chock-a-blog

DH and I have been separate for 8 months now. I moved out of the house 4 months ago. I've been doing a lot of thinking, about lots of different things. Parenting I'm forever grateful that DH and I were always and remain still on the same page as far as parenting goes. The separation has caused no great struggle there: we support each other in our mutual contention that none of this is Jack's fault and we both love him very much. I won't fault DH in his parenting (except to note that he's not dependable, but that touches every aspect of his life, not just his parenting). Even if I did, there's nothing I could do about it. The best I can do is examine my own parenting and work on being the best mom I can be, raising the boy I have to honor his potential, become a functioning member of society, and, hopefully, do a little better job at it than his dad and I did. Am I doing it wrong? Most of the time I go with my gut. Most of the time I make my own decisions. What f...

Today I discovered my friend Mike is a prolific blogger. (Because I'm dealing with a bunch of issues re: platonic relationships with men [that's a different post entirely] I'm proud of myself for calling Mike my friend.) Not only is Mike a champion blogger, he's father of two, primary breadwinner, marathon runner, vocalist and guitarist for local band Lunar Light Collectors---hell, I don't know him all that well so there's probably a million other things he does too. I learned from reading his blog today that Mike was diagnosed with MS a little over a month ago. I sent him a lame comment, promised to pray for him, then went for a mile long bike ride. Because you don't just process that kind of information with your brain, you process it with you heart and your body, too. It's Earth Day. I didn't do much to honor the earth today, other than take my travel mug to Starbucks for a free fill up and wear a skirt I made from three different salvaged t-shirt...

Mid-January I rather quickly moved from the house to a one bedroom apartment. Thanks to family and friends the actual move went surprisingly smoothly, but in the subsequent weeks I notice things missing. 1. The $50 Amazon gift card given me for Christmas from Auntie Em. I'm so sad I lost it. This is in no way a bid for a replacement, Em. You've been so kind to us. Thank you. 2. A $25 apple store gift card given me by Dave to accompany the iTouch I didn't want but he gave me anyway. I can locate the iTouch. It's in the bathroom accompanying Jack's shower. He's a loiterer. I've given him a two song limit for a shower so he washes to Haddaway's "What Is Love?" and Taio Cruz's "Dynamite." I'm embarrassed for him. 3. All but one of my reusable grocery bags. Where did they go? I used them at 99 cents only two weeks ago and since then they've been AWOL. The cashier remarked that my Trader Joe's bags were much nicer than the 9...

Mandy, Doreen, and I were overwhelmed by the Tucson Gem and Mineral Show today. intrigued by these stretchy picture bracelets coral roses in various sizes medium sized protection against the Evil Eye (notice my new cha cha bracelet and the super sized Evil Eye protection in the big bag in the back of the bin) positive negative Bin buys bone Mandy's obsession my obsession Frida memorial

plenipotentiary \plen-uh-puh-TEN-shee-air-ee; -shuh-ree\, adjective: 1. Containing or conferring full power; invested with full power; as, "plenipotentiary license; plenipotentiary ministers." noun: 1. A person invested with full power to transact any business; especially, an ambassador or diplomatic agent with full power to negotiate a treaty or to transact other business. What a great word to start 2011. Happy New Year!

George Carlin has this great skit about Stuff. All our stuff, bigger house for our stuff, when we go on vacation we take a little of our stuff with us. I'd like less stuff. I'll be downsizing this year from a 3 bedroom, 1700sf house to something yet to be determined. I need to purge my stuff. I'm not emotionally attached to any of it, but David is. It's a struggle agreeing what to do with the stuff. In Pillars of the Earth, a novel by Ken Follett about the building of an English cathedral in the mid-1300s, the main characters had practically no stuff. In the Master Builder's family, each member had the clothes on his or her back along with a wooden bowl and eating utensil. Nothing else. Seems to me life would be much easier if that's all you had to keep track of.

At night when I'm standing at the bathroom sink watching myself in the mirror brushing my teeth, I think about how only 24 hours prior I stood there doing the same thing, and what have I done between then and now? Sometimes I'm crushed that all that time has gone by and I've nothing to show for it. Sometimes I reflect on a day well spent. Sometimes I lament the quick slippage of time, regardless of how I filled those 24 hours. Then I think of Buddha. Well, only now have I thought of Buddha when I was surfing the 'net for an appropriate quote and came across this one: Do not dwell in the past. Do not dream of the future. Concentrate the mind on the present moment. So much of what I do is repetitious: brushing my teeth each night; waking in the morning and shuffling out to the kitchen to put the kettle on for coffee; walking the same path with my dog Cassie and the same music on my iPod; driving Jack to school, then backtracking myself to work; emptying the dishwasher; fo...

If you're Jemcina Slender, you left your husband. You walked out the back door of his rented house and hurried along the alley, shuffling in your house slippers, clutching a black plastic garbage bag of laundry. You rounded the corner and walked through the front yard of the nearest house. You couldn't know it, but inside the man of the house said to his family, "Who's that coming to the door?" When he opened the door before you could even knock, you gathered every ounce of your courage and asked very politely, "I don't want to inconvenience you, but could you give me a ride to the Safeway center? I need to get away from my husband." And when asked, "Is everything alright?" you want to scream "Of course everything's not alright! My life is falling apart and I'm standing here on your front porch in last night's clothes while my daughter rides her bike down the street looking for me and I just need to get away from him "...

Mom sent me a replacement camera so I owe her a photo post. I'm so very pleased with it. Thank you, Mom. So much. Here Brazey gets ready for our Winterhaven jaunt. Jack wore this hat for years. I daresay he can still cram it on his bean. The boys at Winterhaven. You can see Dh and I are still civil. My favorite. For Mom and Bin. Soapbubble snowfall. My kids at soapbubble snowfall. I don't think Jack cared for it all that much. Brazey at the Wishing Tree. Evan implores the Wishing Tree sign. I hope he gets his wish. Gratuitous photo of the cutest bunny ever. Beware that pitchfork, Peter Rabbit!

lagniappe \LAN-yap\, noun: 1. A small gift given with a purchase to a customer, for good measure. 2. A gratuity or tip. 3. An unexpected or indirect benefit. I've replaced the word "bonus" in my vocabulary.

I didn't know. Didn't know I could fall so quickly in love with a critter. Cassie and Kismet have my enduring, unconditional love. I mourned my three year old betta when he bit it. And I was fond of the rats when we had them. But this little guy has won my heart. Meet Bugsy. He's a three year old mini lop from a friend of a friend. I adopted him as a classroom pet but fell for him myself. Good thing we get weekends. He's a good little bunny. He spends most of the day in our side yard, hopping underneath the grapefruit tree and nibbling whatever catches his fancy out of the compost heap. When he's happy he's gives a cute little sideways hop with a kick of his heels. When you bring him a treat and he's excited for it he rapidly paw-paws your hand. His soft fur covers a delicate little skeleton. He goes all boneless when petted, he relaxes so deeply. At the preschool he hops around the classroom, weaving in and out of the children's legs and jumping over th...

1. Uncle Buck "I'm Buck Melanoma. Moley Russell's wart." "You must be a cheerleader. You look firm." "You ever heard of a tune-up? Heh heh heh." "You ever heard of a ritual killing? Heh heh heh." 2. Vacation "Real tomato ketchup, Eddie?" "Eddie says after the baby comes, I can quit one of my night jobs." "You didn't order the metallic pea?" 3. Christmas Vacation "Shitter was full!" "Surprised? If I woke up tomorrow morning with my head sewn to the carpet I wouldn't be more surprised than I am now." "And why is the carpet all wet, Todd ? I don't know, Margo. " 4. Raising Arizona "Turn to the right!" "Why do you say you feel 'trapped' in a man's body?" "You ate sand ?" "Everyone leaves microbes and what not. It's your whole goddamn raisin detrah!" 5. Overboard "My body!" "Shut up and eat your checker...

We opened the door to the sanctuary, where Dr. Keyl was rehearsing the adult choir. "Good morning, Jack," he said to us as we entered. "Thanks for coming so early." Whoa. Those were words we never heard when we had to get DH to come to church with us. It felt good to be on time. To be where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there. It felt good to be modeling for Jack. A few of us ringers rehearsed the Huron Carol with the women's voices. While we were rehearsing, Alison D helped Jack with his robe and his cotta. At rehearsal two weeks ago Dr. Keyl told me he planned to award the cotta to Jack and two of his choir compatriots. The cotta symbolizes dedication, reliability, and leadership. This is only Jack's second year in choir. I'm so proud of him. Lessons and Carols is one of my favorite services. "Once in Royal David's City" was the processional hymn, the first verse sung by children's voices only. Today's scriptures ...

Feeling rusty, and yesterday's blogging prompt didn't go over very well, so I'm returning to the trusty old word of the day ruse. I arose before the dawn and cleaned both toilets. I've learned that if I want to be sure it gets done, I have to do it early in the morning or it slips by the wayside. This blogging thing, por ejemplo. If I'd start the day with it I'd probably get it done right more often. Because I've put it off till the end of the day I'm struggling with the words, my eyelids drooping. So I cleaned both toilets and loaded the car to haul my wares to my friend Terry's craft sale, which she holds each year at her house a week or two before Christmas. It's 7:30 when I leave the house, coffee mug in hand, earrings and pendants swaying on their new stand in the backseat. As is my habit, I slowed the car as I approached the Goodwill dropoff, which doesn't open until 8:00. A few bags have been left against the doors of the storage unit....

commit hara-kiri. Jack often tells me he doesn't want to grow up, and a little boy at school recently told me the same. And to both of them I say, "I'm happier as a grown up than I was as a kid." I'm obligated to this blogging thing for two weeks, committed to it as my New Habit for the Game On diet I'm doing. Tonight I couldn't think of anything to write and I don't get my points if I don't blog. So I put "blogging prompt" in the google machine and that's what I got. If I could trade in my adulthood for a second childhood... oh, perish the thought! Childhood was OK but who wants to go back to that state of uncertainty and vulnerability? And who in their right mind would wish to endure high school again? I'd never want to be a kid again yet I choose to work with kids. I admire kids. We expect them to navigate this world with their limited skills while giving them poor guidance and even poorer role models.

after a prolonged absence it's difficult to know where to start. I was going to lean on Julia Cameron but I can't find my copy of The Right to Write and The Artist's Way hits a little too close to my vulnerable core to be of much use right now. Or maybe it's exactly what I need and I'm too chickenshit. I claim the stressors of my daily life don't affect me overmuch. I keep on marching but the path I tread is narrow. One misstep, one little shove, and I'm plunging into the abyss. I've recovered from my few falls, though, and continue to convince myself that I'm coping well with the changes in my life. I'm ready for these changes but tired of waiting. Necessity dictates I wait. In the meantime, I'm pursuing other interests. Recent craft shows have been successful. I've stocked an etsy shop that's selling a few items here and there. DH and I are separated and without the daily strain of that relationship I'm much more relaxed. suc...

Writing is about getting something down, not about thinking something up.... Once writing becomes an act of listening instead of an act of speech, a great deal of the ego goes out of it.... We can either "think of something to write about" or we can write about what we happen to be thinking about. Initiation Tool This tool encourages you to lighten up and stop taking writing so seriously that it is frightening.... Tell the storyteller five things you'd like to hear stories about. Post-apocalyptic second coming Lesbian prostitute in Victorian London Steampunk Western involving culture clash Terrorist invasion of preschool where President's daughter attends, heroic actions of preschool teacher who outwits the terrorists and saves all the kids, except maybe that one mean one you know will bite it from the beginning Quest story centering on a woman, in the tradition of The Talisman, Earth Children, Outlander, etc.

When people undertake writing, it is often not with the agenda of writing but with the agenda of "becoming a writer." ... The bottom line, the fact that the act of writing makes you a writer, barely enters the equation at all. Instead, we come up with ideas like "Real writers are published," or "Real writers make a living from their writing." In a sense, we are saying, "Real writers get validation from others that they are writers." This essay is weak. That was my initial thought. A weak exercise. I gave myself permission to skip it and planned a blog entry about how grown up I am now, that I can merrily neglect the assignment because I recognize it for the busy seatwork it really is. Reality: The assignment isn't weak. I struggle with it. It's easier to skip it than to work through it. Ah, hell. Here goes. Step one: What are your hidden associations with the term "writer"? Fill in the following as rapidly as possible. Writers a...

My life is set to change whether I like it or not (I like it). There is no doubt this change will be hard. But while my life is changing I might as well revert to the habit that served me well before I got sidetracked. Writing. Trouble is, it's not quite like riding a bike. You forget how to do it. You're like the rusty old Tin Man standing in the apple orchard, totally locked up until Dorothy and Scarecrow come along and figure out you need your joints oiled. Julia Cameron is my Dorothy. Stephen King is my scarecrow. I've started reading The Write to Right. Again. But this time, I think it's gonna provide the oil I need to get my joints moving. First essay: Begin. From it I culled these nuggets: "The first trick, the one I am practicing now, is to just start where you are." (p. 1) "We are trained to self-doubt, to self-scrutiny in the place of self-expression." (p. 3) "Most of us try to write too carefully. We try to do it 'right.' We...

We got there on time. The choir was still in the sanctuary rehearsing but because the 8 o'clock handbell choir rang we had some rearranging to do. Some of my bells were missing, presumably already in the sanctuary to accompany the psalm. Talked to Joey and Ashley, who are getting married on Halloween but Joey just scored this job with the USDA and they need him to start on October 12. In Fort Worth. He'll get 3 days off for the wedding and then he's gotta go back. Ashley's dressmaker has fucked it up and she's not scheduled to get the dress until 2 weeks before the wedding, which doesn't really leave enough time to get the bustle made. So they're all stressing out and I'm trying to commiserate but I'm not in a comfortable place in my life to do that. Then Martha comes in and says hi. I'm so glad she's ringing with us. She's sincere and has some musical experience and she can't remember my name so I reminded her and we prepared to carr...