ThePheromonePapers

Follow me

2010-08-31T20:43:00.000-07:00

Today, finally, after almost a year, my follower count is back.... to.... ZERO.

Reinvented. that's me. Ready to start over. The PG is here, always has been, just waiting for that big chance to be ME, without the sound of other people whistling in my ears. That's a lot of noise I don't care for at this point.

There's so much more to write. A new story brews.

Are you ready to hear? Yes, you. The ones that watch but won't be named. You're all that I have left, the only ones that should ever have been here to begin with.

Chapter 1. Once upon a time...

Shopping list

2009-10-11T18:41:00.000-07:00

Vicks vapor rub (for my feet - under socks - don't laugh, it works!)
Inhaler
Chicken & Rice Campbell's Soup
Garlic french bread (garlic chases more than vampires away!)
Carmex for my chapped lips
Drambuie (to go in my tea. it's medicinal. REALLY.)
African Nectar & Wild Sweet Orange tea (More's coming, Scarlet - promise!)
Claritin D (which needs a prescription here, thanks to the meth fiends)

Thanks for coming to visit. Now, go wash your hands - and take your vitamins!

Time to grow up

2009-09-18T21:27:00.000-07:00

Is anyone in the mood for a little adventure? I sure am. I've spent the week thinking about who I want to be. You know, when I grow up.

Care to join me? Come on over to visit.

A beautiful day for a ride

2009-09-18T07:10:00.000-07:00

Open road beckons.
She adjusts her collar, waits for the rumble of the engine
(when is that battery going to be charged?)

She turns to look and he grins.

Brushing out her hair before crushing it with her helmet.

Her one regret?
She knows she’ll have to arm wrestle him for the keys.

“Galen?”

Check out G-Man's place for more and try your hand at your own 55.

Seven

2009-09-12T10:37:00.000-07:00

Today is a banner day in Pheromone Girl Land.

Blog numbr 250. My work here is done. I was given a project and it is now being filed away as complete. I'm rather amazed at how far I've come in the months since I started blogging. There's a lot more self awareness. I've learned that just because I can't sit across a table from most of you and have coffee that doesn't mean that you affect my life and my world any less. I find myself sharing things I learn on your blogs (about baby puppy and her love of bats, about the Wolverines playing Notre Dame today, about Fireblossom's most beautiful poetry). And about deep connections with almost complete strangers.

I have also spent more time than I care to admit explaining myself. I stopped doing that recently, with a strong suggestion from a very wise woman. I can say yes, please or no, thank you. But I am no longer allowing myself to say "That blog post wasn't about you...", "You took that the wrong way..." or anything else. Take me as I am or shove off.

The next week will be very interesting. I get to decide if I want to continue to write as Pheromone Girl but take things in new directions, if I want to start a whole new blog with a compleptely different theme or some combination of the two. But I promise you this - I will continue to write - keep up with my friends and be a part of this bigger world that has drawn me in.

You probably won't see me again until next weekend, when I will create my new persona, a new look and some new, interesting points of discussion. I hope!

Until then, be well, thanks for following and go out and live, would ya?! By the way, that's me on an elephant at Wildlife Safari with my brothers. It was the year I turned seven.

Downtown

2009-09-10T19:31:00.000-07:00

Driving through town,
a story erupts
as a homeless man
crosses at the walk,
waiting for traffic.

I was at Naito at Harrison
or was that Harrison at Naito?
Never mind.

He reminded me
of how close I came
to being in his shoes.
Kids in tow.
Living under a bridge.

Thank you, kind universe.

As usual, my 55 starts with G-Man. Check out his site to read more fiction, written in 55 words - no more, no less. I am blessed that my vision of a homeless Pheromone Girl and family is just that, fiction. Today, in honor of September 11th, my 55 means a little bit more. For every comment left on my blog, I will make a $5 donation to Sister's of the Road cafe in Portland, where people work or barter for meals to feed their families, their souls and themselves.

Please know how close I came to needing their help and think of those less fortunate than you are today, as a way to memorialize the victims of September 11 with ACTION. Comment. Please.

"...one in fifty children in America is homeless," said U.S. Senator Robert P. Casey, Jr. (Pennsylvania), chair of the Advisory Board to the Campaign to End Child Homelessness.

Peace to you all and may you never feel want.

137

2009-09-07T12:42:00.000-07:00

I love the changing of the seasons. It reminds me, in a way, of the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, a sight I've always wanted to see.

Those that have done their duty - quietly guarding my world in a leafy canopy - are ready for the sudden drop in temperature and leaves.

The rain comes early here in my city and brings the realization that, although there will be plenty more sunny days, the nights have cooled and the air conditioning will be off now. Windows open to the sound of the rain, the sound of the breeze in the trees outside my garden gate.

It makes me live the wonderful moments of summer again (kind of few and far between this year, but they are there nonetheless) and it makes me look forward to getting out the fire pit on a rainy night. Having a nice, quiet evening curled up on my four poster with a quilt and a book and the smell of oak burning just outside my bedroom door. Candles lit to warm me.

Sometimes music will play in the background - a little Segovia, a little Talking Heads, maybe even some Franz Ferdinand, a new favorite. Peaceful times, happy times, and they are mine alone to savor. I bet everyone has a favorite song for a night like this. Are you ready to brush it off and bring it out?

You may wonder at the title of my blog. It has great significance and is rather silly, all in the same breath. It means I have made a major decision, a step in the right direction, and have decided to focus a larger portion of my energy on something important to me. After all, what kind of dream life fulfills everyone but yourself? This little number is a daily reminder of the efforts I make on behalf of me. It makes me realize that wishing for something is only half the trick. Wanting it but putting off the work it takes to get there is futile. So, today, I'm doing what it takes to get where I want to be. The words flow like the rain, always present, just sometimes not visible to the naked eye.

Have you every seen a cloud form? Watched a blue sky turn grey and stormy in a matter of moments? Felt the hair on your neck standing up from the electricity in the air? Today, I wish you that energy, the power of the clouds and the sky, and I hope it brings you clarity.

A good rain washes away the muck.

For Galen

2009-09-03T16:52:00.000-07:00

Tempted by the past,
I look out
to see the ghosts arrive.

They pay homage to the leaves
as they tumble from the trees.

But the ghosts are still and silent.
Uncertain, seeking purchase
tangled, perfect moments
pure and rare are on their mind.

Watching as the wind blows sweetly,
my trees bare their secrets.

Write a fictional story, 55 words long - no more, no less.
Go to G-Man's site (hi Galen!) and let him know.
Then check out the others.
'Scuse me, my wings need a little Feather-Brite...

Seasons change

2009-09-01T05:59:00.000-07:00

It's been beautiful in Portland. Last night was the perfect night to sit out and watch the sun set, catch up with friends and enjoy summer's last few waning days. But in the back of my mind, crystal clear, is the fact that soon, the mornings will smell like Autumn. The leaves will start to change then begin their descent.

It's going to rain soon.

We get tons of rain here. I am just as affected by the dreary, grey weather as the next guy. But I get a kind of sick satisfaction when the weather turns cool, the rains come and there are, finally, puddles everywhere.

I can't imagine my world in a place without the extremes of the seasons that we see in the Pacific Northwest. Warm summer days, crisp autumn evenings, snow in the winter and some of the most beautiful colors on the planet in the spring.

Next year I will not see the spring bloom at the park, my view will be of elsewhere. There is a choice to be made and a new path to travel. Yet change is good and I spend most of my days rolling with things, allowing life to lead me steadily forward. I wonder what today will bring?

Where did I put my boots...?

Pen to paper

2009-08-29T13:21:00.000-07:00

Initials

2009-08-27T17:09:00.000-07:00

She sits beneath
what used to be her tree,
shadows looming high above her hair.

Amazed that she used to be so little,
she traces her initials
now overgrown with moss
and wonders at the need
for solitude,
for altitude,
for bliss.

If only she had known
she would never have been afraid of wings.

A special 55

I came out of retirement to post for you, G-Man,

and for another someone

as an angel who seems to have misplaced her wings.

Saturday in the cemetery with Ed & Bob

2009-08-23T11:02:00.000-07:00

I have always had a fascination with cemeteries. There are so many stories here and I'm a storyteller, so I feel right at home. I often make up stories while I wander on the dry grass, on the lush lawns.

The old markers, covered in moss and lichen, are my favorite. I love the less tended spots. I don't, as people often ask, have the urge to clean them up. This is the way they are supposed to be.

Meet Phoebe Hall and Frances McDonald. Phoebe and Frances stand alone a little bit from the rest. Phoebe was older. I wonder why they are so close together and apart from the rest? Were they friends, siblings, something more? Why is Frances leaning so distinctly toward Phoebe? Is Frances a he or a she? I sense a love story with these two...

This was a most beautiful spot. But there was an odd sense of unease as I sat here. It occurred at three different points of the cemetery. Was I letting my mind play tricks on me, or do I sense, just like I do with living people, unhappiness and pain in a place like this?

I don't think this was the best photo I took, but there is something ethereal about this statue of Mary inside one of the crypts. The sun behind her, the reflection of the woods behind me, all add up to an interesting moment. You can almost see me in the shadows.

Ah, Father Sullivan. This, after all, is a Catholic cemetery. Many large and sometimes gaudy headstones show the final resting place of men of the cloth. The sisters got a very plain headstone with their nun name (is that what you call it?) on it. Not their birth name. I found that rather sad.

I couldn't help but wonder how many of the priests had trouble getting through those often mentioned gates to heaven, based on their behavior on earth. But Father Sullivan gave me a different vibe. It looks, at the base of his tombstone, like someone has paced, around and around and around. Like he is the guardian of the good souls, protecting them from whatever else gave me the unsettled feeling on more than one occasion.

The incense left with these flowers was still burning as I passed. It overpowered the smell of the flowers, but not completely. I felt peaceful and restful and calm.

This is the most beautiful cross I've ever seen. Obviously Gaelic, it has carvings of amazing creatures all over it. The bas and walls of this monument are covered with Celtic and Gaelic carvings and sayings. Many of Portland's famous Catholic families purchased stones to celebrate family. I loved it that it was in the middle of a cemetery but was celebrating the living and life.

This marker says, "Devoted mother and Queen of Everything." Her name, by the way, is Linda Love.

Every time I took a picture of this door, there was a sunspot in the upper right corner. Funny, the sun was behind me and there was nothing that could be reflected upon.

Everything in the cemetery is old, except for the cell and radio towers in the background. It makes for an odd combination of peace, solitude and a feeling of still being in the city.

I'll end with a collection of statues. I am drawn to these especially when they have not survived the weather or the hi jinx of people completely intact. Besides, I like wings.

By the way, Bob & Ed are a way of saying you have butterflies in your stomach, along with an elephant or two. Bob the Butterfly. Ed the Elephant. I haven't come up with a good name for the feeling you get when the hair on the back of your neck stands up and you feel goosebumps...yet.

Still breathing... really

2009-08-19T15:02:00.000-07:00

There's no time for blogging. I'm too busy being harassed by the IT Monkeys I adore that I'm getting all the glory. Lunching on Chinese.

Life is good.

HI.

We need a break

2009-08-14T20:05:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a cue from my friend Rich and skipping the blog for a couple weeks, maybe months, maybe forever. Call it exhaustion, too many irons in the fire or something more basic - feeling I can't write anything without having to explain myself. Maybe a blog is finite and mine has run its course.

Hmmm. Or maybe it's just time for Pheromone Girl, the girl in me, to take her leave and allow someone new and different to come along. My own personal metamorphosis.

Did you know Dragonflies spend most of their lives in the larva stage (up to three years, depending on the species)? The adult, winged stage only lasts a few weeks. So when you see a winged dragonfly, you know it's toward the end of its lifespan. Sad but true.

Adieux.

And then...

2009-08-13T11:43:00.000-07:00

...something you says helps someone else.

I'm humbled. If you haven't already checked out Violence Unsilenced, get thee over there. Because most of the people in the world are wonderful.

Salt dancing

2009-08-13T06:37:00.000-07:00

I am so much prettier now than when I was in high school. Maybe that's why I didn't feel the need to go to my 20th reunion a couple years back. I'm self assured, relatively successful, have a house full of monkeys and a heart full of joy most days.

*puke*

I know, I know. Shut up already! "She's one of THOSE people, always happy..." Well, sue me.

Why would I want to spend a momentous occasion - the reminder of 20 years removed from gym class, popularity contests that I never won and straight A's? - with a bunch of people who weren't very nice to me the first time around?

So I didn't go. But that doesn't mean that I don't celebrate things in my world. I'm not big on anniversaries and spend most of the hours of any given anniversary reminding myself how much I've grown. Go me.

Christmas is a cute holiday. I celebrated in church for many years and came to realize that even at church it was about presents. The church wanted presents in the form of big fat donations from all the extra sheep they drew in for the guilt factor (you have to go to church or you'll rot in hell - now get out your checkbook and we'll make it all better!!) Not that all churches are like that, just this particular church that shall remain nameless. LAME. Besides, EVERYONE gets to celebrate Christmas, everyone gets gifts, everyone is the center of attention.

BIRTHDAYS, however, are different. Birthdays are a really, really big deal. A birthday is a special day, just for you, where everything is about you. I spoil on birthdays. Birthdays are never forgotten. Birthdays are very, very special. I will make you dance in salt.

Back when I was a kid, in the 70s, we had some wonderful neighbors in our neighborhood. My parents were friends with everyone. The Rackanellis were a large, fabulous Italian family. The Brewers were rather odd but their kids still hung with my crew. The Teckenbergs got divorced and I used to babysit their kids - plus the oldest was my little brother's best friend and they caused lots of trouble together. The Williams, Lena and Art, were like grandparents to me. They yelled at me a lot the way good grandparents will do. "Get off our fence" or "don't you dare go stomping through my rose beds" and especially "give me back my boxer shorts!" They hung laundry out on a line to dry - they never had a dryer, and I was notorious for putting Art's brightly patterned boxer shorts on the bird house. Little minx that I was.

Anyway, my favorite neighborhood family didn't speak a word of English. I believe their name sounded something like Braunschwager. They were Russian Orthodox with the lace on their heads and everything. Their kids were amazingly well behaved - except when their parents were out of earshot and they would cuss in Russian and spit. I learned to spit very far the year they moved in.

My birthday is smack dab in the middle of winter. It's almost immediately after Christmas. Yes, I got combo Christmas and Birthday gifts. At the time, it was very upsetting. Now, I think my parents taught me a very good lesson about expectations. You see, the most meaningful gifts for me are the ones given from the heart. A note, a card, a box full of silly things that cost nothing and mean everything. A receipt saved from a special moment together and mailed to me weeks later. Dancing in salt.

Did you have to read that twice? You see, my birthday was often forgotten, usually celebrated with leftover cupcakes from some Christmas get together (which is probably why I dislike eating any dessert themed green).

But I digress.

The Russian Orthodox family had a strange but cool birthday tradition. At the appropriate moment (he exact time of birth), on the appropriate day, they would celebrate in a small way. The box of Mortons (or Leslie, since Art worked for Leslie salt forever and we all got boxes and boxes) would come out. A line would be drawn all the way across the room in thick salt. Not a space would be left - that would be bad luck. And the birthday boy or girl, man or woman would dance around the room to the clapping of the adults and step ceremoniously over the line of salt, officially becoming a year older. We'd all laugh and drink homemade lemonade. The salt would be spread from one end of the room to the other because everyone would join in the dance.

When I was 11, I celebrated with them and had my first salt dance. I also realized, accidentally, that the lemonade being enjoyed by the adults have Vodka in it and mine did not. Also that I didn't like Vodka much at all.

So for years, as a kid, I'd celebrate my friends birthdays by forcing them to cross a line drawn in salt. They all put up with my silliness because they knew they'd also get homemade cake. Made with Rum. Now rum cake was nothing like Vodka. Trust me on this one. You never wake up in the morning with a rum cake headache. The cake would be hand carved in the shape of something meaningful to the person. For Jodie, it was a fiddle, Jill got a piano keyboard, Todd the face of a character from a play (did I mention I hung out with the geeks?) Sean got a helmet with his favorite football team's logo and colors. I had a crush on Sean. I spent two weekends practicing the carving. He wasn't all that impressed and said crush went away quickly. Especially after he said "I'd have preferred a cake from Albertsons". Ouch.

Anyway, happy 39th to a most important person in my world. Where'd I put the salt...?

Brain worms R us

2009-08-12T07:38:00.000-07:00

Hi! I'm about to plant one - are you ready?

This brain worm is especially for my friend Major Healy.

Can you carry those a little bit further?

2009-08-10T14:54:00.000-07:00

After discovering a "chick flicks" section at the small coastal store, I had to share my favorite girly scene from a movie.

Stranger Than Fiction: Harold works as a tax collector, Ana as a baker. She is the light and fluffy and kind hearted soul to his linear and OCD, number crunching and rather cold personality. Earlier, she'd given him a cookie and he refused it because, as a tax collector, he's not allowed to receive gifts. He offends her by paying her for the cookie when she was just trying to be kind.

Harold Crick: [runs to Ana with a box of 10 paper bags in it] I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to give you these.
Ana Pascal: Wait, you can give presents, but not receive them? That sounds awfully inconsistent, Mr. Crick.
Harold: Yes, but...
Ana: Wait, I know, I'll purchase them! Yeah, I'll purchase them.
[reaches into her bag to grab her wallet]
Harold: No, no, no, no.
Ana: [with wallet in hand, stops to actually look at the box] What are they?
Harold: [quietly] Flours.
Ana: What?
Harold: I brought you flours.
Ana: Wait, you carried them all the way here?
Harold: Miss Pascal, I've been odd. I know I've been odd, and I know that there are many forces at work telling me to bring these down here to you, but I brought these for you because... I want you.
Ana: [a bit taken aback, and ready to be really offended] Excuse me?
Harold: I want you.
Ana: You want me?
Harold: In no uncertain terms.
Ana: [realizing that he's really not being a creep and just a guy who's not used to saying what he feels] But isn't there some... I don't know... rule about fraternization...
Harold: Auditor / Auditee protocols, yes, but I don't care.
Ana: Why not?
Harold: Because I want you.
Ana: [contemplates him for a second, and looks back at the box] Can you carry those a little bit further?
Harold: Okay.

Speaking of gifts, coolest gift ever. Flours. Now there's a guy who was paying attention...

2009-08-10T05:50:00.000-07:00

Hi. I'm busy shaking sand from my shoes. Here are some fun photos of our trip while I figure out how to type on a keyboard again...

Happy Monday!

Ain't no rest for the wicked....

2009-08-09T21:22:00.000-07:00

It's been awfully quiet over here in PG land. We spent the weekend at the beach. Much fun was had by all - but one of the best parts was lunch on Saturday. We waited for a LONG time for our food. The kids are very patient. Really.

Just be glad I'm not telling you what Sara poked with a stick...

Joy

2009-08-05T18:49:00.000-07:00

Today I celebrate Joy.

I saw the word 3 times on my way to work - once on a marquee, once on a bus bench, once on a car. Three of anything is good luck and means it's here to stay. Just ask my son who saw 3 El Caminos on his birthday.

I saw a girl laughing with her whole body - it made me giggle. Joy in it's purest form.

I felt it at work - for some wins, gaining some traction in a sticky situation (see - I'm learning the vernacular!) and for really, really liking my coworkers. And loving my boss and my bosses boss. Oh, and wearing killer black boots. That didn't hurt.

I heard from everyone important. I got to chat with a number of people (computer chat, not the in person kind) and feel like I stayed connected to the important people in my world.

The dog has a sliver in his foot, nothing more dramatic - or expensive. Whew. That makes me happy. Now, if he'd hold still long enough to let me remove it he could feel joyful and pain free.

A new friend that I think is very cool checked in a couple times. That brings me joy.

I left work, had a decent commute, talked to a best friend, came home to family happy to see me. And pork loin. A little extra tlc and a fabulous email. A friend thanked me for a kind deed - where no thanks was needed, my best friend and I were just sharing some of our good luck with another who isn't so lucky today. She'll be lucky tomorrow and pay it forward - with joy.

Life, my friends, is amazingly good. Can I share a little joy?

Gifts

2009-08-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

What's your best gift ever? Someone asked me recently to share a best gift memory. It was difficult. I have many favorite and special things, some from a very long time ago. But there is one item that stands out above all others.

It was a note. It had 8 words on it. Eight very simple, elegant words that, in any other order or missing any of the combination, would not have meant nearly as much. But they were just what I needed to hear, just when I needed to hear it. And it meant everything. I wore that note card into soft, curled paper by reading it and rereading it. I fell asleep holding on when I was afraid and lonely. It gave me hope and reminded me to have faith in things that at times feel impossible. It embodied strength.

A close second would be a number of items made by my kids. My son made me a beautiful wooden box with a lid that swings open. It sits on my desk at work. My daughter has drawn me an amazing number of pictures, all of which I keep in a folder. I have pictures she drew when she was 2 - scribbles of yellow and purple and red. She called them by name. Whatever the names were, I would write on the back.

I have kept a large number of letters and post cards, too. Somehow, the things people said to me always meant more than the mere items that would be used up, put away and sooner or later forgotten. It's the words that matter. In someone's own handwriting, that I can touch. I am happiest holding the same piece of paper that someone else held, thought of me, touched with a pen, sealed and sent. Or handed off. Maybe left on a pillow. I can almost touch you when I touch a note you wrote.

I am a tactile person. Yes, an iPod Touch, a movie I love (Practical Magic, anyone?) or a box of funny post cards would be nice, appreciated and reciprocated. Jewelry never goes over poorly. An email is lovely. I appreciate a nice, catching-up-with-you phone call. But it's the things that are said, pen to paper, that mean something else - because I can relive it at any moment and remember what the note - and you - mean to me.

What was the best gift you ever received?

Birthdays

2009-08-04T05:36:00.000-07:00

My son turned 15 yesterday. There was a 6am wake-up to open presents (totally not my idea, by the way) and he was thrilled with a couple new games for his XBox, a Fantasty Football roster (he kicks but at choosing winners) and a CD he's been searching for. But birthdays and Christmas have been pretty lean over the last couple years and I wanted to do something really special for my hard working kid.

His last gift to open did something that nothing has in years. He was blown away - so much so that he yelled "sweet!" and the dog had to come see what was going on.

You see, Sean got a new iPod. But not just any iPod, an iTouch. I probably should have used the money to bail out the postal service, but Sean is worth a little extra splash this year. Besides, new toy and a son that shares? I know there will be movies watched in a tent, music to share and a very happy guy to enjoy.

As I went back to bed, I thought about all the great things Sean does without being asked. He washes windows when the dog nose prints get so bad that you can't see out. He wakes his 16 year old sister (not an easy task, let me tell you) and makes sure the dog gets walked. He cooks meals and does dishes and feeds the pup, too. He is the go to guy for bug killing and drink pouring. He takes walks with me, buys me breakfast whenever I let him and hardly ever asks for anything for himself. He gives the best hugs when I'm down, too.

His choice of places for lunch was a nice restaurant in downtown Portland called SouthPark. He celebrated his 15th birthday not with a burger and fries (although he stole some of mine) but a farmers plate with prosciutto, smoked sausage, goat cheeses, fruit and crusty french bread. Oh, and Mango lemonade. The whole time we ate, we talked about wanting to eat more like this at home. We're going to look for a good Italian deli and make our own version of this wonderful kind of meal.

And a good birthday is a very good thing. Did I mention there were pirates at the black light mini golf?

Personally, the only pirate that would be interesting to me would be one that's just like Sean. Kind, thoughtful, funny, loyal and smart. He even let his mom win. On his birthday. What more can I say?

Wanted: A pirate. Swashbuckling, able to lift one tall girl off the floor...

2009-08-03T21:16:00.000-07:00

I've been looking for a pirate Someone who looks really good in a black bandanna and a couple days growth of facial hair. Kisses me to take my breath away. Able to give me an off the floor hug. Oh, and makes my knees weak.

Pirates are an interesting bunch. They have a dark mystique, a "bad boy to end all bad boys" reputation. They say things like "As you wish" and "She took me rum!" and usually are trying to throw you over their shoulder and take you away to do unmentionable things to you. I swoon.

But I have found that - even with a much larger population of pirates in town than one would have thought (as you can tell by these snapshots), finding a true pirate - one with the soul of a thief, the mind of a smuggler and a heart of gold - has been difficult. But not impossible.

I believe I have found myself that pirate. I knew I was in trouble the day he donned a black bandanna and smiled into the camera. Ooh, to fall in love with a pirate. Now that's every girls dream.

Afterward

2009-08-02T08:04:00.000-07:00

Walking on the beach with my toes in the warm, soft sand, I feel comfortable and content with life for the first time in many, many months. Maybe years.

Maybe I learned something from my time on the island?

I have found it difficult to trust anyone. I have found it difficult to forgive myself. Those things have to be done to live a full and meaningful life. I want a life without self-imposed boundaries, without fear of loss. I want a life of joy and bliss and monkeys. (There, fireblossom, feel better?)

After all, we all are born and we all die. We just never know when it will be our time. If I live my life waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop, sooner or later it will. My children are a gift. I will work to feel that way every day, even when they annoy me and make me feel like a jerk. My life is a treasure and I need to remember that, amidst all the work and frustration.

As I wander along the edge of the water, with a bucket full of rose petals, it dawns on me that today is a new day. Just like tomorrow will be. And the day after that.

I have all these days to fill and I choose to fill them with hope and love and the occasional burst of raw emotion. When there are tears, I want them to be for new disappointment, not old wounds.

I hope this day finds you bliss. I have a bucket full of it and I'm happy to share.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm searching for a pirate...

Dream

2009-08-01T21:36:00.000-07:00

As she sleeps, she swears she can hear music. It's not like any music she has ever heard before, though. It draws her down winding pathways, long roads and through dark tunnels. She struggles to wake up from the odd dream and finds herself surrounded by an eerie, blue light. It's almost like a web.

Coiled among the webbing are the three lights. She realizes the lights are creating a sort of cocoon and it keeps her safe from the tiny sand crabs that can pinch, the ants, the spiders that live in the sand. She is also safe from the rain and the storm that rages outside - she can hardly hear it from within the walls of her safe place. She never, ever wants to leave - and thinking this makes her lights very, very happy. They dance with joy to know that she never wants to leave.

In the morning, when the sun is out and warming her skin, she wakes to see the remains of the storm - broken drift wood, flotsam and jetsam from ships that didn't survive the pounding waves. There is also something odd on the horizon. She raises slowly from the sand to look at what she can't possibly be seeing.

It is a ship with the most beautiful sails she has ever seen. They are green and glow in the sunlight like the wings of a dragonfly. Behind the giant ship is a smaller sail boat with sails deeply blue. She doesn't have any idea what to do. How will she gain their attention without a fire, without any way to signal them?

She reaches into her right pocket and takes out a coin, the last remaining item from her life before. If only she'd learned to swim, if only she had something to signal with... but nothing will come into her mind. Until she remembers her little life raft, the pallet she used to get her to shore, and the oar.

Swiftly, she gathers a few pieces of fruit from the gangly trees and drags the pallet to the ocean. The little lights are so excited at her sudden burst of energy that they dance around the sky and weave their way in and out of her long, brown hair. It tickles and she chastises them. Then, she pulls the raft out past the breakers and begins to paddle. The ship looks very, very far away and she can't even think about how long it will take her to reach it.

Hours pass and her sore arms turn to murderous, burning pain. She rations the fruit because it is her only source of liquids, as the water from the sea is salt and undrinkable. She had no way to carry fresh water from the one small spring on her island. After many hours of rowing, she is sunburned, overheated and beginning to hallucinate. She keeps thinking the lights are singing to her, encouraging her to continue on. She finally gives in to the temptation to rest - even though the giant sails seem no closer than when she started. She is too exhausted to continue and falls into a feverish sleep full of nightmarish sea creatures that chase her through the water.

The lights grow worried. They sense her light is dimming, that the exhaustion is more treacherous than she realizes. They wrap her in the web of safety but even they can feel her strength leaving her. There is nothing they can do without help.

One small light, the smallest of the three, decides it must take action. It uses all it's strength to lift the coin from her hand and to carry it over miles and miles of ocean. There is no way this little bit of energy should be able to do such a feat but it does not care - rescue is the girl's only hope. The light carries on for hours and hours, becoming exhausted itself. It barely makes it to the giant ship and drops the coin on the foot of a ship mate with a black bandanna. He is a pirate, but he is a good man, too.

The little light flutters closer to the ground and lands, barely glowing at all, on the ship mates palm. The man feels an amazing jolt of fear in that short instant. He leans down to pick up the coin and the fear grows stronger. He has no idea what the light might be but he knows the coin must have come from a human being - and that it must be close by and is likely in trouble. He immediately scans the horizon for a ship or wreckage of some kind. All he sees is a small pallet of wood and a pile of rags upon it.

He leaps to action, calling "man overboard" and gathers a group to row toward the wreckage. As they approach it, he realizes the little light has completely disappeared, all that is left is ash in his palm. He feels an immense sense of loss but sets that aside as he reaches for the pile of what looks to be rage.

He is horrified to realize it is a girl.

She is unable to be revived and they rush back to the ship to get her out of the heat.

It is hours before she wakes.

He paces back and forth outside her door, awaiting any news, wishing he knew why he felt so helpless, what caused a man accustomed to being alone to long to see her eyes open. He knows in his heart they are the color of the sea grass, green with flecks of gold and brown and grey. He neglects his work as the fleet prepares to cast anchor and sail on to it's next destination.

When she finally is able to talk to him, he enters her cabin with his head down out of courtesy. As he lifts his eyes, he sees a glow of light sneak into her pocket. He lunges across the room, grabs her arm and shakes her. "What trick do you play upon me? I caught one of these lights and it turned to ash. It led me to you. Explain!"

She can say nothing but starts to sob. The little light had caught the ship's attention and brought her rescue. But in doing so, the light had been too far away from her and could not survive. The tears fall down her face like diamonds and began to land on the blanket that covers her knees.

She begins the story - of a love that had turned sour, a rescue with parlay, the destruction of the ship and the loss of her shipmates. All the time alone, hoping for rescue. And finding the box with its inhabitants that kept her safe over the months when she shouldn't have survived. He watches her silently and absorbs the tale. He doesn't want to believe, and yet the moment when the little light went out, he knew this was something more than a firefly.

"I believe in you," he promises "Everything will be ok."

She keeps the two remaining lights with her, to this day. They have changed and become different, ceasing to be dependent on her and struggling to find their way in the world. She is charmed and amazed at their differences, how subtle and yet overwhelming their love for each other and for her. The third light stays in her heart, where she can share the rest of her world with its memory. It was here for a purpose, in its very brief time, and that purpose was fulfilled. Tenfold.

When she becomes sad and wishes for more time with the lost little light, she goes to the ocean, where a shipwreck sits in the sand, and she puts her toes in the water. She says hello to the vast ocean. She wades in as far as she dares. And she sails a small boat, full of pictures of brother and sister, family on shore, these people who love each other and have room in their hearts for more. She hopes that Neptune, in his infinite wisdom, will share the pictures with the soul that embodied the little light for the blink of an eye.

When she goes to the beach, she makes a wish and sends it out to sea. "Let him know," she whispers, "that there will always be room for him in my world."

Intermission

2009-08-01T06:26:00.000-07:00

The water laps quietly at the empty box. Seagulls cry and swoop to the sea to catch the tiny, silver fish that swim in a giant school. The girl holds a silver coin in one hand - the last remaining piece of the world she left behind. As she watches the huge sail of a giant vessel draw closer, she realizes she knows exactly what she has to do. She reaches into her pocket and closes her eyes to wish...

Shipwrecked

2009-07-31T19:16:00.000-07:00

The daydreams, about a childhood, beautiful places in Italy, dark ghosts, all helped her to kill the time. She still floated, alone but for the flotsam left from the ship breaking apart on the rocks. It reminded her of the stories of Sirens and she wondered if the Sirens had drawn her shipmates to their doom. She hadn't heard them singing. Maybe because the only songs she heard came from within.

"I'd rather be blue..."

How long had she floated here? It felt like weeks. "I'm bored." It startled her to say it out loud. She'd forgotten what speaking felt like. The songs were all in her head now, as she floated on a pallet she'd discovered not long after the ship broke up on the coral reef. She assumed she'd move toward shore. She was wrong. Maybe she should have learned how to swim. Her fear of the water seemed valid - the ocean seemed immense, unending.

"Thinking of you..."

Sooo... now what to do? Counted the clouds. Found animal shapes in the sky (A raccoon, a cat, a fox, a monkey, a greyhound, a cougar). Made about a million deals with God (She promised to be kind to others, always eat her veggies, kiss the most wonderful man in the world a million times a day...) and still no rescue to be found.

"I'd rather be blue over you..."

So, thoughts turn to love. Remembering moments of bliss and happiness, wishes for more of the same, she is too busy daydreaming of long, lingering, smoldering looks over dinner. Warm backyards in a chair. Feeling safe. She almost misses the box.

"Than be happy with somebody else."

Oh, my. Addressed to "Rachel Ann" and with teeny little holes in the sides, covered by mesh and bound in twine. There is definitely something inside. Something important.

She looks around for something to snag it with. An oar happened to be near. She paddles a little with her hands to get close enough to reach it. Then, she uses it to lure the box onto her makeshift life raft. The dragonflies that dance across the water amaze her. She never knew they could be so far from shore.

She leaves it intact, a little bit afraid to open it. She uses the oar to paddle toward shore, as the tide had been pulling her away from the small, sandy island and the sparse stand of trees at its center. It occurs to her that the box saved her life. The mystery of the contents gave her will to live where none existed before.

When she lands and feels the sand under her feet, she lays down to rest. Being in motion for hours and days and maybe weeks has taken its toll.

She sleeps without dreams. When the sun breaks over the horizon and warms her skin, she decides to look for other survivors. But the box never leaves her side. It has become her talisman. It saved her and she won't let it out of her sight. She searches in vain. There is no one else on the island. She is alone but for her box.

She is terrified and enthralled.

She tears through the tape. She feels something banging against her fingers as she lifts the flaps. But she opens the box to see that there is nothing inside.

Until her eyes adjust to the light. Three little glowing orbs dance around. They seem very excited, full of energy, full of life. One dances up and brushes her cheek and it takes her breath away.

Finding the water

2009-07-31T11:08:00.000-07:00

The little girl bites the bottom of her lip as she works meticulously to roll out the pie crust. Her mom is so good at it and she doesn't want to disappoint.

In the background, she can hear her dad listening to the ballgame on the radio. Part of her wishes she was sitting next to him. It's the Yankees, her favorite team, and this is the one thing they share that brings her joy. She listens carefully to wait for the sound of the crack of a bat, her favorite noise in the whole world, next to the clap of thunder.

An image pops into her head. It's of a pirate ship, making its way up the Columbia River. She pauses for a moment to wonder how the Native American Indians felt when they saw gigantic sails making their way toward land hundreds of years before. "I bet they thought they were dragons," she whispers.

The crust is thin enough, and she calls her mom over to look at it. It is sticky and has been overworked. Irritated, her mom takes the dough off the plastic mat and throws it away. "Here, why don't you try again. Sooner or later, you'll figure it out."

The irritation in her voice is such a constant that the girl doesn't even register it. Her beagle, at her feet, is panting from the heat. A thought suddenly occurs to her - isn't it supposed to be cold when you make a crust? Aren't you supposed to keep the dough in the fridge until you need it? Does her mom really not know this?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Awaking from the dream, you are watching me as though I cried out. You reach your hand to my forehead. "You feel feverish." I do indeed feel ill but not from the heat or an illness - from the sense that life is spinning dangerously out of my control. Without control, there will be no closure, no sense of peace, no ability to hold my ghosts at bay. I close my eyes and wish my way back to Tuscany. Where the warmth of the sun makes me feel safe and close to you. Not far away like I feel now. I hate feeling so far away, lost and abandoned. Alone.

My dream begins in a sad place, a cemetery - dark and gothic and beautiful. I am standing at a tiny headstone, too small to be seen under normal circumstances. The men and their lawnmowers frequently run over it. It is covered with rubber marks from tire tracks and has been moved far from its original resting spot. Underneath the black scratches is the faint image of a dragonfly, still slightly blue and green but worn and weathered with the age of many winters. But I understand that this matters little - there is nothing left of the spirit who's soul this marker celebrates. At least nothing here that remains.

We are, after all, dying from the moment we take our first breath.

My dream shifts, to a cold, icy road. A selfish act, followed by another, that leaves the world breathless with loss. In my dream, the spirits that inhabit the waterways cry out in horror, anger and grief. It ceases to matter in the breath of an instant. Help will not come, safe harbor cannot be reached. A call of parlay will be ignored forever, echoing on the icy pond.

I am reminded for a moment of the souls, lost forever and adrift, in so many stories from my childhood. What Dreams May Come. Lord of the Rings. Ever calling to the living from the depth of the water, Davy Jones locker doesn't merely exist in the sea. Every puddle, every brook, every fountain contains the souls of the missing and the lost. The Sirens protect them from the living by drawing the seamen to the depths - then by smashing against the rocky bluffs. I don't want that fate for you, I have to protect you from the songs. From myself.

I remember water, rushing at outrageous speeds, with unbelievable force, and the feeling of safety as your hand surrounded mine. The water may be full of memories, but they have other places to rest now. New memories are overtaking the ghosts. Moments on a bridge, looking down as it rushes by. For once, I am HERE and no place else.

My dreams are drawing me back to the shipwreck. I must see it, I know that now. But I don't want to be too close. I worry that the ship's ghosts will make their way home with me if I climb its rusty armor. But for now, I will finally be granted the rest of the exhausted. Slightly bewildered, I find that no more dreams will come to me tonight. Finally, blissfully, dreamless sleep.

Peter I

2009-07-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

I hide footprints in the sand.

Wind whistles through the reeds
But I can only hear my heartbeat.

It feels so loud the earth must shake
But no one else can hear.

Today was supposed to be better.
It was supposed to get easier.

Ghosts swirl all around me.
They haunt even when set free.

-------------------------------------------------------------------
This Friday Flash Fiction 55 courtesy of the letter R and the number zero (is that a number?) and is dedicated to Jake, who couldn't be here today.

If you want to participate, check out G-Man's ever-growing murder of bloggers (kind of like a flock of geese, only more - I don't know - diabolical).

An aside

2009-07-30T16:51:00.000-07:00

The stories from this week are all from a dream that has repeated itself nightly over the last couple weeks. I figured an explanation was in order since people have been so kind about my story.

It's not over yet. Saturday night will most likely be the final chapter, and I intend to have a couple more chapters before that.

As for the photos, the ship image on the post Jetsam is a phenomenal shot I found on photobucket.com. It is of the Peter Iredale, which ran aground on the Oregon Coast and still can be found, although only a skeleton now, at one of my favorite beaches. It's in Astoria, Oregon. I may make my way there this weekend, since this is where the dream takes me. And I feel myself being drawn there even as you read this.

Thank you for reading, and commenting, and coming along for the ride. This time around, I don't think the down jacket you see me wearing on my last trip to this coastal town will be necessary. But it is Oregon - you never can tell.

Jetsam

2009-07-29T22:20:00.000-07:00

I float in the water, weightless, awaiting the verdict.

In pirate lore, the call of "parlay" allows an innocent to speak with the pirate captain to beg for mercy, their life, or a swift death instead of the plank.

I cried parlay in my sleep, you tell me. "What are you wishing for?"

I wish, in my dreams, for little fingers, perfectly formed, gripping mine strongly. I wish for the moments when he cries in his sleep, which are rare, and I walk up to listen for his breathing. I listen so softly because his breath comes quietly, peacefully, and it can be felt more than heard. He smells like Johnson's Baby Shampoo and slightly sour milk. He smells of innocence.

I wish, in my life, for one minute to hold on to things that I have lost. For stronger memories that don't fade over time. For an instant replay of the moment my world collapsed. I could fix it if I could just go back. Instead of "get out of my sight" I would say "let's sit down and talk." I could change the course of events, if only I had that one moment back.

So I whisper "parlay" and hope for a captain with a heart not made of coal and barbed wire.

Instead, I find you, sitting on the lounge chair. Staring at me as though I'm crazy. Again. "Who do you think will listen? Who will answer when you say something so asinine?"

I pull myself slowly from the water. I look at you with steel and ice and malice and anger. "Who will listen?" I take a long pull of breath into my lungs. "I will listen. And I'm the one who matters."

For parlay to be effective, you have to believe in what it is you ask. Anything less and the pirates will know. They will sense your unease. They will destroy you.

The jetsam floats silently across the water as the broken boards and kegs of brandy float away from the wreckage. This time, parlay saved the innocent. Sometimes the magic works.

Flotsam

2009-07-29T06:33:00.000-07:00

You are speechless.

Watching as the tide creeps slowly
toward the castle made of sand.

You know how unstable it is,

as the water washes closer

and closer.

The inevitable destruction

makes the breath catch

in your throat.

Yet I sit there,

completely unaware

of impending doom

As you consider

your words carefully.

Nervous that I may bolt if you say the wrong thing.

But you linger as you form the sounds on your tongue.

Knowing it is the single most important thing you've ever said, ever.

"It's going to be OK."

I look up from the sand, feeling it trickle between my fingers, and cock my head to the side.

The wind has died. All I can hear is the sound of the tiny waves as they inch closer and closer to the palace I've built. If I had made it from the flotsam in the sand would it have a chance?

Or does it even matter?

I can build another one.

I have a bucket and a pail and a picture in my head.

"I know. But do you believe?"

A gull cries as you take my hand in yours, brush my hair out of my eyes. I'm daydreaming of fireflies in a jar while the gulls circle our lunch, waiting for opportunity.

Maybe some day my senses will return, I think, and I'll wake up to the sound of laughter and cartoons and the feel of little bodies crawling in to warm. Hear your breathing and be home again.

Under the Tuscan Sun

2009-07-28T06:04:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, only in dreams do we see the path that was there all along.

You stand on the balcony, overlooking the Tuscan afternoon. It is hot, sweltering hot, but the cool drinks and the water in the fountain behind me belie the angst that I feel. You are so far away, in your thoughts, wishing you were someplace else. With someone else.

"She was beautiful," you whisper.
Taking another deep breath,
"with the most unusual green eyes.
They changed color to suit her mood.
Flecks of gold that would glow
in just the right light.
She laughed a lot.
She was kind and funny
and statuesque
and she could handle anything.
Anything at all."

"Yes, but she's gone. And now you're stuck with me." I say it under my breath so you can't really hear me, but you turn and wear a startled look. "She belongs here, with me, and I want her back." You walk away.

Later, as we lay beside each other with absolutely nothing to say, I imagine myself as her. Walking down a crowded city street, ignoring passers by - but never completely. One of my charms, it seems, in this manifestation, is that I am an observer - not a participant in life but an observer. Always watching from a safe distance.

I carry a package, small and heavy, yet not a burden. Something very, very important is inside this package. It's the light that becomes the life of my children. This is long, long before they are born, before I met their father. I carry in this package three teeny, tiny little glowing orbs. Dancing together, ready to come to life and become what they are to be - one artist, one athlete, one memory. They can't wait to come out and play.

As the people pass, they seem to understand that I carry something unique, many people lean in to look at the package. "It's just a box." I say it with anger, and don't understand where the anger comes from, a place deep and dark inside myself, already aware of the hurt and the loss that is to come. We cannot live without the knowledge that we also die. It is what we do. All of us, all the time. "Every breath together is a gift." They look at me, puzzled, and continue on their way as I whisper these words into the box.

I approach the park,
my favorite park,
the Rose Gardens full of blooms
and fragrance and, even in the heat,
the flowers are joyous.
Special moments happened here
amidst the words of Shakespeare.
Once in a lifetime moments.
This place belongs to me,
will always be the spot
where love can be felt, palpably.
And then I awake.

You are sleeping, but you've shifted so we have contact. I feel a burden lifted, the thoughts of the dream are freeing and make me feel more alive than I have in a long time. I wonder if you can see the green of my eyes in the light, if the girl that I was still wants to be here. I know that if I move, you will rouse and draw me in, but I'm not ready yet. Not just yet. I'm still dreaming of twinkling lights that dance. I am aware that the light has shifted, changed. The day is about to begin.

The light
slowly dances
across the walls
and ceiling
as the sun
approaches the hills.
Warm, golden Tuscan sun.
And a day full of promises.

Monday

2009-07-27T05:40:00.000-07:00

Week two at the coolest job ever and I just wanted to wish everybody a happy Monday.

I'm fine, by the way, even though a posted video from last night brought on some rather interesting comments. All is well, everything is good, I thought the video was fun. Since I like to refer to myself as Ice Queen for a number of reasons, I wanted to share it, as I figuratively wait for the sun to come up in the world. It' wasn't about anybody, really, except me. (I reposted it without comments if you want to see it...below).

Another lesson for me - comment moderation should be left on. People don't always get some of the subtlety of my humor, I guess.

Happy Monday!

Not always the ice queen

2009-07-26T19:57:00.000-07:00

It kind of speaks for itself.

Or so I thought. I had 12 comments on this when I woke up, most (but not all) of them angry. So no comments on this blog. You just get to listen and read and enjoy. I won't let anyone make this song feel bad because it feels like it's about me.

Well, then. How about a little explanation?

Here are the words to the song that have meaning to me:

Her Diamonds
by Rob Thomas
Oh what the hell she says
I just can't win for losing
And she lays back down
Man there's so many times
I don't know what I’m doin'
Like I don't know now

By the light of the moon
She rubs her eyes
Says it's funny how the night
Can make you blind
I can just imagine
And I don't know what I’m supposed to do
But if she feels bad then I do too
So I let her be

And she says oh
I can't take no more
Her tears like diamonds on the floor
And her diamonds bring me down
Cuz I can't help her now
She’s down in it
She tried her best and now she can't win it's
Hard to see them on the ground
Her diamonds falling down

She sits down and stares into the distance
And it takes all night
And I know I could break her concentration
But it don't feel right

By the light of the moon
She rubs her eyes
Sits down on the bed and starts to cry
And there's something less about her
And I don't know what I’m supposed to do
So I sit down and I cry too
And don't let her see

She shuts out the night
Tries to close her eyes
If she can find daylight
She’ll be all right
She’ll be all right
Just not tonight

Rob Thomas has obviously been fortunate enough in his life to have found a woman who tells him to leave her be when she needs to work on something by herself. In this song, he explains that it kills him to not be able to help her or fix it (he is a boy, after all) but that she has to do it alone. I like the way the video ends - she's standing in the sunlight, made it on her own, and her skin starts to dry as she basks in the sun.

Yep, that's me.

Until the novelty wears off

2009-07-26T06:44:00.000-07:00

Oh, my. I have a friend that used this line as her parting remark in an email. She had just had her heart soundly broken - for the second time - by someone she loves. She feels hurt and betrayed and sad. But this time she decided enough is enough.

When do we say enough already?

"Someone will love me, for longer than until the novelty wears off, and it won't be like pulling teeth." Sage words, darling friend. Very true indeed.

I joke frequently that you only get once chance with me. Off with your head if you don't behave nicely. Hmmm... if only that were the truth. Instead, I have a tendency to let people treat me poorly - repeatedly - before I finally send in the clowns.

Do you have something difficult to do but you know you have to do it? Follow my lead and don a protective suit of armor. Imagine yourself surrounded by your friends, wielding pitchforks, and get it over with. Picture yourself in an asbestos suit, impeneterable by even the sharpests remarks. Or clowns. Clowns are a little scary. Surround yourself with clowns and tell that man/woman/coworker/boss/teenager exactly how you feel.

And if they aren't nice, maybe the clowns will eat them.

For SS - and the black eyed susans, too!

Drawing a Map

2009-07-25T19:39:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a map. It's of the things I want, the things I need and the things I hope for in my life.

I want it to have rivers and snow, sunny spots that are warm and violent rain storms to wander through. Puddles must be stomped. There will be times when I am out of breath, blissfully happy from my progress. There will also be times when I cry and am frustrated and feel like I can't make it another step.

But there will be a map. It might change every day - actually it will have to change every hour if it's to be my map. I'm a little complicated. There will be big, warm, candlelight filled rooms for guests and friends to stay and warm their hands when they travel. There will be acres of grassy fields and hills to roll down.

It will guide my feet and show me options and make my wold a better, more interesting and more wonderful place. It will be safe here. I might not know the names of the cities I will drive through, or the days I will be there, but there will be big cities and small towns and middle-of-nowhere forks in the road.

It's the forks in the road that I fear. What if I select the wrong path? What if I go someplace dark and lonely and full of spiders? What if I miss gardens full of daisies and dragonflies and perfect napping spots only to find a forest full of unfriendly men who demand a toll and never let me through in the end?

When you draw a map of the future, the one you wish for, how do you make sure it holds everything important and misses nothing you need?

I was only dreaming

2009-07-24T18:51:00.000-07:00

I slept with your t-shirt on
When you were out of town
It made me feel safe
And surrounded
And protected
Like a shield
Like I was in Legend of Zelda
Here to protect you all
A Link to the past
And the future
And the present
And I was strong and ready
For anything.

Have you seen my monkey?

2009-07-22T12:21:00.000-07:00

OK, I've been bugged enough times to tell the story of my recent escalation of monkey obsession. I thought I should just get it out there so you know why I'm monkey crazy.

It all started so innocently...

The kids and I used to hang out with another family when they were in early grade school. We would travel together on day trips with two moms and five kids in a car. A recipe for disaster, at times, you can imagine.

On a last minute trip to the beach, the hot and crabby kids in the back were having words with each other when a slap-fight broke out. As I was driving the behemoth of an SUV, I laid down the law - be quiet back there or off with your heads. I was, of course, completely ignored. I had to pull off the road twice before things settled down. "The look" was involved. You'd be scared too, trust me.

At Seaside, we did the usual touristy things - rode the carousel, played on the sand and shopped at the mall. We had elephant ears. Just before we left town, I stopped in at the toy store to look for something as incentive for the kids to behave on the way home. This is where Rabies joined the fam.

I bought this little monkey with Velcro on his arms and hung him from my belt loop. He traveled toward home for a bit before I had to hurl him over my shoulder and smack a child in the head for mouthing off. He flew back there a number of times before we got home. I had intended to give it to the child who was well behaved all the way home but there wasn't such a thing. I asked the kids to name him and they came up with all sorts of stupid ideas. Really, really stupid.

So, I dubbed him Rabies. Rabies is currently traveling the United States - at his second stop, in Miami. Check out his blog, Rabies Travels the World, to see his grand adventures. He went on an adventure through Oregon and Washington, if you'd like to see what fun he had. We had a little fun, too.

Are we there yet?
Guest Blogger: Sara
Guest Blogger: Sean
The trip thing of Sara
Hi from the road
I don't know

It was a number of years before I added additional monkeys to the collection. Rabies saw me through some tough times at work (where he protected me from weird bosses and angry customers by giving them the evil eye and placing monkey curses on their offspring).

Then, Asthma came along. We were at the zoo, Keith bought me a new monkey (this one of a different variety) and he named him Asthma. Diseased monkeys were added faster than I can count. Let's see if I remember them all...

Rabies

Asthma

Syphillus (aka Syffie, the orange one pictured here with Whizz)

Hivvie (who lives with Fireblossom)
Gangrene (who lives on my desk at work)

Sanser (which you'll understand if you watch SouthPark)

Cleft (as in palate) and
Joe (Named after Joseph Merrick, the Elephant Man)pictured together here.

Lately, we've added:
Max & Princess
Whizz (see above)
Ho Ho (who also lives in the IT department at work)
Sari

Ginger

My favorite monkey is Smock.

He's a puppet and he holds special love notes as he sits on my bedside table.

So, as you can see, it's time to say "enough monkeys already!!" We have monkey bowling, monkey key fobs, flying monkeys (and I'm really not afraid to use them) and monkey stationery. This monkey thing is starting to get out of hand.

Today, someone very smart reminded me that gorillas and other primates aren't monkeys. Ooh. Maybe there IS still room for another monkey or two.

Surprises

2009-07-21T20:21:00.000-07:00

Look what showed up while I was at work today. Sara, who has an anxiety disorder in case any of you don't know that, called in a panic because a "huge sign" was going up in our front yard.

Yeah. I thought she was kidding.

I liked our landlord, really I did. But he's a builder and was just renting this house until he could find a buyer for a lot, then he was planning to knock it down and build a $600,000 luxury home.

I love this little house, even though it's too small. I tore up carpets, painted, put up baseboards. I've spent weekend after weekend after weekend working in this yard. I've worked HARD.

Well, it seems that I worked hard enough that his promise to not aggressively market the lot while we lived here has changed.

I am not amused.

Day two. "IT Monkeys are GO!"

2009-07-21T05:34:00.000-07:00

Can I just say that I love being in the IT department? I've spent my whole career surrounded by marketing and advertising people, creative types with a rather serious case of "I'm the king/queen/center of the world" syndrome.

Yesterday, I walked into my new job (with a fast commute to work - AND I missed being snagged by the muscle car-driving county sheriff. Whew!) to find lots of people excited to meet me. They've been dying to find someone to fill this position for months and I have a sudden sense of the impact I can make on this place. Nobody has ever done this job before.

Um, did I mention nobody really knows what this job entails???

My favorite coworker met me at the door to let me in. My new boss toured me through the whole company and showed me around. I have a smokin' hot laptop computer, Adobe Creative Suite 4 (score!) and lots and lots to learn. I got a boquet of flowers. I got a monkey. It was a dream day in a cool place.

I got to ride to a very nice team lunch in my bosses convertible. My afternoon consisted of familiarizing myself with my space, cleaning a bit and getting set-up on the computer. Being in the IT department means I'm sort of a novelty - token female geek. And a geek I am, no doubt about it. I am going to love every minute of this!

They want me to teach them stuff - how to use Flash, how to write html and how to do a million other things I bring with me. I guess all those years of holding a number of jobs are finally coming to fruition! They like me. They think I'm cool. I had grown up people to talk to all day long and they don't ask me to make them a PB&J!!

So, besides the obvious great day at the new job, I had a bad meeting at the old job last night. For those of you who don't know, I took a part time job managing a small condo complex in June of 2008 to buy groceries. The pay is crap and the people are kind of nuts. I work for a number of angry people. I held my own, made the one troublemaker that wasn't playing nice with others leave the room and basically had a good time running things. We got answers and solutions settled out. I spent time explaining things that made everyone understand some specific challenges more fully. And, I left without feeling beaten. That happens sometimes at these meetings, where I feel like I got hit. I'm deciding when to quit this particular mess because I could use the income but know that I'm going to be working 60 hours weeks in short order... and it'll take at least 20 hours more. How thin can I stretch myself?

But wait, I tell myself, how nice would it be to have PLENTY. After all this time of want. I could hire someone to teach the kids. I would be able to vacation - really, actually vacation. The Florida Keys and Miami beckon in the spring and I have every intention of booking a flight before Thanksgiving. Really. Scarlet? Are you ready for that cuban coffee? Red wine? Fun?!?!

Today is a new adventure. I feel so excited to be here, to have such opportunities, and to have choices to make! Life is a wonderful thing when it's full of opportunity.

It's day two and IT Monkeys are GO!

A good first day was had by all

2009-07-20T22:02:00.000-07:00

I got to meet the awesome IT team of which I'm now an integral part, signed-up for IM and got to chat with friends and coworkers all at once, got to ride in a convertible to lunch with the whole group - which was AWESOME. They even teased me about how good I am at answering tough questions with a "That's a great question, I need to do a little research and get back to it." Slippery, that's me!

Then, I had a very long and tough meeting at the old job tonight and just arrived home to crawl into bed, after a little extra love from the family.

Thanks for all your good wishes and nice comments. It was a VERY good day indeed.

Happy Monday, everyone! Shouldn't you all be asleep???

Monday Morning 6:02am

2009-07-20T06:03:00.000-07:00

In about an hour and a half, I'll be walking in the front door of my new office.

I just wanted to share this butterflies in my stomach, so excited and nervous all at once, first day of school sort of feeling. It's really, really good.

I may love a good ending, but beginnings are so full of possibility!

Happy Monday, everyone!

Under covers part II

2009-07-19T09:15:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I get to START MY NEW JOB. Now, that may seem like a pretty minor thing in most people's lives, but I haven't had a job that could keep us fed and in monkeys for 21 months. That's 636 days that I got to wake up wondering where the kids next meal would come from. Fun!

But hey, out of the hardest times in our lives, we learn strength, discipline, and who our friends really are. Thank you to those who send me love, support and the occasional gift card. I will so pay it forward!

There have been lots of stressful moments over this 636 days. But do you want to know what I learned that I think will stick with me?

Life is really, really, really good.

I have had more magic moments, fun times, silly giggling fits, adventures, pathological lie-fests, pints of good beer, long mornings lingering over coffee, heart-stopping bliss, stomping in puddles, making snow angels, goose-chasing, love and road trips than I have in my whole life. Guess what? I got to LIVE.

Instead of drowning in my sorrow and fear and frustration, I made a list with a few simple items on it and I worked on them, each and every day:

1) Get over the old stuff.
I want to put all that baggage behind me once and for all. It happened, I survived, can we file it away in a cabinet and never go back, please? I ended a number of things. Endings are good because they allow for new beginnings.

2) Find some new stuff.
Friends, adventures, passion, sweet moments, tenderness, bliss.

3) Find my inner 7 year old.
We have recently become reacquainted and she likes banana popsicles and 50s movies, fishing and baseball games. Oh, and hiding under the covers, telling ghost stories.

4) Find my inner 20 year old.
She's a little harder to pin down. Tough as nails, she walked down the street like she owned the city. I'm working on this one and figure I'll have it down pat once I buy a new pair of boots. Yes, boots. First paycheck, these babies are mine.

5) Become the mom I've always wanted to be.
Supportive but stern, open to discussion but owner of the laws. I still could use some discipline in a couple areas, encouragement in others. I often want to escape for a weekend and I have to allow myself the opportunity to live my life, making me better at letting them live theirs. We are not attached at the hip. I am NOT abandoning them to be gone for 48 hours. Or 72 hours. Across the street or across the border.

I've been successful at almost all of these things, even though it's been painful at times. But what do we do in life that isn't painful? Only those things that really don't matter. The pain is well worth me becoming the woman I want to be. For me and for the people I love.

Today, I wish you all good things. Go find them. Let them find you. Make them happen. Don't make me come over there...

Keys

2009-07-17T10:06:00.000-07:00

This was forwarded to me by one of my all time favorite people. Even in advertising, it's always good to bring out your inner Betty...

Endings

2009-07-16T20:50:00.000-07:00

She sits in the corner,
wishing for endings.
No more beginnings, she thinks,
because beginnings are hard and rough and willful.
Endings are soft and safe,
like chocolate chip cookies on vanilla soft serve.
Warm and gooey and happy and meek.
But endings do not ask for tomorrow.
Endings seldom fathom hope.
Endings always fail.

This Friday Flash 55 is dedicated to my guy G-Man
And someone else who is a beginning, not an ending.

Write one yourself! Dare ya'.

Vanilla or chocolate?

2009-07-16T13:19:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've been asked to make a really big, life changing, difficult decision. No, it wasn't choosing a flavor of ice cream. It was chosing between making sure I'm OK and making sure a very important relationship is OK. If I risk losing someone in order to save myself, what happens if I save me? Am I worth waiting for, working with, infinite patience?

Would you chose, if you only had these choices, to bob around aimlessly forever? Or to swim for shore?

I've never been one to swim against the tide. I have spent most of my life trying to improve myself in ways small and large. At the same time, I've been trying to keep my relationships going, come hell or high water. If I work hard enough, after all, everything will be fine. Really. Or so this little voice tells me. Yes, I know that's completely counterproductive. But welcome to the wonderful world of me. I'm complicated.

Everything, my friends, is not fine. It will be fine, don't get me wrong, but today it most definitely is not.

What does fine look like, by the way? Is it moments of peace and bliss and happiness, even if they have a very high cost? Is it being dutiful and responsible and making sure your job is done, responsibilities are met to the best of your ability, even if it tortures your soul to do so? What happens when, in a moment of clarity, you know exactly what you want - and you aren't sure you have the strength to swim to it?

When high water hits and you dont have a boat, what do you do? (Does anyone have a life vest handy? I never was a very strong swimmer.)

When I'm blue...

2009-07-14T21:56:00.000-07:00

...I go dark places. Not emotional ones but places not everyone likes to go.

I love cemeteries. I could walk there for hours, touch tombstones and make up stories about the people who dwell there. Especially the ones who don't get visitors anymore.

The cemetery feels ceremonial to me. I want to have a picnic, dwell in the places that are meant for sitting and listen to the history of the world and my city be told in the voices of people long gone but not forgotten. At least not by me.

Oops, I did it again

2009-07-14T08:15:00.000-07:00

I spend more time in my mornings reading the musings of my blog friends. I wonder how I'll make time to keep this up next week, when the full time job added to the part time job mean I'm working 60 hour weeks?

I guess I'm not really that worried. After all, this is my favorite part of my day - to see what's up in Englad at Joey's, in Oklahoma at Annie's and in Alabama at Grammie's. Then there's Fireblossom, Scarlet and Darth Weasel, Rich in Boston and Whitemist in Connecticut. It begs to wonder - how did I find all these people that I consider friends?

I started writing with nobody watching except my best friend Riot Kitty. I wandered through her blog and looked at her friend's blogs to see who I might like to read occasionally. Then it expanded as I have added friends of friends and other random people who've stopped by my blog. I can probably thank G-Man and his Friday Flash 55 Fiction for the most new views and comments. Thanks! Oh, and just for fun, here's a little brainworm that reminds me of the whole process...

I watch all of these people on a regular basis, I have ended up with favorites that they wrote. I've always wanted to make up a blog award that shows them just how much these posts mean to me and to let them know I'm a frequent visitor and big fan.

Introducing... (drumroll please...)

Now, I can recognize all of these great people and their wonderful stories and they'll know they are appreciated by the queen of the pop tarts (Me) and will have another tasty award to add to their full cabinets of recognition.

Are you ready for the list of winners? (In alphabetical order so I don't get too harassed for putting someone else first. Sheesh, guys!) The envelope please...

Beantown Caffe - This Kid Is (Rich - by the way, I haven't made it all the way back to Repo Man posts, but I WILL!!)
Cheffie-Mom - Coming Clean
Claire at Country Mouse Tales - Cure for the Blues
The Cunning Linguaphile - Adult Devices
Darth Weasel - An Anniversary
Extra Ordinary Me - Worry Me
Fireblossom - Short Course in Ornithology
Grammie at Awaiting Buddah - Oh, my!
Granny Annie - Apology Rejected
LL Cool Joe - Pearl Fishing
Lou at Subdural Flow - Mean People Suck
G-Man - Retro Wednesday/the lanterns
The Good Mike D - WWHD
Mama Zen - Payment Plan
Mr. Riot Kitty - I am the antichrist, I am the butter man
The Naked Soul - The Magic Grocer
Pouty Baby - Survival of the Weirdest
Rabies - Livin La Vida Loca
Riot Kitty - Something for Everyone
Scarlet - A Hairy Situation
Shionge - So So Random
Whitemist - Strange Days

Now, go forth and spread the pop tart goodness.

Coincidence

2009-07-13T08:52:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have moments when you wonder "How did that happen?" You know, an unusual word or a non-typical concept will come up three different times in one day.

It always makes me think of this movie, one of my favorites of all time.

A name has suddenly begun appearing all over my world of late. It's a more common name but it has appeared in uncommon places - attached to the place I live, the place I'm going to work and to the place I've been working for a while. It relates to certain people, too. It's like the universe is trying to tell me something to make this name show up constantly, out of the blue. It's kind of random to say the least.

Speaking of random, and on a completely different subject, my second favorite line from this movie discusses the fact that the more you drive, the less intelligent you are. Hmmm. Driving makes people stupid. Well, I can confirm that it makes people angry, at least around here. I just read that Oregon has the 3rd highest rate of road rage in the US. Cool. That actually came up in conversation - three separate times - on Friday. I had to go research it to see if it was true.

And I didn't even do a lot of acid in college...

Cleaning out the attic

2009-07-12T09:24:00.000-07:00

OK, it was the garage. But you get the point. It was cleaning day on my pond yesterday and the garage has been full of inaccessible junk for exactly 6 months. That completely defeats the purpose of my 6 month rule. Use it once in a 6 month time period or out it goes. Seasonal items, of course, get different treatment. Some of my Christmas ornaments go back to the 50s and the only get used at Christmas time. They are not going anywhere.

By the way, I gave up quickly on the idea of a garage sale. Nope, too much work. Goodwill got the 7 mismatched chairs, 7 boxes of old clothes, an old TV and two VCRs and any number of useless items that were collecting dust. The garage is rickety, to say the least, so I won't park my car there - it might fall on top of it.

This is weird. I have a number of old skins in there (figuratively, not literally. sheesh!) Former relationships hide in the corners and the few items kept to remember them - and remind me not to make the same mistakes again - are often pulled out for review when I'm feeling lonely. See what loneliness brought me before? I did learn things. I didn't make the same mistakes but different ones. A whole new slew of them. Sometimes I feel strong and other times I feel invisible - the way I look in this picture taken of my reflection. Transparent, irridescent, cellophane.

By the end of the day I was exhausted and whiny and in need of some down time. The kids had selected Borat as our movie for the night. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard. I still can't decide what my favorite scene could be. But the funniest part of the whole exercise was that my son had no problem watching this crude movie full of male nudity and gay jokes - but he will NOT watch The 40 Year Old Virgin with his mom. Wow. Now I've got to watch the whole thing and see what all the fuss is about.

My house is almost organized. There is extra room everywhere - and that's saying something for a little 900 square foot house stuffed full of people and a dog and two pet rats (meet Nocchi).

Extra space allows for good, new things to enter our world. It's like shaking out the old energy to open a place for good, new things to enter.

I'm ready.

What do you do?

2009-07-10T08:42:00.000-07:00

At an appointment yesterday, the question of "What do you do on your lunch hour?" came up. I was a little taken aback - I mean, after all, I am a Type-A personality woman. As a tall girl, I make an impression when I walk into the room. As a smart girl, I can hold my own with the most challenging of client or coworker or relation. As a pretty girl, I make the occasional head turn. I work and I work hard and I work a lot.

What the heck is lunch hour? And who actually takes one these days?

Let's take a step back in time. The year is 1988. I'm the front desk receptionist at Marx/Knoll, Denight & Dodge Advertising in Portland. We have space in a funky but high end building. I was expected to look like someone walking out of a fashion magazine (pretty funny for a tall, skinny, geeky 19 year old). I had the short hair, expensive outfits and perfect nails. I had the attitude - nobody got past me without my permission. I even had the back-up - I got to leave my desk at 10am and at 3pm for 15 minute breaks. I got a half hour lunch, usually at 12:00 noon.

I'd walk through downtown, shop at Nordstrom, call a friend from an empty office. There were no car phones, cell phones, text messages, emails. It was a much simpler and often lonelier world. But I got my lunch break and I took a break from work every single day.

It has been a while since I held an office job. Looking back, I think I took a lunch break maybe once a week, and only because I had things that had to be done during the 7am-6pm timeframe that saw me at my desk. I thought I was Wonder Woman (I can bring home the bacon... fry it up in a pan...) I thought I was doing everyone a favor. If I worked that hard, if I sacrificed my lunch hour to make sure my work got done (especially as we cut my department from 5 people to two) I would be indispensable.

Until the day they kicked me to the curb. None of that stuff really matters. A boss that expects and demands long hours, skipped lunches and your firstborn is not a good boss. Those things they asked of me are illegal in my state, by the way. They can't keep me from taking an hour's lunch, if I'm at the office from 8-5, no matter how busy we are.

When I start this new job, there will be rules and boundaries and expectations in place. If I'm at the office for 9 hours, I will take an hour off for lunch. If I work at home, I will take an hour off the work I'm doing. Now, I can't promise I'm not going to do laundry or walk the dog or do any other myriad of chores, but I will take a lunch. I WILL.

What do you do at lunch?

Fearless

2009-07-10T07:51:00.000-07:00

Joyful
Fearless
Alive

But fearless stays front of mind
always in the middle
missing home
as much as the feel of the skin

that held it carefully, safely is missed.

My place is empty, waiting,
aware of the vacancy of me
looking forward to the day
when emptiness is replaced
by fingers entwined, rejoicing, complete.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This Flash Fiction Friday for G-Man and the rest of you

is dedicated to Saturday night.

Want to join the party? Write a piece of fiction that is exactly 55 words.

Leave a message for the G-Man and check out at least one other 55'er from his site.

Thank you for joining the Thompson family

2009-07-09T10:38:00.000-07:00

A really great company made me a job offer last night. Yep, things come full circle in the world sometimes. My new office will be less than 5 minutes from where my old house used to be. I had trepidation about this one but wowed everyone and am making things happen in my world. FINALLY.

I will be doing a really fun job, full of time spent defining processes and making things run smoothly. I get to learn a new business and get quickly up to speed on some very important details. I will learn to code like a monkey and to weave dreams in my sleep.

I love my soon-to-be coworkers. I received an email from the team this morning that had a subject line that I posted in the title. "Thank you for joining the Thompson* family. Your life is about to change.... are you bringing us monkeys?"

Change is good but it's always rather scary. For me, this change has been a long time coming. The last time I had a job in my field was October 2007. I've been employed doing a "get by" job for a long time, making very little money with the added perk of harassment from my boss and high stress and it's been soul crushing and financially devastating, to say the least. But this time, I held on to the dream of being back in an office, having a fantastic boss and learning something new while I do what I do best. Which happens to be most things.

I have written almost every day here, for a very long time, and I hope to keep up the good work. But if you don't see me as much, it's just because I have a crazy good life that gets me one step closer to that big porch with a beautiful view, a hand to hold and a dog to warm my feet.

*Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent and the monkeys.

A girl walks into a bar...

2009-07-08T08:01:00.000-07:00

In honor of my best friend, Riot Kitty, and her funny story about a strange craigslist ad, I had to share a story that sort of relates.

As a graphic designer for a number of years, I still have frequent referrals to do a project here or there. A friend of mine said he had a college buddy getting ready to start a business and they needed a logo and some marketing help. I set up an appointment to meet him and his business partner at a local Starbucks.

They were easy to find since the place was empty. We did the typical introductions, I showed my portfolio and we discussed their expectations. They wanted a logo for a "specialty products" business. I was thinking promotional products like pens with logos. Cups with pictures.

First off, you can't get work done for free. "Not much budget" always means "broke" and I don't work for free anymore, no matter how many fabulous millions of dollars people promise me they'll pay me once the thing takes off. I have kids to feed and rent to pay. A good logo can take 10-20 hours to work on. These guys wanted $1000 worth of full color illustrated logo for nothing.

I explained that the local art school or Portland State would be a better option if they didn't have a budget. You can get a student do work for all but free just so they have something for their portfolio.

"Well, we can work in trade." OK, this is not usually a good idea, but I always like to see what someone wants to barter. "What were you thinking?"

At this time I want to paint a picture of this guy. Dressed in slacks and a jacket, his business partner is a female who is wearing really expensive shorts and a t-shirt. They look like they just walked out of Abercrombie and Fitch and surprisingly came to life from their former plastic mannequin status.

"Well, we're starting a porn resale shop so we could trade you for all the porn you want." The guy said this with a straight face. Porn? RESALE PORN????

I can just see their ads. "Slightly used snuff rag...."

Suffice to say, I asked them not to use my name if they asked for a student at the art school...

He Man versus Thunder Cats

2009-07-08T00:41:00.000-07:00

What in the world?

I sit here in the middle of the night with my daughter. She doesn't sleep like a normal person. Nope. Sleeps during the day and is up all night. Like my old cat, Escher, that used to stalk me all night long and pounce on my face when I least expected it - claws out.

So here we sit, totally ignoring each other as we sit side by side on our computers. Hey, are you emailing my friends again? They always like you better... it's the blue hair.

Anyway, the television is on in the background, as it usually is, and I'm kind of annoyed and slightly revolted by this show. It's called The Great Debate. It's kind of like "I love the 80s" type shows. Only stranger.

They just had a debate about the best cartoon hero. He Man or Thunder Cats. I'm not telling you who won, you'll just have to watch it yourself.

But it brings up a questions for me. Where in the world do they get the ideas for these shows? I remember Celebrity DeathMatch, where claymation Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera dismembered each other on MTV. Jackass is my LEAST favorite tv show ever. Ever. Why won't one of his stunts just kill that jerk once and for all? And what's up with the midget?

Now, I am able to change my mind about shows sometimes. The first time I saw SouthPark (with the girls that used to babysit Sean & Sara), I was floored. And amazed. They killed Kenny. What red blooded American mom could approve of that? Now, I love the stupid thing. Especially when there's a pageant. Or when Mr. Garrison plays with Mr. Slave and Mr. Hat.

I am, after all, the mom that used to allow the kids to cuss - but only when we went through a tunnel.

I will leave you with confirmation that television, and especially certain aspects of tv, are important to me. After all, how many other people would rip apart a pallet to create Plank, the best wooden friend a guy named Johnny, friend to Ed, Edd or Eddie could find? Does anyone else think Sarah, the annoying and bossy sister to Ed, reminds them of someone? Hey, Plank sees things. Does he see the monkey in front of him, I wonder?

A good day

2009-07-07T17:46:00.000-07:00

I had a major misunderstanding with the man I love and we worked through it.

I had a very, very good interview at a place that seems awesome - I loved them!

I had some time with my son, was able to treat him to a special hour of alone time - and a zebra.

I added new monkeys to my world. Bowling monkeys. *shudder* The only thing better would be bowling monkeys and bacon.

I came up with a strategy for dealing with my soon-to-be-former job. It's brought me nothing but chaos and I feel much more confident that I will be able to quit really soon. Which could be tomorrow. Did I mention they asked how I want my computer set up?

My friends all called me to tell me to kick butt and take names - which I did - and to have fun and make them sell me on their company. They have a health club on site. And a basketball hoop. Conference rooms named after local outdoor activities.

I came home to a dog that found access to the kitchen garbage and laughed as I cleaned it up instead of crying. This is a big deal because a dirty dish would have brought on a fit of tears 4 days ago.

I proved someone wrong - and it was a wrong that needed to be righted.

I stood my ground with a bully and made her go away.

I saw my best friend.

I heard from my buddy Fireblossom and got lots of love from her via email. She was silly and it made me happy.

I got to remind myself what being happy feels like.

Ooh - and I got to have my dog sleep on my feet. I wonder why his breath smells like cleaning products??

Happy Tuesday everyone!

The Bluffs

2009-07-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I dream in color, sometimes in black and white.

Last night, my dreams were vivid. Stunning sunsets over the city, beautiful wetlands in the foreground with the west hills of Portland in the background. Comfy chairs, a nice cold glass of lemonade, my homemade kind, and good company. Candles burning. Laughter. Bliss.

Here is the view from my porch, standing on the corner of my dream house. The one with the writing room overlooking the city. With hardwood floors and paneled cabinets. I will have to do something about the pink kitchen, though.
It has stained glass windows, a giant, wrap-around porch and a cozy fireplace in the front room with bookshelves for Whitman and Hemingway and maybe Rachel.

Some day, this view will be mine.

When a door closes...

2009-07-06T08:07:00.000-07:00

I spent the morning yesterday photographing doors and entryways. I find myself feeling calmer after an hour of stomping around taking pictures of things. I did the same thing a couple weeks back when things started to feel overwhelming and I checked out a beautiful cemetery not far from where I live.

One of the pictures was of an old crypt that had a tarnished copper door and was in major disrepair. It sits in the wall of the hill you have to drive up to get to the main cemetery. Hundreds of people see it-and probably ignore it-every day. I was intrigued so I stopped to take a shot, parking the car a little off the road. It was a Friday and pretty early so I figured there'd be little traffic.

After the two minutes of shooting, I looked up to see two guys waiting for me to move my car. They hadn't said a word or made a noise and they could have easily made it around my little Jag. But there they sat, watching me with intrigue. "Why would you take a picture of that old mess?" asked the youngest of the two, probably not even 20 years old. He had obviously been off doing heavy labor and was dirty with mud.

Someone's mom or dad or little brother is in there. And it's obviously been neglected because the family isn't around anymore. I smiled, showed him the shot of the close up of the door and told him that would be a key piece in a book about doors that I'm writing. It's one of the most beautiful doors you could ever see. The moss growing on the old Rocky Butte Quarry stones, the tarnished copper that is the color of sea foam, the yellow mold growing on the grout... and the leaves scattered at the base make for a most beautiful and interesting structure. If you didn't know it was a crypt door, you'd think it was the entry to a secret garden.

He seemed very unimpressed. "Why would you want to take a picture of doors?"

My answer, of course, "Why wouldn't I?"

Digging through bins

2009-07-05T13:45:00.000-07:00

Tuesday was allowance day. It's a big deal in our house, where I'm not making much income, for me to dole out the pittance of $20 each to the kids.

I had a great interview this past week and the job actually fits almost all of my criteria. Enough money, responsibility and flexibility, learning something new, creating a new process since it's always been done by another company. The company is financially sound and has a good reputation. The person who would be my boss is awesome. I would love working there.

But I'm overqualified. I hear that again and again, as I work to scrounge and scrape together money for groceries and utilities and the basics. Keep your fingers crossed and send little old me a little extra good karma at 3:30pm Pacific on Tuesday!

After she got her allowance, my daughter wanted to go to the fabric store and pick through the bins of remnants. She wants to create some strange looking stuffed animals and sell them online and at a store up the road. She's also making leg warmers (if you'd call these things leg warmers - it's not the 80s anymore!)

She has a number of projects going right now and a number of demands she's placing on me that I will not be able to fulfill. Bummer. For her, really.

The trick here is that there is no right or wrong answer. To be a good mom, I have to take care of mom first. This is my mantra for 2009 as I travel the windy and often bumpy road of life. If I sacrifice everything that makes me happy for everyone else, there is no room for me in my world. And no room for me makes for a very cranky mom. By the way, so do 19 voicemails in a 6 hour time period, Sara, in case you're reading this...

Now, a scary stuffed animal might go far toward forgiveness, babe...

Can I take your order please?

2009-07-05T13:20:00.000-07:00

41 years. Forty one. That's how long I've been on this earth. You'd think I would have learned a thing or two in that much time.

But the thing I just learned, in the last 48 hours, is that I have a lot to learn.

Sometimes a bad day is more than a bad day. And when it is, you need to hunker down, reach out and ask for help. Even help in the form of a full 12 hours of a constant hug. I never wanted to be one of those girls that say "If you love me you'd..." But a perfect moment can be feeling yourself falling apart and having someone say "what can I do" before you even have to ask.

I also had someone remind me that I am strong and that things will be OK. SOON. The soon part was very important. I have a great life I'm designing and I don't want to miss it having a breakdown.

So I asked for help. In prayer to the goddess and the universe and god. In word to my circle of friends (who are, right now, surrounding me with love and emotional bubble wrap and chocolate). In my deeds by reaching out to others who are also struggling and letting them know there IS light. If I say it often enough, it will become true. I also received emails from 3 relatively new friends who don't know me well, asking if I need anything. It felt amazing and brought on a new slew of tears, this time tears that helped to cleanse the despair I felt. And replace it with love.

They are all doing what I would do if I were watching a friend go through this. I am getting what I give. And it's amazing. THANK YOU.

I love and I am loved.

Coffee in the morning

2009-07-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, I used to wake up to the scent of coffee brewing in the kitchen. The scent of the Folgers wafting up the stairs to my attic room would rouse me from sleep. I tasted it a couple times and swore I would never drink the sludge, but I missed it when Dad gave up coffee in my teens.

It never tasted the way it smelled, but I did start drinking coffee.

This week has been really hard to struggle through. I've had more tough moments in the last 7 days that I'd had in the previous 2 years - and that's saying something. But here I am, awake early on the 4th of July, feeling like I shed the web of anxiety and fear that had crushed me so mightily on Wednesday and wouldn't go away, no matter what I did. Until I listened to the two people in my world and let everything else fall off the radar except taking care of myself.

I saw friends. I had coffee. I talked about hard stuff, forgave myself for disappointing people and just spent time remembering to breathe. I took a shower at 11:00 last night and it seemed to wash off the last of my anxiety. I slept well, woke early enough to say good night to my daughter (OK, it was 6am and she was just heading to bed - but that's another story for another day) and even snuck in another hour of sleep.

Today will be a day for the camera. I recently made my way through a cemetery taking photos and found that an old, intriguing idea has resurfaced. I want to create a whole book of photos of doors and doorways. Portland is full of beautiful entryways and I plan to work diligently to memorialize all the interesting ones I can find.

And the smell of coffee on my nightstand as I write this reminds me that I can make it through anything. I made it through a difficult childhood, bumpy spots on the road that is my life, and I find today, with wonderful friends in Portland and across the country (offering me poetry about watery mist and pizza under the covers) that I am the luckiest girl in the world. Still.

Spoiled

2009-07-03T22:32:00.000-07:00

It's still Friday where I am so I decided to throw out a last minute Friday 55. After, somehow, I was reminded of a forgotten fact that a Flash Friday has to do with flashing truckers and some radio talk show someplace... Yeah, we're not going there. Anyway....

Always strong, always brave, always capable, never weak
Until the dreaded day when it became too much
And Goddess became puddle on the ground
Alone, afraid, in need
Not knowing where to turn or trusting what to do
She sits under covers
Waiting for the light
To shine into her corner and bring her home.

Thank you Thursday

2009-07-02T11:36:00.000-07:00

Last week, I wrote a lovely little blog about the things for which I am thankful.

This week has been challenging so I think a new list is in order. I'm keeping it simple.

1. I'm thankful for Diet Cherry Pepsi and peanut M&Ms.
2. I'm thankful for macaroni. Cheese is even better.
3. I'm thankful for the sunshine and the fact that you, wherever you are, are looking at the same sun.
4. I'm thankful for stop lights so there are less auto wrecks.
5. I'm thankful for my dog, Ezmond, who loves me and keeps trying to crawl on my lap today as I struggle through some big stuff.
6. I'm thankful for Sean, who has given me 7 hugs this morning, and Sara, who told me it's OK to be anxious, she should know, and that I'll feel better tomorrow.
7. I'm thankful that I am not alone and I have friends all over the world who are kind and thoughtful and generous and loving, no matter how whiny I've been.

Thank you everyone. Tomorrow will be better.

DO NOT READ THIS unless you like whining

2009-07-01T15:09:00.000-07:00

This week has sucked. Sucked, sucked, sucked, sucked.

I'm not where I want to be. I'm not doing what I want to do. I am stranded in a mass of incompetence and chaos and frustration and red tape. The sticky kind.

With everything going wrong, I often feel like I should focus on the positive, be sensitive to the fact that things happen for a reason and just shut up already.

NOT TODAY.

I just need to whine and rant and complain. And say "sometimes bad things happen to good people. A lot of times the good people just take it and turn the other cheek and try to smile." That's not me today, may I please have a large, sharp object with which to slash somethig expensive?

Life bit me. And it SUCKS.

Seven Swans-a-Swimming

2009-06-30T20:05:00.000-07:00

I was surprised to see that Mama Zen awarded me with a creative blog award. Thank you, kind MZ, for being so thoughtful. I like your list of 7, too - even though I don't like Mike.

So, I have to reveal 7 details about myself. Oh, dear. Seven things? About me? That you don't already know? And MZ did such a nice job with her theme...

Seven Characters I've Played in My Lifetime

1. Lead singer of a punk rock band (I had a pink mowhawk)
2. A slutty "poppy girl" in The Wizard of Oz my sophomore year
3. A slutty "party hostess" in Funny Girl my junior year
4. A slutty.... WAIT A MINUTE. What was my drama teacher trying to tell me?
4. part2: Marketing Executive
5. Monkey wrangler
Let's see, we have: Rabies (currently on his way to Miami - and he has his own soundtrack!!); Sanser; Sari (who arrived today); Smock; Max & Princess; Gangrene; Syph; Asthma; Whizz; Cleft & Phlem. And those are just the ones I can remember at the moment.
6. Mom. I'm OK at this role some days, should be locked in a padded room on other days (like today - and there'd better be good whiskey)
7. Friend. Takes one to know one.

Now, I have to pass it on to someone creative. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings and I wanted to be fair (see above under MOM) so I drew a name out of a hat and landed on... Whitemist. Which is so cool because he is one of the most creative smart people I've ever had the pleasure to get to know online.

But all of you are creative. All of you. Really. I mean that. Do you want a cookie?

Truth is stranger than fiction

2009-06-28T19:14:00.000-07:00

Sara has always been an... ummm... interesting child. I adore her, she's a heck of a lot of fun to hang with, but her early years were full of some odd moments, thanks to her anxiety disorder. I understand it now, know when to push back when she'd demanding and basically make her miserable most days. A Mom's work is never done!

However, it's difficult to explain to people what it was like when she was 5 or 6 and her bedtime ritual - which Keith and I had to actively participate in at length - was unlike anything I've experienced, before or since. He was a saint. We won't even talk about me.

Until today. Props in advance to Mr. Thompson for his stunningly spot-on portrayal of life in the Petzold house circa 1998. God, I don't miss those days.

So, those of you with kids, kiss them on the top of the head and thank them for all the good things they bring to your world. I'm kissing Sara tonight and thanking her for blue hair and music and deviantart.com. Sean gets hugged for just about everything else you can imagine. He even does the laundry. I am one very lucky Mom.

Taking things for granted

2009-06-28T10:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, first thing in the morning, I wake up and make my list of things I'm grateful for and want to keep close during the day.

Things like kids that are healthy, a safe place to live, great friends, feeling loved. All important and all good things to focus on when you have less wonderful things to come in your day. It feels like a protective blanket in which I wrap myself.

These past few weeks, I've been lucky enough to see my friend (and physician) Rebecca a number of times. On one trip, she listened when I told her my vision has been blurry lately - I thought it was just allergies, which are terrible at the moment. She put drops in my eyes and retrieved an opthomology scope.

It seems I got my grandfather's eyes.

Grampa Don lost his vision when he was in his late 60s. Macular degeneration is a genetic disorder where your vision slowly goes away, beginning with a little bit at the center of your line of sight and expanding out until you feel like there's a big, fuzzy black spot that blocks things when you look straight at them. At least that's how he described it to me. I think it has something to do with nerve damage. Grampa was legally blind when he died at 88. I have been a very good girl and take special vitamins every day to combat this (go licopene!) so I wouldn't wake up one day in my 60s and realize my sight was going.

Nope, it had to happen in my 40s.

I am a visual person. I work in advertising where everything I do is reliant on my sight. I have years of experience running a printing shop where I could catch the most subtle color shift and tell pressmen how to fix it to get a color built perfectly in CMYK. I spend my days on blogger, facebook and emailing the people I love that aren't right next to me.

What happens if one day I wake up and I can't see?

I'm lucky. The opthamologist says the degeneration is less than 1-1/2 percent (minimal) and I will most likely be able to slow the process doing eye exercises, enlarging the type on my computer and wearing a new prescription. I'm lucky. But now, I see this spot of fuzzy gray that clouds the center of my vision in my left eye. I will always see it. They can't fix it nor can they promise it won't get worse as I get older.

My blog friend whitemist has been a source of comfort and inspiration on many a difficult day. He lost his sight and has hope that it will come back. I am not, by any stretch, looking at something as devastating as he has gone through. But I suddenly understand what it means to take something like my ability to see mountains, rose gardens and waterfalls for granted.

I don't ever want to take anything for granted again. I don't want to wait for my life to start. I get to be happy and see a beautiful world today and I want to make the most of it while I'm here, while I can. And I promise to remember to take my vitamins...

Beginning, Middle, End

2009-06-27T08:26:00.000-07:00

Everything has a beginning. Sometimes we can't remember how something started, when it did or even why it did. Middles are just the stuff - the living, the shopping for groceries, the drive to and from work, if you have work. Sooner or later, everything has to end, too. Except hope. A lot of people lose hope or think it's a waste of time. Some people say they don't believe in anything (um, how about your shoes? Do you believe in those?) Being hopeful can be a struggle.

I think, someplace along this windy path of my life, I lost hope in some stuff. Hope for happiness, hope for satisfaction, for goodness. The only hope I had was the bad kind - hope not to fail, hope not to fall, hope not to be miserable - and I ended up being all those things. So now I think about the things I want, not the things I don't.

But I still have my moments.

This has been a most difficult week - even with many good things happening. I just wish someone else could be the grown-up and I could be the little kid again - the one I never really got to be, what with raising a family from the time I was 7 and with a dad with a large mental health issue. Oh, and food to be put on the table. Then my own family with its own issues, all of which weigh heavily on my mind.

So, at 41 years of age, it's time to live for hope again. I hope I get a good job in the next couple weeks. I hope I can quit the terrible part time job I've done for a year and that gives me nightmares. I hope the big things on my list can finally be checked off as "complete" and the need for hope moves into "I hope our vacation is fun", "I hope Sean picks a school with a good basketball team and a cool mascot" and most importantly, "I hope I fall asleep at night knowing life is good, again".

That's something to hope for.

Passenger

2009-06-26T07:55:00.000-07:00

As the road
dips and bends,
He reaches out
to take my hand
which looks so perfect
within his.
He smiles.

For hidden
beneath the touch
is the feeling
and the sense
that perfect
belongs to us.

How to capture bliss?
In a moment such as this
it’s at stoplights
with a kiss
and smile.

--------------------
Friday Flash 55. For G-Man and his crew and especially for my biggest fan.

Choose an identity

2009-06-25T07:40:00.000-07:00

Checking out my normal blog list this morning, I ran across a fun review of a video game on Mama Zen's and so, loyally, started to the comments section so I could leave one. I love her blog, by the way, and wish I'd had a cool name for the kids instead of "hey you" and "cut that out". Baby Puppy is excellent.

It asked me to "choose an identity."

Why have I not noticed that before? I mean, I could be anyone, I don't have to be me. Choose an identity. Like Tabitha from Bewitched. Or Megan Fox. Or Johnny Depp's girlfriend in A Nightmare on Elm Street.

So I sat here, pondering who I really am when I'm Pheromone Girl (still me, just poke me in the arm and I'll yelp.) And who else I would want to be.

Well, I had a weird experience with a job offer (remember all the angst about life changes? That was a big part of it...) and I want to be able to tell the story but really can't because of the possibility that my very public blog would wind up in his very judicial hands and - ouch. Lawsuit or something. Although others have been kind enough to blog on my behalf, as some of you may have seen.

My best friend and I have often talked of starting a second blog with a "secret identity" where we would be completely transparent - and able to write about anything, because it wouldn't be tied to our actual lives in any way, shape or form. And we'd like to share with anyone we know that just needs to let it all out without fear of retribution.

This blog would be available to be used by anyone who had a bad day with someone they know or doesn't feel free to speak completely openly on their blog for good reasons (my good reasons would be my teenagers and the job hunt situation). And it's about time!

So, I am opening a contest of sorts to get a good name for our blog of no consequences. Submit your blog name ideas here and the winner will get.... a monkey! I will select the monkey especially for the winner, based on their monkey likes and dislikes. And their country's animal import regulations.

As for my secret identity? I'm sure you've already met her...

I'd like to thank the academy

2009-06-24T20:12:00.000-07:00

I dub today Thank You Thursday!

Thank you to Fireblossom for being an awesome friend and sending me love in little ways all week.

Thank you to the United Postal Service for delivering love to Arizona just when my friend there needed it most.

Thank you to the guy who said the thing that made me feel... yeah. I love you.

Thank you for the nice blog mentions friends and anyone else on the planet...

Thank you, Riot Kitty, for being my bff and writing such a KICK ASS poem to someone named Keith!

Thank you to Verizon Wireless for allowing me to have 10 favorites to whom I can speak anytime, any day, for free, even though they aren't Verizon customers - on top of the 30 or so friends that I can talk to for free all day, every day, because we're "in".

Thank you to Sean for having a most amazing dinner at El Tapatio until we both feel like we'll burst - and you should have seen the margarita! (oh wait, you CAN!!)

Thank you, Sara, for making a date night with your dad and taking him to sushi (you're sweet!) Thank you, also, for going shopping with me tomorrow to pick out a killer interview outfit (my what-not-to-wear girl!)

Thank you, Ezmond, for wanting a walk and making me walk off 7 pound chimichangas and margaritas too big to lift.

Thank you, Sean, for inviting me to join your guys party tomorrow and watching the NBA draft *sniff*

Thank you, Scarlet, for offering to take Rabies, my stuffed monkey. He's ready to travel and will be hitting the road tomorrow for Miami. We had to find him proper garb first!

Now, I leave you with my song list from my backyard work today (thank you, universe, for a beautiful day so I could hack away at the shrubs!!) because I have to end with...thank you, Sara and her dad, for coming home with a big, huge, belated mother's day gift for me in the form of an iHome stereo system. My house is shaking and I blame this playlist.

A mom moment

2009-06-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil..."

It's going to be one of those days. I woke pretty early to find Sara on the couch, loudly banging out a message on her computer. It seems one of her friends is being less than nice and Sara gets her back up whenever people aren't kind.

We spent the weekend with her friend recently. They were taken out to lunches, dinners, went to the amusement park and had a fabulous time. Sara was treating for most of these things and has spent the past week working off the loan by doing chores. She doesn't get an allowance so spending money has to be earned.

The same friend then invited Sara to a birthday party at an all ages dance club (OK, mom's, feel the hair raising on the back of your necks?) and the party started last Saturday at 10:30pm. And went to 4am. Oh, and Sara had to pay her own way in to the club and find a way to get there and home and, oh, by the way, can you pick up my two friends in Beaverton (a half hour away) and drive them down there and back because my mom is bringing all these friends of hers so none of my friends can come?

Time out. I was on the fence about the club scene (and would have attended the event myself if Sara ended up going - this place has a reputation for being rough) but I'm not this kids taxi service and Sara was highly offended on my behalf. I said she could go, I would take her and pick her up and pay her way but that I'd be there and we'd leave at midnight.

Birthday girl had a hissy fit. "Your mom can't come, it's a club for kids." I reminded Sara of the all ages status. "My mom won't bring my friends and they can't come without a ride." Then I guess they can't come. "Sara, your mom will cramp my style." That was enough for Sara to realize she didn't want to be at the party. Her excuse was that it was Father's Day weekend and she had things to do with her dad so wouldn't be able to make it. Not the best tactic, but she didn't want to hurt this friend's feelings with "you're being a jerk, my mom isn't made of money, no way."

But it doesn't end there. They went last weekend, the party occurred but it was this friend of Sara's and her mom and all the mom's friends, dancing with 17 year old boys. Ewwww. I mean really. Recently separated, is that how she gets her kicks? I was slightly nauseated. If I had gone, I would have been sitting in a back corner texting people from my cell phone, avoiding eye contact, wearing a big hat or something.

Then the invitation came for this Saturday - where the mom and the mom's friends are going, too, there's no room for the girl's friends in the car and Sara is invited - to pay her own way, stay until 4am and be the taxi for 2 other girls that are coming from quite a distance. And need a ride home at 4.

This time, I told Sara exactly what to say.

"The expectation that we have to pick up your friends isn't fair to my mom. We can get together to do something else. It won't be at the dance club because my mom says I can't go. Can we go for a walk together or make a picnic?"

The answer?

"God, when did you turn into such a bitch? Never mind... and I really don't think me and my mom should have to do all the driving and picking up and paying for, because people have their own agendas to up hold. If you were my friend, you'd do this."

So Sara, broken hearted (this is someone who has been a friend since 2nd grade) wrote me this note...

"I'm just so tired of my friends being shit heads to me when i just ask a simple question. Im really tired of all this. I dont know if I'm going to hang out with people much more, I can't take this especially at 2am. I'd love to hang out with you soon... At the moment you and Sean are pretty much the only people that don't say this stuff to me. You're the best <3" (That's a heart, by the way, for those who don't know. Also, I corrected spelling because I couldn't understand the actual version sent by both girls without a translator.)

I struggle all the time with friendships and people who push me to do things I'm not happy about. I've worked hard to create good boundaries and make people observe them or leave - and I try to teach the same things to my kids. As sad as she is, she did a good thing. She did what was right for her.

And I'm very proud. Go Sara.

Happy Monday

2009-06-22T10:18:00.000-07:00

ŏp'tə-mĭz'əm (n).

2009-06-22T07:50:00.000-07:00

"The point of living and of being an optimist, is to be foolish enough to believe the best is yet to come."

~Peter Ustinov

I woke up feeling optimistic this morning (someone grab the valium off that girl's nightstand!) I mean, come on. It's a pretty day in Portland, I'm sending gifts off to all corners of the US to share some love with friends and Rabies is off on another adventure. In Miami!!

I have an interview today, another one close on it's heels and sboth of them would take me back to my old neighborhood, a place I was glad to escape. Yes, there may be adventures in moving back, my son would be happy, my daughter, too, probably.

Definition of Optimism:
1. a disposition or tendency to look on the more favorable side of events or conditions and to expect the most favorable outcome. (my version: naieve)
2. the belief that good ultimately predominates over evil in the world. (my version: yeah, right)
3. the belief that goodness pervades reality. (my version: um, whos reality are they talking about? Not mine...)
4. the doctrine that the existing world is the best of all possible worlds. (my version: OK, they lost me at doctrine...)

So which one is it? I feel optimistic because I defined what I want and this week I intend to get it, no matter how difficult the task. It's worth it. So totally worth it. But the old me, the one that has accepted every job that happened to fall into her lap is chomping at the bit to take one - take any - just stop having to LOOK. Because, for some reason, my stubborn Capricorn personality doesn't like the hunt. I don't. Not a bit. You go on and do your looking, I'll sit here and wait for something to fall in my lap. Today's horoscope confirms this:

Dearest Capricorn faces the new morning with new vigor. You're still not at the place where you can make big moves, but you're heading that direction. Right now, you're a daily winner and nothing helps you to win more than already being that winner.
But then I have to take into account my horoscope for tomorrow (YES, I looked ahead. I'm a Capricorn. It's what we do!)

Steady Capricorn has put one foot in front of the other walking up the steep hill of life and has just accidentally stepped into a pot of gold. The planets give the Capricorn the time to take a day off from climbing, gather the gold coins you've just found and store them away.

Capricorns don't believe in accidents. We believe in hard work and dedication and that nose-to-the-grindstone gets us where we want to go. There are no coincidences, not any fate, no magic or serendipity.

Wait a minute. I believe in all of those things, just for other people. It's like my belief in them is dictated by my need to be in control of my world and my desire to have them, somehow, keeps them at arms length.

Last night, I had a dream that I was falling. The earth just shook me loose and all of a sudden I was in freefall, arms spread like wings, my sweatshirt trailing behind me. The black high top keds weren't so greatly aerodynamic and I was feeling the pull of gravity. Then, suddenly, the freefall slowed and I floated, gently, thousands of feet above earth. I looked down upon what I want and realized it's right there, I just have to get over the fear of that first, stomach dropping instant where I don't believe I'll stop in time. What if I'm wrong? What if this isn't real? What if the clouds don't catch me?

It's time to go home.

You mean I have to CHOOSE?

2009-06-21T09:38:00.000-07:00

Choices can be challenging for me. I spend a lot of time making things happen - I'm in perpetual motion. Due to that fact, I am rarely in a position where I am moving slowly enough to actually have to choose between two or more like opportunities. Except maybe choosing a gelato, and all I have to do is taste to find a winner.

"If you limit your choices only to what seems possible or reasonable, you disconnect yourself from what you truly want, and all that is left is a compromise."
~Robert Fritz

Ouch. My life has been full of compromise and sometimes very little happiness. I have often done things simply because they were the opportunities that presented themselves at a given time. It didn't always work out well.

I have lived life these past couple years by a shoestring, bailing water, making choices based on the needs of the many (the family) instead of the needs of the few or the one (that'd be me). And my choices have brought me here to a very, very large crossroads.

I spent the day yesterday wandering through downtown Portland and photographing interesting architecture. I wasn't in the mood to photograph people on the street, though, even though that had been my original intention. I saw a couple opportunities and decided it just wasn't in me to save those moments in effigy. But I did find out a little bit about myself.

I know what I want.

All sorts of famous people over time have been quoted to say that the biggest part of making a difficult decision is deciding what you want. Everything else should line up properly once you know what it is you want.

If only it were that simple.

Character flaw #1: I do for others. Lots. I'm usually the one making most of the effort and sacrifices and I work really hard to have happy and healthy relationships with all the people in my world. Self-sacrifice can turn around and bite you in the ass when everyone is used to that. I created this monster myself.

Character flaw #2: I'm a Capricorn. As such, I don't take leaps into the unknown without the proper research and a large vat of calamine lotion for those nasty insects you run into on safari. And enough bottled water to survive the end of the world. Sometimes I think I spend so much time THINKING about how I'm going to handle any issues and then HANDLING the issues so I don't really get to live. Not with Joy, anyway. Not with Bliss. Note all the capital letters. These are very important things to me. I was this way even before I had kids, it just got more complicated when they were added to the mix. The running joke in my circle of friends is that if you want to have fun, call me, unless you'd like to have fun TODAY.

Character flaw #3: This is closely related to #1. I worry about how my actions will affect anyone and everyone else. What if, what if, what if. And I try to troubleshoot the obvious, prepare for the hidden issues and basically make sure everyone in the whole world is happy. Content. Joyful. Except, of course, for me, because I'm so busy doing everything I can to make things work out for everyone else that what I want kind of falls off the earth as though it were flat.

I know what I want. It's right here, within reach, and all I have to do is adjust my attitude, my expectations and my dreams. Actually, that's not quite right. All I have to do is ask for it and it will be mine.

I know what I want.

"She crossed borders recklessly, refusing to recognize limits, saying bon jour and bon giorno as though she owned both France and Italy and the day itself."
~Kobi Yamada

Tomorrow, I will own the day

The real Sara is back

2009-06-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

My daughter has had colorful hair since 6th grade when she added orange streaks to her dishwater blond. She and I agree that - although soft and luxurious - the natural color of our hair is almost but not quite the most boring color on the planet. Light brown. Yawn. Sigh. I would prefer to go back to the strawberry blond of my childhood but it darkened when I was a teenager.

I colored my hair so many colors as a young person that I didn't remember it's natural color until the kids were born. I tried platinum, fire engine red, hot pink, blue streaks, highlights of every shade. But none of them lasted. I got bored easily, I told myself. After they were in school, I went to a really rich chocolate brown that made my eyes look pretty darn cool.

So, when Sara started wanting to try some color I was all about her doing it the right way - at a salon so the hair wasn't totally the texture of straw. After her orange streaks, she did a half and half of pink with blue on the tips which was pretty darn awesome. Hot pink hair got lots of attention (and just think of the cat ears that she wears daily on top of that cotton candy looking fluff!)

But she wasn't completely happy until it turned blue.

The first time we colored it at home, I was so afraid of destroying her hair that I didn't let the peroxide process long enough. The effect was a vibrant blue with some teal undertones. She was hooked. She's tried a couple other colors since but always goes back to the blue.

The color we use is very vibrant and comes off on couches, runs when it rains and basically makes a nuisance of itself for about 6 weeks. She would ruin my towels if she used them so she carefully pulls out the rags. Then, as it tones down and fades a bit, I have an extra bottle of color for touch ups or to refresh it before we need to bleach the roots again.

My favorite part of the process is seeing her with canary yellow hair for a few short minutes. She hates it. No blond for this girl, even though it looks cute and edgy and like she should be in the Portland Roller Derby - the old color at the tips doesn't bleach out but stays light pink and blue.

So, on goes the dye and she sits patiently as she waits for her blue to be back. While I go to the kitchen to scrub the blue sink, my oompah loompah hands and everything in site that got splattered with this stuff. Oh, the things I do for love...

The transformation is amazing. When the towel comes off and her hair is blue again, this strut appears in her walk. She talks with more authority, more confidence. She is truly in her element again and I love to see that.

And guess what - Sean, her super conservative and oh-so-patient, brother looked up and said, with a grin, "Hey, looks good." A high compliment indeed! When she first went blue, he didn't want to be seen walking down the street with her. Now, I think he gets a kick out of the looks (and she gets them) and especially from the cute little kids that ask her questions and the parents that stand back, obviously saying to themselves, "Not while she lives under my roof!" I guess for me I'd rather support her independence than try to make her fit into some preconceived notion of a box I made.

I guess she's lucky to have me as mom and I'm extremely lucky to have her as daughter. We had an awesome time last night, shopping at Powell's, Presents of Mind (where they only sell art, jewelry, t-shirts and other fun items from local artists - and they'll be selling Sara items soon!) and having our favorite dinner at our favorite neighborhood tea house.

Today, I can imagine she'll spend her time at home, staying out of the June Rain. But she'll be longing for a walk in Sellwood, through the shops, where her hair and cat ears and great personality will shine through the gray like a beacon.

Wild Abandon

2009-06-19T07:55:00.000-07:00

I have the pleasure
And the joy
Of being everything to you
And nothing for myself.

I hunt for truth, logic,
Peace and magic
Only to find they do not exist
When locked up in a cage.

When I walk beside you
There is vacancy, contempt.
My gossamer skin fades
As you slowly walk away.

The monkey in the middle

2009-06-18T08:18:00.000-07:00

Rabies arrived on my pillow at 9pm last night. He spent a few weeks visiting my friend Fireblossom all the way across the country. They had great times (check out his blog to see). He came back home in the mail but I was busy and gone from the house until late in the evening. I walked the dog outside so he could chase the imaginary squirrels around the yard (there is something seriously wrong with my dog) and stepped back in to see the package on the bed. Yippee!!

Rabies has had some adventures since April when he made the log trek with us to Hood River, Kennewick, Spokane & Yakima. The kids had never ventured that far from home and I was feeling the call of the road. It was the most fun road trip I've ever been on - maybe because this was the first time ever that I was in charge of selecting destinations, choosing hotels and making stops wherever our hearts led us.

Sara loved this shop in Spokane, Boo Radleys. I'm charmed by it, too, and had to restrain myself from buying a "Spokane Marmots" t-shirt. Sean was absolutely intrigued by an exhibit of landscape paintings at the Maryhill Museum in Goldendale. This place is calling me back for another visit, most likely sans kids, so I can really look at the Rodin exhibit and do some sketching. When we traveled together, the kids were my priority and we had a blast.

So Rabies has made it a habit to travel and see new sights. He's going to settle in for a week or two but I know he'll start feeling the travel bug. If you're interested in a visit from a monkey bearing gifts, drop me a line. Rabies is ready for a new adventure! Stock up on string cheese and Cheezits, folks...

Wardrobe Wednesdays

2009-06-17T11:36:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning knowing it was a day for my armor. I'm sure everyone has their favorite clothes to wear when they have a challenge to face. Mine is just a little unusual for a number of reasons.

First off, Joey shares wardrobe of choice pictures on Wednesdays. I thoroughly enjoy his stories and especially like it when he lays out his days outfit to show us. His style is awesome, amazing and one of a kind. Bling should be his middle name.

But for me, wandering around in a t-shirt and jeans is the norm. I have lots of business attire but I would bet you none of it really fits me anymore - since I haven't had an office job in 20 months (as of today. Happy anniversary!!) I've lost a little weight with all the moving around I do. I do yard work, wash clothes and clean counters as I write and design and crack the whip over my part time minions. There's also a wee bit of (figurative) cat herding involved. And yes, Riot Kitty, I do PR. Corporate PR. Scum of the earth, that's me.

Knowing I had a very difficult and challenging day ahead AND that I am not feeling 100%, it was time to break out the armor.

I have always been drawn to men's clothing. Comfortable, large enough to hide behind (and I do like to hide) and usually quite stylish. My favorite items are all resale finds, most of them bowling shirts or items of that ilk.

As a kid, I used to wear my beloved great-grandfathers hand-me-down suit jackets with my jeans. They smelled like his cologne and made me feel like I had the slightest bit of protection as I went out into the world. There was always a sixpence in my pocket. I felt like I had a shield around me and the fact that I was completely unstylish (neon colors and poofy hair were the rage, I wore black, white makeup, black eye liner.... wait. That sounds familiar...) So my days were made brighter by grampa's jackets.

He was first generation American and came over from Britain in the early 1900s as a young man. There's even a little Titanic lore in the fact that his mum and older sister had Titanic tickets but missed the boat because my Great Aunt Dorothy was ill. This story would have such a different ending if that hadn't been the case. My grandfather, my mother's father, would never have been born if Great-Great-Grandmother Babb hadn't survived the iceberg. Thanks for getting sick, Auntie D!

The suits made it into the waste bin when I was an adult, I don't quite remember when, but they were moth eaten and had tons of holes. So, I went for years without my armor and honestly rarely felt I needed it.

Then, my mom's father passed away in April of 2005. He had been ailing and was miserable and just waiting to die so I wasn't surprised. But I was a little surprised by the impact on me. We'd never been close. But when my mom offered me up his old flannel shirt (for camping, she assumed) I jumped at it.

This morning, on went the flannel. Along with a monkey hanging on my belt loop. The difficult meetings and doctors appointments and other items on my agenda will be well served by me in this soft-from-wear, warm and comfortable blanket of love that surrounds me. Boys? Beware of your closet contents when I'm around.

When good teenagers go bad

2009-06-16T08:14:00.000-07:00

I am blessed with two very cool and awfully nice kids. People LOVE them. They are smart and love to learn. They are kind and generous to each other, their family and friends and even strangers. They love to be silly. They bring me joy every day. Which is much better than bringing the fire department.

Sara has a friend over for a long weekends sleepover, now that school is out. They've been having a ball. We live so far away from both kids core group of friends that they have been lonely for their buddies. So the girls decided at my bedtime last night to make cupcakes. From a box, the white cake with confetti kind. Yummy sugar high in a little paper cup, covered in frosting and sprinkles.

They asked permission and seemed to have cleaned the kitchen properly after their little gigglefest. I'm sure batter was eaten straight from the bowl. I hope they had a great time.

One little problem... the GAS STOVE was left on all night.

Now, we live in a smaller house (900 sf upstairs and a couple hundred sf more in the basement where my son has his Man Cave/bedroom) and it would not have taken long for the pilot light to go out and for us to get sick from the fumes or for a spark (say the hot water heater pilot lighting) to torch the place.

Yes, slightly over dramatic, I'm sure, but Sara is notorious for leaving things on when she's done (as am I - but it was different with an electric oven). At least it wasn't a burner, where the flame is more easily blown out, allowing gas into the entire house.

So now I sit here wondering if I should punish, create a stern lecture (OK, that's kind of funny to write. I'm hardly ever stern) or just ignore with a subtle "um, remember to turn the stove off when you're finished". It wasn't intentional, she knows she's supposed to turn off the oven, she just forgot - but bad things can happen when you forget little things some times. She also just cost me, on my very small budget, about 9 hours worth of natural gas.

Anyone out there have a good story about how you were reminded gently of a safety issue and it worked well? Or, do you have kids or grand kids or others in your life that you are molding into people that can go out into the world and survive without you to turn off the gas? Because I'm getting ready to release these to into the wild and I don't want to have to call every night and say "is the oven off?" That would be MY mother...

"Show me"

2009-06-15T21:37:00.000-07:00

Shionge asked to see my tattoo, which includes a mah jong tile in the center of it. She shared a story of playing mah jong with the guys which sounds like so much fun!

My tattoo is of a sail and a Chinese junk and the character is the symbol from the "red dragon" tile. I love the fact that it looks like a sail.

AND, Riot Kitty sent me this link to a funny site about what the tattoo location says about you. Timely, girl! But hey - it's not dragon wings for goodness sake. Sheesh.

Rachel's ink... I got it when I was 29 but it's not finished, yet. It will be finished some day really soon.

She

2009-06-15T20:58:00.000-07:00

It's not here. And I have to find it.

At every rough spot over the past few years, I've randomly opened to a page in this book and it has told me EXACTLY what I needed to hear.

I was given the gift when leaving a job a few years back by a coworker. We were not close, but she looked at me on my last day and said, "This will define you for the rest of your life. You are a brave person and you need to remind yourself of that at times."

The book is called SHE and it's just a nice little empowering book of a poem. But it tells me things when I need to hear them.

I haven't thought about this book in months (it's got to be around here someplace!!), ever since I moved from the old house to this little one in January. I used to keep it on my desk, I even had extra copies in the closet to give to female friends. But somewhere, somehow it was packed and sits in a box someplace.

I NEED IT TONIGHT.

I wish I had been more careful with it. Like the magic 8-ball, I ask it a question and it gives me an answer. A real answer. An empowering answer. Close eyes, ask question, open book - wa-lah!

Scarlet made a comment on my previous blog that resonated deeply (You will feel it in your gut if you're meant to cross that bridge or not. When you feel that staying behind is not an option, you might even jump if you can't cross it! Trust me on this one.) and it made me remember my old friend. Where did I PUT IT...?

My favorite page said, "She stepped out on a branch, it broke off behind her, and she discovered she could fly" - followed by "Celebrate her courage". I feel like the cowardly lion today. This is such a big leap... I could use a little courage.

I wish I could ask it that question today. "What do I have to be afraid of?" All of the other paths won't work for me anymore. I have to choose the one that makes me happy. I'd love a little moment of inspiration in the form of a silly poem that always and forever makes me feel like I have nothing to fear.

It is seriously time to clean the garage.

Crossing that bridge

2009-06-15T13:38:00.000-07:00

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it" has never really been top of mind for me as far as sayings go. But when is a bridge more than a bridge?

I have a lot of friends making big changes in their lives right now. I have a lot of opportunities to move forward, move past things and move on. But a bridge is more than just a way across a river sometimes. Sometimes it a path to a new beginning.

Sometimes a bridge is a window to your past, where you can think about what's happened and learn from it.

Sometimes a bridge is an opportunity to take a completely different path and change your world.

Sometimes there are two bridges that look exactly the same - but they take you across the same river to two very different places.

I have bridges to cross. And bridges have taken on a new meaning for me. When is a bridge more than a bridge? When you come to a bridge, what will you do?

Words, words, words

2009-06-13T09:30:00.000-07:00

I love words, it's probably why I like to write. I just visited Mama Zen who writes about her love of the word charmed. It made me think of the words and phrases that are meaningful to me. Maybe list week isn't quite over yet...

Serendipity
Practical Magic
Honor
Love
Contentment
Monkeys
Rescue
Hi
Rock Star
Whatever
Yay
Home
Joy
Bliss
Red

Of course, the list could go on and on. But I notice immediately that these are words I try to bring into my little world as often as possible. Especially contentment and bliss. Dawn blogged about her new adventure at school and shared the color that defines her via the True Colors Personality Test. She guessed I'm a gold. Hmmm. Find out what you are at this free site (they do ask for your name and email). And I'm a BLUE. Caretaking, optimistic, passionate...Blues are your "True Blue" friends. A Blue's world revolves around people, relationships, and fostering growth in themselves and others.

Friday Flash 55 - sort of

2009-06-12T06:33:00.000-07:00

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

~~~~~~~~~~

He started it. And I'm not talking about my older brother hitting me first. G-Man does a weekly Friday blog of 55 words of fiction. Lots of people participate. My first attempt was last week. Now, all I can seem to do is count the number of words in people's posts.

I know I'm a little OCD, but come on!

I went looking for this Mother Goose poem because it's Friday and it's list week here at Pheromone Girl central and I thought this is an interesting kind of list - a list of ideas about what the day of your birth makes you. Do you know what day of the week the world welcomed you? I was born on a Sunday so I always thought I was kinda special, based on this list.

So, here's my final entry on List Week. It is a list of things I've discovered about people around me based on really random stuff.

1. Guys like pictures of my toes.
2. People who buy drugs at my park usually drive crappy cars
3. The funniest bloggers I know also write some of the best personal stories ever
4. Eating pudding with a fork is never a good idea
5. Wearing a bluetooth headset into the store makes anyone look like a geek. EVEN YOU.
6. You can find patterns in anything. When I retrieve my mail from the mailbox, it is more often an odd number of envelopes instead of an even number (and you'll be counting YOURS now, won't you!!)
7. Perfect moments are few and far between. When you find you're experiencing one, add it to your Pearl fishing list so you remember it forever.
8. True friends are ones who call you when your facebook status shows you're son is in the hospital ER.... so they can see which hospital and what kind of Starbucks you want at 11pm.
9. Smiles are contagious.
10. The most beautiful feeling in the world is the joy that comes from loving freely, giving outlandish presents for made-up holidays and living every moment to its fullest.

Today and every day, make your list. And don't check it twice. Just start a new one!

Wait a minute.... I've been WHAT?

2009-06-11T14:50:00.000-07:00

OK, it has now, officially, been the longest week ever.

Back in November, I sold my pick-up to a friend for a whopping 1500 bucks, for which she is making small payments to me pretty regularly.

I started receiving notices in February that there were parking tickets racking up on the truck and kept notifying the proper authorities that I had sold it and that the new owner must not have transferred title as she should have. I also contacted her every time and she assured me she'd taken care of them and made arrangements for payments.

I have requested a second title copy, signed off on it and gave it to her - along with my handy check for $55 - over a month ago. She supposedly sent in the paperwork.

Well, as of this morning, my license has been suspended for HER unpaid parking tickets and I have threats of garnishments for these tickets from 3 different local agencies. And no drivers license. There is no new title in process. And she's not returning my phone calls.

No worries, everyone - I should be reinstated on my license tomorrow (after lots of phone calls and visits to said local agencies - on the bus if need be since I'm not legal to drive) and I can get back to the things I would like to do as early as tonight, as late as tomorrow.

But this, I'm told by the clerk at the DMV, happens ALL THE TIME. As the seller of the vehicle, even providing the bill of sale to the DMV does not protect me and my reputation from the stupidity of the person who bought the pickup.

So what's a poor girl to do?

"Take the plates off a vehicle when you sell it." Well, this came straight from the person at the DMV. She tells me the only way to assure yourself that the new owner has done the proper paperwork work is to remove the plates and return them to DMV. The new owner will quickly be caught for driving without plates. It forces them to register the vehicle properly.

So now, I would like some suggestions for what kind of tortuously evil things I can do to this former "friend" who has now wasted hours of my time, added terrible stress to my life and caused me to have to walk everywhere until my name is cleared. Plus, some of the parking tickets may never get cleared off my record and that will make my insurance rate go up.

Pheromone Girl is not amused.

Diving for pearls

2009-06-11T07:48:00.000-07:00

It's Thursday of List Week and I was struggling to come up with a list of something that wasn't repetitive or dorky. Or both.

Visiting my blog pal LL Cool Joe, I was inspired by his thoughts on Pearl fishing and his partners very cool idea about special moments in life. And I loved the pearl he shared. "No, that's not actual fishing, but this concept of having these wonderful moments in your life that you will look back on when you are older. Pearl fishing moments."

So, This Thursday, with many, many challenges behind me for the week, I'd like to share my list of Pearls. I didn't even have to go diving for them. These are the moments in my life where something amazing has happened and they will stick with me forever. There are lots more, but these are top of mind when I think of very magical moments.

Pearls
1. Saying "I love you" surrounded by roses and a beautiful city - and having him love me, too
2. Pedicures with my best friend, Riot Kitty, the first time we hung out together
3. The first time my daughter told me "Mom, you don't know everything!" and then we both laughed hysterically
4. My son paying for breakfast when he was 12 and took me out for the first time
5. Reuniting with old friends Joyce and Traci and Felicia and knowing we just picked up where we left off
6. The first time I sang alone on a stage
7. Camping at Frog Lake as a little girl and collecting frogs in an old coffee can
8. Missing a train and being able to meet the most amazing woman with the most amazing story as I waited for the next one
9. Flying into San Francisco for the first time - early evening, flying low over the bay and all of a sudden the city appeared and lights came on. Pure magic.
10. Watching MTV when it first went on the air (Video Killed the Radio Star) (sorry for the brain worm, folks!) and knowing the world had just changed, would never be the same

Thanks, Joey, for the inspiration.

Haven't you always wanted a monkey?

2009-06-10T17:13:00.000-07:00

We have a winner! Apologies for the delay, but after a long meeting over bananas, a winner has been selected in the random contest Please hold while I access that information.

To review, a lovely photo of two charming girls at the local NAMI Walk were having a very intense and interesting conversation. Of course, we cannot remember a single word, so we asked that people offer their suggestions for what we might be saying. Monkeys were offered up as a prize (after all, who can resist a MONKEY?)

Here is the winning entry, selected with the painstaking process of asking fellow bloggers which entry they thought was coolest. OK, they all chose themselves. So, I started over from scratch and asked Riot Kitty who her OTHER favorite was.

Now, of course, the problem is that the comment was left by one of those pesky people who like to call themselves Anonymous (can you say STALKER?) But we have our ways. Contact has been made and said "Anonymous" person will receive the following AMAZING monkey gift set. As will RK, who liked it so much I had to pry it out of her hands. So I'm off to procure a second monkey set for my bff.

Congrats, Anonymous. Enjoy the monkeys. I hope they remind you of beloved office mates.

Check back soon, boys and girls - this was so much fun, we'll be continuing the tradition on random Monday posts during the summer. More monkeys will be awarded! Don't miss out!

LIST WEEK part III

2009-06-10T08:56:00.000-07:00

Uninspired, I decided I'd share my thoughts on how I'd spend $1,000,000. If I had it. Which I don't. But that's half the fun!

1. I'd pay off all of the debt held by the people I love (I have little but I know my brothers have lots). I would surprise friends with CDs - the banking kind, not the music kind. Spoil people a bit.
2. I'd buy a little cabin someplace where I could escape to write.
3. I'd quit my job (which gives me fits most days) and look for a part time job doing something important like teaching preschoolers fingerpainting.
4. I'd travel a bit. I have this dream of going to every state and seeing a professional sporting event in all the good spots. Oh, and I'd like to visit a warm, sunny beach and a cold, snowy mountain now and again.
5. I'd go to college - full time, without the job on the side, and end up without any debt. That would be pretty cool.
6. I'd rent a nice place to live and not worry every month on the 30th how I was going to make it through for the next 30 days.
7. I'd donate a lot of time to worthy causes.
8. I'd practice random acts of kindness. Leave big bags of dog food for the homeless people on the onramps instead of the little ones I leave now. Buy coffee for the girl in line behind me. Donate money to animal shelters anonymously.
9. I'd set up savings accounts for both the kids that they could use for college, weddings, buying a house - or traveling through Europe.
10. I'd start a non-profit that helps struggling parents take care of their children during difficult times. I'd do the same thing for street people with pets.

Heady stuff, the idea that I could do some good if I won some cash. I am so lucky, though, to have enough today and to feel blessed with abundance now.

Where did all this stuff come from? or LIST WEEK PART II

2009-06-09T07:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, to try to cure a major case of the blues, I looked through all of my old emails, searching for something special I wanted to share with someone just as special. But amidst all the silly forwarded cat jokes, the vacation snapshots (are they still called snapshots?) and the most wonderful notes from friends, I found a note from someone who irritates me to no end. But their note had a very valid question tucked amongst the sarcasm and meanness.

Where are you going to live?

I have a confession to make: I don't like stuff. I don't like clutter, knickknacks, anything I have to move to dust off the top of a shelf, the TV, in the corner. I moved from a 3600 square foot house into a 900 square foot house and brought along a large quantity of boxes that not only have yet to be unpacked, I have no clue as to what is in them. But that's OK, because I think another move is in the air. And this time, a big garage sale will be occurring at one end or the other. I have to do something with all this junk...

I love my little house. I have a great landlord, a yard that's really coming along and a beautiful view of the park. But it's just too small and it's really expensive. (*Oh, no - the kids scream - NOT ANOTHER MOVE!!!*) We only have one bathroom. My son sleeps in the family room in the basement, with concrete floors. My owner has been making noises the past month or so that he's ready to build this into the house it will become and I'm not sure I'm up to being in the midst of that kind of chaos for months.

I feel adrift, afraid to look back over my shoulder at some of the huge challenges I faced (I feel like they still are nipping at my heels). I want a place that feels like HOME, where I have my own space and can make a phone call without interruption. Where my office isn't my bed because there's no room for a desk in any quiet place. Where the kids can be kids and have friends over, be loud, and have fun and I'm not constantly whining to clean up their messes, put the game system away. And how about a place where I can play music instead of listening to TV drone on constantly?

So, in honor of list week (I just made that up. But now I have a whole week worth of blogs. Score!!) Today's list week agenda item is to make a list of what I want in my next home and what it will feel like. The way it looks isn't nearly as important as the joy it holds.

1. Room for a piano. Sara and I miss playing. I want a music room of sorts where there's room for guitars and a piano and whatever else strikes our fancy (Sara plays trumpet, too. I'm awfully good on a squeezebox - seriously.) OK, this one is negotiable, but it'll need to happen some day. A Pheromone Girl without music is an unhappy PG.

2. A TV room. The kids finally had their own space at the giant house near the lake, but it wasn't a neighborhood that worked for me. I really like this neighborhood (for the most part - the drug dealers at the park are starting to get on my nerves. Some very sad events have occurred nearby.)

3. A dining room. I miss eating at a table. I want a place to gather my friends over a nice dinner and a glass of wine or make cookies with the girls. A nice romantic dinner now and then wouldn't be bad, either.

4. A good kitchen. I have major appliance envy when I see my friend Traci's kitchen she's building, but I'd settle for a full sized gas stove instead of the camp size version I'm using right now. And how about a fridge that's not cantilevered over the basement stairs, in it's own little... um.... alcove?

5. Trees and a yard. This one is pretty self-explanatory. I have to have my hands in dirt.

6. Space for me. OK, space for each of us, actually, but I need a place I can retire to that makes me feel cocooned from the world and surrounded by peace. I've done a nice job in my current, teeny room. I admit to loving my full sized bed and I don't think I'll ever have a king sized bed again. Too huge. Too empty. Too hard to find your bed mate when you have to hike half a mile. Closeness causes the need for cuddling. Who can argue that? Unless my feet are cold...

There is one more very important thing I need in my new space. A good vibe - a feeling of good energy, good memories, good friends, lots of love. How about mistletoe to kiss under at Christmas, a good spot for the dog to sleep that's not underfoot, maybe even a nice porch on which to sit.

It's list week. What does your list look like?

It's the little things

2009-06-08T08:19:00.000-07:00

I have a tendency to get overwhelmed by big picture items. Work, kids, dog, house, yard, friends... they all take up a fair chunk of my time.

But this week, I have a plan to try to feel less stress and more fun. It has everything to do with the little things.

I have a notebook that I take with me everywhere. I will write all the things that brighten my day - from a hello given by a neighbor to a compliment on the yard (see - it looks pretty! Only 6 more bags of bark and it's done. Oh, and 6 more lettuce plants. Maybe some daiseys....) to the nice toasted waffle with peanut butter, a cup of coffee poured, my son bringing me a water or a soda while I work.

I intend to document the little things and remind myself how blessed, fortunate and full of joy my life is.

(Thanks, by the way, to Debbie for her inspiring comments lately that continue to focus on the word enJOY. It works!! and you inspired me to write this and try to live this way all week.)

So, here I go, off on a very busy and exciting week. And I will keep track of every blissful moment to remember what it is that I want, need and look forward to in this world.

Third time's a charm

2009-06-06T10:10:00.000-07:00

I seem to be stuck in a rut. I am now starting my third attempt at a blog on this lovely Saturday morning.

Blog #1 went down the negativity path almost immediately. It was about Rose Festival and the parade that is taking place right now - which I HATE. And it was not a happy post. When I got sick of myself whining, I saved it and started over.

Blog #2 was a follow-up on a former friend and her continuing self-destructive behavior. And her intention to try to drag me into the middle of it. Save. Next!

So here I am, at the third and final attempt (I have stuff to do, have to stop this hopeless pity party) and I have no idea what I'll write about. That's awfully stellar for being 4 paragraphs in.

What can I feel positive about? The weather has settled down and even thought it's overcast, it's not dangerous. OK, good start. Um, yesterday, my son and I had the best time going for Voodoo Donuts. I indulged in a Fruit Loop. Glazed raised with marshmallow frosting and then doused with Fruit Loops. Yum. It helped improve the mood a bit for both of us.

What else? I have enough to eat, my kids are set on clothing for a bit, I'm getting my toes painted crimson on Monday. All good stuff. I'm adding tango dancing, mixed martial arts and a class on canning (yes, like pickles and okra and beans, oh my!) to my repertoire.

And yet there is a vacancy, room for more and bigger and better things. I sent off bunches of resumes this week, to places near and far. And I have a plan, finally, for school and work and kids and life in general.

If I look back at my life, it's had 3 distinctive stages. First, I was a kid and a young adult. That stage ended in 1990 and the next stage began with a complete change in attitude for me. It worked well for a long time. Now, stage 3 is ready to launch. In advertising, we'd call it a "refresh". Kind of like pushing that button on the browser bar and waiting for the newest content to show up on the page.

This should be fun.

Darkness

2009-06-05T09:14:00.000-07:00

It's 2am and I lay awake, discovering the depth of night.
The raccoon finds a shiny thing and skitters away to clean it.
A lone drake sits sadly at the picnic table, casting wishes in the pond.
Are you out there?
I miss the feel of your arms,
breath on my neck,
moments of bliss.

This is my first, modest attempt at G-Man's Friday Flash 55.

If I'm the Guitar Hero, What Does That Make You?

2009-06-04T07:52:00.000-07:00

Everybody's good at something. My mom used to always say that to us as kids, to inspire us to... um... do something? My parents were not the soccer mom and dad type. My brothers played little league for a bit. I played piano and took lessons for a bit. Um... I learned to drive?

In other words, I really feel that mom and dad did not inspire us to be driven, motivated or successful in life. They sort of left us to our own devices. Now, how I made it up the corporate ladder with so little schooling is anyone's guess. Being cute doesn't hurt. When you're 20-something and look good in a long, black jacket, you get more interviews.

How, with an unemployment rate topping 12% in my state, am I supposed to make a career change now, today, and have a clue as to what the world will look like in a year? Why didn't I know when I was 18 what I wanted to do? Except I kind of did, I just didn't have the resources to get there. I got accepted to a great music school but not enough scholarship to keep helping the family, who needed help. But I saw so many people in my chosen field struggling to buy groceries, waitressing to make ends meet, and I didn't want that life for myself. I had a dream that I intended to leave on the back burner for a short time.

Of the three siblings, I probably had the best, if short term, career success. One brother went to trade school and he still works in his chosen field. Sort of. He got his associates degree as a landscape architect. He works for a lawn company, spraying fertilizer. I think he likes it, but I know it's not a big moneymaker. My other brother never went to college. He wandered through manufacturing management for a while and is currently a graphic designer of sorts. He works for a baseball hat manufacturer, taking logos and making the art for production. He probably likes his job, too.

Me? I think I want to be a lot of things. Do they have lion tamer school? How about rodeo queen training? I want to be a fantastic cook, learn to tango, sit in a corner chair and write. But those things don't buy shoes for my boy who is now a size 11. Um, didn't we just buy shoes last month???

Recently, a headhunter called me a generalist - which is great if you work at a small company and have to wear many hats. But which hat fits me best? What do I want to be when I grow up? Um, is that a trick question? I want to be a rock star...

College applications sit on my table. I'm so tempted to work toward a bachelor of arts degree. But what would I specialize in, as a generalist? I WANT IT ALL. I'm not a fresh faced 18 year old, just out of school. I don't have time to throw a dart at a dart board with my eyes closed and see where it sticks. I can do most anything I put my mind to. This is literally a band-aid. So many people in the job market - so few jobs that will even look at me without that degree. At least for now.

Having lunch with a friend recently, she mentioned that most of the really successful people she knows didn't go to college. She has friends with a double masters that make less than her husband, who worked his way up the ladder in a family-owned company.

Where is that ladder?

I wish I had a crystal ball that would tell me what career would be successful. I'm a fabulous mom, a decent writer, a phenomenal boss and a nice person. I like to help others find their way to success. I like to fix things that aren't working. I like to manage a process and adjust until it runs smoothly. I work really hard and like time off, too.

I often wonder where I will be in five years. About 5 years ago, I was just starting to like the path in marketing that seemed to draw me in. Now? Who knows. I might just have to close my eyes and take a leap. Does anyone know if you can get a bachelors in puddle jumping?

Black Coffee

2009-06-03T07:02:00.000-07:00

On a morning when a busy day awaits, there's nothing better than really good coffee, served black. I always doctor up my restaurant coffee, because it usually isn't very good. It's sat for too long or it's too bitter. But I love a big mug of black coffee in my lap, a warm, furry creature begging for my attention, and the paper to read. It feels like heaven.

My love of black coffee started as a child. It was always a big treat to sit on Howard's chair (my step grandfather will forever be Grampa Howard in my heart) and get to sip from his brown mug of black coffee. The smell of coffee brewing will instantly take me back to the big, fuzzy red chair, a game of cribbage, the sound of his grandfather clock ticking away in the background. I conjure up images of playing puzzles in the rain and the fire crackling in the wood stove while stew was bubbling on top. He's tell me the story of our founding fathers playing chess in a similar locale, discussing the future of our country. He'd tell me tales of his customers, when he'd worked as a pharmacist, and promise to make me a lime coke later. The real kind, with syrup.

Are there memories that come flooding back for you with a scent? Today, I wish for you to stumble across a memory of blissful moments with someone special. If you'll excuse me, I'm off to brew a pot.

A Beautiful Day

2009-06-01T06:54:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed that a really difficult day is often followed by a really good one? I had a rather bumpy weekend. Moments of peace and extreme happiness were followed by very discouraging ones. But it's the discouraging ones that we have to learn from.

I live in a place that is beautiful. But even in a beautiful place, bad things happen, sometimes to good people.

In the past week, two parents in very close proximity to my home have hurt their own children for absolutely no good reason (because is there ever a good reason to hurt your kids? No, not in my world). And that has left me with a rather large question. How, as a good parent with really lucky kids, do I find a way to help keep the rest of the kids in the world safe?

I spent a lot of hours last night imagining a world in which children are treated not as property but as a precious resource in need of protection. Where parents in crisis get the help they need. And all the people in a kids world make sure they're the one thing that matters - safe to grow up. Parents rights should only go so far.

Today will be a beautiful day here in Portland. Sunshine, in the 80s, perfect weather for an adventure. And my kids will get the big, embarrassing hug from their mom that I give them every day (even when they squirm). Only this time, I'll hang on a second longer. Anyone who has ever seen me with my kids will know how special and important they are to me. They are becoming people that make me proud and their love and support yesterday helped me hold it together. They will grow up, move out and start their own lives soon. And the most important lesson I want them to leave with is that family is love, family is safe and family is always there when you need them. Family isn't just the people who gave birth to you.

I may have an unusual family - my best friends are my parents, my siblings, my support system and the people I can lean on - but they are strong and kind and loving. And they are safe. And so am I.

May this beautiful day bring you love and hope and joy - and maybe a cup and saucer moment. You know, when you have that feeling that your cup is full? I know mine is overflowing.

Talking me off of the ledge

2009-05-31T21:28:00.000-07:00

I have known, since I was 8 or 9, that my dad is nuts. Sorry, organizations that want to keep the word "crazy" out of the vernacular, but it's true here. He is wacko, bonkers, off his rocker.

The hard part, of course, is that his crazy always centered on me. During his psychotic breaks, he blames me for every ill ever bestowed on him - from the mailman's misdirection of mail to the fact that the radio talks to him (and tells him to do bad things). I wanted to point out the fact that the radio waves are beyond my control, but it didn't seem to make much sense when I'd be hiding in the cellar, waiting for him to come completely unglued - or show up with candy to apologize.

I don't talk about my dad much. I try not to relate the state of marriage number 1 being so completely and total tangled up with the state of relationship with dad (this would be the guy that caused me great harm). Those two men were cut from the same cloth. It just happened that both of them are fractured in all the wrong places.

The past week has been full of opportunities to hear about his impending meltdown. I knew it was coming, yet I still, as usual, had hope that it wouldn't impact me, at 41 and with a family of my own, as deeply as it has in the past. But he found a way to get to me, through the kids. And the new scars that appeared today were deep and mean and just as vicious as if I'd been 9 years old and helpless.

This man leaves me feeling helpless when he finds a happy memory of my childhood - a very rare and magical thing for me - and he finds a way to destroy it. This time, it was a place he ripped to shreds, a memory or two of happy times with a family that wasn't in crisis. I so lived for the few, rare glimpses of normalcy. I had it in my head that these two or three locales were safe from his destruction.

But nothing is safe when a madman is involved.

He made what was once a beautiful place feel dark and sinister. And he took a beautiful day of freedom that I greatly needed feel like a sham.

I still have my mountain, and all the places that he has not touched in my world. And I refuse to allow his dark agenda touch my life, or the lives of my kids, anymore. Tonight I had to have the "grampa isn't a safe person" talk. Again. But this time it's for good. I don't intend to see him again until his funeral.

Because sometimes you just have to choose to be safe, no matter how the rest of your family treats you for this decision. And the grief that will pour over me will be like a tidal wave. But I will be safe. And my children will be safe from his poison. And the world will be as it should be - it will be mine.

Another blanket story

2009-05-30T09:47:00.000-07:00

I've had lots of neat stories shared about making forts, watching monster movies and Sunday afternoons from the last blog, Under Covers. It got me thinking about how much I like having a blanket in the back of the car to throw down someplace and picnic, nap or play a game with the kids.

When the kids were little, we used to make frequent road trips to the beach, the mountains and lots of local adventures. There wasn't a park that we didn't try out in our neighborhood. Games of wall ball were organized, sandwiches and juice boxes were shared, cookies were devoured.

As they got a little older and I went to work, I kept a blanket in the back of the car for days I needed a little sun, an escape, or some time spent with a friend. I really believe blankets must have magical powers - kind of like the towel joke that runs through The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. I can't leave home without it.

As I pack for an adventure to Frog Lake today, I remember years of special moments this blanket has shared.

When the kids were about 7 and 8, I babysat to help make ends meet. The kids loved our little adventures and we went to the Shakespeare Garden at the International Rose Test Gardens in Portland's Washington Park for a romp. Check out some beautiful rose photos here.We got to see a magical moment in some people's lives when an impromptu wedding happened to take place. I still have that blanket we were sitting on when this beautiful group of a dozen or so people appeared.
That day will forever stick in my mind as magical. As will another one, when I fell in love in this garden. Walking hand in hand with someone very special through the mazes of flowers and plants, talking about dreams and hopes and sharing stories. The blanket that was our nest that wedding day as we enjoyed the magic still travels with me. Maybe it's ready for another adventure. Picnic, anyone?