a gift from the same nephew as last year, and while last year’s present was cute, this year’s was awesome! He had traded a banjo for a trumpet at some point, and he decided he didn’t need to keep it. Do I play trumpet? Not yet. But I will!
We waited until late tonight to do our regular gifts, and I couldn’t help but notice we were all on a similar wavelength this year. I had wanted to upgrade the Mr’s table saw to the kind that stops instantly if the blade touches flesh. Then I realized how ridiculously expensive those are, and how hard they are to find in town anyway. So I scaled it down and got him a small cordless circular saw he can take up to his mountain when he starts building the cabin/shed again. It was the last thing I had him open. A minute later, I was opening my last present from the kids. It was the compound miter saw I have been insisting I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeded for about twelve years now. I am so excited to build my next piece of furniture now. Wasn’t it just yesterday I was complaining out loud that I needed more bookshelf space?
Beat the Buzzer
Inspirational song: Holiday (Madonna)
How does the rhyme from Dr Who go? At least I recall the end of it is "Tick tock goes the clock, and time runs out for River.." I'm out of time and thoroughly freaked out. It's past two in the morning and I have a ton of stuff to do. I'm about to get back to it, and I'm planning on doing my handwork until I fall asleep on it.
Starting today, I get to babysit River, Harvey's sister. So far it has been terrific hanging out with her. She was bored overnight without her mommy around, so she ran loops around me, telling me all about her day. There wasn't snuggling per se, but she absolutely wanted my company. We wondered whether she and Harvey would remember each other, so while our dinner was in the oven, we carried him next door to where River is spending her holiday. Sadly, even through the mesh of carrier, they couldn't find common ground. Two months out from the nest, and there was nothing but hissing. Oh, well. It was a nice try. It's a shame that this family reunion went poorly. They used to be closer than any of the others in the litter.
Okay, back to finishing my projects. Wish me luck. And since I won't be writing again until late on the 25th, you all get to be the first ones to whom I wish a Merry Christmas.
How does the rhyme from Dr Who go? At least I recall the end of it is "Tick tock goes the clock, and time runs out for River.." I'm out of time and thoroughly freaked out. It's past two in the morning and I have a ton of stuff to do. I'm about to get back to it, and I'm planning on doing my handwork until I fall asleep on it.
Starting today, I get to babysit River, Harvey's sister. So far it has been terrific hanging out with her. She was bored overnight without her mommy around, so she ran loops around me, telling me all about her day. There wasn't snuggling per se, but she absolutely wanted my company. We wondered whether she and Harvey would remember each other, so while our dinner was in the oven, we carried him next door to where River is spending her holiday. Sadly, even through the mesh of carrier, they couldn't find common ground. Two months out from the nest, and there was nothing but hissing. Oh, well. It was a nice try. It's a shame that this family reunion went poorly. They used to be closer than any of the others in the litter.
Okay, back to finishing my projects. Wish me luck. And since I won't be writing again until late on the 25th, you all get to be the first ones to whom I wish a Merry Christmas.
Saturday, December 23, 2017
Now That's More Like It
Inspirational song: Mainstreet (Bob Seger)
The snow plow went up and down my street just now. We weren't supposed to get more than a dusting of snow, but while we were downtown doing the last minute shopping in the little local stores I promised to patronize, it went from completely clear to snowing like the Dickens. This helps. It helps a lot. This makes it really feel like Christmas could be Monday. The new snow is thick and it will be absolutely frigid through Thursday. It will stick around a while.
I spent most of the day on the art project that will be the wrapping for my handmade gifts. I desperately want to show off what I did, because I am intensely proud of it. But even a photograph now would be giving too much away. I'll keep it on tap for Monday night. The gifts themselves are simple creatures, but they come with hours of effort and love. I think that will be apparent.
Saturday is nearly over, but not for me. I have something I promised to have completed days ago that I am going to stay up late to finish. I hope I don't screw it up for being tired. I already made several mistakes the first time I set about doing it, which is why I'm late now. The dread of pulling apart what I made and fixing it, knowing that it's awkward and ungainly to do it right, has made me procrastinate.
I have two things left to purchase, one tomorrow and the other as soon as possible but maybe Tuesday. I found a surprise this evening that is perfect for someone who will be receiving it by mail. Not for the first time, I wish that all of the people on my list were in town. I hate going to the post office. I need to start remembering the little satellite one that's in my nearby hardware store. But even that one had a line that extended all the way to the front of the store from the back corner when I was in there last week needing a single stamp.
And though I want all of my family close so I don't have to drive far or brave the post office, I am glad that my daughter laid down the law weeks ago and told me not to hope for her to drive out this time around. I-70 is a mess tonight with the snow moving through. I would be a worse mess worrying about her and the dog stuck in that traffic. I'd much rather they had a safe holiday at their home.
The snow plow went up and down my street just now. We weren't supposed to get more than a dusting of snow, but while we were downtown doing the last minute shopping in the little local stores I promised to patronize, it went from completely clear to snowing like the Dickens. This helps. It helps a lot. This makes it really feel like Christmas could be Monday. The new snow is thick and it will be absolutely frigid through Thursday. It will stick around a while.
I spent most of the day on the art project that will be the wrapping for my handmade gifts. I desperately want to show off what I did, because I am intensely proud of it. But even a photograph now would be giving too much away. I'll keep it on tap for Monday night. The gifts themselves are simple creatures, but they come with hours of effort and love. I think that will be apparent.
Saturday is nearly over, but not for me. I have something I promised to have completed days ago that I am going to stay up late to finish. I hope I don't screw it up for being tired. I already made several mistakes the first time I set about doing it, which is why I'm late now. The dread of pulling apart what I made and fixing it, knowing that it's awkward and ungainly to do it right, has made me procrastinate.
I have two things left to purchase, one tomorrow and the other as soon as possible but maybe Tuesday. I found a surprise this evening that is perfect for someone who will be receiving it by mail. Not for the first time, I wish that all of the people on my list were in town. I hate going to the post office. I need to start remembering the little satellite one that's in my nearby hardware store. But even that one had a line that extended all the way to the front of the store from the back corner when I was in there last week needing a single stamp.
And though I want all of my family close so I don't have to drive far or brave the post office, I am glad that my daughter laid down the law weeks ago and told me not to hope for her to drive out this time around. I-70 is a mess tonight with the snow moving through. I would be a worse mess worrying about her and the dog stuck in that traffic. I'd much rather they had a safe holiday at their home.
Friday, December 22, 2017
Running Out of Seconds
Inspirational song: Late in the Evening (Paul Simon)
No... wait... how is it already the end of the week? For a year that dragged out unusually long for all of us (or at least made us feel like we just aged a decade in a single year), it sure is coming up quickly on a screeching halt. Once we passed mid December, the time that had been slowed down started moving at warp speed.
I don't know about y'all, but I am panicked. I have more things to do than time to do them in. I've already missed a bunch of deadlines that have passed. The only way I can settle this panic building inside me is to remind myself that everyone else in the entire world has their own life, billions going simultaneously without my input, and there are very few people who will ever notice or know that I had intentions of doing anything for/with them that I failed to accomplish. Most of the people who have a reasonable expectation of a gift or visit from me understand my physical limitations, and they are accustomed to cutting me slack (which I so often need).
Until I can get my act together, can I just say to all of you--close family, distant family, close friends, friends who have just popped back up in my life, former and future clients--I have been thinking about you guys a lot lately. I'm finding it difficult to focus on any one thought long enough to act, but I keep wanting to reach out and write or call, as appropriate. My scattered status quo makes it hard to prove it, but I do think of you. Many of you have sent me cards in the last two weeks. Thank you. My desire to send cards back overwhelms me, but that's part of the blockage, not the impetus to act. I admire those of you who are able to write and mail cards. I'm openly admitting now that I will not be trying to add that to my list.
I spent hours out and about today, but all of my photos are of price tags on things I'm still considering buying. I'll go back to mid-week and use a picture of the three lovely ladies I saw when I was with some clients. It's late and I still have work to do, so it will have to do.
No... wait... how is it already the end of the week? For a year that dragged out unusually long for all of us (or at least made us feel like we just aged a decade in a single year), it sure is coming up quickly on a screeching halt. Once we passed mid December, the time that had been slowed down started moving at warp speed.
I don't know about y'all, but I am panicked. I have more things to do than time to do them in. I've already missed a bunch of deadlines that have passed. The only way I can settle this panic building inside me is to remind myself that everyone else in the entire world has their own life, billions going simultaneously without my input, and there are very few people who will ever notice or know that I had intentions of doing anything for/with them that I failed to accomplish. Most of the people who have a reasonable expectation of a gift or visit from me understand my physical limitations, and they are accustomed to cutting me slack (which I so often need).
Until I can get my act together, can I just say to all of you--close family, distant family, close friends, friends who have just popped back up in my life, former and future clients--I have been thinking about you guys a lot lately. I'm finding it difficult to focus on any one thought long enough to act, but I keep wanting to reach out and write or call, as appropriate. My scattered status quo makes it hard to prove it, but I do think of you. Many of you have sent me cards in the last two weeks. Thank you. My desire to send cards back overwhelms me, but that's part of the blockage, not the impetus to act. I admire those of you who are able to write and mail cards. I'm openly admitting now that I will not be trying to add that to my list.
I spent hours out and about today, but all of my photos are of price tags on things I'm still considering buying. I'll go back to mid-week and use a picture of the three lovely ladies I saw when I was with some clients. It's late and I still have work to do, so it will have to do.
Thursday, December 21, 2017
The Longest Night
Inspirational song: Winter Wonderland (Johnny Mathis)
After weeks of unseasonably, ridiculously warm weather that made spring flowers bloom in December and brought a garter snake out of hiding yesterday at my daughter's house, finally winter seems to have arrived. Today wasn't the first snow of the year. We've had a couple little dustings down at this elevation already, plus the snow up on the mining claim has been around for weeks now. On this Solstice day, there was a blanket of snow by dawn, and the cold air has settled in for a long stay. I have only checked the short term forecast, through about the middle of next week, but bitter cold is predicted for several days. Other than recognizing that I've gotten my tea olive inside from the front porch just in time (at the very last possible second, really), I think I'm glad it's finally here in full force. The trip to the grocery store this afternoon hurt like crazy, but it was more a factor of not wearing a proper coat than anything else. Welcome cold air! Stay a while. You don't have to leave until March or April.
The snow provided a reminder that the holidays are scary close now, and for all that I started weeks ago on the homemade presents, I am running out of time and I'm not ready at all. I got one present to an out of state family member early, but that was only because I ordered from a company who shipped it for me. Nothing else will arrive by Christmas day. I will be lucky to have things for the local people done by Monday. I'm running out of time and I'm long since out of energy.
We were supposed to go all in on Festivus this evening during game play. I focused on food rather than costuming or decorating. I made a ground beef stew and speculaas cookies (a grain-free version of the ones sold under the brand name Biscoff), and that took me all afternoon. Our old college roommate followed the original plan and found a costume that fit his character well. By the time everyone arrived, I was wearing a long sweatshirt and waffle-weave long underwear, so maybe if you squinted, it would look like I was wearing a tunic and tights that could sort of seem like period costume. But the embroidered "Air Force" across my chest completely spoiled that effect. The others didn't dress up either. Maybe next time we play, we will be able to meet the challenge. Our leader did go all out to make this a special game night, including themed gifts that matched our previous outings and conversations. She even gave us figurines that mirrored our characters as closely as possible. When I saw mine, I ran into the other room and grabbed a paintbrush and red and white acrylic paint to blend, to hint at what mine will look like once it is properly personalized. I'm going to miss getting to play this while everyone has gone to visit family for the holidays. For some reason, I still associate winter breaks with being in high school or college and getting to stay up late playing games all night while no one has to go to school, feeling like we were snowed in, drinking a little extra (that tracks more with college years), and having the time of our lives. It's what winter holidays are for, isn't it? Friends, food, and fun?
After weeks of unseasonably, ridiculously warm weather that made spring flowers bloom in December and brought a garter snake out of hiding yesterday at my daughter's house, finally winter seems to have arrived. Today wasn't the first snow of the year. We've had a couple little dustings down at this elevation already, plus the snow up on the mining claim has been around for weeks now. On this Solstice day, there was a blanket of snow by dawn, and the cold air has settled in for a long stay. I have only checked the short term forecast, through about the middle of next week, but bitter cold is predicted for several days. Other than recognizing that I've gotten my tea olive inside from the front porch just in time (at the very last possible second, really), I think I'm glad it's finally here in full force. The trip to the grocery store this afternoon hurt like crazy, but it was more a factor of not wearing a proper coat than anything else. Welcome cold air! Stay a while. You don't have to leave until March or April.
The snow provided a reminder that the holidays are scary close now, and for all that I started weeks ago on the homemade presents, I am running out of time and I'm not ready at all. I got one present to an out of state family member early, but that was only because I ordered from a company who shipped it for me. Nothing else will arrive by Christmas day. I will be lucky to have things for the local people done by Monday. I'm running out of time and I'm long since out of energy.
We were supposed to go all in on Festivus this evening during game play. I focused on food rather than costuming or decorating. I made a ground beef stew and speculaas cookies (a grain-free version of the ones sold under the brand name Biscoff), and that took me all afternoon. Our old college roommate followed the original plan and found a costume that fit his character well. By the time everyone arrived, I was wearing a long sweatshirt and waffle-weave long underwear, so maybe if you squinted, it would look like I was wearing a tunic and tights that could sort of seem like period costume. But the embroidered "Air Force" across my chest completely spoiled that effect. The others didn't dress up either. Maybe next time we play, we will be able to meet the challenge. Our leader did go all out to make this a special game night, including themed gifts that matched our previous outings and conversations. She even gave us figurines that mirrored our characters as closely as possible. When I saw mine, I ran into the other room and grabbed a paintbrush and red and white acrylic paint to blend, to hint at what mine will look like once it is properly personalized. I'm going to miss getting to play this while everyone has gone to visit family for the holidays. For some reason, I still associate winter breaks with being in high school or college and getting to stay up late playing games all night while no one has to go to school, feeling like we were snowed in, drinking a little extra (that tracks more with college years), and having the time of our lives. It's what winter holidays are for, isn't it? Friends, food, and fun?
Wednesday, December 20, 2017
Surrealistic Party
Inspirational song: Shia LaBeouf (Rob Cantor)
I'm not sure I can figure out reality right about now. I just left a party that had devolved into the surreal about an hour before I left it. It started out so mundane. We were eating holiday snacks, chatting, and playing digital games. (For the record, if you haven't tried Jackbox TV games, find a way to do it with a group. My favorite is Quiplash, but there are others that are also very entertaining.) After a while, a suggestion of karaoke morphed into just playing songs that everyone knew, sent from YouTube on an iPad to the TV, and the assembled partygoers sang along (nearly everyone, I think). But as that started to break apart into groups, and any organizational control over the iPad was lost, strangeness ensued. First, we just watched Miike Snow videos (My Trigger and Genghis Khan) just because they were groovy and the dancing in them is so phenomenal. I wanted to believe that the men who starred in those two videos were the ones making the music, but I don't think they are. I kind of liked imagining them as professional dancers first who found out they were also hip music producers. I'm afraid the answer is less romantic.
It was a short hop from there to being waist deep in the surrealism. I don't know where it came from, but someone put up a video describing Cuil Theory by Roy Kelly. I want to explain. I want to describe. It is simply indescribable. Not sure I will ever think of hamburgers the same way. You disapprove. My eye is twitching involuntarily.
We scattered through the house after that. My daughter turned on Too Many Cooks in an effort to draw us back into one unified group, and it worked to a point. I paid attention long enough to recognize a teenage actress who is also in the Walking Dead. By then several of us were starting to collect our coats and purses to be able to leave. Lucky for me we stayed long enough for me to see the performance art piece called Shia LaBeouf. Once again, it was wonderful dancing and beautiful orchestration. I wondered aloud what it would have been like to be one of the middle school kids who made up the youth choir in part of it. What does being in weird artistic productions as a child do to the way kids develop and grow? Does it expand their horizons? Allow them to access the creative side of their brains? Or does it make it harder for them to connect to the real world? If they had trouble with reality after an experience like that, is it necessarily a bad thing?
I'm not sure I can figure out reality right about now. I just left a party that had devolved into the surreal about an hour before I left it. It started out so mundane. We were eating holiday snacks, chatting, and playing digital games. (For the record, if you haven't tried Jackbox TV games, find a way to do it with a group. My favorite is Quiplash, but there are others that are also very entertaining.) After a while, a suggestion of karaoke morphed into just playing songs that everyone knew, sent from YouTube on an iPad to the TV, and the assembled partygoers sang along (nearly everyone, I think). But as that started to break apart into groups, and any organizational control over the iPad was lost, strangeness ensued. First, we just watched Miike Snow videos (My Trigger and Genghis Khan) just because they were groovy and the dancing in them is so phenomenal. I wanted to believe that the men who starred in those two videos were the ones making the music, but I don't think they are. I kind of liked imagining them as professional dancers first who found out they were also hip music producers. I'm afraid the answer is less romantic.
It was a short hop from there to being waist deep in the surrealism. I don't know where it came from, but someone put up a video describing Cuil Theory by Roy Kelly. I want to explain. I want to describe. It is simply indescribable. Not sure I will ever think of hamburgers the same way. You disapprove. My eye is twitching involuntarily.
We scattered through the house after that. My daughter turned on Too Many Cooks in an effort to draw us back into one unified group, and it worked to a point. I paid attention long enough to recognize a teenage actress who is also in the Walking Dead. By then several of us were starting to collect our coats and purses to be able to leave. Lucky for me we stayed long enough for me to see the performance art piece called Shia LaBeouf. Once again, it was wonderful dancing and beautiful orchestration. I wondered aloud what it would have been like to be one of the middle school kids who made up the youth choir in part of it. What does being in weird artistic productions as a child do to the way kids develop and grow? Does it expand their horizons? Allow them to access the creative side of their brains? Or does it make it harder for them to connect to the real world? If they had trouble with reality after an experience like that, is it necessarily a bad thing?
Tuesday, December 19, 2017
Turn the Wheel
Inspirational song: Here Comes Santa Claus (Gene Autry)
The bedroom was completely dark when the phone alarm went off at 6:05. I couldn't believe that it was correct. I thought my phone was malfunctioning. I mumbled that it had to be a joke. I managed to show up to the rotary board meeting by 7:01, barely late at all, but it was ugly. I didn't speak a whole lot, which has been my usual pattern. By the end of it, I became increasingly aware that my appearance and attention span was ugly, but I was not the only one. Most of my fellow rotarians had pale, puffy faces, and more of then had bags under their eyes than didn't. I talked to this year's president on the way out of the Y where we meet, and he said that once upon a time he wanted to suggest moving the monthly meeting to a different time of day, and the two past presidents encouraged him to bring it up. (At the time, he was either on deck or second in line to assume control for a year.) So he made a motion to move the meeting to a more civilized time of day. The motion died an ignominious death. Even the two past presidents voted against it. So to this day, we roll in looking wrinkled, sucking down coffee. I know some of the members of the board wake early, and this is no big deal to them. But to say that I am not a morning person is such a pale description of how horrible mornings are for me, or how stiff I am physically and mentally before about 10 am.
Not all of rotary was a struggle to stay awake and relevant. The lunch meeting was actually pretty cute. We had a very special guest of honor, and members were encouraged to bring children or grandchildren who wanted to meet him. Most of the kids who went to sit with Santa and ask for presents were on the young side, but there was one 16 year old who was super excited to talk to him. She is our exchange student from Croatia, and she was having a blast playing along with this particular American tradition. I don't know how she celebrated winter holidays at home. I have an idea how she approaches religion, in line with the majority of her country. But where Croatians fall on the whole St Nicholas/Santa Claus tradition. I have invited this exchange student to a basketball game, which will have to be in January (how can there be NO home games during winter break?). Maybe I can ask her then what her childhood Christmases were like.
Snow is supposed to be coming in the next few days. Tomorrow we are having a Saturnalia party, Thursday we are celebrating Festivus, and the family smack-talk email chain is growing in length in preparation for Christmas day. Maybe soon it will feel less like October and more like the holiday season.
The bedroom was completely dark when the phone alarm went off at 6:05. I couldn't believe that it was correct. I thought my phone was malfunctioning. I mumbled that it had to be a joke. I managed to show up to the rotary board meeting by 7:01, barely late at all, but it was ugly. I didn't speak a whole lot, which has been my usual pattern. By the end of it, I became increasingly aware that my appearance and attention span was ugly, but I was not the only one. Most of my fellow rotarians had pale, puffy faces, and more of then had bags under their eyes than didn't. I talked to this year's president on the way out of the Y where we meet, and he said that once upon a time he wanted to suggest moving the monthly meeting to a different time of day, and the two past presidents encouraged him to bring it up. (At the time, he was either on deck or second in line to assume control for a year.) So he made a motion to move the meeting to a more civilized time of day. The motion died an ignominious death. Even the two past presidents voted against it. So to this day, we roll in looking wrinkled, sucking down coffee. I know some of the members of the board wake early, and this is no big deal to them. But to say that I am not a morning person is such a pale description of how horrible mornings are for me, or how stiff I am physically and mentally before about 10 am.
Not all of rotary was a struggle to stay awake and relevant. The lunch meeting was actually pretty cute. We had a very special guest of honor, and members were encouraged to bring children or grandchildren who wanted to meet him. Most of the kids who went to sit with Santa and ask for presents were on the young side, but there was one 16 year old who was super excited to talk to him. She is our exchange student from Croatia, and she was having a blast playing along with this particular American tradition. I don't know how she celebrated winter holidays at home. I have an idea how she approaches religion, in line with the majority of her country. But where Croatians fall on the whole St Nicholas/Santa Claus tradition. I have invited this exchange student to a basketball game, which will have to be in January (how can there be NO home games during winter break?). Maybe I can ask her then what her childhood Christmases were like.
Snow is supposed to be coming in the next few days. Tomorrow we are having a Saturnalia party, Thursday we are celebrating Festivus, and the family smack-talk email chain is growing in length in preparation for Christmas day. Maybe soon it will feel less like October and more like the holiday season.
Monday, December 18, 2017
Closed Off
Inspirational song: Paint It Black (The Rolling Stones)
Sure, they say never to go to bed mad. But have they ever expressed an opinion on going to bed just kinda over it? I meant over everything and not amused by anyone or anything? 'Cause that's where I'm at, and it's bedtime. So what's my game plan?
I had a crap ton of things I was supposed to do today. I didn't have the energy to get even a quarter of them started. My biggest accomplishment was something not even on the list until I got a surprise phone call warning me that someone I didn't expect would be coming to my house this week. I thought I had an extra day before I needed to tidy up, but instead I had to set about cleaning the kitchen so that it wasn't so hard to get it all done by Wednesday. And while I was at it, I pulled out a whole bunch of debris that was cluttering up the floor of my utility room, threw a bunch out, and stacked the rest in ways that made sense. I cleared and mopped the floor, and was able to close the pantry doors. That's my amazing feat of strength: being able to walk all the way up to the pantry and close the doors. Yay, me.
Tomorrow is going to be an ugly busy day. It starts ludicrously early, with a board meeting, so waxing poetic about mopping a floor has to stop. I'm putting my cranky, grumpy self to bed. Maybe magic will happen and I won't still be grumpy by 6 am.
Sure, they say never to go to bed mad. But have they ever expressed an opinion on going to bed just kinda over it? I meant over everything and not amused by anyone or anything? 'Cause that's where I'm at, and it's bedtime. So what's my game plan?
I had a crap ton of things I was supposed to do today. I didn't have the energy to get even a quarter of them started. My biggest accomplishment was something not even on the list until I got a surprise phone call warning me that someone I didn't expect would be coming to my house this week. I thought I had an extra day before I needed to tidy up, but instead I had to set about cleaning the kitchen so that it wasn't so hard to get it all done by Wednesday. And while I was at it, I pulled out a whole bunch of debris that was cluttering up the floor of my utility room, threw a bunch out, and stacked the rest in ways that made sense. I cleared and mopped the floor, and was able to close the pantry doors. That's my amazing feat of strength: being able to walk all the way up to the pantry and close the doors. Yay, me.
Tomorrow is going to be an ugly busy day. It starts ludicrously early, with a board meeting, so waxing poetic about mopping a floor has to stop. I'm putting my cranky, grumpy self to bed. Maybe magic will happen and I won't still be grumpy by 6 am.
Sunday, December 17, 2017
No Peeking
Inspirational song: Yes, We Have No Bananas (Louis Prima)
Yesterday was almost all photographs. Tonight there will be none. None! This is by design. There is next to nothing I have done all day that is ready to be revealed. Okay, yeah, I grocery shopped at Costco, but who needs a picture of a gallon of half and half? (Yes, we buy 2 large cartons every time we go there. Coffee is the stuff of life, and without cream, why would coffee need to exist?)
I said it several times, in this space and out loud to my friends and family. This holiday season, any gift-giving I do will either be purchased within Boulder County from small, locally-owned businesses, or it will be something I make or modify with my own hands (admittedly with materials that were probably purchased at a chain store). I have been spending hours on end trying to complete the projects I started. I am currently juggling about five of them at once (actually, with what I just started a few hours ago, make that nine) and I have two important ones to jump on tomorrow. I realized that my mailing deadlines are quickly approaching, so I'm turning my focus toward the ones that need to go out of state.
The things I'm making are not super elaborate. But they are coming from my own hand, and that is the true gift. I am spending hours on each one, thinking about the person each is intended for. I hope it expresses more about my intentions than something I can buy at Target. Most of the people I'm making things for know very well about my general state of health. If they don't see that I'm willing to make myself sore and tired (which I am from repetitive motions and sitting in uncomfortable places to create these things), then they don't understand how much of myself I'm pouring into each item. But I'm fairly certain that they get it, or they will when they see what I've done.
For now, the space below will stay blank. No pictures. No peeking.
Yesterday was almost all photographs. Tonight there will be none. None! This is by design. There is next to nothing I have done all day that is ready to be revealed. Okay, yeah, I grocery shopped at Costco, but who needs a picture of a gallon of half and half? (Yes, we buy 2 large cartons every time we go there. Coffee is the stuff of life, and without cream, why would coffee need to exist?)
I said it several times, in this space and out loud to my friends and family. This holiday season, any gift-giving I do will either be purchased within Boulder County from small, locally-owned businesses, or it will be something I make or modify with my own hands (admittedly with materials that were probably purchased at a chain store). I have been spending hours on end trying to complete the projects I started. I am currently juggling about five of them at once (actually, with what I just started a few hours ago, make that nine) and I have two important ones to jump on tomorrow. I realized that my mailing deadlines are quickly approaching, so I'm turning my focus toward the ones that need to go out of state.
The things I'm making are not super elaborate. But they are coming from my own hand, and that is the true gift. I am spending hours on each one, thinking about the person each is intended for. I hope it expresses more about my intentions than something I can buy at Target. Most of the people I'm making things for know very well about my general state of health. If they don't see that I'm willing to make myself sore and tired (which I am from repetitive motions and sitting in uncomfortable places to create these things), then they don't understand how much of myself I'm pouring into each item. But I'm fairly certain that they get it, or they will when they see what I've done.
For now, the space below will stay blank. No pictures. No peeking.
Saturday, December 16, 2017
Festivities
Inspirational song: Nobody Does It Better (Carly Simon)
What's that, Anne? It's late and you're tired and sore and don't feel like writing a whole lot? This happens a lot. What's your excuse this time? Ugly Sweater Party? Hmph. Pics or it didn't happen.
Okay, fine. Do you even know these people? Not even half of them? Was it worth going? Well there's that. At a brewery, you say? So you're sober with strangers. And you didn't win the best ugly sweater, but you still won a drawing for a free growler of beer. Yeah, I'm sure that will go to good use. You should have kept that information to yourself and regifted it. Opportunity wasted.
What's that, Anne? It's late and you're tired and sore and don't feel like writing a whole lot? This happens a lot. What's your excuse this time? Ugly Sweater Party? Hmph. Pics or it didn't happen.
Okay, fine. Do you even know these people? Not even half of them? Was it worth going? Well there's that. At a brewery, you say? So you're sober with strangers. And you didn't win the best ugly sweater, but you still won a drawing for a free growler of beer. Yeah, I'm sure that will go to good use. You should have kept that information to yourself and regifted it. Opportunity wasted.
Spoiler Free Surprise
Inspirational song: It's a Small World (Richard and Robert Sherman)
Coincidences are funny things. When one happens, it's amusing. When two happen at the same time, it's freaky. When a cluster of coincidences that should be statistically impossible occur, it's downright hilarious.
We didn't make long-range plans to see this latest Star Wars movie on opening day. Once we had accomplished most of what we needed to by mid-day, the Mr threw out the suggestion that we should try to go. I insisted we buy tickets online before we leave the house. So I poked around on the app on my phone, checking all of the standard showings (we don't cotton to that 3-D nonsense; we are too old to enjoy it) for one where we didn't have to sit in the second row or closer. The 2:20 showing was out. The 3:10 didn't have anything acceptable. The 6:00 failed the test. But the 6:20 had several seats in row E, just behind the wheelchair accessible seats. I jumped on the purchase.
When we arrived at the theater, there was a soda and popcorn sitting unattended in the seat just past our two. There was a dad and his three year old next to where I was about to sit. We settled in, and I wondered to myself what the little girl would think of this movie. A couple of guys showed up to sit in the two end seats beyond the Mr. Then a woman came and sat down where the snacks had been left. I didn't really pay attention to any of the people around us after that point. Suddenly, the Mr swiveled his head to the woman on his left and said, "What are you doing here?" I leaned around, and discovered that the woman was an old friend of ours from the old days, from before the air force turned us into nomads, who I haven't seen in person in almost ten years. We laughed that we ended up here, sitting next to each other, and thought that was the end of it. But then statistical improbability kicked it up a notch. Our old friend leaned out a little farther and pointed just on the other side of the father and daughter. It was her best friend, who was also part of the circle of friends from the old days. I've been out for drinks with her a few times since we moved back, but she hasn't seen the Mr, as far as I know. So naturally it was he who walked over to stand directly in front of her. (The other woman and I suggested throwing popcorn at her. His was probably a more civilized way to capture her attention.) She had no idea who this guy was poking her in the forehead for a good ten seconds. And then we asked the little girl to swap seats with her, and thankfully she was cool with it.
As for the movie, I am not giving away a single spoiler. I don't do that. Best I will tell you is that sitting in a row with people I've known since my early 20s, already in a great mood from the surprise reunion, when the screen went dark, the gold letters flashed on the screen, and the fanfare blasted in the quiet theater, I got chills. I felt like we all did back in the 1970s, seeing Episode IV: A New Hope for the first time. Is it a perfect movie? No. Is any movie really perfect? I am not sure I have seen one that is yet. But I enjoyed the snot out of this one. I saw a lot that entertained me, and tons that will live on in lore and action figures for decades to come. There were a few things that weren't aimed at my demographic. Big deal. I had fun with the story, cheered in the right spots, and chuckled at most of the moments I was supposed to. If you haven't seen Episode VII, then wait to see this one until you're caught up. If you are one of the people who is always cranky at JJ Abrams movies, then make your own decisions on whether to watch and leave me out of it. I had fun, and I will not let anyone spoil my good mood.
Coincidences are funny things. When one happens, it's amusing. When two happen at the same time, it's freaky. When a cluster of coincidences that should be statistically impossible occur, it's downright hilarious.
We didn't make long-range plans to see this latest Star Wars movie on opening day. Once we had accomplished most of what we needed to by mid-day, the Mr threw out the suggestion that we should try to go. I insisted we buy tickets online before we leave the house. So I poked around on the app on my phone, checking all of the standard showings (we don't cotton to that 3-D nonsense; we are too old to enjoy it) for one where we didn't have to sit in the second row or closer. The 2:20 showing was out. The 3:10 didn't have anything acceptable. The 6:00 failed the test. But the 6:20 had several seats in row E, just behind the wheelchair accessible seats. I jumped on the purchase.
When we arrived at the theater, there was a soda and popcorn sitting unattended in the seat just past our two. There was a dad and his three year old next to where I was about to sit. We settled in, and I wondered to myself what the little girl would think of this movie. A couple of guys showed up to sit in the two end seats beyond the Mr. Then a woman came and sat down where the snacks had been left. I didn't really pay attention to any of the people around us after that point. Suddenly, the Mr swiveled his head to the woman on his left and said, "What are you doing here?" I leaned around, and discovered that the woman was an old friend of ours from the old days, from before the air force turned us into nomads, who I haven't seen in person in almost ten years. We laughed that we ended up here, sitting next to each other, and thought that was the end of it. But then statistical improbability kicked it up a notch. Our old friend leaned out a little farther and pointed just on the other side of the father and daughter. It was her best friend, who was also part of the circle of friends from the old days. I've been out for drinks with her a few times since we moved back, but she hasn't seen the Mr, as far as I know. So naturally it was he who walked over to stand directly in front of her. (The other woman and I suggested throwing popcorn at her. His was probably a more civilized way to capture her attention.) She had no idea who this guy was poking her in the forehead for a good ten seconds. And then we asked the little girl to swap seats with her, and thankfully she was cool with it.
As for the movie, I am not giving away a single spoiler. I don't do that. Best I will tell you is that sitting in a row with people I've known since my early 20s, already in a great mood from the surprise reunion, when the screen went dark, the gold letters flashed on the screen, and the fanfare blasted in the quiet theater, I got chills. I felt like we all did back in the 1970s, seeing Episode IV: A New Hope for the first time. Is it a perfect movie? No. Is any movie really perfect? I am not sure I have seen one that is yet. But I enjoyed the snot out of this one. I saw a lot that entertained me, and tons that will live on in lore and action figures for decades to come. There were a few things that weren't aimed at my demographic. Big deal. I had fun with the story, cheered in the right spots, and chuckled at most of the moments I was supposed to. If you haven't seen Episode VII, then wait to see this one until you're caught up. If you are one of the people who is always cranky at JJ Abrams movies, then make your own decisions on whether to watch and leave me out of it. I had fun, and I will not let anyone spoil my good mood.
Thursday, December 14, 2017
Neutral Position
Inspirational song: Mission Statement (Fish)
I'm trying not to think about it. I don't know what happens if they succeed in destroying net neutrality. The ruling has come down today, but immediately on its heels came the announcement that a long list of state attorney generals will sue to stop it. It is possible that as a small-time blogger, I all but disappear from the surface of the web. I don't sell anything, not even advertising. I have no revenue stream, no clout, no power. I am merely living out loud, one night at a time. If anyone will be in the internet slow lane, it's me.
I am so physically tired I can barely function. Today was the rotary holiday party (not the holiday ball fundraiser, but our social event for the club). I didn't do as much to plan this one as I have in months past. This time, beyond being the guy who sends out the emails reminding people to RSVP, I was a sounding board for the primary planner and her dilemmas. We have a party barn -- well, it's really a historic dairy barn that was moved to a large lot along Main Street. The owner is in our club, and she let us use her space for free. Our regular caterer made a special meal (which didn't cost us much extra since we are skipping our meeting on the 26th). We provided all sorts of drinks for everyone, including wine, beer, sodas, and waters. To that end, we needed bartenders, and I recruited a volunteer for that. One of our members has a rock band, and they provided entertainment. The plan came together, and it was a crush.
I had intended to cut out early, so we could get back in time for our weekly role playing game. Instead, right as I was looking for a convenient exit, the club secretary asked who was in charge of cleaning up. I had no idea what to tell him, and within a minute I accepted that it was going to have to be me. Half the crowd left as dinner ended and the band got up to play. That left about fifty people in the room, and I zipped around them gathering empty plastic cups, napkins, and a few plates that had brownie crumbs on them. I tried not to touch my face while I was handling wheat-based crumbs and I made significant progress cleaning up all by myself. Once the room was nearly empty of party people, those who remained joined me in folding and stacking chairs. I let other people pull the rest of the table dressings off, and roll away the tables. I did enough.
Now that I know how cool this old barn is, I am going to watch for more opportunities to go to events there. I don't know a reason to hold a party there myself, but I'd definitely be a guest at someone else's hootenanny.
I'm trying not to think about it. I don't know what happens if they succeed in destroying net neutrality. The ruling has come down today, but immediately on its heels came the announcement that a long list of state attorney generals will sue to stop it. It is possible that as a small-time blogger, I all but disappear from the surface of the web. I don't sell anything, not even advertising. I have no revenue stream, no clout, no power. I am merely living out loud, one night at a time. If anyone will be in the internet slow lane, it's me.
I am so physically tired I can barely function. Today was the rotary holiday party (not the holiday ball fundraiser, but our social event for the club). I didn't do as much to plan this one as I have in months past. This time, beyond being the guy who sends out the emails reminding people to RSVP, I was a sounding board for the primary planner and her dilemmas. We have a party barn -- well, it's really a historic dairy barn that was moved to a large lot along Main Street. The owner is in our club, and she let us use her space for free. Our regular caterer made a special meal (which didn't cost us much extra since we are skipping our meeting on the 26th). We provided all sorts of drinks for everyone, including wine, beer, sodas, and waters. To that end, we needed bartenders, and I recruited a volunteer for that. One of our members has a rock band, and they provided entertainment. The plan came together, and it was a crush.
I had intended to cut out early, so we could get back in time for our weekly role playing game. Instead, right as I was looking for a convenient exit, the club secretary asked who was in charge of cleaning up. I had no idea what to tell him, and within a minute I accepted that it was going to have to be me. Half the crowd left as dinner ended and the band got up to play. That left about fifty people in the room, and I zipped around them gathering empty plastic cups, napkins, and a few plates that had brownie crumbs on them. I tried not to touch my face while I was handling wheat-based crumbs and I made significant progress cleaning up all by myself. Once the room was nearly empty of party people, those who remained joined me in folding and stacking chairs. I let other people pull the rest of the table dressings off, and roll away the tables. I did enough.
Now that I know how cool this old barn is, I am going to watch for more opportunities to go to events there. I don't know a reason to hold a party there myself, but I'd definitely be a guest at someone else's hootenanny.
It's Time
Inspirational song: Up All Night (Boomtown Rats)
I didn't intend to stay up super late tonight, but I think I'm glad I did. I complained heartily this week about how warm the weather has been, and lo, out of the blue (or gray, as it were), it is now snowing lightly outside. It clouded over this afternoon, and as my daughter and I were walking across a parking lot, I heard her say, "Well, now they say 60%." There wasn't snow in the forecast any time I looked in the last week, not for today, but here it is. Just before midnight it started hinting at flakes, and now the road is wet, the grass and flower beds have a lacy white drape, and there's a fine mist of falling snow visible in the streetlight. It is time to forgive Mother Nature. She wasn't trying to punish us with warm weather. She was just giving us an opportunity to truly appreciate the snow when it came.
It occurred to me halfway through the day just how far into December it is now. I have presents I'm making for several people who live out of state. If I'm going to finish them and get them in the mail on time, I have to kick things into high gear. I went shopping with my daughter to get the last of the, er, "ingredients" shall we say? We poked around the hardware store front to back, looking at everything from tools to the huge kitchen section. We went to a chain craft store. We were somewhat disappointed with the things we found (or failed to find), but got enough to press on for now. I've been working on crafting and personalizing and planning several things since I got home, and it's probably good that I'm a bit wired and unable to sleep. I have so much to do, I shall be sitting up in bed, doing handwork while I work my way farther through the stored up Dr Who cache on the DVR.
I want to make Christmas cookies. I've been craving speculaas, the super spicy shortbread cookies traditionally eaten around St Nicholas Day. I made them for the first time during the last winter holidays when I was still eating wheat. Since then, I've practiced a couple of times making them gluten and/or grain free. I think I can perfect them this year. I was taught to shape them in the simplest possible way, rolling them out and cutting rectangles the size of a business card. While we were rummaging through the hardware store kitchen section, I found a gnome shaped cookie cutter. That sealed the deal. I'm going to be baking this week, spicy little gnome cookies. I wish they were already done.
I didn't intend to stay up super late tonight, but I think I'm glad I did. I complained heartily this week about how warm the weather has been, and lo, out of the blue (or gray, as it were), it is now snowing lightly outside. It clouded over this afternoon, and as my daughter and I were walking across a parking lot, I heard her say, "Well, now they say 60%." There wasn't snow in the forecast any time I looked in the last week, not for today, but here it is. Just before midnight it started hinting at flakes, and now the road is wet, the grass and flower beds have a lacy white drape, and there's a fine mist of falling snow visible in the streetlight. It is time to forgive Mother Nature. She wasn't trying to punish us with warm weather. She was just giving us an opportunity to truly appreciate the snow when it came.
It occurred to me halfway through the day just how far into December it is now. I have presents I'm making for several people who live out of state. If I'm going to finish them and get them in the mail on time, I have to kick things into high gear. I went shopping with my daughter to get the last of the, er, "ingredients" shall we say? We poked around the hardware store front to back, looking at everything from tools to the huge kitchen section. We went to a chain craft store. We were somewhat disappointed with the things we found (or failed to find), but got enough to press on for now. I've been working on crafting and personalizing and planning several things since I got home, and it's probably good that I'm a bit wired and unable to sleep. I have so much to do, I shall be sitting up in bed, doing handwork while I work my way farther through the stored up Dr Who cache on the DVR.
I want to make Christmas cookies. I've been craving speculaas, the super spicy shortbread cookies traditionally eaten around St Nicholas Day. I made them for the first time during the last winter holidays when I was still eating wheat. Since then, I've practiced a couple of times making them gluten and/or grain free. I think I can perfect them this year. I was taught to shape them in the simplest possible way, rolling them out and cutting rectangles the size of a business card. While we were rummaging through the hardware store kitchen section, I found a gnome shaped cookie cutter. That sealed the deal. I'm going to be baking this week, spicy little gnome cookies. I wish they were already done.
(This is Harvey's brother Ziggy, who climbed up a curtain that had a photo backdrop tucked on it.)
(Harvey pretending that he is the "good" brother)
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
Ghosts of Holidays Past
Inspirational song: Heaven on the Seventh Floor (Paul Nicholas)
December is always a good time to think fondly of one's childhood, of more innocent times, full of wonder and joy. It's also a handy time to remember awkward phases of growth, emotional ones as much as physical. When I reminisce about holidays of my youth, I go to the late 1970s, maybe as recent as the very early 1980s, most often. This year I chose to think with chagrin about what an asshole I was as a young teenager about the Christmas lights we used to put up, and for once I was honest enough with myself and my mother to admit that I actually liked the thing I used to complain about so vociferously. At least I do now. We had a few strands of those big fat bulbs for outdoors, and my stepdad would hang them in a tight line across the gutter edge of our L-shaped porch. There was something about that rigid line and the warmth of the colors of those enormous incandescent bulbs that made me deride it as resembling a taco stand. (Told you I was a jerk. Thankfully I have evolved.) It was a running joke we had for years, me being embarrassed that our lights were so simple, where other people were putting up stars or Santas or whatever it was that I thought we should have been able to have too. Over the last five or six years, as everyone converted their entire light displays to LED, the colors changed dramatically. They became sharper and colder. At first, I loved it, especially the blues. But lately I started to miss the warmth of the incandescent glass bulbs. I wanted to recapture the vibe of the 60s and 70s, probably because I was so nostalgic for my early childhood. Two of our outside C-9 strands burned out last year, and I decided it was time to buy new ones when I found them for 10 bucks at Costco. I bought 3 boxes, so that they would match all the way around the front. I was pleased to discover when I opened them that although they were LED, the colors were warm like those old bulbs. The plastic of them even clinked like glass. The Mr hung them up in a straight line around the edge of the roof (although draped, not pulled tight), and my mother said to me, "I never thought I'd see the taco stand lights on your house!" We laughed, but it's true. I really do think back on them fondly. A couple blocks from my house is an actual taco stand (which is apparently very good, because there is always a crowd around it on warm nights, every day of the week. I need to try it, once I am feeling brave about potential gluten cross-contamination at a new place.) I took a photo of it for my mother. It had a single strand of warm colored fat bulbs across it. And I'm not going to lie, I liked it.
When we used to all gather at one of the houses of my dad's family for Christmas, we cousins would inevitably get restless on Christmas Eve or the night of the 25th and take off together. I think it was the year I was 10 that we all piled in a car with my oldest cousin behind the wheel, to go driving around Oklahoma City looking at Christmas lights, and probably trying to buy something or find an open movie theater. I remember it being cold and super foggy. We were stopped in a parking lot somewhere, and I was shivering in the back seat because the heater just didn't reach the back as well as the front. The song "Heaven on the Seventh Floor" came on the radio, and I piped up and asked for one of the big kids up front to turn it up louder. It was a syrupy disco pop song through and through, and my cousin, who was seven or eight years older than I, looked down his nose at me and said, "Why? Are you some kind of Paul Nicholas fan?" I shrank down into myself and mumbled something incoherent, giving up my request. By then I'd already started to figure out that this guy was indeed one of the biggest celebrity crushes of my entire young life, but I wasn't about to admit that in a car full of cousins who were considerably cooler than I was.
For the entirety of December thus far, and for most of November, it has been unseasonably warm. This feels very wrong. I've talked about how we had irises and hyacinths blooming in November. Today we had to water the grass because it has been so warm and dry. Yesterday I was walking around the back yard barefoot, in a swimsuit, letting the dogs go lie down on their beds in the garage before I crawled in the hot tub. It has been jarring to be so comfortable outside in December in so little clothing. I want snow. I want the foggy cold from that Oklahoma City night. The forecast here is for weather that is entirely spring-like. There is finally a chance of snow in the near future, the weekend before Christmas. It's still not going to be super cold, but maybe it will get us all in the right mood. I need it. Until then, I'll just live in holidays past in my mind. Maybe I can talk to that ill-adjusted kid and straighten out her priorities while I'm there.
December is always a good time to think fondly of one's childhood, of more innocent times, full of wonder and joy. It's also a handy time to remember awkward phases of growth, emotional ones as much as physical. When I reminisce about holidays of my youth, I go to the late 1970s, maybe as recent as the very early 1980s, most often. This year I chose to think with chagrin about what an asshole I was as a young teenager about the Christmas lights we used to put up, and for once I was honest enough with myself and my mother to admit that I actually liked the thing I used to complain about so vociferously. At least I do now. We had a few strands of those big fat bulbs for outdoors, and my stepdad would hang them in a tight line across the gutter edge of our L-shaped porch. There was something about that rigid line and the warmth of the colors of those enormous incandescent bulbs that made me deride it as resembling a taco stand. (Told you I was a jerk. Thankfully I have evolved.) It was a running joke we had for years, me being embarrassed that our lights were so simple, where other people were putting up stars or Santas or whatever it was that I thought we should have been able to have too. Over the last five or six years, as everyone converted their entire light displays to LED, the colors changed dramatically. They became sharper and colder. At first, I loved it, especially the blues. But lately I started to miss the warmth of the incandescent glass bulbs. I wanted to recapture the vibe of the 60s and 70s, probably because I was so nostalgic for my early childhood. Two of our outside C-9 strands burned out last year, and I decided it was time to buy new ones when I found them for 10 bucks at Costco. I bought 3 boxes, so that they would match all the way around the front. I was pleased to discover when I opened them that although they were LED, the colors were warm like those old bulbs. The plastic of them even clinked like glass. The Mr hung them up in a straight line around the edge of the roof (although draped, not pulled tight), and my mother said to me, "I never thought I'd see the taco stand lights on your house!" We laughed, but it's true. I really do think back on them fondly. A couple blocks from my house is an actual taco stand (which is apparently very good, because there is always a crowd around it on warm nights, every day of the week. I need to try it, once I am feeling brave about potential gluten cross-contamination at a new place.) I took a photo of it for my mother. It had a single strand of warm colored fat bulbs across it. And I'm not going to lie, I liked it.
When we used to all gather at one of the houses of my dad's family for Christmas, we cousins would inevitably get restless on Christmas Eve or the night of the 25th and take off together. I think it was the year I was 10 that we all piled in a car with my oldest cousin behind the wheel, to go driving around Oklahoma City looking at Christmas lights, and probably trying to buy something or find an open movie theater. I remember it being cold and super foggy. We were stopped in a parking lot somewhere, and I was shivering in the back seat because the heater just didn't reach the back as well as the front. The song "Heaven on the Seventh Floor" came on the radio, and I piped up and asked for one of the big kids up front to turn it up louder. It was a syrupy disco pop song through and through, and my cousin, who was seven or eight years older than I, looked down his nose at me and said, "Why? Are you some kind of Paul Nicholas fan?" I shrank down into myself and mumbled something incoherent, giving up my request. By then I'd already started to figure out that this guy was indeed one of the biggest celebrity crushes of my entire young life, but I wasn't about to admit that in a car full of cousins who were considerably cooler than I was.
For the entirety of December thus far, and for most of November, it has been unseasonably warm. This feels very wrong. I've talked about how we had irises and hyacinths blooming in November. Today we had to water the grass because it has been so warm and dry. Yesterday I was walking around the back yard barefoot, in a swimsuit, letting the dogs go lie down on their beds in the garage before I crawled in the hot tub. It has been jarring to be so comfortable outside in December in so little clothing. I want snow. I want the foggy cold from that Oklahoma City night. The forecast here is for weather that is entirely spring-like. There is finally a chance of snow in the near future, the weekend before Christmas. It's still not going to be super cold, but maybe it will get us all in the right mood. I need it. Until then, I'll just live in holidays past in my mind. Maybe I can talk to that ill-adjusted kid and straighten out her priorities while I'm there.
Stretch Out
Inspirational song: Peaceful Easy Feeling (The Eagles)
I stayed up later than I meant to once again. I should have given up more than an hour ago, so that I could sleep enough and wake on time for physical therapy early in the morning. Instead, I stayed up watching TV, playing games, and being chatty. I did this to myself. But I do have to show you what I live with, and why just going to sleep would have been difficult anyway.
I leaned out to take this picture, but I already had one leg hanging off the side of the bed. My right leg was bent, wedged between Athena and Rabbit. We were taking up less than an eighth of my king sized bed, and neither cat had any intention of letting me spread out and enjoy the space I'm supposed to have. If I move them, Athena gets offended and leaves the room. Rabbit whines in her old smoker lady voice, feeding me guilt for removing the barnacle from my side. How horrible I am for wanting to straighten my legs once every hour.
I've been trying to do my PT home exercises, and I am truly stunned by how hard some of them are. It actually hurts doing the one where I stand with one hand on a wall, and straighten my elbow. So I have to admit that these were necessary. But I still want the special treatment I was promised, to address the muscle that feels like it is torn. I have to pick up the topical steroid for that treatment on my own, and I only tonight got the message that it was at the pharmacy (which won't open until after my appointment tomorrow). More delays. And the exercises, as simple as they are, just make it hurt more. I think I'm making myself grumpy. Those cats are back on the bed, scootching themselves closer and closer. Time to cuddle and go to sleep.
I stayed up later than I meant to once again. I should have given up more than an hour ago, so that I could sleep enough and wake on time for physical therapy early in the morning. Instead, I stayed up watching TV, playing games, and being chatty. I did this to myself. But I do have to show you what I live with, and why just going to sleep would have been difficult anyway.
I leaned out to take this picture, but I already had one leg hanging off the side of the bed. My right leg was bent, wedged between Athena and Rabbit. We were taking up less than an eighth of my king sized bed, and neither cat had any intention of letting me spread out and enjoy the space I'm supposed to have. If I move them, Athena gets offended and leaves the room. Rabbit whines in her old smoker lady voice, feeding me guilt for removing the barnacle from my side. How horrible I am for wanting to straighten my legs once every hour.
I've been trying to do my PT home exercises, and I am truly stunned by how hard some of them are. It actually hurts doing the one where I stand with one hand on a wall, and straighten my elbow. So I have to admit that these were necessary. But I still want the special treatment I was promised, to address the muscle that feels like it is torn. I have to pick up the topical steroid for that treatment on my own, and I only tonight got the message that it was at the pharmacy (which won't open until after my appointment tomorrow). More delays. And the exercises, as simple as they are, just make it hurt more. I think I'm making myself grumpy. Those cats are back on the bed, scootching themselves closer and closer. Time to cuddle and go to sleep.
Monday, December 11, 2017
Keep Remembering Normal
Inspirational song: Hope the High Road (Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit)
On those rare days when the inspirational song actually is my inspiration, I feel obligated to say so. Some random person I follow on Twitter (and there are so many) quoted lyrics on a thread about political despair, and it sent me on a long journey to figure out who wrote them and what the song sounded like. The lines that this denizen of Twitter quoted were:
On those rare days when the inspirational song actually is my inspiration, I feel obligated to say so. Some random person I follow on Twitter (and there are so many) quoted lyrics on a thread about political despair, and it sent me on a long journey to figure out who wrote them and what the song sounded like. The lines that this denizen of Twitter quoted were:
I know you're tired
And you ain't sleeping well
Uninspired
And likely mad as hell
But wherever you are
I hope the high road leads you home again
To a world you want to live in
We'll ride the ship down
Dumping buckets overboard
There can't be more of them than us
There can't be more
The person who quoted that was trying to inspire hope that as crazy as this country has been over the last couple years, no matter how many people have exposed themselves to be horrible, backwards-thinking, or willfully ignorant, there are more of us than them, and we will right this upside-down world. It's going to suck getting there, but we will do it. The song itself was more personal, less about the national zeitgeist, but it seemed apropos to me. The crazy is coming at us faster and faster, and things that would have covered the news cycle for days or weeks during any other period in history are now barely a 15 minute blip before the next shocking wave hits. This is by design. It is keeping us off balance, so we feel helpless and unorganized. Don't let it. Don't lose your ability to be outraged, and don't forget that we have the numbers to overwhelm the ones who are trying to pull our world apart.
It shook me a little to see a warning that we should be writing down things that were normal for as long as we can remember, so that we have a record of things that disappear, as the authoritarian mindset tries to change us. That was an utterly terrifying concept, and the worst part is, I already am not sure of what I would write on that list. I am afraid I've already forgotten normal.
I got a little bit of normal back tonight, though. I have a very good friend, one I've known for about 15 years now. We have popped in and out of each other's lives a few times over the years, and for a while we even lived a mere three hours apart. He has revolted against social media a couple of times, deleting a Facebook account but later showing up on Twitter, and then deleting that account, to vanish off the face of the earth for months. I don't like mysterious ends like that, and I worried about him for a long time. And then, out of the blue, he came back to Facebook and also started texting. We've spent most of the night, into the wee hours, getting caught back up. It's helping bring back the normal, getting that reassurance that he's okay. I needed this. The ones we care about are out there. It will help to remember that.
Saturday, December 9, 2017
Syrupy
Inspirational song: Cherry Bomb (John Mellencamp)
It has been months, maybe more than a year, since I had a real Annie's Test Kitchen post. I haven't been putting many recipes to paper lately. I'm still creating them when I have the energy. Nothing seems to be immortalized, though. It's a shame. Some of the stuff I've been working on have been really good. I'm not sure I have the discipline to make that cookbook I wanted to compile of all of these recipes. Writing the process down seems to suck the joy out of cooking.
I wish I could have taken credit for the specific recipe I used today. It was a cheesecake inspired by Pinterest, and modified by me. The results were delicious. And I happen to have enough of everything to make a second one in the near future. (I took this one to a party, and left it.) It had an almond crust, a basic cheesecake recipe flavored with Marachino liqueur, a chocolate ganache swirled in, and cherries on top with a homemade syrup that was delicious.
Making the cheesecake was my one real accomplishment today, and I am amazed that I got that far. I keep nodding off, and even a long nap through a painful televised basketball game (I thankfully slept through the end of the game so I don't know how bad the score was), I am still dragging my tail. After decades of testing and learning what my health limitations are, I am constantly surprised by days when I need multiple naps. It isn't as much fun as it sounds, and it really makes composing difficult. My head keeps lolling as if my brain has gained an extra several pounds, and I keep zoning out in between sentences. I wish I could be eloquent or funny, but right now, all I can do is be proud of my culinary skills. I'll try to be more interesting some other time.
It has been months, maybe more than a year, since I had a real Annie's Test Kitchen post. I haven't been putting many recipes to paper lately. I'm still creating them when I have the energy. Nothing seems to be immortalized, though. It's a shame. Some of the stuff I've been working on have been really good. I'm not sure I have the discipline to make that cookbook I wanted to compile of all of these recipes. Writing the process down seems to suck the joy out of cooking.
I wish I could have taken credit for the specific recipe I used today. It was a cheesecake inspired by Pinterest, and modified by me. The results were delicious. And I happen to have enough of everything to make a second one in the near future. (I took this one to a party, and left it.) It had an almond crust, a basic cheesecake recipe flavored with Marachino liqueur, a chocolate ganache swirled in, and cherries on top with a homemade syrup that was delicious.
Making the cheesecake was my one real accomplishment today, and I am amazed that I got that far. I keep nodding off, and even a long nap through a painful televised basketball game (I thankfully slept through the end of the game so I don't know how bad the score was), I am still dragging my tail. After decades of testing and learning what my health limitations are, I am constantly surprised by days when I need multiple naps. It isn't as much fun as it sounds, and it really makes composing difficult. My head keeps lolling as if my brain has gained an extra several pounds, and I keep zoning out in between sentences. I wish I could be eloquent or funny, but right now, all I can do is be proud of my culinary skills. I'll try to be more interesting some other time.
Flickering Light
Inspirational song: Watching the Wheels (John Lennon)
Are all mammals hard-wired to be fascinated by little dancing lights in the darkness, or is it just humans? I know these studies exist to verify what we know instinctively is true, that we evolved to want to notice and stare at flashing lights of different colors but I am too lazy to look them up. I think about this a lot though, about the early hominids in their small family or tribal bands, eyes attuned to all sorts of tiny sparks, like the flash of colors on the retinas of big cats on the Savanna, catching the reflected light of the moon. Were they particularly cautious of the sparks that popped and drifted away from their campfires, once they started gathering around them? Were fireflies indicators of anything useful or dangerous, in the terrain or environment? Is it all lights or certain colors of them?
What is it that is so compelling, so primal about watching little lights flicker and dance? I can't look away from them. I know you can't either. It's build into us. Don't believe me that it's impossible? Try walking into a place where a TV is playing, on something you absolutely hate -- like a really annoying kid show in a dentist's waiting room. You can't ignore it completely, even when you want to. That flickering light box sucks us in, at least once every few minutes. This is why cop cars have swirling lights, and we actually notice them in the rear view mirror, even when we are totally absorbed in our need to get wherever we are going as quickly as possible. This is why railroad tracks and blind curves have blinking lights. And this is why TV screens are every-freaking-where, especially dangling from the ceiling in WalMarts, trying to sell you more crap you don't need, just because you made the mistake of walking in the door, thinking this was the one place you knew you could find the one item you needed at midnight.
It is this elemental need to watch fairy lights in the darkness that is my favorite part of winter. I tried to get decent pictures of the Boulder Star on the way to and from Central City tonight. The in-motion pictures were horrible, so I requested a stop on the way home to find some vantage point where I could get out of the car and try again. We settled on the street next to the old graveyard on University Hill, and I did what I could to take a good picture standing in the dark next to graves on a cold night by myself. (I am fairly certain this was the closest I've been to the Star when it was lit up, unlike some people I know who have hiked up and even interfered with where the lights were placed.) I kept pausing next to the Christmas trees all over the casino tonight, even the silly one that was only a cone of light strings. We pulled over next to a park in Blackhawk (so the Mr could check something on his tablet), and I was dorky and took pictures of that display too. And if I'm honest with myself, watching the flashing lights on the penny slots at the casino is the reason I keep going up there. It's not the money, because even when I come back with a little extra cash, it isn't life-altering. It's the lights and noise in the darkness. That's why I go.
Are all mammals hard-wired to be fascinated by little dancing lights in the darkness, or is it just humans? I know these studies exist to verify what we know instinctively is true, that we evolved to want to notice and stare at flashing lights of different colors but I am too lazy to look them up. I think about this a lot though, about the early hominids in their small family or tribal bands, eyes attuned to all sorts of tiny sparks, like the flash of colors on the retinas of big cats on the Savanna, catching the reflected light of the moon. Were they particularly cautious of the sparks that popped and drifted away from their campfires, once they started gathering around them? Were fireflies indicators of anything useful or dangerous, in the terrain or environment? Is it all lights or certain colors of them?
What is it that is so compelling, so primal about watching little lights flicker and dance? I can't look away from them. I know you can't either. It's build into us. Don't believe me that it's impossible? Try walking into a place where a TV is playing, on something you absolutely hate -- like a really annoying kid show in a dentist's waiting room. You can't ignore it completely, even when you want to. That flickering light box sucks us in, at least once every few minutes. This is why cop cars have swirling lights, and we actually notice them in the rear view mirror, even when we are totally absorbed in our need to get wherever we are going as quickly as possible. This is why railroad tracks and blind curves have blinking lights. And this is why TV screens are every-freaking-where, especially dangling from the ceiling in WalMarts, trying to sell you more crap you don't need, just because you made the mistake of walking in the door, thinking this was the one place you knew you could find the one item you needed at midnight.
It is this elemental need to watch fairy lights in the darkness that is my favorite part of winter. I tried to get decent pictures of the Boulder Star on the way to and from Central City tonight. The in-motion pictures were horrible, so I requested a stop on the way home to find some vantage point where I could get out of the car and try again. We settled on the street next to the old graveyard on University Hill, and I did what I could to take a good picture standing in the dark next to graves on a cold night by myself. (I am fairly certain this was the closest I've been to the Star when it was lit up, unlike some people I know who have hiked up and even interfered with where the lights were placed.) I kept pausing next to the Christmas trees all over the casino tonight, even the silly one that was only a cone of light strings. We pulled over next to a park in Blackhawk (so the Mr could check something on his tablet), and I was dorky and took pictures of that display too. And if I'm honest with myself, watching the flashing lights on the penny slots at the casino is the reason I keep going up there. It's not the money, because even when I come back with a little extra cash, it isn't life-altering. It's the lights and noise in the darkness. That's why I go.
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