Canned Sanity

Episode 58: Reflections of the Dance Floor

2011-03-22T15:03:00.002-05:00

No particular event...rather I've lived this multiple times.

Even if I close my eyes I still see all the bright lights and flashing colors. My whole body is absorbed into the pulsing rhythm but for a few seconds I'm reliant on sensation.

Humans don't have the senses some animals do, cats for example, but I can feel the people around me. The sweat, body heat, and the movement of the air as people move closer, winding together and splitting apart. There's a girl with her back to me just a few inches away, her hair brushes me as she turns. Her gentle touch on my arm forces my eyes open and my head whips around.

Eye contact. It's rare. Generally I'm looking distractedly beyond my partner or at a body rather than a face. There's a need to follow physical cues that eyes just won't give. Sometimes, with a good partner who is clear, or who one knows well—one can stare up into their eyes and let things proceed as they will. Usually though, I have to make sure my shoes aren't getting stomped on.

But now, my eyes lock with this stranger and register the call for help. It's a subtle cue, for all it is obvious to me. Her eyes widen and her head jerks infinitesimally towards the man behind her. A sardonic smile flits briefly across my face as I notice the overeager aggression in his dancing.

There's no time for a verbal or physical cue to the other people near me--including the man I'm ostensibly dancing with—in times like this it's intervene first, answer questions later. He's got an arm around her waist and while she's following him, it won't take much to break his lead. Time for me to move in.

I grab her arm, pulling her forward and right up against me. She's eager to follow, even to a strange girl several inches shorter than she is and no definitive protection from the creep she's getting away from. We're both banking on the potential that guys like to watch women dance together but not indefinitely. Immediately we turn so our sides face her former dance partner—he's now faced with two shoulders that aren't attached to the same body. And those shoulders have arms and long, fast moving, well manicured nails. This is a little harder to grind to than a single front or back.

Still moving quickly to try and prevent any recurrence of the pairing, I throw my own head in his direction, allowing my hair to snap out. It's a cheap trick but people tend to stay out of the way of long ponytails flying and it gives me a second to find the shirt of my most recent partner. Ah, there—vision blurs up to make eye contact even as I'm already reaching for him.

It's the best that can be hoped for—he's not oblivious to what I've just done and why and realizes he was not the issue. Having comprehended all of that, it's not hard to insert him in between us, even as we continue a circular dance step.

Now my back is to the creep and I'm full flush against my former partner, looking over his shoulder to the other girl. She and I effectively sandwich my partner for a few seconds and then –then she's three feet away, headed for the bar and a drink.

My partner hasn't let go of me and I won't move away from him—which is good because the other guy is now in search of a new target. But I will close my eyes and listen to the music, now twenty-five seconds further into the song.

Episode 57: Strike a Pose

2011-03-14T12:00:00.000-05:00

I'm working with a new photographer. Well, he's not new, but working with him is for me.

It had been a couple of years since I'd done anything like a formal shoot and to describe myself as nervous would be to put it mildly. I didn't expect it to go badly--I photograph well and I take direction--but would it be what he wanted, would we be able to get it to work?

I ended up first in the dress I wore for my senior recital, the floor length silver number that makes only a token spaghetti string of elastic towards covering my back. It's a different version of sexy--one that doesn't call for too much bosom or legs. Which was the near opposite of the other outfit for the shoot. Do you remember that night you and I went out in the City with some of the girlz and ended up controlling a not-very-big-dance floor for a few hours? The night I'd figured out that I could do the entire dance break from Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied." while in 4" heels? I'd been wearing a black tunic style shirt and jeans. Rather than going tunic-top, we opted to pull the hemline down a little more and skip the pants for the shoot--in essence what I see most girls at clubs wearing these days. Also, I was wearing the shoes from your wedding. My make up was simple, scrounged from my different bathroom drawers and shoved together at the last minute. Once I have a day or two that doesn't involve running hither and yon, the goal is to get over to Sephora and get a new foundation and some blush. I don't wear either much--preferring a sheer creme to powder, a bit of eyeliner and eye shadow and calling it a day.

The worst of it was that my hair had decided it wasn't cooperating. I'd done everything I knew how to get it to work with me, but the latest reformulation of Pantene* has been turning my hair slowly to straw and that night it had just given up the ghost. We left it pinned up in a bun, only eventually pulling it to a pony tail that looks a lot better in pictures that I felt it looked in real life. I've switched to Aussie for now and it's already looking much better.

And for three hours we worked. Apparently he took over 500 pictures, which surprised me. I had estimated more in the 200-300 range. It doesn't seem like a particularly tiring task. Stand, turn, smile, look up, look down, cheat left, turn your head, look at the camera, pull your right shoulder--no, sorry,--your left shoulder, tighten your back. It was the end of an already long day though and by the time we finished, I was wiped.

Last night I finally got to see the first round cut and discuss a few things. He somewhat prefers the left side of my face, though he's not totally locked in on that statement. There were a few pictures that really popped and a few that I hope never see the light of anything other than his computer screen. We quibbled over whether or not seeing the thigh line on hosiery was sexy.

You could see the exhaustion in my face in some of the pictures. Not many, but occasionally when I wasn't posing or attempting to infuse my face with any particular emotion, tired took over and my eyes went bleak. Those shots bothered me--though they're probably some of the most realistic. It is hard to not want to look one's best before the lens and best rarely equals blank exhaustion.

And, by the time we'd finished chatting, we'd set up two more shoots. So I think we can say this has been successful. Now if we can just find a time to shoot when I don't have to get up the next day...

*So, part of moving back to a major city means that when I start griping about things like my shampoo, a friend of mine will chirp up and say that they know someone in that lab. We found out that there were a lot of unnecessary chemicals in Pantene and they've actually stripped the product down. Unfortunately though, this makes it useless to me. 14ish years of loyalty--down the drain.

Episode 56: A Matter of Time

2011-02-11T13:04:00.000-06:00

I unsuccessfully attempted to shake loose one of the boys I have been dating. I made the mistake of telling him the truth: it's a time issue.

As we've chatted about, I have three pressing time sucks in my life at present:

Work (including freelance)
Friends
Dating

Work is not really optional. And for the for most part I don't resent the time it takes. There will be times that I will, but for right now it's still a lot of learning, getting up to speed and balancing what I will and won't take home. My freelance work hasn't been too crazy for the past few months, for which I'm very grateful. That too is going to change in a couple of months pending a client's anticipated funding. I'm excited and hoping to put a big dent in the student loans and save up for a newer car. Also, I just heard that one of my clients that I've been begging to migrate has started training on their new system. I'm so happy for them--it's definitely time, even if it means I lose them as a client.

Friends are not something I'm willing to give up. I spent too long isolated, too far from all of you. Granted, you're still a bit of a plane ride, but now it's two and a half hours. Not an eight hour day of transit. In theory I could leave after work on Friday, catch the last flight and be there in time to still go out in the city. My friends are smart interesting people. We wouldn't be friends at this late of date if we weren't. So I want to spend time with them. I want to arrange gatherings of them and see what think tank type things spill out of us.

And then there is dating. Culturally I'm supposed to be doing it. I don't have anything particularly against it. But it takes time.

I know I probably went about it the wrong way, flinging myself back into the dating scene and spreading myself a little too thin over the month of January. If it meant that my SAD was under control, I was all for it. But now I find myself resenting the time it takes. These are not friends with whom I can meet for an hour and a cup of coffee and move on to the next thing. These are not people willing to wander around Home Depot with me for hours as I discuss the meaning of life and which entryway carpeting I want and how choosing a particular shade of brown will influence everything in my life and apartment.

Dating means running home from work, changing clothes, reapplying makeup, and abandoning my cat for four hours of awkward conversation. Dating is allowing a man to talk about himself for several hours and then finding out that he thinks you two have bonded because you're acting as his own personal therapist for the evening. Dating is realizing that during that goodnight kiss, you were planning a grocery list for next week and wondering if you'll be absolutely useless at work the next day if you go to the 24 hr laundromat as soon as you get home.

And so comes the resentment of realizing that I've given up a quiet evening that I really needed to sit in a crowded restaurant wondering if he's really that oblivious.

On a late phone chat with a friend we talked about what amount of time I was willing to put into things and the obvious split. I am perfectly happy to drop my to do lists in the interest of a late night drink, an unexpected dinner invitation, a crisis etc. but that I have trouble allocating time for dating. Maybe it's the guys I've met so far? Maybe it's just me?

However, in the interest of sanity and figuring out how not to resent the time and effort, I will pull back. I'm sure there are decent guys out there with whom I might bond but so far I haven't found one where an invitation for something beyond the first date hasn't sparked a twinge of resignation. One should not go into a second date because of obligation and with a garnish of slight frustration. Such is to say I am entirely abandoning dating, but the selectivity parameters are getting more restrictive.

Episode 55: In Which There is Hair Drama....

2010-12-08T11:19:00.000-06:00

They've changed Pantene and I'm not happy about it.

I knew they were redoing the formula again. I'd seen some television ads and they'd changed the labels on the bottles for the umpteenth time since I began. I don't believe in running out of shampoo and conditioner ever though, so I had a pretty decent sized stash of "old formula" that I was using up prior to the move.

Only, now I've run out and pulled out the new bottle of conditioner. Okay, I didn't actually run out, but I switched to the stock of new formula. Running out would have just meant a very late night run up to the 24 hour Walgreens. Either way, the result would have been the same.

I lathered, I rinsed, I reached for the conditioner. I squeezed the bottle and immediately I noticed something.

It smelled wrong.

I've been using Pantene since I was a junior in high school and figured out that it's conditioners made my waist length hair manageable. Over college, grad school, and beyond, I've found many many other women often with shoulder-length or longer hair who use Pantene. It's a sisterhood of sorts, and it was one you could identify by scent. I have, on occasion, walked past a girl and been able to tell that she used Pantene. When you smell it every day for years, it's a familiar combination of chemically scents. To me, it was one of the "clean" scents in my olfactory vocabulary.

Now...it smells sweeter. As though they decided that a shampoo and conditioner that many women use couldn't just smell clean but also had to have a sugary overtone to match with all of other super-sugary bath products that are thrown at us. I don't mind a sugar scrub or a sweeter body wash, but leave my shampoo out of it!!

Worst of all, I think the formula change might not be working with my hair. I'm not sure if it's just a winter and wind issue or a shampoo and conditioner issue. I might have to test a bottle of something else.

Call you from the shampoo aisle for suggestions...

Episode 54: Your Words are My Words

2010-11-29T17:56:00.000-06:00

I'm nearly relocated. And it's been forever. Sorry. :)

Isn't it interesting how other people's specific words creep into your vocabulary? I listen to myself and hear not only the books I've read but very specific words and phrases that just...aren't mine. It makes me wonder what other people have picked up from me.

From the Blonde: Dude. Everything and everyone became a dude.

From you: "Here's the Thing, the thing is this...." And here is how we began most of our explanatory sentences for two or three years....possibly eight or ten.

From E: "Seriously?" It was her catch-all on her podcast. It was a statement, a question, and admonition, a command. And I listened to enough of her episodes that it became mine as well.

From M: "Thank you so much." I think it's a Georgia thing. One doesn't just say thank you, one must pull out the whole phrase. And surprisingly I've found it pretty effective here in the colder northern regions.

I'll have to think what else has sneaked in when I wasn't listening. From whom have you borrowed?

Episode 53: You're Not Doing It Correctly

2010-09-06T17:21:00.000-05:00

It's Labor Day Monday and I've spent most of the last three days snoring, cat snuggling, or somewhere in the depths of a book. As usual, great plans were made for the weekend and while some things got done, others have not--at least not as yet. I'll be up til wee hours tonight, I always flip back to nocturnal at times like this and there are things I still want to do.

Over the past week I've watched as my professional colleagues have tackled, yet again, the illusion of job availability being promoted in various places, the reality of job cuts, the frustration from lack of clarity of what constitutes professional work, arguments of elitism, and other things that seem to cycle through our discussions on a regular basis. There's a lot of I-didn't-sign-up-for-this and get-over-yourself and polite name calling going on. I've mostly stayed out of the fray, partially to keep from throwing another keg of gasoline on the fire and partially because I'd like to see what other answers come out before I try and formulate something too haphazard.

Ultimately I keep hearing the refrain "If Ur not XYZ, Ur Doin' It Wrong." It's everywhere in my profession. This could be in reference to the fact that I'm not regularly getting recruited from my current position, that I'm not getting 100% return on applications sent out, I'm not getting calls from professional publishers every week, not leading all the top presentations...

It spills over into personal life, crafts and hobbies too. If I'm not dating three men at once or in a long term serious relationship with a man I well believe could be "the one," if I'm not churning out excessive amounts of sweaters and lace weekly, not spinning and crocheting and weaving in addition to my knitting obsession, if I'm not blogging every single event of my week and turning out a best selling memoir on moving from two major cities to a town of 50,000 and what it's like to feel utterly friendless in the depths of winter isolation.

We're so focused on the negative, it's exhausting. So ready to cut each other down, render efforts wrong or perceive lack of rockstardom as laziness. If only, everything seems to suggest, if only we would put ourselves out there a little more, submit three more applications, one more article idea, take on six more tasks. Then! Then we would be worthy of being called excellent, being called a rock star, one of the worthy. I haven't figured out what magic level one hits to reach that, but then, I've never been much of one for video games.

I suppose I'm just suffering from whiplash from the condescension and struggling to keep up. Attempting to put myself out there in the most positive of ways and having just enough success that I seem to be getting regularly smacked with the why-aren't-you-doing-abc stick.

No particular ending to this...just getting the stream of conscious out and wondering if perhaps by writing it down, I'll find a path out. In the interim, I've a to do list to tackle.

Back to the grind.

Episode 52: I Could Do This Better in Heels

2010-08-18T09:58:00.000-05:00

One of my well known shoe rules is that I have to be able to run in them. That includes the 4" heels because I'm going to have to run to keep up with you or one of the other 6'+ men in my life or make a mad dash for a train, which inevitably involves at least one flight of stairs. There's method in the ankle-strap madness.

Two days ago I sucked up my various favorite excuses, pulled on sneakers, yoga pants, and a top designated for exercise and actually hit the bike path/walking trail behind my house with the intention of starting Couch to 5K.

Twenty minutes, combination of walking and running. I let me new Fuze choose music based on the genre designation of "Pop" and headed down the trail.

Explain this to me. That trail is usually empty when I head out with a podcast for a walk. I can go all the way to the Mexican restaurant at the end and back and see a half dozen people total. Why on earth were there 4,000,000 people on the trail then when I went out to alternate between walking and running?

Anyway, while I excel at the 4" heel, wearing a skirt, half tipsy mad dash for the train, actually jogging in sneakers while trying to keep my headphones in--seriously I must have the wrong fit on those things--was less than incredible. But I did it. About 11 minutes down the trail (3.5 ish songs) I turned back. I probably didn't have enough jogging in my ratio of walk to jog for Ct5K but I jogged.

Then I came home and lay down on the floor with my feet over my head and griped at the cat about the back of my legs hurting. I need to do more yoga. I like the 20 minutes and done then though.

Now then, I have to do it again today. Wish me luck and fewer people on the walking trail.

Episode 51: Romantic Pragmatist

2010-08-12T20:42:00.000-05:00

As we sat talking, I realized for all the love stories I read, own, and share with friends, I'm rather pragmatic about this whole "falling in love and finding the one" thing. He seemed to absolutely believe and his passion, his description of hopeful searching, left me bemused, unsure of the appropriate witty comment.

It's not that I don't believe in romantic love, I do. I've met people who share it between them, some married, some not. I've also attended more than one wedding where it wasn't there. At times I've seen the bride or groom's affection and practicality and said "okay--they at least have that." Other times I'm standing in the back, watching the pictures being taken and wondering, worrying about divorce proceedings.You know that, we've talked about those weddings.

But I'm not sure I see it as something I expect for myself. It's not a feeling I'm actively seeking. I excel in my pickiness--call it shallow, call it self-protective behavior, call it what you will. There's a veneer and a shine on top of my feelings, for while it's easy--so easy--to love, to adore my friends, to draw so many close, it is nearly impossible to find someone s so special that I push the rest of the world away.

Of course, if this were a romance novel, the man who I'm supposed to fall madly into romantic love with would appear in 5...4...3..2.. and we'd need to have at least 150 pages of bickering while we attempt to suppress an undeniable attraction. Too Jane Austen?

I spoke to others about a friend's recent marriage. We're all optimistic about the relationship. And yet in the same breaths we debated not only who we felt was in a bad long term relationship, but whose divorce we might be quietly internally cheering. That number is low, few and far between of course, but the reality is we don't know what all happens behind closed doors, we're not in the relationships, and though the majority of my friends are marrying later, in their late twenties, and post-higher level education, and after living together, we'll still see disasters, messy breakups, midnight phone calls with people crashing on couches, hurt, destroyed friendships, all of that. No one really knows who, or when, or how, but we strive for our friends that it not be that way, that we see and know and love the exceptions--the ones with whom we may celebrate Golden Anniversaries.

But for me, for now, I think I'll hang out on the sidelines, keeping you and my other friends closest, the boys at arms reach, and the air mattress available for when somebody needs a place to crash and think.

Episode 50: Making Future Plans

2010-07-21T16:02:00.000-05:00

I've been casually browsing about for a lawyer recently. No, I'm not headed to court, but I was thinking again that end of life will come, no matter what else does (death and taxes, per Mr. Franklin). And while laws vary around the states, I do have some rather specific feelings about who should inherit from me, who should be making health decisions, what health decisions should be made, etc. So today I sat down with one of the local lawyers and he's drafting a will, medical power of attorney, and financial power of attorney. Not surprisingly, my mother's name features rather prominently on all of those documents.

What this initial process has shown me, somewhat to my surprise, is how little I think any of my stuff will matter when I've died. I have an apartment full of things that are part of my life, but when it gets down to bequeaths, the list is very short. This is not necessarily a bad thing but it does make one take a second look at the "stuff" in our lives. I need to make designations for the yarn stash*, the cat, and some jewelry, but that's about it. My collections of elephants and hedgehogs or the tea pots? Probably not something my siblings want. My books and clothes? Most likely being sold or donated. My excessive number of bottles of lotion from Bath and Bodyworks? I would hope no one keeps those unless they are really enamored of the scents.

I'm hoping to use this as a little motivation to clean out. If no one but me is going to want it, do I really need to keep it around gathering dust? And I'm not talking about things with sentimental value and strong memories attached. No, I'm talking about the lotion or stuff that strikes me as "immediate garage sale" candidates.

If you want one of the elephants or hedgehogs though, let me know.

*stop laughing and consider just how much yarn I've bought in the past three years. Uh huh....designating.

Episode 49: I'll be in My Happy Place...

2010-06-23T11:27:00.000-05:00

I can't tell what causes these cycles--snark and bitching will crop up all the time but it cycles. It's hit a particularly high/low point this week. Everyone seems to just need to walk away from the keyboard for a while.

I think that's one of the challenges of being as connected as we are. We're less inclined to take a step back, walk away from the situation, regroup, rethink--we react in real time and hurt feelings seem to be proliferating.

I have a bit of a break coming. By sheer force of conference attendance, I'll be offline except via my cell most of the day. And since I don't have a Droid or Iphone or HTC or..... I'll be just barely checking email and following just enough people on twitter that my phone will be constantly vibrating with updates. It's good to get away--from the every day, from the constant connection--even as I'll be surrounded by people of my profession.

We need more offline days. Sounds like it's time for me to fly home and see you so we can haul about and be crazy and offline together.

Episode 48: The Long Slog

2010-06-12T15:32:00.001-05:00

I'm one of "those" candidates. I work on my resume, I draft careful cover letters...and because I have the wonderful stain of children's work on my resume (which I can't remove without raising a lot of questions and eliminating most of my experience in this career field), I am continually passed over.

Three rejections recently. One was an internal hire, though they didn't bother to tell anyone that. No, they put out the job ad, pushed hard for applications, passed me through the layers, and then hired the person they already had inside.

The other two I didn't hear anything til it was a "you weren't selected." Which tells me nothing. No sense of why I wasn't considered even for an interview, other than the obvious that they are academic and I'm considered one of the lowly public types.

So it's back to hacking away at my resume, trying to figure out how to disguise what I do into an academically acceptable. And hearing from others that I should be spending all of my time volunteering to do what I'm trying to be paid to do. So wonderfully frustrating.

How are things in your job hunt?

Episode 47: Thursday Nights..

2010-06-10T16:38:00.000-05:00

It was the first night of the weekend. No never mind that half of us had class, or work, or whatever required us to get up the next day...

At times the routine was much the same: the same people, the same place--if the music was good and you felt safe and had fun, you went back. Other times it was just D and I, bouncing from club to club to club, pulling out fake names and cell numbers when strange boys asked, making a mad run for the parking lot at the end of the night, giggling all the way.

We always began fresh from a shower though by the end of the night we'd need to start all over again. Tight jeans, high heels, and whatever cute shirt came to hand. A dash of glitter sometimes and a little too much make up. Shiny hair and a ponytail holder around one wrist for the inevitable time our hair just got too hot to manage down.

There's an aroma about the clubs: sweat and alcohol, hormones and energy. It's a little too sweet and there's a tinge of cigarette smoke. Like the tooth-twinging antiseptic of the dentist's office or the acetone overtones of the nail salon, it just sets the scene, neither good nor bad--just how it is.

The music starts pounding the minute you walk in and your ears take only a minute to find the words beneath the rhythm and the noise. If you want to talk to someone, your best bet is to get really close and talk low--right into their ear. This, of course, means that to get your order across to the barely dressed girl behind the bar, you have to lean all the way over. As long as you're not leering, she doesn't take offense.

It's a culture of hand gestures, gentle touches, eye and body language. A single raised eyebrow can ask a ton of questions; a hand at your waist have myriad meanings. The tightly packed atmosphere means you're dodging feet and bodies--fingertips lightly splayed on a stranger's back as you slip behind--headed for the bar or the bathroom. And the ever-present watchfulness for bottles on the floor, spilled drinks, and friends or strangers who might need a rescuing hand.

The tension of the week slips away as the focus becomes the here, the now, the music and the rhythm. The auto-tuned pop beats and the girls in ridiculous outfits resonate while the stress, the responsibilities, and the frustrations ooze out.

Too late we left the clubs, faced with the prospect of getting home, getting another shower, ripping off the entry bracelet or scrubbing off the stamp, grabbing a couple hours of sleep before waking with sore feet and the remnants of glitter still strewn across our skin. We downed coffee and hoped to stay awake long enough to make it through the day, yawning through the slight hangover and smiling at the intensity and total lack of importance of what came before.

I miss Thursdays nights.

Episode 46: Doing the Beautifying Thing

2010-06-08T18:26:00.000-05:00

I'm headed to a national conference in a couple of weeks and the planning has begun, as well as the self-beautifying. Eyebrows got ripped out this morning; hair appointment (not with MY hairdresser *shudder*) next week. I have this thing about appearing in a national arena and not looking sloppy, unprofessional, etc. I don't like oversized t-shirts, Crocs, or anything that screams my current role. The goal is to be well dressed and just slightly ambiguous.

So that meant that I went clothes shopping. I popped into TJ Maxx in hopes of finding cute but reasonable blouses or tops--something appealing but still work appropriate or even just conference appropriate. I went in with an open mind, prepared to find things in unusual (for me) colors, interesting or funky prints, something out of norm...

And found mostly completely unwearable garments in the juniors area or things in the misses area that started only at a size 8 and went up. I know it's one of those search for treasure things, where you really have to be willing to dig through every rack. I dug, I considered, I took chances and I drug 9 items into the dressing room.

I ended up with a single blouse. It's not as dressy as I'd like, but it's decent and long and I can add jewelry that will make it a little dressier. Most of what I tried on was far too large, despite being "small" or a misses "extra-small"---because, of course, females built like me must be 13 and dressing only like their fav pop-teen-singers.We can't possibly be healthy adults with a desire to look professional. And don't get me started on the Facebook book group slamming skinny girls. I watched various acquaintances join and seriously thought about messaging them all and telling them that yes, I was taking their "liking" of that group personally and that I considered it a blatant insult--or commenting on the now married/in-a-serious-relationship guys walls about how they "used to not feel that way." But while it would have been amusing, I opted on the side of just rolling my eyes and moving on.

Leaving there, I thought perhaps I'd find something at Macys. Why I even bother looking is beyond me--Macy's in the Midwest rarely stocks clothing in my size. Add to that the general blah feeling I had about everything I was seeing this season--electric sorbet colors and continued 80s trends, and I was almost ready for a triple scoop of chocolate ice cream.

So, frustrated and irritated with the fashion world, I headed to the one store I know I can usually find something: Express. It's often more than I planned to spend but it fit and usually I can find a top or two that I like. Less luck with pants, but I'll forgive them. I tried on six items: a dress and five blouses. Two of the blouses were too small--which was actually nice. I ended up purchasing three blouses and then came home and ordered the dress online. I'd forgotten my coupon and wanted to use it. I have nowhere to wear the dress, it's totally inappropriate for work, and I'm not sure I have an appropriate bra for it; but it made me feel pretty and feminine and young. Not my usual squash-my-sexuality-into-a-box-and-hide-it-away because I work with children/the public and need to be as asexual as possible.

Now we just need to find somewhere for me to wear it with my soon to be freshly shorter hair. Don't worry, just getting it trimmed and the layers cleaned up.

Episode 45: Change in the Mirror

2010-05-18T19:51:00.000-05:00

She and I were getting ready to go out shopping. It wasn't a particularly meaningful exit from the apartment, rather mundane among the ones she and I have had. As I shrugged on my fleece I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

And realized a face slightly different from the one I was expecting was looking back at me. A check at my companion confirmed something I hadn't really considered--we no longer look like "kids" anymore. At least....not to me.

I know it's been something creeping up on us for a while now--a transition in attitude and appearance to adulthood. I've been resisting it a little and I can't say I'm quite ready to shake off all things we associate with youth, fun and frivolity, but it's changed.

Our concerns and conversations are changing, settling around a more mature round of questions and complaints that will --strangely--stay more consistent longer than our earlier woes: families aging and passing, the merits of home ownership, whether or not we choose to have children, the long term relationships the majority of people are going into, settling firmly into our careers or dropping everything and trying something else.

Whither our debates about Bath and Body Words and the appropriate scent for the upcoming season? (Personally, I'm going mostly citrus all the time--leaning heavily on the lemon from C.O. Bigelow--tart without being dishsoap.)

But when we went to the bar or shopping or to a meal together, here were not two very young women, finding their feet, scrambling to find their identity as independent creatures--here were established women, still young, but not with the freshest face of youth one sees on those a decade younger than ourselves--who just legally obtained that word "adult."

I knew it would happen--aging does whether we like it or not. It was just interesting to see myself change from a young post-college to a young mostly-stable adult, and realize that I project myself a different way than I did then to others.

Of course, this doesn't mean I'm stable, that we've all figured out what we want to be when we grow up or with whom we want to be or how we'll get there. The questions remain, but the face is a little different now.

Episode 44: Idea Implosion

2010-04-28T12:32:00.000-05:00

It's the challenges of telling people what you want that cause sleepless nights and endless lists and self debates that, of late, have led to throwing up my hands, turning on the TV and essentially plugging my fingers in my ears and yelling "La La La" in hopes my brain will shut off.

Only brains don't shut off...in the few minute drive to or from work, as I'm sorting through mindless emails, putting the 30234089234th DVD on order because one of my coworkers can't do her own data entry....

What do I want? More...that's the obvious answer, but it's not always so clear.

1) I want a different job in a different location. Alright, that's not new, but things have started to change with that. I told my two immediate supervisors--with great success! They're honestly supportive and that's amazing. It's unusual, for I think most managers aren't that way and most professions don't support someone coming to you and saying "I want more, I want to do other things..."--at least, not when those more and other things mean you'll lose your youngest professional staff member and won't be able to replace her indefinitely (hiring freeze).

2) I want to become better with HTML and CSS, and get my own website rolling. I have a good book on the former, I need to get ahold of the LisNews host for the latter...And I'm going to start doing the tutorials over at w3 schools--best free HTML/CSS stuff I've found out there so far. Maybe I can get that certification, that'd help.

3) I need to talk to more people. Talk talk talk talk talk... Several people have said they are happy to talk to me about what's going on, coming up, etc in academic libraries. I'd like to think I'm not entirely blind but it'd be good to get some ideas.

4) Turn off the TV, turn down the social networks, and just power through. I should get on a couple long plane flights--I get more done in airports/planes. Of course, I always take twice as much with me as I can actually get done...

That's just where the brain has started...but there's more...always more.

Episode 43: Tell Me What To Do...

2010-04-20T19:15:00.000-05:00

I've hit one of those stumbling blocks where it's just not clear what will come next in my life. Yes, I'm praying about it; family is praying about it; and I'm trying to be patient and wait.

Patience is not something I have lots of, though most people seem to think I do because I learned how to effectively self-entertain.

I've started talking to my various mentors and being really honest about my frustration. I know I have a good stable job and I'm aware that's a huge blessing. Truly. Got that. But I need to get out of children's before I am pigeonholed for the rest of my career into something I never set out to do. I worked with children because that's where my friends were and that's how I could put myself through graduate school (along with the grad assistant stipend).

Unfortunately there aren't any really good answers. The job market begins to open again but with that is a flood tide of well qualified applicants. And I'm not local to a lot of the places I'd be interested in working. Places seem painfully reluctant to take people who would have to move. The why of this is unclear but that's where it is...

On Friday I'm having my two supervisors over for wine and cat-snuggling. They both have asked to meet the cat and actually it'll be the first time for the visiting my home. Which explains why I was frantically polishing the silver. I need to do more normal things like vaccuum still but who wants to do that when I can dust all my knick knacks and completely reorganize the bookshelves!

I know, I know...

Anyway, the point is that I'm going to ask them for help. I'm going to point out where I'd like my career to go and see what we can do to make things go that way.

They're good women, strong supporters, and I think they'll understand. It's going to be a horribly difficult conversation, but it's time.

Wish me luck.

Episode 42: Decluttering

2010-04-19T13:01:00.000-05:00

For all intents and purposes, looking at the to do list I had for the weekend, I was incredibly unproductive. No jobs were applied to, I have several really good blogs posts in draft that weren't finished, you STILL haven't seen my vacation pictures.

I spent the weekend puttering around my apartment cleaning. I took four bags of stuff out to the garbage, another five are in my trunk for Goodwill. I have a bag of things designated as "need mending." I've switched over to mostly spring/summer wardrobe (the linen is still packed). I polished the silver.

Yes, really. I polished the silver tea and coffee pots and the tray. It'd been longer than I care to admit and they were looking rather dingy. Now, shining gleaming silver. I feel the need for crumpets and cheese cubes. Fortunately, there are crumpets in the fridge.

I'm always blown away by a) stuff I have that I can get rid of that I should have gotten rid of forever ago and b) how things "fluff up" to fill the space.If I can go through and find a trunk full of stuff that needs to be donated and bags full of things that are ready to be thrown away...why haven't I? Why didn't I just get rid of things immediately? Granted, some of that was regular garbage and litter box changing and such...but still. And if you walk into the apartment? It doesn't look empty. It's not sparse. My stuff took off its collective corset and exhaled. It's actually slightly disheartening, because I wanted to feel like I'd purged.

And at 9:30 p.m. a nice young woman came by to claim three huge adult spider plants. Now we're back to a 1:8 mammal:plant ratio. At least we're well oxygenated.

Episode 41: Positive Human Connection

2010-04-13T20:05:00.000-05:00

I sat across the table from my friend, holding a beautiful earthenware mug. The coffee had warmed cold fingers; the company soothed busy minds.

And for a while we just held hands across the table. It was extremely intimate, though not romantic. Here were two human beings gently connecting, despite the haste of the world around us, the craziness of our regular lives. We spoke softly for some time, finding our way back to sanity but mostly just relying on each other to find a smile.

So much of what we do involves interacting with people, but without any physical contact. You and I used to work in a place where we had children climbing all over us. We were used to giving piggy-back rides, slinging a baby on our hips, and still managing to keep three other things going. When I changed to my professional position, it was with the understanding that you didn't touch people--because touching people meant a potential lawsuit. So despite working with vast numbers of the public every day, it's very rare that I actually touch someone.

And that spills over into the rest of our lives. Without close friends in the local region, I can go quite literally for days without actually touching another person. I keep up my traveling--Milwaukee, Chicago, Appleton--and there were many hugs there. Here locally--I think I've given/received 2 hugs since the New Year.

People need people--we need positive connection and one of the ways we get that is through human touch. A hand on a shoulder or hand; a hug; sometimes even just a warm handshake. Only, we're in a hypochondraic time where touching things and people is dirty, where we go through gallons of hand sanitizer, where touching others is considered impolite. Not that I don't have a huge amount of personal space--but you get the general idea.

Is it any wonder we all head for our massage therapists or even for a manicure/pedicure? We need some kind of human contact and soothing touch beyond brushing fingers with someone as we receive change at the coffee shop, assuming we're so anachronistic as to pay with cash.

We're increasingly disconnected--relating to people through our myriad screens. I think it comes at a cost of losing some of our positive human connection with the world around us, and that caring touch.

And the irony that I write this so you'll read it on a screen because you're too far away for me to hug--yah, I got that.

Episode 40: I Appreciate

2010-04-08T12:58:00.000-05:00

Too often we talk about only the frustrating or the negative. A moment then, to smile about good things.

My USPS people here. I put my mail on hold all the time, I've always got packages going in and out, and it wasn't a problem when I showed up with a pile of papers and my passport and wondered how to get things to the Egyptian Consulate. My mailman (yes, actually a guy) knows I'm home Tuesday mornings and occasionally rings me to buzz him in for other people.

My UPS driver in Chicago. She brought so many cool and wonderful things and was always pleasant. I think my favorite delivery was the day I opened the door with a tray of cookies in one hand. She didn't blink, but held the spatula while I signed--left-handed.

My cobbler. Everyone should have one. I show up, say "can you do something with these?" presenting heels I've beaten into the ground, worn all over, and not polished nor barely cared for in the previous winter. He takes them and in just a few days transforms them into nearly brand new. And I am reshod once more, far more cheaply than buying new boots. I had one in NY and I have one now. I can only hope to find another good one the next time I move.

Episode 39: Staring at My Hips

2010-04-03T16:11:00.000-05:00

Combating negative body image, particularly one's own, is a daily task for most women. We fling ourselves through our morning routine, barely seeing our own faces in the mirror as we wash, dress, put on make up, style our hair and sprint out the door. We're terrified to know that if we did look, we'd find fault.

What specific challenge do I have? According to society and 99% of the women that I run into, I'm not allowed to be at all desirious of changing my body. I'm not permitted to be frustrated because I can't find clothing that fits, that I'm not as in shape as I'd like to be, that the voices in my head keep telling me that I'm not as pretty as other girls. To express any irritation results in scoffing, mockery, and derogatory "compliments."

This challenge comes because, according to Ann Taylor Loft, I'm a size 00P. How it is a girl with 34" hips has to wear a size that's less than existing, I fail to grasp, but that's the only size business pants I can buy that fit. All the pants at Banana are too big and I'm honestly afraid to try on anything at Express or New York and Co because chances are good I'll come out of the dressing room sadly, knowing that once again, I'm too small to fit into their clothing. And then I'll end up buying something trashy in one of the juniors stores just because it fits.

It's difficult being relegated to the juniors department when trying to find professional clothing. It's irritating when other women announce how it "must be those size 4 and 6s" who are proclaiming anything body image. And it's a continual ongoing assault on all sides.

The fashion industry, modeling industry, and make up industry tells me I'm not trendy, thin, tall, pretty enough. I've accepted that they're trying to tell me to buy their products in pursuit of one of those adjectives. If I were an inch or two shorter and about 15 lbs lighter, I might have a career in petite modeling. But I missed the boat on that one. They have, at least, a clearly defined motive--a bottom line I can clearly identify: they want me to buy stuff.

The women in my life tell me I'm scrawny, non-existent, too fragile, bony, not curvy enough--despite nearly 10" hour-glass curves. They tell me I'm unworthy to want better for myself because I've gotten my share and it's unreasonable to want to improve my health, my shape, and ultimately my life. I don't understand their motive.

Men I know keep announcing "they like a little meat on their women's bones." They openly discuss how thin girls are all sharp angles, are not real women, are too childish or boyish. I assume their motive has to do with them getting laid.

And I stand silently in the corner, knowing that to open my mouth will bring only ridicule. For in this world I'm told I have no room to have my say. I'm not allowed to be frustrated at a society where there's an enormous split between a celebration of the Renaissance, Titian woman and the glorification of toned, tanned, thin, blond celebrity.

Episode 38: Running Under Radar; Putting Myself Out There

2010-03-12T10:12:00.000-06:00

A girl needs somewhere to write, to vent, to get it out there. I've tried sharing this blog a little more widely but I find I just can't. Even as supportive as my friends in the computer are, sometimes I just want to rant.

But today, it's a different focus. I need an accountability somewhere of my job hunt. Because we both know I'm looking and that I want away from where I am.

So....here's where I am, here's what I want. I want to be back in a bigger city. I want to not be working with the general public on a daily basis. I don't want my job description to be focused on storytime. None of these are sinful, I remind myself. I recognize what I enjoy and at what I excel and what will make me burn out between now and the next few years. Or the new few weeks. While I know jobs can't be exciting "all" of the time, it is the real potential of job resentment that I see coming that makes me realize I need to find something more suited to my career goals in short order.

Let's step it up shall we? I know you have wanted something different for a while too--let's be accountable to each other. Every day, every week, we need to figure out how to move on.

I'm going to go look through the folders I keep skimming and decide exactly to what I want to apply. Those descriptions are going in a concrete folder out of my inboxes and I'm going to work on a cover letter today.

What about you?

Ugly Washcloths and Plans

2010-03-07T23:51:00.000-06:00

It must be approaching spring. Days are finally getting longer; I'm occasionally able to open the glass sliding door; I remember that I do have a balcony under the snow .

And I want to clean out stuff. It's a normal spring feeling right? Emerging from the layers we've buried ourselves in over the winter to realize you just want space, air, clean, and less stuff cluttering up.

It's started, somewhat, with yarn. I was sorting things again and wondering why I'd kept tiny balls of yarn where the project was long gone. These weren't even memory balls--ones that triggered the memory of projects into which I'd put hours, these were just random. I remembered the end project but it wasn't something I had a strong emotional attachment to by any means.

I want to finish things--like the yarn. So in the past couple of days I've been knitting ugly washcloths: cotton yarns that have nothing to do with each other in terms of color. Ugly mismatched washcloths will do just as good a job on the kitchen floor.

I want to read the books in my library basket, which may mean taking some time off of putting things on hold or just adding them to the "to read" list---which I might get through if I win the lottery tomorrow and don't have to work for the rest of my life--but that's doubtful (too many books, no lottery ticket).

I want to read the mumble long backlog of National Geographics so I can recycle them. No, the library doesn't need them. Trust me.

I want to use up the yarn leftovers and finish the 8-10 half done projects around here.

I want to mail off the four packages that just need tape and labels before they go to friends and family.

I want to clean out the coat closet and the linen closet. What on earth did we put on those higher shelves?

I want to transcribe the novel I started into the computer and see if I can actually make some progress on it.

I want to go through my books again and see if maybe there's some that can go...I doubt it, but it's worth looking through again.

I want to get my Egypt journal done and my pictures up.

I want to report back to you of the rejections and successes, rather than just the status quo.

So...that's the plan for the next 3.5 weeks. Pretty reasonable to do list, don't you think?

I'm on washcloth #4....

Episode 36: A Familiar Feeling

2010-01-08T16:28:00.000-06:00

I gave up regular sleeping during my teenage years. It wasn't for lack of my mum trying but with school, all the various extra-curricular stuff I did (newspaper, clubs), homework, and my own interests, it went by the wayside. This only got worse in college as I'd have a full day of class, evenings of music rehearsal, hanging out with friends and then, oh right, homework. I rarely saw Cyn, my junior year roommate, as she rose at around 5 a.m. and I went to bed usually between 3 and 4. We spent far more time with one of us unconscious while the other did her homework/workout/whatever than we did hanging out in the room together.

There came a point where the exhaustion I felt upon waking each morning was normal. My muscles would resist as I'd haul myself out of bed, feeling gravity's heavier than usual pull. I'd pour the first of seemingly endless cups of coffee (or cafe mocha) down my throat and slowly the feeling would recede, draining out of my toes as the caffeine levels in my bloodstream returned to normal.

And then I would go back to mum's on break and snore on the couch for a week before my body shrugged off the perennial state of exhaustion.

I sleep more now than I did then, usually. I've gotten to where I mostly make it to bed by 2 a.m., though a very short list of people have permission to call later than that and do. Still, at present, there's not as much in life the seems to invigorate me to keep to all hours. That and my winter insomnia hasn't fully set in.

But occasionally I'll stay up, working on a project, reading a book, watching the latest season of a television series I can never remember to catch when it actually airs, or just staring blankly out the window--not fully awake but not really resting either.

Then comes the morning with its inevitable alarm clock, text messages, and--in parts of the year--daylight. My eyelids haul themselves up, I smack the snooze button and there it is: the drained feeling. An old friend who has shown up again, not entirely unwelcome. I flash back to thinking about 8 a.m. history class, wondering if my roommate is up yet, thinking about the caf and whether or not I'll have time to get a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich before I have to be wherever. Or I instinctively wait for my cell phone to ring so one of my best friends, my manager at the time, can tell me where I'm substituting that day. The mornings she calls now for Excel help really throw me.

I miss the exhaustion sometimes, for while I'm sure it's much healthier for me to be sleeping, I felt like I got so much more out of my days then.

I'd say perhaps I've just learned to manage my time better but even I don't believe that.

Episode 35: Back To How We Used To Be

2010-01-01T13:03:00.000-06:00

When we first became friends, we used to talk. Not just about classes and homework, concerts and lovers, but beyond. We spoke of esoteric and argued the ridiculous. People joined the conversation, phased in and out, tossed out an opinion and ran. We did the crossword puzzle together and debated the clues. We went to concerts and performances.

Now the world has run us over. We have work, families that have different needs from us, and things no longer seem as straightforward as driving down campus to grab lunch together was. Add to that national, local and global challenges that seem to rear their heads and be ever increasingly exploding in our faces: economy, transportation, health care, aging. We worry about our jobs, whether or not to have children, our parents, our siblings, home ownership, and our sanity.

We do not talk of literature, of abstracts, of an art piece we admired. What debates we have feel stilted and rushed with no potential other than wistfully wishing there was a side to things other than "bad." Our opinions are settling as we fling ourselves further into adulthood, our minds less flexible than during our teen and early twenties years. The energy that spurred us on, out until dawn, back up for class, work, fun seems curiously missing, replaced with perpetual exhaustion, endless cynicism, and an exhausting cycle of always behind.

We detox at each other just enough to hang up the phone, walk away from the screen, and realize that no matter how much that helped--a hug would have made it infinitely better.

This, then, is my new years wish for you--to bring our old conversations forward again, to call you for clues to the crossword that I can't solve, to tell you of what I've seen, to go to a museum together instead of watch reality television. There has to be appreciation of beauty and good and we need to use our minds.

It'll be a stretch, it might require some yoga afterwards, and it still won't be as good as a hug. But it will be something.

Episode 34: Can and Can't

2009-12-30T14:16:00.001-06:00

In 2010 I will try to accept what I can and can't do.

I can't change the past.

I can't change the extended family I was born into.

I can't change the choices others have made.

I can't break down the wall of futility by beating my head against it.

I can't please everyone.

I can choose who I keep in touch with and the family build for myself.

I can let go of people who are willfully self-destructing.

I can see there are other things out there for me and pursue them.

I can clean out things that are unnecessary clutter.

I can stop listening/promoting/being a part of the drama.

I can love greatly, widely and deeply.

Episode 33: Without the Sob Story...

2009-12-21T18:00:00.000-06:00

Periodically I like to go through my closets and get rid of things. I used to be so much better at this when I was moving at least once every twelve months. There's nothing like the prospect of having to haul all that you own up and down stairs to make you wonder if it's really worth keeping. I'm trying to clear out some things preemptively to make my next move easier--whenever that may be and well knowing that I'll still get rid of cases of stuff then.

One of the easiest ways to not have to carry things around in my trunk and make dedicated runs to Goodwill is to put things on Craigslist for free. I've given away zip disk drives, brand new small appliances that no one I knew wanted (trust me--I tried), etc., usually with a maximum of three emails and general ease for all concerned. One of my roomies and I listed a whole ton of stuff for very nominal prices once and did a lot of cleaning out one Saturday.

Two things about this process annoy me

1) People who turn it into the drama.
2) People who try to negotiate price when they've already committed to buying it.

I ran into the drama recently. I was giving away a widget*. Nice quality, not very big, and I'd never used it. It lived at Mum's for a number of years and when it showed up at my place (she keeps sending "my stuff" home with me), it was immediately shoved in a closet.

Within a few hours of the posting I had multiple sob stories about how this widget would mean so much to the emailer, how they would give it a good home and use it every day. Was I now supposed to feel guilty that this was cluttering up a shelf when someone else would dearly adore it? Which sob story was I supposed to believe more? I don't mind a line of explanation as to why you want said widget but the woe-is-me stuff got a bit much considering we're talking about a widget--not a pet or something where I particularly care about how well you'll treat it five minutes after it leaves my presence.

There were several other emails of interest. I'd apparently had too much eggnog because the person I selected was one of those who I could see going down Drama Lane at high speed. Which it promptly did as we tried to arrange pick up. Despite clear instructions in the original posting, or so I thought, the emailer couldn't grasp the concept of today evening or tomorrow evening as being the options. The "it's not safe to drive after dark" pretty much tipped the scales--have you noticed that we're in the part of the year where it seriously starts to get dark at 4 p.m.? If you can't come over in the evening when it's dark because that's when I'm home....why did you respond?

I was tempted, sorely tempted, to cancel and say look, I've got other people, you're taking up waaaaay more of my time than this is worth. If you can't get here, I'll just move on. But that would have just quintupled the drama and I really had other things I needed to do.

And other than the fact that then we'd have to talk about money changing hands, I'd consider putting a nominal fee on it. Certainly my time is worth some recompense. But the price thing, while not an issue this round, drove me batty when roomie and I were clearing out. People would agree to the price, show up, and then try to pay less. Umm...seriously dude? You AGREED to the price. This is not a yard sale where there might be some expectation of willingness to bargain.

I'm seriously considering putting "No sob stories, massive date/time pick up negotiations, or price waffling after you've agreed to come get it" in all of my future postings.

*type of widget immaterial but distinctive...bear with me.

Episode 32: Brave the Shopping....

2009-12-17T11:54:00.001-06:00

I had to brave the mall last night to finish some Christmas shopping. I don't go there on a regular basis, perhaps three times a year, and Christmas is always a visit faced with dread. I know there will be a lot of people there; I know sales people will be stressed and tired; I know that I'll want to be just about anywhere but there.

Surprisingly I found a parking spot right away outside of Macy's. I don't mind walking a little ways but when a corner spot presents itself, I'm not (like some) going to sit in my car wasting time and gas hovering for a spot three feet closer to the door. I did enough hovering for ANY parking in graduate school.

Once inside I headed for a perfume counter. Though the girls who were designated to work at that particular counter were apparently not interested in acknowledging a girl still bundling out of her marshmallow down coat, an older woman who said she used to work with the product stepped up and helped me wade through some options. Of course, I smelled like a fragrance I'll never wear for the next few hours but hey--what we do for family.

Then there was some aimless wandering while I tried to figure out what I wanted to purchase. Call it being picky or prudent, mostly I was underwhelmed. No one I know needs more knick-knacks, I seem to be mostly between specialty clothing stores (out of tween/teen, not yet into matron). I managed to avoid the "hair product" kiosk---they were trying hard to grab just about anyone. Considering my hair won't hold curl to save itself and I'm happy with the straightening iron I break out four times a year, I was probably not the best option as a potential client.

I wandered into Bath and Body Works and was stunned how much had changed. I used to know 90% of the fragrances, had an opinion on each, knew what was new. Now I don't recognize the bottles other than recognizing that they've gotten smaller. As I'm the only one in the family with a B&B problem (trust me--I still have WAY too much lotion in the bathroom than any person in her right mind needs), I couldn't really see purchasing more. I made myself leave before succumbing to the lure of scented anti-bacterial soap.

I purchased some gift candles. If I have a general sense of someone else's nose, candles are a good option. They burn down, are used up and then they're gone.

Then to the jewelry store for ring cleaning. I was happy to see that they were busy and was amused to listen to a girl picking out her engagement ring with her friend (not the boy). She had a setting in mind, a specific diamond cut and color that she wanted, I'm not really sure her soon to be fiance would have any input on it other than handing over his paycheck. Other than a pin I received from (and returned to) a boy in middle school, I don't have a lot of experience getting jewelry from men so perhaps that's the usual thing to do now. I would hope any guy I actually became engaged to would have the presence of mind to rifle through my jewelry box and beg assistance from a couple of my friends and relatives. (For future reference, I like Marquis cut and I don't really like diamonds--but you knew that.)

My final mall stop was Hallmark for some gift wrap. The bags and things I'd purchased were already digging in my hands and carrying my coat, while a necessity, was making things that much more difficult. As I went to hand over my card a passerby asked if I'd like her $5 coupon, saying she'd not use it before expiration. Of course! It was a nice gesture and one I absolutely appreciated.

Back to the parking lot to dodge cars expelling passengers and hovering in wait of the spot nearest the crosswalk (despite there being another spot 5 ft away, yes, literally). Then a quick pass through Kohl's and home, where I was greeted by an annoyed tabby who was trying to figure out if she could guilt trip me into more eggnog.

I'm just grateful I don't need to go back to the mall for a few months.

Episode 31: Where The Funds Go...

2009-11-24T21:05:00.000-06:00

I'm looking into budget software. Exciting no? Sis has recommended YNAB or Snowmint in conjunction with GNU Cash. A coworker has been cheering the Dave Ramsey way. And since it certainly seems that there's no hope for Social Security, one does have to start thinking towards retirement.

I'm skeptical though, as I read through the budget stories online. Most of them start out with "we cut out eating out every night and look how much money we saved" and other such broad sweeping statements. Well, what a surprise! I tried reading a budget book last spring and was kind of sickened by the suggestions that one "cut out weekly trips to the mall" or "get a new job that pays much more than you were previously making." Umm, yeah no. I was last in the mall in June to get my rings cleaned and changing jobs in my field in this economy and making more money has "pipe dream" written all over it.

I'm not bad with money-- but I want to get more in savings and plan a little better for all those trips home, rather than putting all the plane tickets on the credit card and then chunking away at them each paycheck. And now that the braces are clear--the student loan debt really needs to go.

What I know?

I spend too much money on yarn and coffee. Yes, I said it. I'm doing a lot better than last year with the wool account but I've up'd the number of trips to the local coffee shop. Good for their bottom line but not so much for me.

I've stopped bringing lunch. There's a quiet desperation of wanting to get out of the building. Part of that will fade as the nice weather does, but I need to get back to going out to lunch being an occasional treat rather than a constant.

I spend too much when I'm traveling, because I turn off most internal limits. Generally speaking this hasn't caused any huge problems (I'm not going for Prada or Gucci, as we both know) but I know that an average trip home will set me back the better part of a thousand dollars. And while $500 of that is plane ticket and paying for parking and taxis, the other half isn't. I keep telling myself this is cheaper than therapy though ;) (And since I've discovered that for my own peace of mind/well-being, I need to leave the state once a month-six weeks....it adds up).

So...I'm tackling the finances. Maybe even venturing further into investments.

Call me out on it occasionally, would you?

Episode 30: Accepting the Not-Happy State

2009-11-04T13:15:00.000-06:00

The more people I talk to, and there are a ridiculous amount of ways I communicate with people these days, the more I find that we all seem to be in a state of coping. There's a strained sense of hope/fear: hope that we'll rebound, re-energize, and bounce into a positive future and a fear that the floor is going to fall out from underneath us, landing us all on our faces. I sort of wish I knew what it would be, as I'm sure many of us to, in order to plan, but instead we all seem to just be clinging on by our fingernails.

I'm hesitant to admit to being sad, lethargic, apathetic, or just not feeling myself or at a hundred percent. Not to my immediately family and a couple of closest friends: they've had to hear the bitter details as I try and convince myself that's there is meaning and worth to me, to what I'm doing at work, to my freelance work, to the thousands (literally) of stitches that come off of my knitting needles. I'm hesitant to embrace it publicly, even as I know I could use a bigger support network.

Why? Mostly because I don't want to be told I a) need therapy or b) need to start living through drugs. There are very excellent therapists out there and there are certainly good medications that help people who are suffering from clinical depression. A mild case of the fall blues compounded by inadvertently absorbing stress at work from worried patrons and the not-so-abnormal concerns about budget concerns in the coming year is not, in my personal opinion, worthy of assigning me another pill I'll forget to take. (I'm bad with the vitamins.)

As we are all constantly sharing ourselves with others, the tendency comes to only share the good. And if sharing "bad" to make it amusing, funny, something that doesn't display a human weakness. By saying I'm in a bad mood or don't feel good or think the subject of an interview displays a little too much holier than thou, condescending out of touch with reality, then I'm at fault, I'm bad, I'm weak. In this time of economic fraility, job hunting/keeping uncertainty, etc etc...we can't be weak. Only the strong survive, right? When we're all scrambling to prove ourselves superhuman all the time, it's hard to allow for some human frailties.

I grabbed a book from library: Bright-Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Underminded America" by Barbara Ehrenrich (BN link, no financial affiliation). It might just reaffirm my own latest bout of cynicism, but I'm looking forward to reading it.

I tend to crawl into books and yarn as escape techniques, though those aren't helping much of late as when I come out it is to deadlines that are looming ever nearer. This has changed somewhat from former coping techniques, which primarily included voice lessons and the phrase "get a cup of coffee?" Introverted vs. Extroverted techniques and yes, I know I need to start exercising more.

Still, I'm swinging back out of the funk; I've actually felt pretty civilized this week. Now I'm hoping, as I think may of us are, that the "holiday spirit" kicks in and tensions ease. As demands rise exponentially though for contribution of goods and service as we head towards the end of the year, when I have personal and family concerns that, to me, often seem more pressing, I continue to wonder when the tightwire is going to snap.

Episode 29: My Life According to Books

2009-09-02T16:25:00.003-05:00

I've seen this at a couple other blogger's houses....pull in answers based on titles I've read so far this year. (Yes, I keep a spreadsheet that covers about 1/2 - 2/3 of my reading material) Let's see...

Describe yourself:
Freakin' Fabulous

How do you feel?
Sworn to Silence

Describe where you currently live:
Dark Hills Divide

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
The Locked Garden

Your favorite form of transport:
Phantom in the Night

Your best friend is . . . ?
Too Precious to Lose

You and your friends are . . .?
Upon a Wicked Time

What’s the weather like?
Icebound Land

Favourite time of day?
At the Bride Hunt Ball

What is life to you?
So Enchanting

Your fear?
Wintergirls

What is the best advice you have to give?
What Happens in London

Thought for the Day?
Don't Tempt Me

How I would like to die:
Dead Until Dark

My soul’s present condition?
10 Things Your Minister Wants to Tell You But Can't because he needs the job

Episode 28: Tongue between the Teeth

2009-08-18T16:41:00.005-05:00

ETA: Surprisingly, it went well. I definitely had a different health reviewer than last year and this one managed to use the word "underweight" only once and more in passing than in judgment. It's something.

Tomorrow is going to be a bit of a challenge for me. I'm going in for a "Health Risk Assessment Follow-up" that the city I work for is running.

It's not a stretch for me to say that someone, probably a woman who is overweight, will sit down with me to tell me in the most condescending of polite tones that really, I should put on some weight.

If I advise this person that I'm under the direct supervision of two medical professionals, neither of whom are concerned about my weight, I'll be referred to a piece of paper that shows BMI and how I don't meet it--even though BMI was never intended to be used that way.

If I try to politely point out that I have a high metabolism and the braces are the only thing keeping me from going nose-first into a Snickers bar every afternoon around 3, I'll get the "look" that implies that obviously I'm in denial about whatever eating disorder I'm assumed to have.

My nation is epidemically overweight and it's killing us. And yet, apparently not being overweight, being in that minority, is the bigger sin.

But perhaps Lisa O'Neill Harris says it better than I. (And no, I don't have a disease or medical condition, just a very happy metabolism. I'm advised that'll change in the next decade.)

Off to practice biting my tongue.

Episode 27: Old Papers

2009-08-10T11:15:00.001-05:00

Mum sent boxes of my old papers. She'd kept a lot of my paperwork from my elementary school years; she had to with us being home schooled. There had to be proof that we were doing the work the state believed was important for our education.

There are papers from my second grade year, the one year I was in public school before middle school, handwriting samples of a barely six year old attempting to master cursive writing. It was possible, though in retrospect my manual dexterity surprises me.

I wrote constantly as a child. Obviously this has not changed as I have become an adult. My desire to illustrate my own work seems to have lessened a little.

I found the one act play from eighth grade and stories from high school; there's a lot of wishful thinking contained in those words and it's pretty apparent who I had a crush on despite the restrictions on my dating life.

Last night, I reread one of my comp books from college. Just flipping through it, it's mostly drafts of papers and some class notes. Then, when you actually start examining pages, most of the left hand pages are journal entries.

The raw emotions of a child, teenager and eventually young adult, poured out without reservation, are daunting, even knowing they were my own emotions. There was a lot of anger and a lot of loneliness. There was a lot of confusion; I was constantly changing directions, changing focus, changing people. Friendships appear and disappear, names are mentioned once--and at least in one example I've had to ask someone else about a real name, because even within the journal entry itself I acknowledge I'm not sure.

The honesty with which I wrote always strikes me. No matter how much I attempt to hide things from others and myself, no matter the sugar coating, there's usually at least one sentence in a journal entry from the appropriate time that clearly states what was actually going on, rather that what I was pretending was happening or would happen. I'll admit it on paper, turn the page, and keep attempting to maintain whatever status quo I sought.

There are periods where I don't write, usually short ones. Sometimes the writing has moved to different places, like my blogs, but the majority of it is longhand somewhere. The most notable absence of journaling was during a period I was in a relationship. At the beginning of the relationship I wrote--mostly worrying about how I wasn't writing about the relationship, the guy, and my feelings. Should have been the first clue to run, right? I wrote tomes about my crushes, the boys I dated for a second, friends, dates. There are bad poems all over the place while I was trying to break down my thoughts to manageable bite sizes. My best friend and my first love both take up page after page of text, despite that I never truly dated either one. My boyfriend of two years? No poems, few pages, and ultimately, fewer memories.

Re-reading brings the past sharply back into focus, triggering other memories, other days. It also brings into clear focus that at the end of my junior year of college, I was only nineteen. Less than a decade later I'm amazed at what has changed and what is still exactly the same.

I haven't gone through all of my journals, doing so would take a lot longer than a weekends read. Many of the blank books are still half to three quarters blank. I've considered cutting out the pages and putting them in page holders and trying to create some kind of progressive timeline, something orderly. But as I'm the only one allowed back through those pages, I'm not sure it's worth it. Still, the amount of stuff that's gone into the shredder and needs to make it's way to a recycling bin is impressive. So perhaps I'll revisit more. After my head stops spinning from all the memories.

Episode 26: Being "Theater"

2009-08-07T16:33:00.000-05:00

A friend was inquiring about my interest in doing some project management work for her.

"I need someone like you, you've stage managed."
"Technically, yes, but I'm primarily a costumer."
"Same thing, you're theater."

In a conversation with one of my guys during a marathon night out.

"You're theater, you don't count."

An unusual bond forms when people work together in theater and performing arts. There is an intense relationship formed and held, sometimes for only a few weeks, sometimes much longer. You grow used to friends coming and going, people you shared celebrations, tragedy, and chaos with fading away after only a short tenure, remembered but passing. And there are a select few you hold onto with both hands.

There is a shared work flow and a creative team that, ultimately, we hope the audience never really has to think about. Carpenters, directors, coaches, voice teachers, lighting, sound, stage hands, costumers, dressers, stage managers, props people, house managers, ushers--all coordinating, preparing, and working towards the deadline of the curtain rising each night and ultimately the curtain falling. And yes, there are the performers too. I've worked in both roles, though primarily backstage outside of singing.

In performing arts, as in all fields, I've met the prima donnas barely willing to acknowledge me: the girl mending wardrobe, loading the trucks, working as an usher, or just singing second soprano. But more often I've met good people, dedicated to their craft, ready to share the work, a snack, a hug, and stories. And at the end of the night, there's a round of goodnights, sometimes hugs and drinks, and good times.

There's a physical comfort among most of the "theater" people I've known and worked with. In high school we gave a set number of hugs each night, one of the seniors calling out the number at the end of rehearsal. With a small cast, this could mean one embraced nearly everyone before heading home. In college, we sat on each other's laps, gave backrubs, squashed into cars to head out for the post-rehearsal or show meal or drink. At a performance Mum attended a few years ago, I forewarned that at least one actor would squash me into an off-the-floor-full-body-post- show hug and, no, nothing was going on--he's just a theater friend.

Knowing someone has worked in a theater, though, particularly backstage or with a healthy respect and awareness of backstage, is informative. Often, they've had to manage people and projects, usually simultaneously. They've put in long hours getting ready for a single show, performance, and moment. They've worked with diverse teams, pulling together even when they don't like their fellow performers. For me, it meant that I was identified by a former coworker as competent and perfect to assist on a project because I was theater. Though the two don't always go together--competency and theater, but it provides a common background between people who may be otherwise unrelated.

They know the rush of getting ready, wondering if you'll make the deadline, learn it all, make it all, find all the things you need. They've stood in utter darkness and had someone suddenly appear at their shoulder, scaring the living daylights out of them even as it's just someone waiting for their cue, they've stuffed people into strange but necessary clothes, swallowed the laughter of a joke during a performance, rolled out of the building late, waited for the cue to begin, and finished a night with the knowledge of having brought words and music to life.

Though the memories and abilties remain, I miss being theater. Thankfully, the friendships also remain. Being able to prepare together, perform together and work together in an effort to create art lays a sturdy foundation. Such it is that it doesn't surprise me that the majority of my closest friends from the last dozen years are ones I would describe as being "theater."

Episode 25: Summer Skirt

2009-07-29T12:00:00.000-05:00

When I went to Chicago recently, I was surprised how differently the clothing seemed. Summer clothing in Chicago, for women at least, was very different from what I saw at home.

This small town I inhabit is Wholesome-with-a-capital-W with our usual share of crazy. Summer clothing here involves a lot of shorts or capris. I own and wear capris, though I really only have one pair that I'll wear out of the house. They make me look a lot shorter than I actually am and most of the time, that's not a good thing. Also, I wear them with flats, which means I'm two inches shorter than usual. So with the exception of the denim capris with sparkly flowers down one leg (yes, juniors dept, I'm skinny--get over it), I stick to pants and skirts. Mostly pants. Mostly linen.

As I packed for Chicago though, I knew that along with tank tops, I needed to throw in a skirt. I had the perfect skirt to bring: a black knee length that I'd just gotten in New York. It's fitted around the hips, then flares out nicely to the knee. Mostly cotton with some spandex-y type stuff. It goes with anything. Dress it up with a nice blouse, dress it down with a tank top. Pair it with heels, pair it with flats. It's machine washable, requires no ironing, and will keep forever, as long as I remember to pour in some "Woolite Dark" in the wash every now and again. It's the perfect summer skirt.

And there, on a warm Monday in July, I sat in a park with a girl friend and we watched as numerous other skirted young ladies passed by. Skirts were a given, part of summer. Infinitely more flattering, a little hint of feminine. Flowered skirts and ruffled skirts, dark and bright colors, mostly knee-length just to be functional but hemlines varied. The skirts were whatever the wearers wanted, tossed on with a casual air I see often reserved for denim.

My friend challenged me to start a revolution. The skirt revolution!! I don't think it'll quite work here--mostly because I had to go to New York just to FIND an appropriate skirt in a size that fit. But now that I have my favorite pair of ballet flats back from the cobbler (new lining on the inside), perhaps I can demonstrate the cuteness of the skirt.

Episode 24: Old School

2009-07-20T13:09:00.001-05:00

We're assaulted with new technology, new ways to communicate, new people to reach out to across time zones and geographic barriers. There is no reason not to start chatting with someone in Australia on Plurk and trade Flickr streams and YouTube clips so we have some inclination of sound and image. Assuming we don't go straight for Skype.

But, I will argue, there's nothing quite like a conversation with a friend who knows all of my weird phrases, knows I stick my tongue out when I giggle, and knows I'm going to need real half-and-half not that "coffee's best mate" stuff. So when my cell phone beeped a quiet question, was I around for a long distance phone call?, I went scrambling for my ear piece.

We've learned to connect with people in myriad ways. Shortly, I'll be posting elsewhere about how I walked into a room full of people and "knew" half of them, without having ever encountered them in person before. A room where a conversation went from shaking hands to picking up where we left off two days ago online. A room where your online handle was as important an identifier as your real name.

Still, having a voice on the other end of the line, and having a well remembered face and expressions to put with that voice, it's important. I know how he sits, how he stacks up the creamers like lego blocks, and what it feels like to stand in a parking lot at wee hours, hugging away our early adulthood insecurities before heading home. We remember sitting in the same class together for hours, living through relationships and performances, and trading confidences in hushed tones, while we hesitantly peer around to make sure no one is around who might know the players in this particular game.

And when the confusion is at its worst, we go back. We reach back for the familiar, the comfortable, the experienced. In this case, though I couldn't go back to the diner or the Starbucks where these conversations all began, that long standing bond formed over endless cups of coffee wiped away the distance. Even when I didn't have the words, I could honestly say that, and know I didn't know what was best but affirming, once again, that I'd be there. No matter what. Always.

I'm blessed with a multitude of friends, many of whom I've met through online social networks, professional development opportunities, chat rooms, and twitter feeds. I have friends I can text at 3 a.m. and know they'll shoot me back a message, or tell me a story 160 characters at a time until my vision finally goes blurry with sleep.

Yet, just as we are encouraged to get back to basics with our material possessions, too, I think we at times must go back to the basics of friendship. We take away the more modern technologies and rely on the emotions expressed only through the voice. We recapture the awkwardness of adults still struggling to figure out the next step, how the last one went awry, and why we don't have the answers. We sit silently, hearing only each other breathing, as we stare at two different floors and know that we might not be able to fix it, but at least we're not alone.

I'm told telephone conversations are passe. I disagree.

Episode 23: I Do Not Romp

2009-07-07T19:49:00.002-05:00

I will skip. I will, reluctantly, jog. On occasion I have been seen running. Those occasions are usually when I have to catch the 8:22 out of Penn. Inevitably I'm wearing 3" heels. But if you can't run in your heels, what's the point?

There are myriad ways to frolic and enjoy the world.

But I will pass on romping. (Unless it's like the Animaniacs version in their Billy Goats Gruff episode)

Especially if it means I can skip wearing a romper.

You'll still love me if I don't wear one, won't you?

Episode 22: Hugs are Good for Them

2009-06-25T10:14:00.000-05:00

Somewhere probably around the time I left for college, though quite possibly a year or two before, I started requiring hugs from the two male cousins closest in age to me. They're three and four years younger than I am, respectively, a set of very intelligent brothers. And for years this was done with gnashing of teeth and whining of how they didn't waaaaant to hug a) family and b) a girl. (Being female meant I definitely still had cooties, even though I was a cousin.) But they put up with it. It helped that after I left for college we only saw each other a couple times a year.

We're all technically adults now. One is out of college, living on his own in a relatively large metropolitan area outside of the state we grew up in, and the other just graduated and is headed for the Master program. But it's become the standard for when we're all home together--at least one hug during a family get together. We joke about it even-- "It's the obligatory hug" on the way either in or out of the party, and I think we'd all miss it were it something that passed away. And I have to say, they give pretty awesome hugs.

I can't take all the credit, but at least I did try to instill in them from a young age the appropriateness of the occasional good hug. Their girlfriends are welcome to thank me.

Episode 21: Don't Wake Me

2009-06-21T15:15:00.001-05:00

I'm feeling a bit of a pruny old maid recently.

I was pulled out of dreams by what sounded like car doors slamming. Somehow my sleep addled mind put together that children were being dropped off for day care, explaining the high voices and car doors. Unfortunately, as I started to be come more lucid, this proved to be far from the case.

My hair was still soaking wet and it was dark, not even pre-dawn light, so when I finally pulled my glasses on I was irritated to see it nearly three a.m. Having been short on sleep and shorter on feeling well, uninterrupted sleep of several hours is a necessity to get me through the day.

The noises continued. Whack, thonk, scrape, and two voices. This might not be so bad in an area where there was more grass or ambient noise (and trust me, I've slept through "ambient noise"), but I'm currently in a valley where they've set up the buildings in a circle with parking lot in between. It has horrific acoustics but sounds are certainly enhanced by all the hard surfaces.

Stumbling out of bed and peering out the window, I saw two young men, one with a skateboard. And I felt a twinge of regret that I'm past the rebel age of sticking up for the rights of the skaters. Of course, rights after three a.m. are a little more negotiable.

I headed out to the balcony, hair still soaked, and heaven only knows my jammies weren't the sexiest things but I was decent. It took a couple of tries to get their attention, finally calling "Hey!" I suggested that maybe rather than having one of the neighbors call the cops they head in, it was three a.m. and they'd gotten me out of bed. They apologized, apparently it was news that it was so late, and went in.

And promptly, with noisy girls, headed out to their own balcony. I crawled back into bed and tried to sleep. One of the other neighbors, a guy, took a more direct and profane approach. This managed to turn the volume down so at least I couldn't understand what was being said, which did, after about twenty minutes, allow me to relegate it to ambient noise enough to get some sleep. (At least two of the girls leaving to noisy goodbyes assisted with that too.)

I've certainly gone out late, been up late, hosted parties late, had to deal with drunken friends who didn't want to go to bed, or inside. And I've done that on Thursday nights, as this was. But come on people, recognize that you're in a noisy fishbowl--take it down a notch, take it inside...and put the skateboard away. Some day you too will have to work on Friday.

Episode 20:

2009-06-07T02:24:00.000-05:00

Have you ever considered the act of hand holding?

As children we hold hands with our parents or in lines at school. With our parents and other trusted adults, it is a loving connection, most of the time, giving us a sense of protection. It is also how they haul us about when we're misbehaving or loathe to leave our play date. Then there were the times of holding hands so everyone was together and no one was misplaced in a long queue of children. That seems to have gone by the wayside of everyone holding onto a colorful rope, if the local preschool visits are anything to go by. One can't require children to join hands these days I suppose. Too much hamthrax about?

We hold hands in prayer, at a church or prayer circle. A bond between two or more people, united together both by their faith and by the simple connection of hands. The warmth of our hands coming together, and our voices joined....or just our minds.

And we hold hands with our friends and significant others. In high school, at least where I went, holding hands was a sign that you liked someone, that you were dating, something of that nature. It had connotations and those were not boundaries lightly crossed. As I moved into college years it became less a bond of romance and more a bond of friendship. It became comfortable and familiar to reach for the hand of a friend as we walked--finding that ease of touch between two people. Granted, it was mostly with close friends, but trust and friendship can be much stronger than the fleeting initial romances, and should they not therefore be entitled to such a bond?

Therefore, I'm used to holding hands with the boys I'm dating, or the friends that I'm dragging about or who are hauling me somewhere. I have lots of practice at it, and no, that's not a euphemism for anything else. So it surprised me to notice the difference and the intimacy of holding hands with my best friend recently. Think about holding my hand. Our fingers are interlocked and our hands are touching from the wrist down, right? (Had to think about that, didn't you?) Now, imagine a slight shift, so the majority of our lower arms were also touching. And stayed that way. We held hands like that for three days.

It was much more personal, certainly it meant we stayed closer together physically, and I was intrigued. A thousand ways, no doubt, to hold hands, and here was one I hadn't noticed before.

And this is what occupies my mind when I attempt to sleep and find, for neither the first nor last time, that sleep is going to be elusive until I wear myself out. They actually don't recommend exercise--apparently it stimulates the muscles and blood flow.

But my neighbors continue to yak at each other and while they either have amazing ears and can't sleep because I'm typing (doubtful---I figure he would have come over by now) or they never sleep. Either way, I don't feel like listening to his muted mutterings.

Episode 19: Frilly Underthings

2009-06-02T18:31:00.000-05:00

It's a toss up. On one hand, I'd love to share with you how wonderful my recent shopping experience was, how I waded through pages online, placed an order and was amazed at the fast shipping. On the other hand it's a girl's undergarment website.

Well, you'll just have to suck it up, it's my blog and think of it as edification for when next your girls are carping about VS and all it's 'angelic' clothing. Uh-huh, angels. Right.

I found La Senza during college and was thrilled. Here was no nauseatingly pink boutique that told me I had to overly enhance the naturally given assets. So you can imagine how frustrated I was first when that store closed and later, when I discovered they no longer have any locations in the United States.

Fortunately, they are in Canada and are believers in the mail order business.

Why am I so enthralled? Four reasons:

1) Cute stuff-- I'm a magpie, as is any shopper, and there's stuff for those of us not so prurient of nature without falling asleep from sheer boredom every time I open the top dresser drawer. So yes, I clicked through to see many options of cuteness and had to hone down the cart to a reasonable amount.

2) Good pricing -- Yes, those items of clothing are a necessity, but they're not gold plated. At least, not the ones in my wardrobe.

3) Great Customer Service-- I ordered things late Sunday night and by Tuesday at 2 p.m. it was on my desk. They send out prompt shipping emails and are very straightforward about things like return policies.

4) Stuff fits --I complain about the difficulty of finding clothing to fit often, which is part of the reason I buy as much as I do online. Knowing I can log on, make some purchases, have it arrive quickly and be able to wear things without having to spend 45 minutes in a dressing room trying to guess what size I am in this brand is wonderful.

So yes, I recommend them, and if you go over now (after my order is already here of course) they are having their big sale.

And no, they didn't pay me to write this for them. Though I would be amenable to a gift certificate or something.

Episode 18: Declare the Day Broken

2009-05-13T15:48:00.001-05:00

Every now and again I find myself in need to declare the day broken. Today, is one of those days.

Broken doesn't necessarily mean a bad day, though the two go hand in hand. One just seems to be hitting brick walls, fail whales, and new problems everywhere.

In the space of an hour:

1) I learned that the first bagel I'd permitted myself to eat in MONTHS (braces) had loosened one of the brackets, turning a 20 minute check up into a 40 minute ordeal including getting those lip stretchers stuffed in my cheeks. Not fun. I used to eat 3-4 bagels a week. Whine.
2) I walked out of that appointment to verify that yes, my car was making a really odd shuddering/squeak--but only on right turns. Left turns seem to be fine. Called and scheduled an appointment with my resident car doctor on Friday morning.
3) Which meant my optometrist had to be changed. TG for day planners and cell phones. Got that moved in the space of time it took to wait on my coffee.
4) Arriving back at work, a coworker fussing with a pump bottle of lotion splutted all over me.

Today is broken. And it's nowhere near over yet.

I swear as soon as the braces are off it's going to be all bagels all the time. Now, if you'll excuse me, my peppermint scented self has to try and get a few things done without breaking them.

Episode 17: The Two Walking Arm in Arm

2009-05-13T15:40:00.000-05:00

Spent the weekend with my best friend and was amused to see various assumptions made about us.

Most interestingly came the first night at the bar. We were sitting at the bar, our body language fully towards each other, focused on nothing but catching up. But the guy who kept trying to crouch in over my shoulder apparently missed that. I kept scooting closer, shifting my shoulders, and this guy wouldn't back off. Even a slight elbowing seemed to not deter him. I wasn't up for making a scene so I didn't condone any particular action from my male counterpart but we both had some serious comments to make when he decided to go drool on some other chick.

Seriously, sweetheart, I ask you, in whose world is that kind of behavior suddenly going to elicit a female to turn around and say "oh, where have you been all my life? I love you!" Sorry Mr. Middle Aged Dude Whose Had a Few Too Many, I'm already with someone.

When you're out together, people address you as a couple, no matter what kind of relationship you really have. I'd forgotten about this. Certainly I noticed it when we went out with Mom and Dad ( but there waiters and passersby couldn't decide if we were two married couples or mom/dad and the kids. But put a male and female out together and poof, practically a married couple, minus the rings. I only actually was asked about "my husband" twice, however that's a high number in my book when I had no jewelry on either hand.

It was a split between being the old married couple (added to by the fact, he pointed out that we both have "old" hobbies) and being "kids" out and about. I caught some glances wondering what we were up to, not so much out past curfew but seeming more carefree and youthfully bouncing from activity to activity. And coming back to the hotel soaking wet because we got caught in a rainstorm between here and there. That, of course, was the day I was wearing capris and a white shirt.

And for the weekend, I didn't mind being "married."

Episode 16: Wardrobe Awareness

2009-05-06T18:18:00.002-05:00

I have just pleasantly come to the realization that there is an entire section of my wardrobe devoted to the exclamation "Damn!"

And I will definitely be fabulous all weekend. Now we just pray for a little sunshine.

Episode 15: Only Women Wait?

2009-05-04T15:00:00.000-05:00

I've managed to achieve my late twenties with a healthy dose of cynicism.

And I have to wonder, how is it that so many men I meet, of similar age to myself or within a comfortable dating bracket (-2/+7 years) have a) already been married and divorced, b) already had children, c) had at least one fruitless engagement.

Did these men not get the memo about being yourself and living your own life before you joined yours to another person's? Was that a females only memo? I know a number of women who have managed to reach the end of their third decade without anyone falling to one knee, wearing a white dress, or creating new life.

So many sour grapes you say? Perhaps. It just seems such a disappointment to know that while I could find more to life than self-identification in a relationship and that I chose not to settle because "time was running out," apparently the men were all running out.(1)

I'm not saying other long term relationships aren't a part of growing and maturing. Certainly it's not all been first dates on the search for Mr. Right. Assuming I ever find him or decide that marriage is my briefcase, baby. But should I expect, at this spinsterish age of mine, that the best I can do is someone who already picked someone else for life long commitment? And now is no longer with that person?

One of my oldest and dearest friends, a guy, is a lot like me in the dating life respect--we've both had relationships that were serious and where the idea of marriage might have been a little more concrete than usual, but far from anything involving shiny jewelry. And I would say we both have full lives with strong family and friend connections, accomplishments personally and professionally, and adventures enough to make for a few stories that need to be edited depending on who is in the room.

Mayhap I should just marry him, he seems to be one of the last of an elusive breed: the un-previously-committed male over 25. But why spoil a good friendship with marriage. :-p

(1) Of course, I remember the young man I was not-dating at the end of college. Maybe it's a not such a surprise I didn't head right for wedding bells. My first love, but not the one.

Episode 14: Plain Eyes

2009-04-30T12:11:00.000-05:00

I was diagnosed with visual impairment around the age of six, though they missed the astigmatism the first time. I've been regularly in glasses and contacts ever since. My first pair of glasses were big round pink frames. At the time, the optometry assistants tried in vain to talk Mum out of them--too big for my face, they argued. And when you look at pictures from those days, you see a little girl with BIG glasses. But they were pink, my then favorite color, and I thought they were pretty. Mum chose to err on the side of getting something I would wear as opposed to forcing me into smaller frames.

I went through many pair of frames, including silver ones with ripples in junior high at some point, and somewhere around/during college moved into brown cat's eye frames. I wanted black, but the ever wise optometry assistant Catherine pointed out that brown would be a little less likely to show the bags under the eyes. Considering that was the point I was sleeping an average of 3-4 hours a night, brown it was.

When those frames died the death of snapping in half, I moved into the current frames. Dark-torti cat's eyes. Never quite as extreme as the 1950s look, just a gentle homage the the shape. The eyes have been changing again though and I've bent these frames to heck and back--I fall asleep in my glasses pretty often.

At the recommendation of a coworker, I made an appointment and duly rendered myself up to three ladies for eye examination. This was at least one more person than I was used to, and I'm not counting the receptionist.

First was the optometry assistant who did all sorts of tests, some of which I knew (follow my pen with your eyes) and some I did not (watch the white light and press the buzzer when you see the blurs). The latter test, by the way, totally works on a rhythm that I figured out about halfway through the first eye. I could have just followed the rhythm and scored perfectly but as it is my eyes, I just felt I had the advantage of knowing at when the best point to blink was.

I was handed off then to the optometrist, a young woman close to my own age. She was pretty awesome, I have to say. We joked about people with slight prescriptions and our jealousy of them and she didn't require eye dilation. Considering it was a sunny day and I had to drive home, I was grateful. Next time we'll probably need to and I'll try to remember to pack an extra person in the car. Blasted lack of decent public transportation.

Finally I was handed off to someone to help me pick out frames. Seriously, this woman's entire job yesterday was to help me find frames and tell me how much it would be for everything once I had. I'm used to smaller shops where that person is also doing the phones and other tasks, this was a little overwhelming. But as it meant she would also go look and bring me frames to try while I peered myopically at myself, it was kind of handy.

And it was an experience:

First, as I mingled amongst the eye pieces, she came out and called for me by a permutation of my name that I abhor. I didn't realize she was talking to me--I never answer to that. It was only the second time that I turned around and asked (in the "do you mean REAL NAME?" sort of way) if she meant me. On this auspicious footing we began.

They had a wide, lovely selection of frames in various shades, shapes, sizes, colors and decor. You could see she was ready to show me blue, super-square, Swarovski crystal laden, thick and heavily floral templed frames. And then I probably really destroyed her day: I told her what I wanted. I indicated my face and said "I want a new version of these."

I then further disillusioned her, telling her I seriously disliked the heavy decorated temple look and that I wasn't up for bling. All this in that blithe no-nonsense voice that indicated handing me the 'fabulous' orange frames with just two crystals in each corner would be a bad idea.

Ultimately I ended up with slightly smaller, slightly more square, dark brown torti frames that have a slight homage to cat's eyes. Final results in 7-10 days.

Episode 13: Keeping on That Learning Curve

2009-04-27T15:29:00.003-05:00

Some lessons, it seems, come with a little pain. Things I've learned of late:

It's a bad idea to do yoga in the morning and then go dancing in 3" heels that night. Apparently doing squats in those heels means your quads suddenly have a wrenching pain that makes it difficult to continue dancing.
If you don't stretch every hour or two over the weekend following said quad pain incident, the muscles tighten up and it really hurts to move.
I have to write out more comprehensive to do lists and add stuff to them regularly. Otherwise I realize at 8:30 p.m. on Sunday that I have something due Monday morning that isn't started yet.
My pangs of homesickness are cyclical. If I can make it a week productively working towards my future, I can settle back into the here and present well enough to not resent having to get out of bed every day.

I just have to figure out what makes me productive towards my future.

Off to work on my to do list.

Episode 12: Can't Say What I Want to Say

2009-04-21T21:29:00.000-05:00

This is the fourth time I've tried to write this blog post.

The essentials?

A. Emails and blog posts don't take physical space in our homes to save them, allowing us to save more of them.

B. It is easier to read, find and save my online words or find them easily through an online search.

A + B = I feel like my hands are tied and my voice is muted. There are times I can't say what I really want to say--I'm self editing on the off chance that what I type will come back to haunt me in the future. It's not just professional, usually it's personal. Cards and stationary end up in the recycling bin--the thought retained but the object passed on and the exact phrases often forgotten. But online words can last and are so much more searchable. Do I anticipate my words being thrown back in my face? No, but I am more inclined to take out and save for phone or in person something edgier. I know, I might be being recorded then too. If y'all are really that focused on getting me on record, I'm not sure of a good way around that.

But, ultimately, this is why I still keep an offline journal and am considering a codicil to my will that says those have to be taken out and burned.

Episode 11: Ask for Help

2009-04-19T20:53:00.000-05:00

It's one of those paradigms that I'm in a profession that is very much query based--and yet I have a difficult time asking for assistance.

Some things are easy: I've often asked male roommates to open jars or reach something up high if I didn't feel like climbing on the counters. I have a selection of people who are often asked to edit and review pieces for me. One of my best friends is a nurse and I solicit her opinion frequently on health news I see and discussions on good health in general for me. (Note--eat more vegetables)

Others, not so much. I have a strong sense, for whatever reason, of "you should be able to figure this out for yourself." It crosses into my most active hobby and especially my work. Even when I know I need help, and know help is available, there are times I try to be a wonder woman. I'm working on getting better at figuring out when to ask for help, but it's a slow process.

I reached out to a friend today, asking for help. We're going on 5 years of knowing each other, and even once have met in person, and he was the right person to ask. I'm undertaking a new project and it's in an area he knows. But writing that email was hard. Not because I didn't think he'd help--I had a response in nearly seconds offering full and cheerful assistance--but because it's me and I feel like I should be able to do this on my own.

Silly me. Vaa reminded me this morning that I can't do it alone, that I'm supposed to reach out to others. Sharing burdens and helping is part of friendship. And part of what I do is knowing where to get answers, rather than what answers are. Asking for help to get from where to what, that too is a part of friendship and self-development.

So now I charge forth, trying to figure out who best to ask and trying to get over the ridiculous stigma that friends and professional contacts will look down on me for asking questions.

Episode 10: Rocking Out in My Chair

2009-04-14T20:10:00.000-05:00

It's taken a while, but my coworkers have started to figure out that if I'm unresponsive I'm not ignoring them, I just have headphones in. The shared office space is pretty noisy and if I need to concentrate, it's time to zone out. It was a lot easier a couple of jobs ago. There, my manager (next cube behind me) just chucked soft stuff at me to get my attention. When a foam heart goes flying past your range of vision....

I have a playlist on YouTube and a reasonably well honed library at Last.fm for when I'm tuning in, zoning out, and rocking on. A fair amount of it is top 40, scoffed upon by "real music lovers" but Beyonce is good for wiggling through an afternoon of data entry. Dance music in particular helps me concentrate, something about a nice steady bass beat. I'm sure it looks odd from the back--chair dancing usually does when you can't hear the music.

Which is probably why people stare at me strangely when I'm driving, isn't it?

Episode 9: Express Yourself

2009-04-09T11:50:00.002-05:00

Make yours here.

Episode 8: The Mirror

2009-04-07T10:45:00.000-05:00

My bathroom has a huge mirror in it. Over the vanity, it's about five feet wide and three feet tall. The corners are a bit of a nuisance to clean but it's nice having a large mirror. The only other mirror in my apartment is a small (one foot w by two feet tall) face mirror in my bedroom that I rarely use besides when fussing with my jewelry.

My personal self image each day is therefore dependent on this bathroom mirror. I may glance in the mirror at work while washing my hands, but that's primarily to see if anything is out of place or if my hair has decided to take on a life of it's own. Occasionally it has. But my bathroom mirror is where I preen, look at my body critically, and remind myself that more yoga and pilates would be a good idea. Maybe some aerobics too.

I'd lived in this apartment for about six months before I went home for a visit. I stayed with my sister, who, at the time, had a similarly large mirror in her bathroom (and a window---jealousy of that natural daylight in the bath). As I got ready to hop in the shower I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

It was a surprise. I looked a lot thinner in her mirror. I also knew she had a new mirror--which meant my bathroom mirror was warped. (And no, siblings don't like it when you pop out of the shower, towel wrapped asking "Do I really look this thin?")

Visitors to my apartment have agreed that the bathroom mirror is slightly warped. A couple suggested I replace it, something I don't plan to do as I'm renting here and that's a BIG chunk of mirror.

What surprised me the most was how much it had affected my self perceived body image. I saw myself as heavier and a little shorter every morning, and without thinking about it had changed my idea about myself. I was surprised to find out I weighed the same, surely I'd put on weight, I looked heavier, right? No, clothes weren't fitting too differently but the image was there in my head. I don't own a bathroom scale, so I couldn't verify the image with a number.

I need to get another mirror, something full length so I can see my shoes and lower limbs, but until I get myself over to Lowes or Home Depot or Wal-mart, I have my bathroom mirror. And I have to keep reminding myself that what's in the mirror isn't 100% correct. It's harder to shake than I'd like, especially when there's not immediate comparison to show a proper body image.

You and I've spoken about moving forward and changing our images (professionally, personally, etc). I challenge you this week to consider if your mirror is warped and if you need a new mirror in your bathroom--physical or mental.

Maybe that will give us the new/correct/refreshed perspective we're looking for.

Episode 7: Nature Sparkles

2009-04-06T14:25:00.001-05:00

I'm finishing up my taxes, which has almost as much appeal as the dentist appointment did last week. Granted, no one is shoving sharp objects in and around my teeth with the guarantee of drawing blood and the strong possibility of me gagging, but it's a close second.

I did my taxes in late February once I got the paperwork from all the necessary places (the list just keeps growing!). But I owe money this year, which hurts even as it is a good sign that I'm doing well with my freelance work. So today I'm reading through the numbers again and prepping the checks to go into the mail. Yippee.

Just now though I stopped for a minute to take a look at my amaryllis. A gift from a woman whose twins I taught as infants, she probably doesn't remember me. I remember only that her first name was unusual and that we only used part of it, calling her Belle.

The amaryllis has been a stubborn plant. It didn't like the house I was living it at the time, refusing to bloom because of the smokers that were polluting it's lungs and mine. It objected to my next apartment for reasons unknown. Then I moved again and it got a place of, not honor, but at least lots of sunlight in the big front window. Finally, it condescended to bloom with rich salmon-colored flowers.

Promptly thereafter it went back to growing nice lush leaves and ignoring my entreaties to bloom again. It survived, with much complaining, the most recent move and sulked in a corner of the living room. No, it didn't want to go outside; no, it didn't want to live in the bedroom. I had every intention of dragging the bulb out of the dirt and leaving it in the hall closet over the winter, but ultimately just hacked the leaves off and stopped watering for a few months.

Now, it's spring again and I started watering. Leaves started coming up. It was nice to see green but I wasn't optimistic. We'd been this leafy route before. And then---a bud. Two actually. I had to turn the amaryllis daily as it leaned towards the sun, trying to keep it from veering too strongly one way or another.

And the salmon colored flowers returned. Two of them, rich and vibrant in hue, soft in texture. And a third bud appeared, an extra credit perhaps for giving the amaryllis some time to rest over the winter?

I stepped away from my computer to admire the third flower, the last remaining as the others have shriveled and been consigned to the garbage can. And then I noticed. The flower petals sparkle. With the rich morning sun, there's a glow of glitter far more delicate than any artifice can create, glistening over the colors. It will be futile, I know, to try and capture it on camera, though I'll try, at least for the flower's sake.

It's amazing what display nature puts on for us and I remind you today to look around.

Nature sparkles!

Episode 6: Things I Learned This Weekend

2009-03-30T16:40:00.004-05:00

Really great Brussels sprouts can be devoured at Wildwood BBQ on Park and 18th.
The blueberry beer isn't bad either.
School Products on Broadway is way too dangerous for me to go to with a credit card.
Apparently I can do the full dance break in Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied" in 4" heels
It takes approximately 12 hours to change my entire body language to adapt to the location I'm in. I walk differently when I'm home in NY.
A foot of my hair weighs about a pound. (Cut a foot off and my weight is down a little)

And I've added a new little notebook to my purse to try and catch all the things my sieve of a memory loses.

Episode 5: Ruffle Coup

2009-03-21T20:47:00.002-05:00

Clothes shopping today was less than exciting. Trying to find things that flatter my figure and are remotely appropriate for me to wear has always been a challenge but this season looks like it will be particularly difficult.

Let us set aside for the moment the fact that the long, "romantic," batik/creatively dyed cotton dresses look like something out of my aunt's vintage late 70s closet. We'll move past the horrific number of tops that deserve a place only in mid-80s movies. I'll even suppress my shudders at the massive amount of yellow and all the neon shades I saw, despite the fact that absolutely none of those colors look remotely attractive on me.

No, darling, we're going to talk about the ruffles. The ruffles that are EVERYWHERE. 70% of the shirts I picked up were layered with pleats and tucks to be more feminine. I even tried one dress with only one row of ruffles around the neckline. That I hung it politely again on the hanger is a sign of being brought up right, not of my respect for the garment. But these ruffles cling to the skirts, shirts, dresses and I shudder, because it's just too much going on for me on the clothing. Ruffles for the sake of ruffles is just a bad idea. And many fabrics just shouldn't be ruffles. I could live with it when it was only a few skirts and some crisp white cotton blouses, but now, they're everywhere.

Even tank tops, that last bastion of pull the shirt over my head and walk out the door don't seem to be safe. Along side with choosing length (regular or tunic), picking between a plethora of straps, none of which look like they'll do their job to begin with, and trying to find a color and size remotely functional with my current wardrobe: now they're layered with lace and ruffles. Regular, cotton tank tops. I shudder to think how many girls whose extra weight, squeezed up and out of the top of their skinny jeans and shorts this summer, will be enhanced by lace around the midriff. Somehow, I just don't find it cute.

And don't get me started on the black jumpsuit under which there is no hope of wearing a bra. I'm not that endowed, but seriously.

5 Reasons to Appreciate that You Are Male:
1) Jeans come with measurements on them. You might have to look a while for your particular measurements but you never need guess what size you are in this store.
2) You don't need to try and wade through juniors, misses and petites in search of something that might fit and look appropriate.
3) You aren't facing the wonderful spring trend of ruffles.
4) No bra straps to coordinate with all of your outfits.
5) You're not expected to dress up in colors mostly appropriate for sorbet every spring.

Episode 4: A Peek in the Closet 1

2009-03-16T23:50:00.000-05:00

Did you know, in my wardrobe, I've only one pair of sweatpants?

The pants are from H&M circa 2005, the Manhattan store, late summer. They are boot cut/bell bottom, fitted at the hips with a drawstring for extra snugness and a cute bow. And they're the color of oatmeal. A number that means nothing too me, outside of randomly being the year of my birth, is appliqued onto one hip.

If you've made it this far into the description, I'm impressed. Relegated now to the pajama/work out clothing drawer, these pants were bought with an actual intent. Headed out to Suffolk County to meet up with a girl friend of mine and two guys we barely knew, I needed something that would fit the scene. Something a little different from my regular clothes, which were far more business casual than this outing called for.

Armed with these sweatpants and a white hoodie, I ventured forth. I berated myself for buying white, who wears a white hoodie and who can keep it clean? Might I just add that it has been one of my favorite articles of clothing for nearly four years and is only on its way out because there are a couple of holes in it?

The boys are long gone (probably for the best, we think at least one of them had "connections"); the girl is still a friend, though it's a bit longer between nights out dancing these days. But that pants are in my bureau. Comfy and slouchy with a tank top and fleece hoodie.

And the fitted thing does so much more for the hips than the 80s-style matching set with an elastic waistband type ever did.

Episode 3: Age: A Number or a Category....

2009-03-13T14:00:00.000-05:00

Apparently it's acceptable these days to ask a lady her age. Is it one of those things they only stop asking once you have a certain number of gray hairs? It's come up a number of times over the past couple of weeks: a lady at work, a couple of kids I know and then there was that most recent one.

It was a guy and of the people who have asked me in the past six months or so, he was the most surprised. And his response "wow, you're really young" was a bright red flag that I must be more than a decade younger than he. It turns out I'm fourteen years younger to be exact. I was a little surprised at the age difference myself, I'd assumed a seven or eight year split and that might have been agreeable for coffee and perhaps dinner. But as I confirmed with Vaa this morning, 14 years is just a little too far apart. I'm open minded but I do put my foot down around the decade difference between a guy's age and mine. I tend to find that after a decade, we're at different life places. Not always, but generally speaking.

But isn't it interesting how a number that no one can seem to figure out on first glance puts us in categories?

I've been written off in stores because I was "obviously too young" to know what I was doing/buying. I thought that would fade once I was post college, but I've been out over five years and apparently I've not quite reached it yet. Some retailers just can't seem to figure out that once you reach 21, the idea of doing what the "older crowd does" loses something and if you write off a young adult, we won't be back.

In my places of work, I'm at least a decade younger than my professional coworkers. They have far more life experience, and experience in the field in general--but I'm more open to new tools and my typing speed boggles many of them.

As a child, I grouped adults into one of three age brackets: young adults, adults my parents' age, adults my grandparents' age. Now I'm what I would consider a young adult (less than a full decade since I legally became one), and the brackets have become all too wonky.

But at least I retain the manners not to say "so...how old are you?" to an adult I barely know.

Episode 2: Polish and Peach Jam

2009-03-10T17:00:00.000-05:00

I need to polish my pots...

Somehow that sounds vaguely inappropriate, but unfortunately no double entendre is meant. I have matching silver tea and coffee pots and a gold-hued tarnish reminds me that I've not polished them of late.

When I acquired them, I was given a detailed instruction about the care and use of silver tea pots. This particular pattern is SDN9--that was determined by someone far more knowledgeable of silver stamps than I. I have what was probably a grandmother's good silver. Only it wasn't to the taste of the heirs, or perhaps there were no heirs. Having purchased it at an antique market to which I seem to be making an annual visit, I can make up whatever back story I like.

So why do I need a silver tea and coffee pot? Why--for when next I have company. Or perhaps just a day I'm feeling a little more Regency/Victorian Era. Bring the teapot down, rinse carefully, and pour boiling hot water (prepared on the gas stove) over the shell shaped tea strainer. I'll get a package of crumpets out of the ice box (Did you know they can be found in the refrigerated section at the grocery? Check by the English Muffins), and hopefully by then the next jar of Mum's peach jam will have appeared. I ran out yesterday halfway through an English Muffin and was forced to make do with peach butter.

Tea and warm crumpets with lots of butter and jam. And napkins. Trust me, we'll need napkins.

But if that's going to happen, I need to get out the silver polish.

Issue 1: Shamrocks as Harbinger of Spring

2009-03-08T18:44:00.004-05:00

A comment C made this morning, on the efficacy of galoshes in inspiring one to skip and splash in puddles, hauled me back in memories to P and I skipping down Ashland after breakfast one morning. P said something about it being a memory I would retain, and obviously it worked--though I have given up those particular brown boots.

Despite the temperature only being 3 degrees this morning and the utter joy of chiseling ice off the windshield yet again before leaving for work, I am starting to have hopes and thoughts of spring. I think it's because of my shamrocks. In the fall my mum brought me a flat of shamrocks she'd split out from hers. Mum has a green thumb like no one else. While I certainly welcomed some shamrocks--10 new plants were a bit much, so I sent out an email at work and most of them went to a new home. Three stayed with me though and were re-potted.

Now they're big, flourishing with three leaf stalks and many little white flowers. Because they lived right by the balcony they got tons of sunshine but also a little chill, which meant some of the leaves took on a purple tinge.

It's still dark by the time I get home most nights so the shamrocks have put themselves to bed, leaves folded down and tucked in. It is only on the weekends and Tuesday mornings that I get to see the plants with leaves fully flared and reaching for the sun. The bright greens and flared leaves creates a welcoming bubble that suggests that even though we may still have a little while longer--spring is coming. We will have grass once more and trees with leaves, rather than their stark spare branches.

Introductorily

2009-03-08T18:39:00.002-05:00

Following the termination of a relationship, I recaptured my words, my self really, which had been rather muted for the better part of two years.

I found most joy in writing pieces to a friend often on the road--to ensure that at least once a week he had a bit of an update on my life, and a little touch of sanity in a world that was anything but.

While most of these are new pieces, some may include some reworks.

Get out your can opener, dinner tonight is Canned Sanity.