Quite truthfully, Portland’s month of rain, rain and more rain is not really that bad. Maybe its the honeymoon phase. Perhaps I’m being idealistic. My survival mechanism is to go about life as usual, get on your jacket and head out. DO NOT STAY IN DOORS! Yes, the backyard is too soggy to play in, and the parks are pretty much the same. BUT the sidewalks and streets are filled with minor puddles on my way to indoor activities. Besides, without a car, staying out of the rain is hardly a choice. Walk we must, come rain or come shine. And its been a while since there was shine.
This morning, the clouds parted, and a very nice day broke through for a few hours. I was able to run out and feed the bunnies, take my counter composter to the bin, and inspect the vegetable garden a bit. It was enough to give me an itch for the glory days, namely, May-July when we had just moved here and the clear skies smelled of bloomin’ roses, and tulips and wild flowers greeted you at every turn! I can hardly remember our yard, sprouting with overgrowth that covered the paths, a gorgeous display of colors so rich in beauty that we ran out to take pictures and eat strawberries from the garden all month.
But as I’ve told many of you, the rains have brought with them, for me, a nice kind of hibernation. Bears do it, bees do it, let’s fall in love- type of feeling. At first, I had to turn to St. John’s Wort to keep the dark couped-up mood at bay. But that only lasted about a month (I’m way too forgetful to have to take something for very long!) and it was enough to get my spirits up and get my lifestyle OUT of the house. Since then, I’ve welcomed the rain and cold as a much needed r&r for this gal whose spent the past 23 years in the Florida sun. LOOOOOVIN’ the cafe’s and bookstores with their bottomless cups of java and cute mittens on my hands to hold my mug. Still prefer it to climates so UN-wintery.
But must admit, sometimes those darn puddles just annoy the ever livin’ crap out of me. Sometimes the constant drizzle of rain that makes any work put into your hairdo completely worthless gets under my skin. Sometimes I get the urge to put on a bikini and grab a beach towel and lay out in the grassy backyard and have some good ol’ Vitamin D toast me up. Sometimes the darkness by 4 pm is just the most ridiculous concept and I literally contemplate how some one needs to write a report about it and hand it in to the Big Guy.
All this to say, I can SURE appreciate Portland’s amazing Spring/summer combination, and I can’t wait. Just a few more months that, if all goes as usual, will fly by and then, oh the joys we will see of our bulbs spring back to life, of the wisteria on the gazebo start popping with little green leaves, the wild flowers I hope to plant after the last frost start to liven up our curb-side appeal. Such images and thoughts keep my heart nice and toasty during this month. Needless to say, we’ve been reading lots of The Cat in the Hat lately, and I’ve scoured my Rainy Day Activities with Toddlers book a few times!
On a side note, my amazing and beautiful pride of my heart two year old finally, tearfully, could not hold his bladder while straddling his potty today. Having been given an amount of water equal to the Willamette River, he ended up peeing at least 5 times in two hours; 3 times in his potty, twice on the chair during dinner. Poor guy!!! BUT he was SO happy to finally “make water” in the potty and the difference was completely and utterly due to giving him a book to read while doing his business. Hmmm… both Hubby and I like reading material while we take our potty breaks, so I suppose its no wonder! We are interested/anxious to see how the next few days play out as we use diapers for only outings and night… particularly when it’s time for Lil’ E’s mid-morning Numero Dos.
Job Update: Hubby still working to find employment, part of the 5% of the nation we heard about last week. Has applied to upwards of 20 or so legitimate ads, in addition to unemployment agencies, with several follow up phone calls on his part but no leads as of yet. We are working to stay busy and positive and not blow any money we have because we are so depressed! I literally got on my knees in the shower yesterday praying for a job that would make my husband happy. I know some how that all this will turn out all right in the end. There are so so many people we know that are going through just incredible hardships right now, so it certainly puts us in the “can’t complain” category! Thank GAWD!
Hope you all are trudgin’ through your January’s with high spirits, by and large unaffected (at least negatively!) by whatever weather and life conditions you’re facing!
Office Max has this goofy little thing to do if you’re bored and have 5 minutes… and if you’ve always wondered upon looking in the mirror if you look kinda like an elf…
Maybe this post is coming from left field, but at this point I’m thinking you guys will take anything so long as it isn’t more poetry. (What’s wrong with you, you uncultured illiterates?!)
Ten things that I find comforting (order is inconsequential):
1. Snacks/food… I seem to have an endless love for popcorn (in a pot, I can never go back to the bag, baby) with lots of olive oil and nutritional yeast all over it; edamame (soybeans in the pod, steamed and served up with some sea salt), avocado and tomato salad (a little cajun seasoning on it), Beecher’s flagship cheese, peanut butter balls… (my husband would think it important to note here that my WAY of eating drives him up the wall and down the block. Whether my lips are smacking, he can hear the crunching, or I’m licking up yeast at the bottom of the bowl, apparently I eat like a stark raving animal. I more or less dismiss his complaints because I was raised with only a dad and brother, both of whom are the social counter of a metro-sexual man. They have hair on their chests, and its a wonder I even know how to paint my toenails, okay?)
2. Movies- as I’ve already shared, I just love movies, talking about them, watching them, whatever. I hate, however, watching movies with some one who does not share my love for movies, who sits there with that -”I don’t get it… they just had no dialog for all of 3 minutes therefore this can’t possibly be a ‘good’ movie”- blank stare. But this is about things that comfort me, not things that irk me, I so digress.
3. Reading. Currently digging through Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, which is quite possibly the funniest book I’ve ever read. Excerpt below:
“I realize there is a whole generation of adults born in the seventies who currently play Sega and Nintendo as much as they banged on their Atari 5200 and their George Plimpton- endorsed Intellivision in 1982. I am not one of them. I agree with Media Virus author Douglas Rushkoff’s theory that home video game consoles are the reason kids raised in the 1980s so naturally embraced the virtual mentality- we never thought it seemed strange to be able to manipulate what we saw on a video screen - but I’ll never accept pixels killing other pixels as an art form (or a sport, or even a pastime). A homeless man once told me that dancing to rap music is the cultural equivalent to masturbating, and I’d sort of feel the same way about playing John Madden Football immediately after filing my income tax: It’s fun, but- somehow- vaguely pathetic.”
4. Beverages… teas, espresso drinks, wine. I used to drink only water because I didn’t want to waste my caloric intake on a beverage that wouldn’t fill me up. Stop and think about that truth, roll it around in your head. Caloric intake… that was a logical and substantial reason to avoid flavored beverages completely. If you do not see something oddly self-oppressive about that line of thinking, go have yourself a beer. Have a few beers, what do I care. Who am I the police? (ah, that “Bronx Beat” is a pretty funny SNL skit)
5. Walking. I love to walk and wish there was more time for it. When you take the time to walk somewhere (or just “take a walk, which I’m less likely to do because of the lack of an end result), you smell things in the air and look around to locate the herbs or tree nearby… you see interesting aspects of people’s backyards or window panes… you have time for acorns to hit you on the head; drizzle to dampen your hair down. This may not seem like an appealing description, all things considered… but when are all things ever really considered?
6. Music. God is currently in the process of redeeming my relationship with music. This is a statement some one came up with in a theology class assignment tonight. There was a period of time in my life when music I could listen to was limited to only that which was not “secular” in origin or nature. I would have burned my classical CD’s had I been told they too were part of Satan’s plan to take down humanity. A whole half decade of my life was sucked dry of pop culture, for better or for worse. With it were many potential relationships, as any one who listened to secular music could not be a regular companion of mine lest they tempt me with their luring beat. I’m finally rediscovering genre’s and artists I used to resonate with, as well as new voices and tempos that communicate something to me, and I’m intently focused on music that does not traditionally “belong” in church because I’m fairly certain that there is no such thing as “secular” (without God, completely worldly), or if there is, there are much fewer things that truly fit in that category than most people think. Because God has a habit/characteristic of imparting Himself in the most unlikely places via these annoying little creative creatures called human beings.
7. Poetry. I realize this closely resembles reading, but I place it in a category all its own because I also like to write poetry, and because I see poetry in things that aren’t necessary known as poetry. In an argument with Hubby, I pointed out once that the difference between us is that “my world is written in poetry, where as yours is written like a manual.” So, yeah, let that marinate a while, ya big meany, while I pat myself on the back for coming up with something so inherently witty.
8. Painting- ah yes, the one thing that can so zone me out that you’ll wonder where I have been for the last 8 hours. Playing Tetris had this effect on my one time, but more consistently, its painting.
9. Practicing conversations. You know the kind I’m talking about. Those times of intense communication where Person A and B are played by leading lady, moi? Usually in whispers in the bathroom, where the two characters will surface and it will take my 2 year old son’s bewildered look to make me realize I was playing out this conversation out loud. However, for some reason these little times of practice are fairly useful in gathering my thoughts, preparing me for the time when I might have some one talking back.
10. Large natural phenomena. This is a little cliche, but just because something is cliche doesn’t mean it can’t be true too. Whether I’m in a great big field, standing on the shore of a large body of water, or looking up at a massive mountain, the sheer size swallows up whatever I deemed substantial about my life thus far and spits them back out into pea-sized Vivian staring out in awe.
P.S. It was no accident that I failed to include things like prayer here- I left that sort of thing off the list because I think it goes without saying and I would have little to add about the subject anyway.
I’ve been reading more poetry lately (thank you, Multnomah County library!), so you’ll probably see more posts with poems that struck me. The following should be thought provoking for most of you…
What We Believe Charles Harper Webb
Jesus was not the Son of God. He was a yogi
who tranced out on the cross– a fanatic like Jim
Jones or David Koresch, with better publicity.
President Kennedy was killed by the Cubans,
the Russians, the C.I.A.; Lee Harvey Oswald
was paid to take the fall. A group of evil
scientists created AIDS to wipe out Blacks,
dope addicts, homosexuals. Drug companies
quash cures to keep their profits high.
God is a Big Man with a white beard who sees us
when we’re sleeping, who knows when we’re awake.
There is no God; There’s just Physics, which couldn’t
care less if a sparrow falls. Ours is the greatest,
best-governed country in the world, and needs
a top-to-bottom overhaul. Rodney King was high
on angel dust when the cops beat him.
He’d learned, in jail, a way to leap up
from the ground and break a cop’s neck instantly.
O.J. Simpson was framed by the L.A.P.D.
Laws are made to keep the powerful that way.
Religions are all superstition except ours.
Democracies and dictatorships, coups and counter-
coups are smoke-screens. Corporations rule.
The letters in our names control our lives.
A New Mexico army base hides the remains
of crashed space aliens. They have large heads,
small bodies, glowing eyes. They’re linked
to human evolution, ancient Egypt, the Flood,
Easter Island, Incas, Aztecs, Mayans, and the Deficit.
Their ship is made of silvery metal impervious
to any force on earth. They want either to save us
from ourselves, or to destroy us utterly.
Everything worked better in the Golden Age.
Wind finds the northwest gap, fall comes.
Today, under gray cloud-scud over gray
Wind-flicker of forest, in perfect formation, wild geese
Head for a land of warm water, the boom, the lead pellet.
Some crumple in air, fall. Some stagger, recover control,
Then take the last glide for a far glint of water. None
Knows what has happened. Now, today, watching
How tirelessly V upon V arrows the season’s logic,
Do I know my own story? At least, they know
When the hour comes for the great wing-beat. Sky-strider,
Star-strider- they rise, and the imperial utterance,
Which cries out for distance, quivers in the wheeling sky.
That much they know, and their nature know
The path of pathlessness, with all the joy
Of destiny fulfilling its own name.
I have known time and distance, but not why I am here.
Path of logic, path of folly, all
The same–and I stand, my face lifted now skyward,
Hearing the high beat, my arms outstretched in the tingling
Process of transformation, and soon tough legs,
With folded feet, trail in the sounding vacuum of passage,
And my heart is impacted with a fierce impulse
To unwordable utterance –
Toward sunset, at a great height.
I just got back from another night of “one of THOSE nights” for me, one where I nervously talked enough to safely say I dominated the conversation and spilled all for the sake of being “authentic”. When I come back from those nights, when I am just spent and soiled and bewildered as my “self” returns to me, I feel like I can sympathize with the Saints of old that would chastise themselves or whip their own bodies or something. I’ve got the dueling cavaliers on either shoulder the entire evening, telling me what to say, what not to say- made particularly nervous and unlike me by any one in the group being extra quiet. That’s weird for me too because I seem to feel like the big sister who has to make friends for the sake of those who go unheard, like if I just share something else and keep the conversation going then eventually the egg will crack and every one in the group will relax and be themselves too- although I am the last thing from relaxed or myself at the moment, the only difference between me and them being that I can’t shut my f-ing mouth. And when the group dynamic can go on without me and every one is laughing and carrying on their own conversation, I very rarely wish to join the topics because I love the fact that I can just sit back and watch it happen and NOT have to share my example or experience of whatever particular subject happens to be on the table.
BLEH!
I thought the self-wandering, identity seeking phase ended with puberty, but clearly my insecurities are fresh and bare for all to see, mostly ME.
I recently watched Ms. Beatrix Potter, and there was one point in there where she is being told about her foolish decision to purchase a farm and, (after living under an insufferable social climbing mother, losing her (unapproved of) first love to death, and simultaneously turning her “little stories and paintings” into a best selling children’s book), she tells the man that she is “no longer in the habit of being lectured to”. Something in me was like “Yeah!” when she said that; I cheered her on in my heart because I absolutely love those characters at last embracing being okay in their own skin, having no explanation to give to any one about what they do with their time, money, love, faith, etc etc etc. I have very few balls when it comes to stuff like that. I don’t want to disappoint people, in general I want people to be comfortable and happy and possibly even like me, but at the same time I don’t compromise “being myself” (whatever that means) when I’m around them anymore, not very much anyway.
It used to be that one friend knew me as a proper, faithful lady and another knew me as a fiery, talkative eccentric (which made for an awkward time when the two met and we hung out as a threesome- who to be, who to be?) And I can remember this time last year making it my goal that this facade would end. Welcoming myself into the blog-osphere was good practice- which person would I present to the masses- family, friends, in-laws, strangers, co-workers, church peers- they would all have access to this little URL and would all have to get used to one and only one Vivian- some days completely safe and other days a crazy rant of a post- and I would similarily have to allow it to happen- even force it to happen, for the sake of being consistent. That means I can’t hang out with a family member and tell them, “oh yeah, those crazy mom’s checkin their kids toys for lead paint!” because I AM that mom and I already blogged about it. See what I mean? Every one gets the same story- they begin to get used to it OR stop getting to know me if they so choose, but in the end I have no apologies or explinations or back-peddling. What you see/read is what you get.
Yep, so my “home community” has this link and people I’m trying to get to know and would prefer they come to like me can read all about my insanity right here and that’s that. My husband, come to find out, passes it along to members of his family I’ve never even met, (like, can’t he just give them our FLICKR account if they want photo’s of Lil’ E??? I mean, really, this is my PERSONAL weblog) but then I’m faced with the self-coaxing again: okay, I will make the conscious decision to not adjust what I’m thinking/feeling at the moment to cater to one particular audience (as if that many people even read my blog! My stats say about 350 average it daily, and I’m thinking most of that’s bogus or my own navigating to approve comments, lol!) but you get the drift. It’s a great tool if you choose to be indeed “personal” with it.
Larry Crab, in his genius book Inside Out, has helped me with this a lot too, and so armed with this agenda of being authentic, non-private, communal, imperfect christian I do NOT behave differently around my husband, (ie. bat my eyes, soften my voice, hold his hand, in front of a group of people when that is NOT how we act alone. I treat him nearly exactly the same, except of course that at home I’m more prone to raising my voice ) and I try very hard not to behave differently as a parent. I find that usually people are relieved to hear my stories of horror at my own failings as a mother and wife, that some one like me has allowed themselves to be known and they no longer have to wonder about what skeletons are in my closet, or worse, whether they are all alone with theirs.
The more I get to know people, it is so so so true that every one is just as nuts as I am. I mean, the people I would have hands down said were pretty “together” have been the ones caught in the worst addictions, the ones who deal with very little of their own childhood hurts or marital problems, they have the biggest melt downs and live a life that is false so it builds up and builds up and then they freak out in rage. They want people to know so little about them that no one can ever truly “get in” and when they do, it is so shocking what they see (because such a different person was presented to them all along!) that they don’t want to revisit the friendship again.
Didn’t Christ teach a different way of being? Was he worried what people would think when he washed feet, touched lepers, called Pharisees a “broad of snakes!”, overturned TEMPLE tables, or stood up for a woman (presumably naked) caught “in the very act of adultery”? Were the early Christians, who met in backyards and sang songs together and shared everything and sold all their possessions- were they particularly shy about “airing dirty laundry”- for crying out loud they were likely sharing the clothes off their back, not to mention all of their sins and struggles laid bare. The culture of the first followers of Christ did not leave room for pretension or saving face regarding financial means, marital happiness, parental perfection or spiritual enlightenment. It was all hangin out there, ugly and gross, so they could together join hands and GROW.
Being me: I have no flippin clue what that means sometimes. Is the me I think I am just a persona too, am I just the product of my environment or the predestined personality of the Creator, or the physiological make up of a bunch of random DNA molecules or where the stars happened to align at the moment I was born? Some of this is fairly far fetched, of course, but personality theorists have gone even further in their guessing!
My thought is that I’ll start to figure it out after the me I present to others gets embarrassing, humiliating, but in the end and as I already stated: consistent. And that, at least, I think I’m starting to have going for me.
On a completely other angle, I AM aware that my limited knowledge and experience makes me no expert, even on myself, and that many wiser souls than I might conclude that the more self-forgetful, ie. self-LESS or NOT CONSCIOUS of oneself we are, the more we will actually be “ourselves”.
In the meantime, I admit that I really envy the fly on the wall, wishing I could revert back to the timid Vivian I once was, whose face turned red when eyes were on me so I never contributed a thing when not completely comfortable with those I was with. But its sort of like Egypt- once you have grown beyond that point, you’ve got bigger demons to deal with and more of that “much is given” to wrestle with. Oh my gosh, I’m going to quickly end this post before I start saying something that sounds way too much like Peter, a.k.a. “Spiderman”’s Uncle: “With great power comes great responsibility”.
This is what happens when Vivian starts considering the possibility of more babies in the future… we welcomed baby boy bunny into my home office/studio as a “classroom pet” … to keep our two girl guinea pigs company… and to satisfy my longing for something soft and cuddly…
After chicks next Spring, the family farm will be complete, without any (in-home) pets to bother allergy suffering visitors (see, we DO think of you guys!) And we’ll have an unlimited supply of eggs and compost material to grow our vegetables this time next year.
P.S. Got opinions about this decision? Guess what? Being an animal lover is NOT taboo and is NOT limited to hoarders! You CAN responsibly own a handful of low-maintenance animals, so keep your nay-sayin’ mouth’s closed unless you want me to manually insert your foot FOR you. (luv it that this is my blog and I can say stuff like that )
So the other day I saw an item on Craigslist I thought I could use here at the house, and contacted the seller. We talked about me coming to take a look this weekend. By Saturday morning, Hubby and I had decided to not get the item and wait for a larger one (bookshelf) with a growing future book collection. Makes sense, right? So I e-mailed this seller and let her know that Hubby and I had thought twice and thanked her for her time but that we are no longer interested.
Never have I ever had such a twisted response from any of my many Craigslist experiences. The lady wrote back that she had removed the books from the shelf in preparation for my coming to look at it (um, wouldn’t she need to do that if she were SELLING it anyway?) She went on to flat out state that my husband is in the wrong for not “allowing” me to purchase something I want and that I should, and I quote, “dump your husband, and find yourself a lover who lets you think for yourself;(”
Woah! Is that LOCO or what? I thought of few good comebacks but in the end I realized this chicks off her rocker and the last thing I have time for is an internet spat with a perfect stranger. However, it had to be blogged about before I could move on!
Church-wide kickball tournament today (alll day) was hot and fun and all the things a good kickball tournament should be.
Unfortunately, the “Grass Kickers” (pun intended) kicked a little more grass than a*s today, but our first victory was a last minute “we are the champions” feeling. Too bad we lost the next two games, but every one had a good time so its allll good. In some ways I’m actually glad Hubby’s not an athlete, as the one time he joins a game he comes home smelling like beer and garlic. :O
Check out the pics and video and please ignore my shameless-and-so-not-funny humor: as I said, it was very hot; I was delirious.
) and I try very hard not to behave differently as a parent. I find that usually people are relieved to hear my stories of horror at my own failings as a mother and wife, that some one like me has allowed themselves to be known and they no longer have to wonder about what skeletons are in my closet, or worse, whether they are all alone with theirs.
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