Personal Records...

Not to be confused with personal bests, worsts, sins, triumphs, etc, ad nauseum. (I am learning not to be obsessive about spelling. You know what the word is. I don't have to spend time looking it up in the large, red dictionary that sits by my desk. I'm not even going to look at the previous sentances to see if there is a word I'm not quite sure of, or backspace to re-word a sentance that doesn't snap into place. Where's the paper bag. I'm hyperventalating.) Take the time between my last post here and this one. I'm not even going to look at the date and count it out on my fingers. --Damn! I've already gone back and re-read everything. -- Don't look back is going to be my motto from now on.

Think about it. A Blog is like a diary. It's something one goes journaling in. That is a record, of ones thoughts, feeling, actions. It most often entails looking back. (Damn, I just back spaced and re-wrote that sentance.) ( I started to re-read again, but stopped myself. Self-control. Like coming back to the center when meditating. Gently finding the thought right where you left it and beginning to unravel the meaning.) What do you call it when you write about the future. Not about the past, or even the present, since by the time you've written it down what you're writting about is the past. (I just moused in, split that sentance in two and changed a negative into a positive reference. Follow that.) (Started to re-read but stopped after less than a sentance. Good girl.)

There is a point here. I'm trying to come straight to it. Trying not to stop for trifling, unimportant things like spelling, grammar, second guesses, what ifs, minor imperfections, lost thoughts, and the nagging suspicion that no one will understand what the hell I'm talking about. I've heard that one should live in the moment. And you know I do try. I sit there and I open my mind, shut my eyes and wait for the revelation that will change my life. But you know what. There isn't any great, mystical, secret. There is just breathing in and out and letting things happen without trying to control them, without trying to find some deep meaning in them. (My eyes have traveled back to the beginning of this paragraph three time, but I wouldn't let myself acknowledge the words there.) I will not re-write. I will not try to re-make my past into some palatable rant about dirty dishes, or other peoples wrong ideas--inferring thereby, that my ideas are the right ones (na-na-na'-na-na). It's an emotional roller-coaster ride. It's emotion. It's fact. But how can it be both. Emotion defies facts and facts deny emotion. (Don't think too hard.) Stream of consciousness. I remember doing experiments with SOC back in college. Sort of like automatic writing, but without the possession bit.

The point.... This is life. There is no backspacing, spellchecking, rewind, mute. There is only moving forward one step-at-a-time. I had almost fogotten about this little blog. My TANSTFL Farm. I used to tell myself that if I ever got a farm that is what I would name it. Well we bought the farm. It already had a name. Longwood. Now we're trying to sell it. Time to move on. It's a feeling I have to fight. That urge to move on when thing aren't going well. It's from my childhood. Fourteen difference schools in four different states. Don't look back. Don't get attached to anything. When the going gets tough pull up stakes and move on. Life is movement. There is something wrong with this way of thinking, but I'm not sure what yet. I'm working on it.

Boy that was a cheap therapy session.

Is This a Theme Party?????

I haven't sat down to this blog in some time. Longer than I thought actually. What can I say. Been busy.

There is a whole community of industrious little bloggers out there rap, tapping their way through the day. Rearranging the ______ (fill in the blank--'english' for me) language in their own unique little plastic coated tide pools. Industrious, I say, expressive, even homy at times. I find links to blogs everywhere I go. I read, I click 'next'. I read...etc.. For several months it's felt as though this blog reading I do is actually research. Moving me inevitibly toward the answer to the burning question in my brain, "what do they have that I don't?" "Why are they able to keep up with their electronic journals and I cannot." Stamina?

Finally this evening I had a eureka moment. The one thing most blogs have that I do not have is a theme. Whether its knitting, or saving the whales, or peeping through their neighbors curtains there is almost always an underlying structure to blogs, a light at the end of the hallway toward which they move on cold fingers, one character at a time. Simple really. I must find a tether pole from which to tie this bouncing cursor that illuminates my thoughts.

Well, actually. I think I will divide and create more blogs. So that I can procratinate more productively.

Sounds like a plan.

Strange but True

Okay, here goes. I've not told all of this to anyone, though my husband has heard bits and pieces. When I tell it to myself it sounds so contrived and trivial that it hardly seems worth putting down on paper, but when it happened there was an unmistakeable feeling of rightness. The scientific way of the world scoffs at things that cannot be seen, touched, quantified, or experiemented on. I'm sure most people would scoff at what I'm about to say as too much imagination and not a solid grounding in reality. But it's not like that at all. It's more like this....

About twenty years ago I spent a few days at Kerr lake with my first husband trying to find a reason not to file for divorce. I asked for the trip to give him a chance to tell me something that would convince me there was enough good in our relationship to make it worth saving, worth working for. On the first day there my husband made it perfectly clear that he was satisfied with the way things were in the marriage. In no uncertain terms he told me that my unhappiness was my problem. He suggested I seek psychological help. Marriage counseling, he said, if it was needed at all would have to wait until after I had gotten myself straightened out. The rest of the three day weekend I walked by the lake alone chewing over what had been said. Asking myself two basic questions. Why am I so unhappy? And, what do I do next that will be the best for all involved? All along the edge of the lake I walked asking these questions over and over again inside my head waiting for an answer. I will admit, I wanted the answer to come from outside myself because I did not want the responsibility for making the decision that would disolve my marriage. No matter what the cause of my unhappiness I had been taught that as a woman it must be my fault. It must be because I wasn't giving enough of myself. Sentiments that were echoed by my husband that weekend. I either had to believe what I was being told, push the unhappiness deep inside and pretend everything was alright, or I had to believe in my own feelings. That meant breaking away from my husband and from everything I had been told I was suppose to want. I hadn't a clue how to do that.

At first I called out to God and Jesus. Coming from a good Christian family it was the first thing that occured to me. I knew it was a sham. I had tried all my life to conform to the ways of the church, to believe as those around me seemed to believe. But it never happened, never clicked like it was supposed to. And, as with everything else in my life I was lead to believe that was my fault as well for not trying hard enough. For a long time I sat watching the movement of the water. It was calming I felt my heart begin to move in unison with the graceful motions of the lake's surface, begin to open up. So it seemed natural that after a while I began to talk to the lake. It felt so good that I gave into it. I talked to it inwardly and outwardly about everything that puzzled me, about what I wanted. Slowly the two questions I had asked God changed into statements. I want to do what is best for everyone involved. I want to be happy. Show me how to do this. And the lake showed me.

I let go of every convention of proper behavior and gave in to the impulses that came to me from the lake. It felt like instinct, like knowledge, unlearned in this lifetime, that had lain dormant inside of me waiting to come out. I thought back to times in my childhood when the land had whispered to me, when the wind had lead me a chase to places where I had not been before. It had felt like this, but as I grew older it ceased to happend and I dismissed the memory of it as childhood fantasy. I was returning to innocense, to a way of being in the world that was uncorrupted. It is hard to explain and the words that feel right have connotations that invite dismissiveness. It was magical. It was otherworldly. It was an opening up to the spirits of the land and the water and the air and it filled me as no other religious experience ever has. It was as though I was remembering who I really was. Yes, that's what it felt like. Like remembering.

The things I did were not shocking. I walked into the woods and chose leaves from the ground. Asking as I picked up each one whether this was the right one. Some I got positive feelings about some not. Those that felt positive I kept. I found a smooth rock and an odd shaped twig. Then I returned to the shore and laid these out in a kind of artistic pattern, placing each one carefully, asking if it was in the right place, feeling the rightness or wrongness of it's position. When all the things I had collected were laid out on the shore I sat on my haunches and looked out over the lake. I asked the spirit of the lake to help me find the things that I was looking for. Help me find the happiness I wanted so badly but couldn't find in the life I had been told was the right one for me. I asked for help in finding the wisdom to decide what was best for all (I had an eighteen month old daughter at that time) and to give me the courage to follow through. I don't think all the watching, gathering and praying took much time. A few hours on day two. I didn't go looking for the spirit of lake the last day. Or for a long time after that. But I did find the strength and courage to do what was best for all. And twenty years later I think I've found as much happiness as I need to live a full life.

I divorced my first husband and a year-and-a-half later married someone else. We'll have our nineteenth wedding anniversary in December. When my father died in 1995 I returned to the Christian church and once again tried to fit in. For four years I tried, for my father's sake to be a good christian. One of the last things he said to me was that he regretted my having left the church. It didn't work out this time either. I made my final break from christianity in 1999.

Not being christian doesn't mean I have stopped praying. I pray pratically every day. More than I did when I was christian and I don't worry over my prayers. It just flows out of me now. Sometimes I pray to the elements, sometimes to the spirit of the trees. I have gradually come to accept that I am part of the neo-pagan movement though I haven't joined any group or particular way of worshiping. As a friend said recently, "I don't believe in one religion. I believe in all religions." As I enter my fiftieth year I find myself walking a path that few have taken. Every day brings the chance for new revelations new understanding, new places to start from. Sometimes the menopause hormones kick in and I'm a real bitch for a few days. Sometimes I give in and eat the last of the tub of ice-cream all the time telling myself I want to loose weight. Sometimes I find every excuse I can think of not to clean the house. I always forgive myself. I always come back to my center, meditate the monkey into a cage, light up the incence, leave a bit of cake on the mantle that I use as an alter, and remember who I really am. While I don't love myself unconditionally yet I'm at a place where the good days far outnumber the bad ones. And I can live with that.

Just another day in the neighborhood

Today we get to go out and play normal family. There is a potluck at the house of one of the parents of a kid in my youngest daughters AP Chem class. Seems the teacher might possibly be leaving next year. And that was the excuse they needed to crank up the coals out in the back yard by the pool. Frankly in the two years my daughter has been going to this small private school in Charlottesville I have successfully avoided involvement in any social activity with the parents. Unless you count back to school night. My impression of the school and the parents is good intentioned, upper middle class, suburbanites with abismal organizational skills.

I'm not a very social animal. I hate small talk. More than that I hate that uncomfortable feeling I get in suburban social groups. I mean, I'm married with two kids, we own our own home (not in a suburb), we have an SUV (Gaggg), what more do they want? I can't talk about religion or politics (Duh!) but there are many other subjects that can't be broached as well. I can't get too deeply into my elder daughter Chelsea--who is gay, which I support--in case the subject turns to boyfriends, or grandchildren, and the like. Being non-Christian (neo-pagan) I can't help but notice how often GOD shows up in casual conversation, and not always in subtle ways. I make a comment about how nice the weather is and the response is something like, "Yes, we should thank GOD for this lovely day he has provided." Not very subtle. I have to bite my tongue and hope no one knows what it means if I accidently let a "blessed be" slip out. Usually they think I'm referring to "THE LORD". I don't try to correct their assumption. Funny how everyone assumes if you are white in the American south you are Christian.

I find conversations in groups of women to be totally boring so I usually try to sit with the guys who when they are not talking about sports can be somewhat inciteful. Women tend to talk about kids, or clothes, or shopping, or diets, blah, blah, blah! Men actually talk about ideas. Some women are uncomfortable with my aligning myself on the guys side of the room. I've actually had a few come over and try to gently herd me back to the girls side. I fake a dumb look and stay right where I am.

You can tell I'm really looking forward to the pot luck. The things I do for my kids. Geeezzzz.

Thursday again

I've been remiss in my blogging duties. I've been in the mood for a rant and just didn't like the idea of putting it in writing. My Computer rule is never post anything online that I might be ashamed of later. Well, maybe some rants are soul cleansing.

Like the moms who sit in cars at the end of their driveway waiting to pick up their precious (and usually obese) cherubs when they get off the school bus. Puleeez! These kids need the exercise of walking the two hundred yards from the bus stop to their front door. The abduction excuse just doesn't fly with me. My kids walked nearly a mile to school everyday, including rainy days, in a group of friends that did not include anyones parent, from the time the youngest was in first grade. I was never afraid. I refuse to be afraid of the boggy man. If you want to do the risk analysis they were in greater danger from a run away car careening out of control than they ever were from some stalker. What the kids whose parents are afraid to let them out of their sight are learning from their parents is how to live in fear. Something Americans are suffuce with now. Fear of terrorists. Fear of the unpatriotic who don't tow the line. Fear of recession. Fear of losing our place as "Mightiest Nation in the World". Pahhh.

How about the idiots who drive five feet off your bumper at sixty-five or greater. I don't know what universe they think they live in but in this one their reaction time is a little farther than five feet. My defense is to slow down, hope they pass safely and not on a double yellow line (which has happened). I leave multiple car lengths between me and any other car in front and try to ignore the tailgaters as much as possible.

Then there is the tailgaters cousin the red-light runner. I'm not talking about the last one in a line kinda guy. It's the see the light turn red now count one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand, four-one-thousand, and maybe he's just entering the intersection 'guy'. I know I've come real close to hitting a few of them. Not always accidentally.

Then there are the cars masquerading as a boom boxes. You can hear them coming two blocks away. They sit next to you at the stop light and with your windows closed and their windows closed you still have to keep your mouth clamped shut to keep your teeth from rattling.

Then there's the new breed of rude creature... the cell phone addicts. They are everywhere. In stores, in their cars, on the streets, standing behind you in line loudly carrying on a highly personal conversation that you are trying desparately not to hear. I refer to cell phones as electronic dog leashes. I forsee a day when these people will have the headsets surgically implanted in their head to save them the trouble of having to raise one arm and hold it there indefinately. I have to admit that I do now own a cell phone. I got it reluctantly three months ago, but I do not carrying it in my purse. It sits in the car in case of an emergency. Taken out periodically to be recharged.

This need for constant talking on cell phones is connected, I'm convinced, to the 'idea' that the American Advertising Industry has foisted on the public that 'convenience' is a must. With a cell phone you have the power to phone anyone from anywhere at anytime. Non-stop conversation is now available while you go about your daily life. No need to ever talk to anyone face to face again. (How convenient!) You can hold one sided conversations in public 24/7. (How rude!) The noise pollution level has gone up dramatically lately.

You know all these 'conveniences' really haven't saved us any time that I can discern. Take convenience food (that includes fast food) for instance. It is so overburdened with salt and fat as to constitute a health risk. More visits to the doctor there. And the increased consumption of calories results in time and money wasted on diets that don't work and excersize equipment that sees a few weeks of use before being relegated to the back of the closet. Not to mention that convenience food packaging which is voluminous often ends up blowing around on the streets, and contributes enormously to the bulking up of the dumps which becomes an extra cost to us in the long run. Even when we pack up our garbage and ship it to some other country to rot.

The minute someone tries to tell me what I want my back goes up. Still it is difficult to maintain a stance of purity while being bombarded from every angle. TV, radio, newspaper, spam, junk mail, magazines, billboards, placards, point of sale tid bits, telemarketers, and the dying breed, door to door salesmen (actually door to door is almost exclusively the domain of protestant religion nowadays). Several years ago I stopped watching network TV because of the advertisments pounding away at my brain. It's not that I think TV will rot your brains or anything. I follow a few TV series on DVD from Netflix watching them without commercials at my leasure. It's all part of the lifestyle I decided to develop to match my convictions. I have a low tolerance of people who swear they care about the environment but can't be bothered to recycle. Just as in my youth I got tired of men who said they were sympathetic with the women's movement, but still expected me to do the cooking, wash the clothes, vacuum the rugs and work a full time job to boot. I can't condemn anyone else if I'm not willing to live up to my convictions. So I recycle everything I can. I compost organic materials. I buy bulk whenever applicable. I cook alot of meals ahead and freeze them. A few hours on one day can yeild six, seven, ten days of nuke and eat meals that are much more healthy than anything you could buy pre-packaged. In addition I buy organic produce despite the price difference. My health and peace of mind is worth the extra money. Just so you know I am not some waif thin vegetarian. I love a good rare steak. I weigh about twenty pounds more than the charts say I should. But I'm comfortable. I exercise regularly at a gym. The fact is I come from a long line of big women so my fate was sealed. I will never be thin. Which makes listening to those razer thin women bitch about how hard it is to keep that extra five pounds off a real rant temptation. Puleeez! 90% of their size is genetic. There probably isn't an obese person in their family. And if they spend as much time thinking about food as they say they do I'd say it's obsession about physical looks not a concern about staying healthy.

I'd say there are at least five essay topics hidden in that diatribe. I'm too lazy this afternoon to tease them out and flesh out the logic behind the arguments. Maybe I'll come back to them later. These are all fav rant topics.

Ciao

And so on...and so forth... etc. etc.....

So I skipped a day. So what. It was a boring day anyway. You wouldn't want to hear about it so let's get on with it.

Updates on previous news: Husband is earnestly seeking a job within the company. There are a few bites already. There is no doubt he will have a new position all lined up before the end of next week. We're not worried.

Daughter has pulled off all the bandaids from shots, blood work etc. Now it's just coast time until graduation. The only thing she has to do is send in the first pass of class schedule for fall freshman year. Decisions, decisions.

On to new stuff: The seasons change. I'm just about done putting away all the winter sweaters and comforters for the summer. Some things are cyclical. Some things need to be done and so they get done. Some things just sit and wait.

I transfered the last pattern piece for a jacket I plan to make from fabric I haven't yet woven. Haven't even bought the threads yet. Yet another "project" sitting on the shelf. It took six months to get the third and last pattern piece transfered to pattern paper. (I haven't even cut it out yet.) It will probably be another six before I do a mock up and make adjustments. Maybe longer. There are two knitted vests sitting in bags upstairs both in the final stages of completion. There is half a warp on the loom that needs to be tied up for the next round of samples. Six fleeces sit on the floor in the hallway waiting to be carded. Twenty-something varieties of fiber in bags lie in corners waiting to be spun. Three handspindles sit by the TV upstairs that I try to get a few yards on each night. Oh, and one lone sock sits on the top of the sock yarn basket waiting for me to start it's mate. I will have no trouble staying busy when the youngest leaves home for college or when the husband is off traveling because of his new job. There is always busy work around the house.

I always think while I work at these project. Sometimes to music sometimes to rented/owned movies. I purposely am not connected to network TV. I cannot tolerate the wasted time it encourage. My brain is always moving while at the tasks of home and craft. Thinking about some incident that has me ticked off. Thinking about the past. About a movie I saw weeks before. About chores that need to be done but that I don't want to do so I sit and think about them instead. I try to do only the most minimal of planning. Planning indicates intent to complete. Completion is an ending. I don't do endings very well. When I enter the kitchen in the morning I usually have one or two simple things planned for the day. Call the vet and set up an appointment for the dog, make iced tea, start a load of laundry. I try not to be more elaborate than that in my planning. The things that need to get done make it on the list. And those that fall in the "it would be nice if they got done" catagory pile up on the floor like fleeces waiting to be carded. If I decide to make a certain dish for dinner and there isn't an ingredient in the fridge that I need it becomes the day I go the grocery store. If I start wiping off the stove and the shine makes me feel pleasant it becomes the day the kitchen gets a thorough cleaning. If I get tired of the dog fur on the stairs it becomes the day I vacuum the house. Etc. etc.I find I can live this way quite contentedly. There isn't any stress over what doesn't get done. And I'm pleased with what I am doing because it comes from a desire not a demand.

This kind of lifestyle does require flexibility. Overscheduling is verboten. I'll take an occassional class or workshop. I volunteer with two groups. About six hours a month with one group. The other amounts to two two day work sessions a year. The other things that frees up time is the fact that I don't talk on the telephone very much. Until recently I didn't even have a cell phone. I call them electronic dog leashes. If I feel the need to communicate with someone I drop email, snail mail, or I go and talk to them in person. But then I'm not much of a talker. I'm more of a doer. Deadlines are valuable because they make me stop. Oh, times up. Gotta go cut out the pattern piece.

Ciao

Day three ... Reality

I was off most of the day hearding the youngest daughter about getting doctors forms filled out for college. Long story, but it required a blood test, some shots, a discussion about birth control and a chest x-ray. We topped it off with a leisurely, late, lunch at an outdoor restaurant downtown Charlottesville and a visit to the candy store for truffles. yummmm. The daughter drove her car off to her boyfriends house and I went to two grocery stores in order to get everything my family required before returning home. In the end I was gone six hours instead of the three hours I thought it would take. While I was gone the bottom dropped out of our world. Well maybe. We're not really sure yet.

The computer company my husband works for, has worked for for almost sixteen years is in the throws of another major reorg. Seems the new org charts for the division my husband works in came out this morning and he's not on them. He hasn't been able to get through to anyone out in CA so we're not sure what's going on yet. The timing sucks. Not that this kind of thing is prone to good timing. We're in the process of building a new house, and getting the one we currently live in ready to sell. The youngest starts college in the fall and I haven't worked in eight years. I'm far too accustomed to the good life to contemplate macaroni and cheese dinners in a studio apartment so I choose to believe that the whole thing is a typo. At least for the moment. There will be time enough to panic in the weeks to come should there be a pink slip in the mail. Stay tuned.