ZEKs LITE

Age of Inhibition meets age of Abandon

Ah, a mother-daughter outing to the track!  Our running club started with a walking warm-up.   We missed the first training day, so we didn't know the drill.

So embarrassing that Mother gets out the camera right there on the track!  Plus she was embarrassing in other ways.

What we were supposed to do:  meet with our pace group and walk around the track before running.

What we did: start walking around the track, watch pace groups form from far away.  What are those clusters of people up to?  What are the little signs they are carrying?

Then we realized they were starting to run.  So we ran.  Each group we approached, I hollered at people.

"What pace group is this?" and they'd yell back, "12:30-13:00!" or "9:30-10:00!"

Apparently this was mortifying.  Z let me know that I had broken some rule I didn't even know about.  It seems you aren't supposed to holler at groups of strange women while sprinting and panting.  It seems I have a voice like a wild turkey.

Flashback from sister B, many years ago:  Mother in Canada, hollering down from a bridge at people in a hedge maze: "Hey!  Is this a maze or a labyrinth?"

To me it's just another reason to love the three of them.  B and Z are two peas in a pod--a direct transmission of genetic material.  And I'm beginning to behave like my mother.  

What a tangled web we weave.

With a slight squeeze in my chest, I am getting used to this.  I'm starting to embrace it.  Either I'm adjusting well, or falling off the edge of something...

Miscellany

The daffodils are everywhere!  The trees are exploding!

All the tourists hoping to see the cherry blossoms in April had better change their flights.  They'll miss them by three weeks.

I'm knitting up a storm
but I can't show you what...
Here's a small peek.

And this is totally unrelated. 

It's the best error message I've ever received.

March comes in like a lion

That's what Mom used to say. 

It fits the way the wind blows inside our house. Those who parent teens know what I mean.

 

The first baby crocus came up. 

With the crocus came other blossoms -- discoveries on my camera, taken by a stormy Z on a day when she was channeling her energies artistically. 

She took the photos above and below the crocuses.

 

 

Reading our treads

About this time last year I started writing down the miles I walked and jogged.  Turns out I put 1,160 miles on my sneakers.  I showed my worn shoes to the good fellow at the local shoe store and asked him to read my treads.

He had me jog on their treadmill, with the camera behind me and the screen in front of me. I watched the back of my feet jogging along.  I am not symmetrical.  My left foot points out, requiring me to swing my left foot and arm around to the front if I want to run in a straight line.  It accounts for my hippity-hoppity stride that a couple folks have commented on.  It's also why I stand like Mary Poppins.  Ideally, I should have two different kinds of shoes, one for each foot, since they wear differently.  But I'm not going to do that.  I bought one pair.

Spring is a good time to read our treads and get some fresh ones.  I've got a conference-sized table up in the living room, covered with papers to file so I can do taxes.  Going through the past year's numbers is like counting miles, reading our treads.  Not a bad year -- could use a few more vacation and travel receipts, a few less medical bills, but otherwise, pretty OK.

So for the fresh start Spring calls us to, Z and I joined the Montgomery County Road Runners.  We signed ourselves up for the Beginning Women's Running program. By mid-summer we will run a 5K and get a T-shirt. Woo!

Foggy

I've been feeling a little blue and foggy.

Could be the underactive thyroid gland.  That's also why I have half the usual amount of hair, I am told.  But I have reached a certain age, met a new friend "Peri" who my doctor says will be with me for the next 15 years, and now I put stoppers on my half-full bottles of beer because a full one gives me night sweats. 
Red wine is right out.  Damn.

Oh, and Z is soon to turn 14.  I think it was the long weekend where she fretted over her birthday and we didn't go anywhere that brought in the fog.  Note to self:  Plan a life and do it!

I'm glad I don't live in Alaska with the dark winter.  For sure I'd need the treadmill.  That's what's keeping the remaining hairs in my head right now.  My sneakers are worn out, right through the foam.  I was wondering why my feet felt hot -- it was the friction with the treadmill, heat coming through my thinning shoes.

On the lighter side, E has requested a knitted hat.  First he wanted robots on it, but then later the choice was made for Space Invaders motifs.  Here's the chart I'm working from.

The gun turret at the bottom could also be mistaken for the Capitol, which is appropriate. 

Leaf prints, and other random arts by nature

The morning wake-up walk is absolutely necessary.

Before I go walking, I never think about how soothing nature is, or what discoveries I might make.  My mind is fixed on my tea, the warmth of being inside. 

Thankfully, I somehow do get myself outside, and then I give thanks, heartily, for the refreshment of it.

Water took many forms today; sometimes a river of stone, sometimes a ripple of reflection.

Where are the geese?  I haven't seen them this year.

Today was the day to capture the leaf prints.

I try to walk with my head up, but today, my eyes were to the sidewalk, where the goodies are.

They appear most often after the rain and mud have cemented them to the sidewalk. 

Eventually, homeowners with leaf blowers peel up the stuck leaves.

These patterns are temporary; the next rain will take them. 

That's what I told the kids at the bus stop, when they asked me why I was crouching and photographing the sidewalk. 

I hope they notice these things; I'm glad they were curious and asked.  They live rushed and densly-packed lives.  They get a lot of exposure to new ideas and activities, but I'm not sure how much growth can really happen when there isn't time to process one's experience and respond to it.

I'm thankful for a childhood of roaming through vacant lots, catching grasshoppers and examining weeds and crickets up close.  I have happy memories of floating on my face in a river, the sun warm on my back, and looking through clear goggles at the bright stones and baby fishes under the water.  Good stuff.

Climate change

Fall dropped upon us from above.  I think we'll get a colorful one, given all the recent rain.  As colorful as these stuffed peppers.

I'm not used to wearing long pants.  I found my socks.  The air conditioner doesn't come on anymore and I have a weird sluggish feeling...
I think I'm cold. 

Or caught a passing bug.  Ragweed.  Now I remember... this is the time of year that my head slips into a fog of Benedryl and sniffling nights. 

I'm learning to walk in my sleep.

Yoga for traveling beetles

This is Child's Pose, for stretching out the back after poses in which the back is compressed.

This is the Lotus Pose, for relaxing at the end of yoga practice.

Z brought this beetle to me, because it is beautiful.  It reminded me of the time when her Uncle E and Aunt K moved to North Carolina.  Uncle E would mail me "the bug of the month."

We're headed to Florida, where we expect to find many bugs at
Me-Mom and Pop-Pop's place.

Worlds combined

Recently Z brought home some "unfinished" school art.  She was supposed to paint a picture of her heritage.

For many of the kids at her diversely populated school, defining one's traditions and land of origin is easy.  Everyone is from somewhere, or has grandparents from the motherland living with them. 

For others, knowing what makes you who you are is harder; it's a moving target for those who summer with relatives overseas and expect to move to new countries every few years. 

What is your heritage is when you're of Western European descent, planted firmly in the USA for several generations, with family roots divided and scattered over the country?

I'm not sure Z really wanted to think about this question. 

Based on the expressions on the faces of these sheep, I'd say she was struggling with the idea, or at least with the assignment.

So instead of painting broadly, she had to come up with an image of what she is holding on to right now.

With memories of the Pacific Northwest, and recent visions of places like West Virginia and western Maryland, she came up with this conglomerate painting. 

If who we are and where we come from can be a tea kettle, a fir tree, and a Scrabble board, then it can also be a knitting needle, a rubber raft, a thumbprint cookie, or a mountain.

Trapped

Last night E and I concluded our Aliens movie marathon.  We concluded that nobody needs to see Aliens 3, and that the humor in Aliens is worth the constant screaming and shooting.  The first one is the best.

But somewhere between movies, before the pasta dinner with rhubarb pie and the friends having the cookie face race, I fiddled with a loose doorknob and unknowingly broke it.

You know how you clean house sometimes for guests, by throwing stuff in a room and shutting the door?  The usual bags of yarn in the kitchen were hauled upstairs, into the crafty-goodness-yarn-room with the broken doorknob.  Where it was stuck. 

All my YARN was TRAPPED. 

It was the scariest thing that I saw that night, that locked door.  Worse than drooling double-jawed beasties, dreams of monster pregnancies, or Sigourney Weaver running through fiery caverns with machine guns.

But about midnight, after screwdrivers, paperclips, the key, and finally a plastic card, I got that sucker open.

Discharging

My yoga class is the most wonderful thing.  First, it's free.  Second, I can do it at home.  Third, it works.  I feel physically wonderful afterward -- post-massage sort of feeling. 

Emotionally, the sensations vary.  Sometimes I feel a little high, or just tired.  Today, I felt incredibly sad.  It was so weird I had to stop and watch it (the yoga instructor is ever telling us to observe our sensations).  Just sad, sad, sad, as if I'd just watched the most emotional movie.

The instructor told me that such emotional leakage is known as "discharging."  To me, that's a textile artist's term -- when you "undye" the fabric with a chemical or a bleach, while clamping or tying up other parts, so the color is released from all but the confined areas.  Reverse tie-dye. 

My interpretation of this yoga/textile artist term is this:  Apparently we have mood chemicals stored up in funny places, and when you work those places, they get released.  If you happen to have a lot of stress, fear, happiness, out it comes.  Or grief.  Anger.  Joy. 

I told him I've never been the type to enjoy sad or disturbing movies.  I don't read gratuitously emotional books.  But then he said really it's just detox, and I wouldn't want all that stuff building up in there. 

The sadness I felt had no apparent cause.  Could just be the horrible traffic and freeway detour stress that nearly made me late for the class.  In any case, it's out.  I've detoxed.

Should I be happy about this?

Yes, Microwave S'mores are something to be happy about.  But I'm thinking of something else.

My cell phone disappeared, I think on the metro.  Someone sent two text messages from it to an unknown Beaverton, Oregon number before I managed to shut it down.  So if you call my cell phone, you'll hear a message about me not receiving calls.

So I'm free.  It feels sort of wonderful.  But also sort of sad -- I had to have my sim card remotely zapped so no one could continue to use my contacts list.  That means all those numbers are gone gone gone...

Memories in the mail

I was a sophomore in college when my parents divorced, and my belongings went hither and yon.  I was a space cadet, didn't know what things I'd left where, and didn't have the stomach to ask at the time.

In a recent cleaning spree my father found some things in his attic and shipped them to me.  First I got a box with some art class pottery and my graduation tassel.  Then came a big heavy box full of photo albums.  

I knew the movers had lost some of our albums, but I never realized that some of them had never made their way to the move!  What a  joy to see pictures of the college dorm room, high school friends (here, a Polaroid scavenger hunt in which we spotted skater kids, and my hair is styled like Deb's from Napoleon Dynamite, oh dear). 

I even found E's daily schedule with humorous icons. 

Photos and memory books, like blogs, are great for making one's past look like a happy one.  They make one appear cooler, saner, more confident than one ever felt at the time.

For me, that's a gift!

Shopper's bulimia

In the last month I've returned three pairs of boots I purchased online.  When a good sales comes up, I look at boots, I click exactly the specifications I need for my big weird feet, and I order two pair while they are all still on sale.  Then I wait.

Waiting for boots is fun.  Opening and trying them on is fun.  But when none feel good or fit right, I send them all back.  Sending them back is ridiculously easy.

So it becomes sort of a game... Let's hit a sale and see how many boots can arrive on our doorstep!  Never leave the house, try on a really expensive pair of footwear and only pay the shipping (and only one way)!  I haven't spent much money and I've had a good time waiting for a package.  Is it an illness?

No, really I just want the boots.  I've wanted comfortable knee-high boots for years!  And I want to pay a reasonable price for them.  Cheap maybe.

Box number four is on its way.  This one better be good.

Psycho sock surgery

Some time ago I dropped out of my book club, on the grounds that the books were too grisly for me.

How then to justify this: I've joined a Ravelry group of knitters who are reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.  At the same time, we are combining sock yarn left over from other projects, and creating...

Frankensocks!

Some folks are going for the stitched-togther, bolts-on-the-neck sort of look.  I'm following the more alchemic theme and working a pattern called Chuncho (Peruvian for "forest dwellers") that is riddled with nature's critters.

That link above takes you to a sample of the socks made by fabulous knitter and Ravelry friend AR.  They are designed by RiotousAssembly, and you can order her pattern here if you have a Ravelry account.

The Policies of Z

This cartoon by Z would surely be of interest to the discussion group I'm co-leading on Sundays at church (this happens when you listen to NPR podcasts and talk to priests too much). 

The class is based on a Speaking of Faith broadcast, The Spirituality of Parenting.  We discuss how to encourage kids' innate sense of wonder, how to foster empathy, and how to supply the tools for kids to find their own path.  There are no answers, just sharing.  Nor is there any dogma or scripture, because I could never honestly teach that. 

(My spiritual tradition is my karmic inheritance.  It's imperfect but also rich with stories and themes that appeal to my inner English major, so I try to make the best of it.  Plus I really like old ladies and church is a great place to meet them.)

So, in the group, we discussed whether a child's moral sense is innate or learned.  Sometimes the natural spiritual order of a child is a little on the dark side (at least in "the younger years").

Loving all the little things

I don't know why exactly, but I'm in some sort of super happy place.  I'm just loving the little things. 

Seinfeld reruns and America's Test Kitchen in the evenings, E fixing and tweaking his new bike, thrift store shopping with Z where she found a gorgeous new skirt (tags still on) for less then $2.

Aunt B and Uncle P just landed in Prague, their new home, with baby O.  Now that's a big thing.

Growing things

What's to say? 
Z is over 5'3".  Her feet keep growing... had to buy new dress shoes last week.  The new ones I bought for the fall band concert won't fit for the spring one.

The grass is growing.  So's the laundry pile.  My sociability is growing.  I've been helping with the church rummage sale.  I can manage about three hours a day before I retreat.
E's love of his work is growing.  My ability to consider working again is but a sprout.  Something about being transplanted sort of wore me out.

Thanks to the treadmill, my lung capacity is growing.  My attitude is improving.  Nature's Prosac, E says.

So there is growth.  I can feel it. 
It's due.

Soylent Green is not essential for cultural literacy

I think E and I need to be made to write lines.  We messed up in the parental department of Disturbing Media Presentations.

We try to be culturally literate.  Netflix has brought us Citizen Kane, Fiddler on the Roof, Michael Jackson's This is It.  We've also seen numerous TV comedies and internet sensations, such as Doctor Horrible's Singalong Blog. 

Having recently seen Planet of the Apes, and finding it hilarious--finding Charlton Heston hilarious and a key inspiration for Captain Zap Brannigan of Futurama--we thought maybe Soylent Green would be just as fun.

It was not.  We have never put such awful things before our daughter's eyes, worse than the abattoirs of Food, Inc., as socially upsetting as Fantastic Planet, which I once thought was spacey and artistic.  That was before I'd been to the Holocaust museum.

What to do at 9:30 pm, when you've just shown your kid something horrid?  Quick, put on a comedy, burn out the brain cells and put them to bed.  Then in the morning we can discuss all the gritty details that were so troubling... how in the 70's people were exploring concepts like global warming and environmentalism, feminism, civil rights, and the memories of obscene acts of inhumanity.  Who could ever make light of these things?  OK, Mel Brooks can, but it will be a long time before I show Z The Producers.  If ever.

By the way, the green thing above is a sock experiment.  It looks modular, but it's all one continuous thread.  The yarn is by Three Irish Girls.

Book Club

Book club met last night.  I had read the book.  Mostly, I liked it.  Fellow members are neighbors, most within a block away.  Rowhouses make for densely-populated living, so there are lots of neighbors to meet.

I like meeting my neighbors.  Recently I've encountered a few in the grocery store, or when I'm out walking.  We've been here nearly three years, so such things can happen.  There are people to invite over when life is lonely, and that feels good.

No brains at all today

I have days when I should not get behind the wheel of a car.  Brain is lulled by the sunshine coming in, and I get honked at. 

It's hard to care, it's so lovely outside.  After a sudden summer, we are back to spring, 70 degrees.

I am in a fog.  I will make soup from whatever ingredients are in the house, and possibly take a nap on the couch.

Think good thoughts, hear good music

When I knit I sometimes listen to audio books.  If I can get it from the library, I open the physical book as well and  turn the pages as the narrator reads aloud.

The next time I pick up my knitting, I hear the narrator's voice, remember the story, return to the mood it gave me.  The same thing happens with music or conversations. 

I should be more careful about that.  For this particular sock, I'm listening to my book club assignment, People of the Book.  It includes many beautiful passages about the making of ancient texts and the lives of courageous people, but also some disturbing scenes.  All them are stuck in this sock.

That must be the essence of the prayer shawl.  Think kind and compassionate thoughts, and they get woven into the artwork being made.  I'm not sure whether that benefits the creator or the recipient.  For myself, I hope the recipients of my crafts can't hear everything that was going on my head while I was working.

Connecting

I thought it was over for a season, but the etsy shop woke up and I've met some interesting people. 

I got to knit coordinating pairs of thumbless mitts for someone who wanted to grab any two and have them go together (or else anticipates losing some?).  Another for a mom whose daughter was sleeping in her first pair so thought she needed a backup.  Sweet.

Etsy (an online crafter's bazaar) and Ravelry (social networking for knitters) have caused me to communicate with interesting strangers.  Normally I wouldn't do this because online communication is not my favorite, but somehow when we start seeing each others' work and feeling a connection, I don't mind chatting back and forth a little bit. 

Ready to receive

"This last year has been good to us
The one before was a little rough
The one before that was an
    awful thing
What will the new year bring?"

Dear Sister B sent me a CD she burned from vinyl Christmas music our family used to listen to in the 70's.  What a gift from the past!  I can't remember the country artist who sang this one, but I have been giggling when I hear it.

This year I don't feel like making resolutions or goals.  Though we made our choices and like the choices we made, somehow the last few years feel like something that happened to us.  We have rolled with it, coped, adapted, explored, discovered and grown.

So I don't feel I have to give anything extra to 2010.  2010 owes us!  (OK, I'm joking, 2009 was good to us.)  But I feel like I'm just getting my head back up, so my resolution is to receive, give thanks, and grab the goodies that come along.  What will the new year bring?

Headless... like the chicken or the Silent Woman?

The wind is whipping about wonderfully.  I wish Z didn't have trombone lessons today -- we should be flying her kite.

Today I sent off some patterns and knitting to publishers.  Deadline came early, so there was a brief frenzy but all is well--being bumped up is better than being bumped back.  That happened with another pattern, so it's coming out next season (I hope).  I'll reveal where they all can be seen when they are actually out for all to see.

Meanwhile, it's just me and the house... I still haven't gotten a life this year yet, beyond the knitting frenzy.  I have some ginger; I will invite a neighbor over for tea I think.

Get it together

September is a glorious month.

For Z, there's a lot of work to do.  Trombone lessons, school, homework, preparing for craft sales.

For me, it's a whack in the side of the head.  Whirling goals and projects need to be written down, checked off.  If I don't, I will knit all day and get stupider.  Not that knitting makes one stupid--avoiding life management is what dulls my brain.  Head in the sand and all that.

Once I had a routine, a schedule, a system of volunteer work, housework, craft work and parenting.  Time to get it back together.

It's a swingin' planet

Here's some future pesto and pizza sauce.

Our last dinner weekend with friends who are moving away.  Moving to another country entirely.  The Five J's will take their early retirement and head back to the homestead.  We've seen it on Google Earth, and I might like to hitch a ride with them.  It looks relaxed and pleasant.

And we'll soon head out to Oregon again for a visit.  It feels like we've been out of country ourselves for a while.  When we look at our two homes on Google Earth, the blue planet swings from side to side.

At the elementary volunteer tea I got flowers and gift cards, and jokes about where I'll volunteer next.  In the mail we received Z's middle school class schedule, which was heart-stopping. 

I can't picture myself with the "pubes" in middle school, but then again, I did a decent job helping self-conscious 5th graders record their voice presentations in the computer lab today.  Maybe this is all just a matter of exposure.  Maybe I'll get used to seeing half-formed teenie-bopper types and it will feel normal... I tell myself that it is good to be in the loop and informed, but there may be some things I really don't need to know... or want to relive.

Were-What?

Last night we popped in a Futurama DVD and watched the episode where the robot, Bender, gets infected with the WereCar virus.  At night he'd turn into an automobile and careen through the streets running people down.  He'd wake up in a pool of transmission fluid with fuzzy dice lodged in his metal chest cavity.

This got me thinking: What kind of were-thing would I be?  What are my primal urges commanding me to do?  Were-viruses always dump a whole lot of crazy energy into a person who is otherwise mild: there are were-wolves, there's Dr. Jekyl & Mr. Hyde, and the Bacchai. 

For those who've forgotten their Greek mythology, the Bacchai were the wohippers of Bacchus, god of wine.  The women who were affected by Bacchus would be normal by day, but would sneak out into the hills at night to cavort under the stars, and to devour men and cattle.

I don't think my primal urges go anywhere near that direction.  Maybe I could do the cavorting.  Definitely I could do the wine.  Maybe I need to be infected with some sort of were-virus and find out... What would it make me do?

I can do this

I can knit without fixation.  See?  Z's sock.  I ripped it out three times when I was in frenzy mode and this is the foot and now I'm sticking with it.  No complicated spots anymore.  Because now I'm in Reality mode.  Reality is where I bake bread and do laundry, shop, cook, clean, and get things done.  Whee... reality...

Attachment

Last weekend we saw Peter Pan at the ballet.  It was a kidly matinee, free tickets from friends who were subscribers but could not attend.

Peter Pan had legs like tree trunks and looked more like the Jolly Green Giant.  He did not belong in Wendy's bedroom.

But the drive to the Kennedy Center was where I had deep thoughts.  The landscape was starting to look familiar, and that gave me comfort.  It occurred to me that if I hadn't lived in the Pacific Northwest most of my life, I'd never expect to need things to look familiar.  E moved all over as a kid so he doesn't have that expectation.  For the most part, things just are what they are, pleasant or unpleasant.  Like anybody on vacation who observes, "These are nifty trees."  Or  maybe he is just more of a natural zen master than I am.  I shall watch and learn.

Words to think on

Z's quote from yesterday: 
"I miss when Grammie would wrap me in a blanket and put me in front of the TV with snacks.  I miss being a human burrito."

Don't we all wish to be a human burrito?

Another useful expression I heard yesterday: 
"Pageant of the trans-mundane... freak show." 
Yeah.  Pageant.  Think about that.

When the bottom drops out of the brain box...

..all the stuff inside falls on the floor in a heap.

My brain is mostly back.  The body ache is working its way from shoulders to knees, so it will complete its course soon.

There are five official Hindrences to Enlightenment, but the one I remember most is Sloth and Torpor.  That's the vortex I'm swimming against today.  What to do next in order to not slide into sluggishness.

My portion of the school yearbook is done.  My cold is done (knock on wood).  For three Tuesdays I've assisted in a particularly rowdy class of of first grade art students, discovering what an apron is for.  That's one volunteer activity I won't continue, because it requires special multi-attention faculties and niceness.

So now what.  I have miscellaneous swirling intentions but no definite goals or schedule.  And E had to go and buy my favorite chocolate mini-eggs... time to sit down and make lists.

Intentional loafing

Z has finished her classroom valentines.  Hershey bars wrapped in little notes. 

I haven't done any valentines of my own.  Right now I'm in a period of loafing and chocolate consumption that precedes houseguests.  I'm even listening to the book Chocolat on CD.  My beloved Bro and oldest nephew will arrive on Presidents Day for fun in the District.

I hope the weather holds -- today was coatless walking and windows open.  E strolled along the Potomac, getting over his cold and night shift lag.  Cross your fingers -- it may have been his last night shift, as a day job hopefully comes soon.

Grrrr...

I have a rant that sounds like it's about the school system, but it's really about this square-headed region we live in.  The schools are doing all they can and must.

Last night I went to a parent orientation night for middle school.  The hour-long presentation consisted of boring PowerPoint slides and printouts identical to what I had already read on the school's web site.  (Creative we aren't.)  The topic was curriculum and the details of the various tracks they stick your kid in.  I know the teachers freak out when someone says the word "track," but that's what they are.

Here's the upshot: My daughter will get no art.  If she does not take band (held every day) she is put into either a never-before-taught "literacy through film" class, or the "arts rotation" which is a crap shoot.  The arts rotation is compiled from the leftover kids (the word "leftover" was actually used) who didn't sign up for the other two electives.  In this rotation you cannot choose whether your kid will be stuck in computers, home ec, "languages of the world," or any other afterthought class they invent.  Art is a nine-week passing figment of the arts rotation; maybe you'll get it, maybe not.  Incidentally, PE is every day, required, presumably because sports are all-important.

I had a few words for with the administrator.  He explained the highly competitive nature of music around here; parents demand it.  They apparently think art is time wasted -- he said something about "fiddling with papier mache."  Ouch. 

I asked why there wasn't more value placed on art.  He said art was in everything they did -- music is art, computers are art, film is art, web pages are art.  Then he said that I was giving him a very scary look (there we go again, Snake Eyes).  I said something like, "I've noticed that in this region, visual art is excluded."  He agreed.  He said it wasn't right, but that's how the community sees it. 

Then he suggested I send Z to the arts magnet high school.  It's called Einstein.  Z noticed something not quite right about that.

I tell ya, it's squaresville, daddy-o.  This whole place has its head in a box.

Looking long and close... sometimes too long

I was at the school today with my Yearbook Photographer hat on, catching the broadcasting crew, some beginning violinists, and some snowflakes.

Here's a funny discovery from this yearbook picture-taking: I enjoy taking pictures of people I don't know, even though I fear having contact with them. 

I have terrible social skills when it comes to looking at people.  I look too long, I make the wrong expressions ("Snake Eyes" was the name I was given by several people growing up), and I don't know when not to look. 

Just today in the office of the school, I found myself overtly eavesdropping and staring at two secretaries discussing their allergies.  One turned to me with an irritated grin and brightly said, "Hello there.  May I help you?"  Oops.  What could I say?  I said, "I'm sorry.  I'm apparently completely listening in on your interesting conversation.  I have allergies too."  And then I had to leave.  Oy.  How old am I?  Apparently I am four.

If you have a camera, however, you can stare as long as you like.  Everyone puts their minds on themselves and their own appearance, instead of on you and why you're looking at them funny.  That is a comfort to someone who needs a little time to figure out what the right thing to do or say is.  And better yet, to never have to do or say it--just snap the picture.

Birthdays can be stressful

Z's birthday is approaching, and we're wondering how to celebrate it. 

We will most likely go to the snow, since it hasn't come to us.  We have some friends in the District who want to go tubing. 

Getting out of town eliminates  a number of complicated social issues. 

These doodles make me wonder if Z is processing the conundrum of how to achieve harmony with friends, and how to mark the day.

Snowed in... but no snow

Will this holiday break never end?  E is working 12 hour night shifts, Z's friends are still on vacation, and here we are, playing Scrabble and watching Bob Ross on video (thanks, S & H for mailing that to us -- who knew it would be so seriously engaging to our bored little brains).

So Z and I have also been artistic.  This is an unfinished drawing... Z debates what goes behind the trees.  To be true to the neighborhood environment of her memory, a street would have to be up there behind the tree.  But that would cast darkness over the top of a summer canvas... so it sits waiting for further inspiration.

Resolve and Realism

Today I'm pondering what I want for the new year. 

I want to see my west coast family more, earn some money, write and submit some knitting patterns for publishing, and participate in a fiber guild.  I want to give Z some chances to be an entrepreneur and to continue to publish.  For E, I want a meeting with a financial adviser, to get our future better planned, and to feel secure and on the way to a solid future.

I guess that's enough for a year.  Probably in the next two minutes I'll completely change my list.

Resolutions.  They don't always work for us non-linear people.  I don't stick to them very well unless they just happen... sometimes the intentional resolution works against the subconscious change that happens when it needs to. 

That look

Once a tiny baby got this look.  She was propped up on the couch munching a pacifier, staring at the fingers she could not yet put to use.  It's embarrassing how long it took me to discern the face of sleepy concentration.  The instincts of motherhood eluded me.

Now I know: this is the face of a girl who needs to cuddle up with a heating pad and get some sleep.

Instead she draws cartoons and sniffles until the pile of used tissues on the table becomes a small mountain, and I send her to the couch to rest.

Ache

It's the day of taking Aunt B to the airport.  I got there and back without getting lost this time.

Z went over to a friend's house, E is sleeping, and I'm supposed to be going to the library to pick up my holds.  Instead I'm staring like a zombie into the computer screen, nursing my I-miss-my-sister ache.

It's always like this when someone leaves, but when that someone is a person you can walk around in your jammies with, hug and drink and talk for hours with, it is a big ache.

I will not frenzy.

E warned Z yesterday that Mother might Frenzy on Sunday.

It's mostly about cleaning.  Pete has bladder crystals and continues to create problems occasionally, so the environment is not favorable for Aunt B, who is alergic to cats and who arrives tomorrow.

Mother was in a Frenzy of vacuuming all things, and that's when the toilet tank broke and drained onto the floor, and the water valve didn't function to shut off the water to the tank, and there was some panic.

The panic is over.  Since then I've been informed, gently, that my states of frenzy are not beneficial to others.  That while I seem to gain momentum from the energy of my self-induced mayhem, others are majorly disturbed by the pace, the noise and the panic, even as they try to ease the frenzy by being useful.

Therefore one of my New Year's resolutions comes early: I will not frenzy.  I will do my crazy work when others are not around, and with grace.  If others wish to participate, they will be given clear instructions.  I will take a zen approach to this cleaning thing; I will summon energy from my True Source, and not from the cannibalistic surge that is the Frenzy.

You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll delete the emails...

Last night was better, thanks to Benedryl.  Nine hours of sleep and I'm laughing at myself. 

Yesterday I sent out emails with links to mental health podcasts.  I said, "This made me cry!"  Everything made me cry.  Standing in the school book fair reading the blurbs on the backs of the young adult novels made me cry.  Seeing this scarecrow made me cry. 

But after a good night's sleep and a walk, all is right with the world.  I got a reference for a good vet for Pete.  He has an appointment for tomorrow.

p.s.  note the restroom facility that is not present in this photo... not anymore, that is.   

It's either personal accountability or a ride on the yellow submarine

Z was doodling instead of knitting at knit group last night.  Click to enlarge.

I have projected extended significance onto them, in light of my own sense of being unfinished.  Who is that warbly mess asking, "Why am I the only me?"  I marvel at the empowered critter saying, "Just get your own pen! Finish yourself!"  That one's certainly not playing the victim.  Most compelling to me are the little critters below who have decided just to be odd and "live life loose." 

Maybe I'll get one of those REI t-shirts that reminds us that not all who wander are lost.  It's time to reread my book of Lao Tzu parables, "Wandering on the Way."

The results are in, and all I see is roving

Last night I got sleep.  The previous night E and I stayed up late watcing the election results.  It's exciting that Z was old enough to watch and understand it all (although explaining the electoral college is a difficult task).  She saw parts of the debates, read the kids' section in the Washington Post, and watched enough of the election results to get the idea before we sent her to bed.  We had family discussions.  She went to the polls with me and was young enough to be allowed to see the screen and watch me vote.  She'll remember this election.

It's been good walking weather.  The temperature is perfect and the trees are gorgeous. 

When I see fall leaves, I think, "I want some socks in these colors."  All I see is roving for spinning, and the itch to spin has been tickling me for several months now.  Yesterday I spun a cotton ball and knitted it into a square swatch, 2 x 2 inches. 

My secret wool stash is brimming with colors... But I must wait... must finish projects started, must finish contest entries and bazaar stock...

Speaking of All Saints Sunday...

Today I learned that my friend Phyllis died this weekend.  She was in her late 80's, and went to our church.

It's not a surprise and her passing was peaceful.  She was ready and all was in order.  No suffering, no loss of her mental or physical faculties, other than her heart condition.  So I'm happy for her.

Having no living grandparents, I've found myself gravitating toward wise and kind elderly women, and she was one.  In the last four years before we moved, she and I, and our friend of her age, C, would gather weekly for meditation and discussion.  What had started as my teaching a basic class at our church had turned into several years of sitting and talking together.

I'd tell E that I was off to visit with my "old ladies," and one could have thought I was being charitable.  Really, though, she and C were looking after me.  She had gifts for Z, always a tasty treat and a hot cup of tea.  She was active, frank, strong and sweet.  After we moved, she'd call me.  I'll miss her.

Feed the Hungry Ghosts

You've been wondering what to do with all that candy (besides sort it).  Well, you have to eat it.  It's for the good of the universe.

This is the time of year when North American Zen Buddhists celebrate Segaki, the Feeding of the Hungry Ghosts.  That link takes you to the Berkley Zen Center's site, where they have a link to a wonderful article on page 5 of their newsletter, entitled "On Segaki," here.

Hungry ghosts are spirits whose past misdeeds or unfinished business torment them.  They are filled with hunger but their throats are too narrow for swallowing. These spirits are often seen as a metaphor for folks battling addiction, depression, childhood trauma, sudden loss of a family member, etc.  Really, all of us are at times, "hungry ghosts."

Out of compassion, zen buddhists lure them to the altar with food.  The altar is piled high with candy and delicious food at this time, and some is thrown out the front door to draw them in.  Because this celebration so resembles Halloween, the two holidays sort of mix together here in the US.  It also blends with All Souls Day, as the spirits of the dead are honored and prayed for; bits of paper on which are written sins or unifinished business are burned in order to cleanse karma and free the spirits (and the living) from the realm in which they are trapped.

I suppose a few aged Catholics could identify with parts of that ceremony... actually there are a lot of religions in which folks are praying or eating in order to help their deceased relatives (and living ones as well) ascend to a higher plane of existence.

So eat up.  It's for the good of all.

Another Roz Chastian moment

This was the sort of moment, walking to school all together as a loving family, that we would have liked to read in a Roz Chast cartoon.

Z:  Can you kill someone if you hit them between the eyes?

E:  You mean if you just poke them?

Z:  No.  If you hit them.

E:  With a baseball bat maybe.  But you'd have to hit them very hard.

Z:  Oh.  But it has to be right between the eyes?

E:  Well, it could be anywhere on their head.

Z:  But does something special happen when you hit them right between the eyes?

E:  Uh...no.  Except that it would mean you had very good aim.

Z:  OK.

Call me when I'm congested

These things happen only when one's head and sinuses are totally clogged: I get called by a potential employer and suddenly have to sound intelligent.  I couldn't even figure out the gas pump today, much less make sense to a stranger on the telephone.

The very nice caller was practically apologetic in his suggestion that I might be interested in a part time job at the community college.  Low pay, no benefits, temp work, etc.  I heard all that, but also heard flexible schedule, very little meet-the-public time, document formatting work without the fast pace of so many DC offices.  It's also a pleasant walk from Z's school.

So even though he tried to scare me away with the pittance of pay and the menial student-employee variety of work, I would not say no.  I have my token interview lined up but expect they will give the job to a student, as perhaps they should.  It's OK.  I need interview practice.

Working...?

Should I really take a job that someone else needs more, as the market falls and the sky turns gray?  Not that anyone is offering.

I have signed myself up to help with the running club at school.  I am now there nearly ten hours per week.  It seems so much easier, so much more useful, to be volunteering.  Perhaps that is what I am supposed to be doing...

Play play play until comes a rainy day

I still don't have a job, although my work around here-- especially the food preparation-- is appreciated.  Thank goodness E has one, and does well at it.  These are funny times.

I am still looking, but I am picky... and pokey, like the distracted little puppy (who really should not have been so maligned).  I'm also volunteering a lot at the school.  It's directory time, and I get to play with words and formatting.