Weighted Ice

The midwest is shrouded in snow, ice, and slush today. Trees have snapped off their tops. Power lines have fallen. There is a heavy gloom all around. It seems fitting.


For a long while now, I've been feeling centered, feeling 'high', feeling inspired. When I'm in that place I wonder why others can't 'feel the love' and join me there. I wonder why people let the little things bother them. I share my wisdom like I have it all figured out.


Unfortunately the pendulum's pattern of my life shows me that after each high there must be its accompanying low. And there's where I find myself today.


It started with the day when Rob and I sniped at each other the way old, married couples, who've never found a way out of the ruts, do. It continued with an even worse day on Saturday, despite my 'lessons noted' if not learned. Edgy, edgy, edgy, trying not to spill it but it brims over anyhow. And it carried on yesterday when I got a bee in my bonnet (more like a bug up my *ss) and spent all morning cleaning our disgusting garage, then cleaned the house, then rearranged the furniture, got the tree, made dinner, put up decorations, and fell into bed, exhausted. It was one of those 'keep moving' sort of edgy days.


So I wasn't entirely surprised to wake today and find I'm edgier than ever. School was called off but I couldn't find it within myself to make it a fun day. I couldn't think of one d*mn thing to do; I knew I was going to let the day pass with no fanfare. And then mom called.


My grandmother died.


This was not entirely unexpected; she's been failing for a while. And she was 95. But, still... it's my grandma, and she's always been here, and she's always bounced back; was always the tough one. And when I cried, I'm a bit ashamed to say the tears were mostly a release of all the buried grief for my father.

I get a bit wacky when I grieve these days. My answer to the edginess I felt was to make a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings. For no good reason. I had to slog through ice and slush in a barren, shut-down countryside to get a few ingredients. I gave dirty looks to other shoppers because I was feeling surly. I cooked and cooked and took out my angst on the mashed potatoes. I didn't heed the messages of the lost measuring spoons or the the spilled bottle of safflower oil or the vase that shattered on the counter. I kept cooking. We had turkey dinner, d*mn it.

This is when I hope-hope-hope there's some sort of next stage, because I'm pretty sure my grandma really needs to see her son.



And I'm pretty sure she needs to see her husband, who died over 50 years ago, leaving her with a farm and three kids to care for.

And I'm pretty sure she needs to give him a stiff upper-cut to the jaw right after their reunion kiss.

We've asked her to give dad one too.

After the hug and kiss, of course.

Murder at the Disco, Ba-By

"Murder at the Disco" was a success! A $9,000 kind of success, thank you very much.

It's such a fun way to raise funds for our community theatre. We gather a bunch of great actors, give them roles and scripts, rent a banquet facility, and rehearse once or twice a few times. Then we pack the room full of ticket-holders, auction off a few dozen items, serve a lovely meal, ply the show-goers with liquor, and put on a wild show!

For this particular show, Laurie - on the right in leopard print :) - wrote the script. And it was awesome! She's also the Production Manager, meaning she does the work of about a dozen people, all while keeping a smile on her face and keeping the rest of us on task. And with this cast? That was not exactly easy.

The mystery goes like this... The deceased, Lorna Lovelost, was bludgeoned to death in her dressing room after winning the Dancing Queen Trophy at Studio 74.


There is a colorful cast of suspects such as Dexter Donaldson, the straight costume designer pretending to be gay; Chasey Chasem, the Studio 74 DJ; John Revolta, the seedy club owner; Chet Hardman, Lorna's dance partner and love interest; Pamela Goodnight, Lorna's dancing queen rival; and the Disco Duck and the Duck Handler (interpreter).

We also had a Sheriff, who led the investigation, and two newspaper reporters who tailed the suspects paparazzi-style. And the patrons act as investigators, work by table, and guess whodunit as well as determine motive, means and opportunity.

You know you've pulled of a good show when it's not so easy that everyone guesses it, but not so difficult that no one gets it right. That's a tough balance to achieve, but Laurie pulled it off as about 4 of 22 tables were right or close-to-right!


The sheriff performs the denouement at the end, revealing some very juicy details that only the craftiest questioners will root out.

Unfortunately I didn't take many pictures since I was busy trying to get my cast to stop drinking before the show directing, and I haven't gotten copies from the others yet. The newspaper reporter was kind enough to send me these few, though. The cast shot and the one of my chest-baring boyz were in the local newspaper!

Here's the cast prior to showtime. They're already drunk.

Believe it or not, I already owned those pants. I bought them about 2 years ago at our church ecology sale. I saw them and had to have them. Curiously, I bought those and a pair of fake leather snakeskin pants at the same time. (In case you're wondering? I go to a UU church. :)

And the wig? Got it at a grocery store while browsing for dog food. For $4.

As I was getting dressed, I realized the pants are SUPER high-waisted on me. Then I remembered they often wore their pants super high-waisted in the 70's, didn't they?

I'm thinking ya.

Here's me with Chet Hardman.

Who bears a strong resemblance to... Lenny of Laverne and Shirley fame.. and...


Alan Kalter, David Letterman's announcer-man.

Here's me with Dexter Donaldson...

who's got, like, a Flock-of-Seagulls-meets-Wind-Tunnel thing goin' on.

And then there's my main man and my main little man. Let me just start by saying I once counted all of Rob's chest hairs while lying in bed and it took me all of 3 seconds. Which means he either got jiggy with a bottle of Rogaine or...

we yanked hair out of his 'fro and Elmer's-glued it to his chest.

Yowza, Yowza, Yowza baby!

The Path is Still Rocky Sometimes

A faraway unschooler emailed and asked me for some advice this week. I was quite flattered that she sought my voice from a sea of unschoolers after reading my blog. I typed a long reply to her concerns today, hopefully tossing out a few useful tidbits to see her through a low period.

But no sooner do I think I have this unschooling philosophy down-pat, when the inner beasts - old habits and deeply burned neural-pathways - rear up to remind me there are always steps to take forward. No rest yet, even if weary. We learn to navigate the minefield, but the mines are still there.

Rob and Jonathan are still, as I type, engaged in an all-day (though interspersed with a few breaks here and there) video game marathon. They're together. They're laughing. They're having a grand time, playing the same game over and over, building their teams, collaborating, growing bleary-eyed. There was a time not so long ago when I'd have worked like mad to get them to do something else. I'd have gotten grouchy and critical, and thrown snipes in their direction until I wasn't the only unhappy one. And when they'd grudgingly get off the video game or computer (or whatever it was I wished they'd stop), I wouldn't have anything better to offer them.

Was it worth it just to win the battle? I must've thought so, as I continued for many years. And I really believed I was the intellectual superior.

And here's the rub: as I come 'round the bend, toward seeing that everything counts as learning, toward respecting the choices of others even if they're different from my own, toward realizing that I, too, like loads of screen time, just in a different format (writing), Rob comes 'round a different bend, the one that agrees that screen time should be monitored, choices questioned. (Is it the bane of a Virgo-Pisces union to never be on the same page at the same time? It would seem so most days.)

Back to today. I was happy to sit at the computer and catch up on several blogs, try to write (but feeling rather uninspired), and craft some over-due email replies.

All was well, so far.

But sometimes we forget how tiny are the boxes we place each other in. And sometimes the judgments come pouring forth. Sometimes we don't even recognize the triggers.

Rob looked up at me at one point and laughed, derision in his voice, "I can't believe how much time you can spend at that computer." (This is said as he plays video games, mind you, which is my snappy-retort-self speaking. Dare not challenge ME in a battle of come-backs, no sirree.)

I, with an air of complete immaturity, replied, "Oh, and your amount of tv watching and video game playing is no big deal, right?"

We seemed to settle down a bit after that. I read a book. He hauled a load of wood. We all snacked. I did a load of laundry.

He returned to the video game. I returned to the computer.

Later, it was my turn to get snarky. Earlier in the day I had agreed to return the truck to the farm and fetch his car, but I'd forgotten. After it grew dark and Rob realized the vehicles still weren't switched, he asked when I planned to do it. And that's when my inner-whiner went on full-tilt.

I began with, "Why can't you just do it in the morning?" Because he likes everything in place before he begins his Monday work-week. I upped the ante. "Well, I'M not the one who didn't return the truck straight away in the FIRST place." But I'd said I'd do it.

Something in me was triggered. I was deep into a book at that point, the wind was howling outside and rattling the windows; Rob was lounged on the floor in front of the fire. And my inner-martyr began to rapid-fire, and the whiny excuses tumbled to the forefront (but thankfully, stopped just before they exited my mouth), and I wanted oh-so-badly to launch into a tirade about how I do everything around the house and no one does anything for me and I picked up the kitchen after his lazy-*ss about six times already today. (Oh wait, I think that last one may have made a sneaky little escape.)

But then suddenly, in my huff and as my brain cued the next whine, I am taken back to a time many, many years ago, when I witnessed someone else whine in that same poor-me, you-have-to-do-it kind of way. Rob and I were vacationing in Arizona at a lake with his brother Terry and Terry's then-wife Kristy. Kristy was floating on a raft and the rest of us were standing in shallow water, talking. Kristy's raft kept floating toward shore and each time she found herself beached, she whined at Terry to come and fetch her and pull her back to deeper waters. This happened about a dozen times, each time her whine growing more pathetic. I can still hear her voice today - "Teerrrryyyyyyy" - probably because Rob and I have emulated it in jest many times over all these years. It was one of those grating noises, made worse by the fact that she was a grown woman and perfectly capable of launching her own self back to deeper waters.

***

I was still huffy, but I knew I had to get up, bundle up, and return the truck. I had to take deep breaths. I had to calm my inner whiner, my inner b*tch, and my inner martyr (a wicked trifecta of horridness); but in the end, it gives me another opportunity to reflect. On where those feelings come from. On why certain things still trigger me. On why I go straight back to that icky place time and time again. Even after all these years of work.

And the collective voices of freedom-loving unschoolers come to me. And I revisit some of my favorite paradigm-shifting moments, for sustenance, for a chin-up (or a stiff kick in the arse). Like the time when I complained to my friend Elizabeth that all Rob ever wanted to do on weekends was watch sports.

She'd heard this lament several times, and she finally asked, "Well, what would you rather be doing?"

"I don't know; taking a hike at the park," I moaned.

"So, take a hike."

Whoa.

So simple. So profound. Still so difficult at times, obviously.

Today was mostly a success; we each did what we wanted to do and happily co-existed for most of the day. But perhaps no success is apparent unless it has an opposing bit of failure for perspective on occasion, just as no light can be perceived without the contrasting darkness.

When I returned from delivering the truck and fetching the car, Rob was hastily cleaning up the kitchen. With a silly smirk on his face he said, "Darn, I wanted to be done before you got back!"

The rocks in the path are still there. We get pretty good at not tripping over them; but after all this time we may still stumble over a few. A skinned knee (or a bruised ego) reminds us to pay closer attention, calls us back to focus.

That's not always a bad thing.

Good News! And We Have a Winner!

My camera has been FOUND! Oh joy of joys, it's back. And a good thing, too, because as I mentioned before, it had some ultra-important pictures on it that I could not bear to lose!

Like this one, for example:

That's the paperwhite bulb I mentioned before, pre-bloom. I did not get a picture of it blooming. *pout* That's when my camera was lost, in case you didn't know. Did you know my camera was lost? Anyhow, friend and women's group member Martha gave us each two at the last grrrl's gathering, to help us through the long winter! Thanks Martha!

And this one:

I told you I can't drive more than 2 miles without pulling over and taking pictures, didn't I? Well, it's true. I got places a lot faster this week while my camera was lost. The kids might take up temporary-camera-loss as a practice, at least on those days where we have to be somewhere they want to go.

This shot was taken down my road, while I took food to my cousin who just had a baby. The lighting that night was just lovely, and I made the wise decision to take the scenic route. (She lives all of 2.5 miles away.)

And then there was this shot. I can't help but take about 14 dozen photos of my nephew Armando each time he visits. He's just that darn cute. And quite the artist, you see!


And here is my hero. This is the first picture I took after my reunion with my camera.

**((My Jonathan))**

The look on his face as he slowly withdrew the camera from our fabric-paints totebag was so cute!


I told him he's now my favorite 11 yr old. But I think he already knew that.

***

Now for the even better news - bonnyjane is the contest winner! She correctly googled guessed "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum"! That's the musical I was in, cast as a courtesan. Oh the fun we had! The song "I'm Calm" was sung by Hysterium, who was trying to juggle about a dozen things before his master returned. Here he is, dressed as a bride to fool the captain:

Anyhoo, bonnyjane, you contest-winner-you, email me at piscesgrrl(at)aeroinc(dot)net and I'll mail you your book!

And many thanks to everyone who sent "oh sh*t, I hate it when that happens" "find your camera NOW" vibes my way! It worked.

***

p.s. Is it wrong to be a little sad that I don't get a new camera? Oh the tangle of emotions!

p.s. I looked in that totebag. Twice.

p.p.s. It was the only bag I did not turn upside down.

p.p.p.s. I don't know why.

p.p.p.p.s. Maybe because subconsciously I wanted a new camera?

p.p.p.p.p.s. That would be very lame of me.

p.p.p.p.p.p.s. But not entirely out of character.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. But I didn't lose it on purpose, I swear.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. I didn't consciously lose it, that is. Just maybe didn't conciously look in the right place.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. I'm done now.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. I'm emotionally exhausted.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. I think I need a nap.

Meme, Meme, Meme!

I really enjoy reading memes because I learn so much about the people doing them. I'm not quite as fond of writing memes myself because I can never think of interesting things to say. Or at least not enough to fill up 8 strange things (cuz, of course, there's nothing strange about me, no way, no how, not a chance, never, uh-UH) or 13 Thursday ideas on a theme or even 5 for Friday. Fill in the blank is pretty good for me though, since someone else does most of the thinking.

But I've seen this one a couple times now and I think it looks like fun to DO. Whether or not it's fun for you, well, I don't know.

Here's the deal: Type the answer to each question into a Google image search, and then pick an image from the first page of results.


1. Age At Next Birthday: 38.
Oh heck, not a great way to start, unless you really like guns (which I don't) or airplanes (which I'm pretty non-committal about).

Hmmm.
Ya, I'm not sure what he's all about either!

2. Place I'd Like To Travel: Nepal.

Ahhhh...


3. Favorite Place: in the mountains

AHHHHHH.......

4. Favorite Object(s): digital camera, books, my bag, my scarf, and my tulsi bracelet, not necessarily in that order

5. Favorite Food : Guacamole and a steaming cup of tea


6. Favorite Animal: cow



7. Favorite Color: Purple
This one was disturbing because not only did purple "biker balls" (do not ask - I do not know) come up, but also an image of a very, um, erect man. WTF?!


8. My Nickname(s): Lola (Uh-oh), Lolita (Ya, let's not do that one either), so.. how about Piscesgrrl

Lots of pics from my own blog came up, but then there was this one:
It says this image is from a myspace page, and the myspace page is of Rob's cousin AndyArtist! I went to his page, cuz he's my friend doncha know, and didn't see this image anywhere. But I thought how cool is that?

9. Town I was Born In: Rockford, IL

The Japanese Gardens - a lovely place to stroll.

Don't know what this is, but I love rocks.
We went to this Lego exhibit!

10. Bad Habit I Have: too much time online

I couldn't resist! That is TOO funny!!

If'n you want, you're it.

I'm Calm, I'm Calm, I'm Perfectly Calm

Actually, I'm not calm. I'm not calm at all. In fact, I'm perfectly NOT calm, if such a thing is possible.

I lost my digital camera... I lost my digital camera.... I LOST MY DIGITAL CAMERA!

I'm going to do some deep breathing now.

I've retraced my steps. I've turned the house upside down. I've searched the van a dozen times. And the car. And the laundry room. I checked coat pockets, totebags, and behind cushions and under beds, and dumped my purse upside down just to be sure, even though I'd already searched it 17 times.

I'm a little... a little.... crazed.

I'm not a good photographer. I finally gave up taking photos a few years ago after spending way too much money to develop consistently bad pictures. There is no chronological photo record of my children. There are huge gaps in our lame-excuses-for family albums. I vowed to someday take a photography class, but until then, my husband and our loan officer begged me to stop trying to take decent photos. Sometimes you've just gotta give in, accept the fact that it ain't your gift. I reached that point a few years ago.

And then my mom gave us a digital camera.

Being out of practice, it actually took me a few years to really take it out for a spin. I'm shamefully behind when it comes to all-things-technology. While you're fiddling with your new plasma HD tv, I'm just learning what my dvd/vcr combo can do. While you're enjoying your drop-down dvd players in your stow-and-go minivan, I'm just getting used to having a CD player in mine. I cannot watch a movie if I'm home alone because I haven't the first clue how to use the dvd/satellite/stereo combo, or which of the 84 remote controls to use, or h*ll, how to turn it on, even. A common joke in our family when we see the latest gizmo, gadget, or device is, "Look kids! We'll have one of those in, like, 8 years!"

But once I started using my digital camera I was hooked. I could take photos and discard the bad ones? At no cost? Oh for the love of all things delete-able, I was in heaven. And when I took up blogging, I had a new reason to snap photos to my heart's content. People would actually see the good ones! I could actually showcase my newfound hobby! And when you can delete 99 out of 100 pictures, even a photography-challenged schmuck like me can take a few good shots.

I've taken to carrying my digital camera everywhere I go. I've taken to watching for good shots; noticing the long shadows of the early morning, chronicling every mundane detail of our lives.

And now... it's.... LOST. I called all the places I went the other day. Then I called them again. And again. I tried to call them a 27th time but suddenly all the lines seem to be busy at the same time.

And already I've missed about 3 dozen photo opportunities. My nephew Armando was just sitting and strumming our guitar that's about 3 times his size. I baked corn muffins the other day. I have a blooming paperwhite bulb. These things are too important to go undocumented.

My family is equally panicked.

Jonathan desperately wants me to find it so I'll, well, stop looking for it and do something else for a while. Like cook. Talk in complete sentences. Drive him to functions again.

Brady misses having a camera intrude on his every moment.


And Rob cusses cringes because he knows how much a new freakin' digital camera will cost him I like to take pictures. He's been so worried about the potential hit to his pocketbook me that he's been a diligent search helper.

When he saw a flyer advertising digital cameras on the breakfast table this morning with shiny new high-powered cameras highlighted, circled, and surrounded by neon lights, he vowed to keep searching until he finds it.

And until I find it, or until I steal buy a new one, I'll have to blog using only the photos I've got stored on my computer. The pain of having to peruse my meager stash of 9,592 photos rather than take new ones.. is just... it's just... too... much.

I'm gonna go cry a little bit more now.

*****
P.S. As a thanks for reading this far, and as a token of my appreciation for the oodles of sympathetic vibes that I'm sure you're already sending my way, and because my bookshelf is so full I have resorted to stacking books willy-nilly all over the house, and because I have three copies of a certain book due to my penchant for used book sales and can't seem to turn down one of my favorites when it's only $1 even though I already HAVE TWO copies, and because I think contests are fun, and because I didn't even intend to hold one but then realized the title of this post was just asking for it, and because Whimisgal is holding one and I do everything she does (except cook really pretty tapas foods) (oh, and take really lovely pictures), and because I can't think of anything else to say... (((puff, puff, puff, deeep inhale)))...

I will mail a copy of Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.'s book, Women Who Run With Wolves; Myths & Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype to the first reader who can tell me the name of the show my blog post's title comes from! (Was that last sentence grammatically-challenged or what?!) I will even mail you my only hard-cover copy because I am too cheap to buy own very few hard-covered books so I might as well not keep this one!

Grrrls, this is one cool book. And if you already have it, well, have another. Or give it to your friend. Or hold your own contest. Or give it to someone who needs to lighten up and find her inner grrrl. And guyz (not that I have any male readers), don't despair - you'll have the perfect gift for your special grrl provided I mail it in time for Christmas! Or solstice! Or Hanukkah! Or Kwanzaa! Or National Eggnog Day! And she'll think you're incredibly insightful and deep for choosing it. (It'll be our little secret.)

So, enter now! The early bird gets the worm! Nothing ventured, nothing gained! Where there's a will there's a way! As you make your bed, so must you lie in it! (Um... huh?) In other words, who's gonna be first?

(By the way, I know there are better ways to hold a contest, but it's the best I can do on short notice. Besides, the contest is just a diversion to take my mind off my lost camera for awhile. Wait, I just remembered.)


Waahhhhh!!!!

Help Wanted (Pay Sucks)

I need your help. Again.

It's curious to see which posts generate the most comments on my (or any, for that matter) blog. I don't necessarily write just to receive comments, but comments are great for knowing if what I'm writing means jack-sh*t anything to anyone. In looking upon my blogger dashboard, I see that the most comments I've ever received on a post is 16 - on the post where I asked for living room lay-out advice. Wild, huh?

There are many possible explanations for this, my favorite assumption being that commenting on whether or not I should rearrange my living room furniture, into something as daring as an angle, is safe. No one is going to get flamed for her opinion. No one will have to justify her answer. It's a chance to say, "Hey! I'm here too!" without needing to elaborate. And heck, that was possibly the only post where I explicitly asked for your opinion. (I asked for help with my shoe addiction, but apparently no one saw the seriousness of that issue. Only Rob. And our bank account.) Maybe I should ask more often.

So, since you all did such a great job at telling me exactly what I wanted to hear helping me decide about the living room, I have another decorating predicament. Are you ready? Got your best Martha Stewart goin' on? Have your inner interior decorator at the ready? Your color palette eyes open wide? Your virtual bib overalls on? Your - ok, you get the point.

I need help choosing a paint color for my bathroom. (I know! The challenge that is my life.)

You may recall that my bathroom is, well, pretty bare.



Now - here's part of the dilemma. I like bare. That's why I chose an all-neutral house to begin with. Soft, light cut-loop berber carpet. Creamy walls. Honey-maple cabinets. Cocoa-colored ceramic tile. It's very warm. It's very cozy. It's very spare.

It's also very blah.

Hence the purple wall insanity. When I decided to go color, I decided to go COLOR.

Purple walls. Attached to creamy green walls. Attached to terra-cotta sienna-ish walls. Flanking a dusty purple-ish-tan-ish wall. And then I stopped. I got tired of painting. (So tired that every wall in my living room is painted except one. I simply puttered out and ran out of color ideas. And if I'd stop pointing it out, I doubt anyone would notice. Or care.)

So the bathroom, among others, remains bare. The original color. And I don't know what color to paint it. I don't want it to be too dark.

As there are no windows in there.

I don't want it to be too bright or intense.

As no one wants to have to squint or scream, "My eyes! My eyes!" when they're trying to do their bidness. Ahem.

And I don't want it to be cheesy or pukey or haughty or gaudy. Or boring. Or manic.

It should be a simple task, really. If I weren't so d*mn difficult to please.

But the place desperately needs a serious color overhaul. Seriously. Seriously soon. And I figure with winter coming, and nothing better to do (says the grrrl who hasn't even thought about Christmas yet), what better time to work on a long-overdue home-improvement project that's been on the hope-to-do list for, oh, 11-1/2 years.

Here are the colors in the shower curtain, which I'm too cheap to replace by the way.

A somewhat-retro, canvas-ish collection of dusty blue, olive green, red, and tanish/grayish stripes. I like it for its simplicity. (There's that theme again.)

And remember, I need it to be soothing in there. (Ahem.) Zen-like. Pleasing. Cozy.

Any suggestions?

And while we're discussing my bathroom habits aura-of-choice, let me tell you that this room sometimes serves other purposes.

As a playground, for example.

And even a tv room at times.

So feel free to take that into consideration. :-)