Watching.
Reflecting.
Drinking.
Plotting.
Wondering.
Looking.
Welcoming.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
scenes from my next episode
I'm a picker.
Watching.
Reflecting.
Drinking.
Plotting.
Wondering.
Looking.
Welcoming.
Watching.
Reflecting.
Drinking.
Plotting.
Wondering.
Looking.
Welcoming.
green hair
I can't really explain the green streak in my hair, except to say that I wanted to try it and so I did.
It was not the result of alcohol on Thanksgiving Day, or teenage rebellion, which wouldn't make sense anyway since I'm not a teenager.
It doesn't have any significance.
I just wanted a green streak in my hair.
It was not the result of alcohol on Thanksgiving Day, or teenage rebellion, which wouldn't make sense anyway since I'm not a teenager.
It doesn't have any significance.
I just wanted a green streak in my hair.
our Thanksgiving
People are always curious about our Thanksgivings.
I think it's a mixture of knowing me, knowing the other individuals in my family and then imagining us all together. And our sheer number guarantees that there's some form of entertainment.
On the crazy family spectrum, I am the loud drunk aunt. Perhaps not literally, because I'm loud enough at times to solicit a "Have you been drinking?" during regular conversation. No, no, I haven't been drinking...this is just how I talk.
So, Thanksgiving night before dinner, we all held hands in a circle, gathered around Evalyn and her chair, and we went around to say something we're thankful for.
There are rules, though, to our thanks giving circle. You can't say anything that would solicit a "no shit" reaction, like "family," "friends," "breathing." Be original. And if you're not, you'll be asked to re-state your thing of thankfulnes.
We started with Micah, who said something suitable from a 14-year-old. I asked him today to remind me what it was he was thankful for, for the sake of this blog. He texted me what he'd said, and I responded with "I can't blog that!" and he called me a pussy, and I admitted that yes, indeed, I am. So, I will protect you from Micah's object of gratitude, but will assure you that we moved on in the circle.
One sister was thankful for new friends, another was thankful for a raise, my brother was thankful for opportunities and blessings in his life (that barely squeaked by), my sister's boyfriend was thankful for new opportunities, mom was thankful for Discovery!, and then it was my turn, the last one.
I said I was thankful for Pinterest, and I was met with many boos and a call for a re-do.
So then I had to explain.
My thankfulness revolved around the fact that Pinterest was saving me money by giving me ideas for home decor, it was reducing my stress level because it was helping me be creative, and I was getting good gift ideas for Christmas.
I rested my case, and after a few thoughtful nods and grunts from the circle, I was let off the hook, probably because we'd been holding hands for a creepily long time and we were hungry.
My brother prayed, we rated it, and then we ate, played traditional card games and watched football. The majority of the crowd cleared out shortly after and my little brother, sister and I played more games and lounged on the couch, Skye and them fighting over who would lay next to me while we watched football.
It was what a Thanksgiving should be.
I think it's a mixture of knowing me, knowing the other individuals in my family and then imagining us all together. And our sheer number guarantees that there's some form of entertainment.
On the crazy family spectrum, I am the loud drunk aunt. Perhaps not literally, because I'm loud enough at times to solicit a "Have you been drinking?" during regular conversation. No, no, I haven't been drinking...this is just how I talk.
So, Thanksgiving night before dinner, we all held hands in a circle, gathered around Evalyn and her chair, and we went around to say something we're thankful for.
There are rules, though, to our thanks giving circle. You can't say anything that would solicit a "no shit" reaction, like "family," "friends," "breathing." Be original. And if you're not, you'll be asked to re-state your thing of thankfulnes.
We started with Micah, who said something suitable from a 14-year-old. I asked him today to remind me what it was he was thankful for, for the sake of this blog. He texted me what he'd said, and I responded with "I can't blog that!" and he called me a pussy, and I admitted that yes, indeed, I am. So, I will protect you from Micah's object of gratitude, but will assure you that we moved on in the circle.
One sister was thankful for new friends, another was thankful for a raise, my brother was thankful for opportunities and blessings in his life (that barely squeaked by), my sister's boyfriend was thankful for new opportunities, mom was thankful for Discovery!, and then it was my turn, the last one.
I said I was thankful for Pinterest, and I was met with many boos and a call for a re-do.
So then I had to explain.
My thankfulness revolved around the fact that Pinterest was saving me money by giving me ideas for home decor, it was reducing my stress level because it was helping me be creative, and I was getting good gift ideas for Christmas.
I rested my case, and after a few thoughtful nods and grunts from the circle, I was let off the hook, probably because we'd been holding hands for a creepily long time and we were hungry.
My brother prayed, we rated it, and then we ate, played traditional card games and watched football. The majority of the crowd cleared out shortly after and my little brother, sister and I played more games and lounged on the couch, Skye and them fighting over who would lay next to me while we watched football.
It was what a Thanksgiving should be.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
mechanic heaven.
My mechanic is programmed in my phone, but most noteworthy is that I have one.
Finding and keeping a good one is more important to me than finding a doctor, or a hair dresser.
If you've read here very long, you'll remember why.
When I lived in Kentucky, I had a mechanic, but then I've moved a lot and a sacrifice of moving is never finding a shop my car can call its own.
Well, now it can.
The deal was sealed when the mechanics, after serving coffee and visiting with me during the diagnostic, brought me the estimate, but only after he had categorized them according to priority and stapled them together, from most urgent to need-to-get-this-done-next to this-can-wait-the-longest.
And then he handed it to me and the angels that inhabit only good mechanic's shops sang, and I heard them.
It felt like a cup of steaming hot chocolate with marshmallows on top. That good.
It's a list. It's categorized. The shop promotes savings through online deals, and they gave me a 10 percent discount, just because.
It's mechanic heaven.
Finding and keeping a good one is more important to me than finding a doctor, or a hair dresser.
If you've read here very long, you'll remember why.
When I lived in Kentucky, I had a mechanic, but then I've moved a lot and a sacrifice of moving is never finding a shop my car can call its own.
Well, now it can.
The deal was sealed when the mechanics, after serving coffee and visiting with me during the diagnostic, brought me the estimate, but only after he had categorized them according to priority and stapled them together, from most urgent to need-to-get-this-done-next to this-can-wait-the-longest.
And then he handed it to me and the angels that inhabit only good mechanic's shops sang, and I heard them.
It felt like a cup of steaming hot chocolate with marshmallows on top. That good.
It's a list. It's categorized. The shop promotes savings through online deals, and they gave me a 10 percent discount, just because.
It's mechanic heaven.
creative energy
I've been wondering about myself and this aura I'm currently living under.
I'm a little confused, to be honest. At first, I thought sleep deprivation had a hand in it, but I've made conscious efforts to get more of that necessary stuff and the feeling remains.
This feeling of creative energy.
That's putting it mildly. I've been calling it creative aggression, but that sounds like I'm about to go postal.
It's not rage-aggression.
It's like I could run a marathon. I want to feel the punishment of pounding pavement combined with the surreal knowledge that I just did that.
Before you start thinking what I'm not thinking, a marathon is not in my (near) future.
It's just how I've been feeling.
So I've been creating things, cutting tee-shirts up, and exploring new places with my dog. And planning trips to Africa and trying to recruit friends to go with me. And planning road trips.
I want to explore, I want to experience, I want to do something that scares me, I want to make a difference, I want to touch, feel, smell, hear the world around me.
Come to think of it, I don't want to. I need to.
I'm a little confused, to be honest. At first, I thought sleep deprivation had a hand in it, but I've made conscious efforts to get more of that necessary stuff and the feeling remains.
This feeling of creative energy.
That's putting it mildly. I've been calling it creative aggression, but that sounds like I'm about to go postal.
It's not rage-aggression.
It's like I could run a marathon. I want to feel the punishment of pounding pavement combined with the surreal knowledge that I just did that.
Before you start thinking what I'm not thinking, a marathon is not in my (near) future.
It's just how I've been feeling.
So I've been creating things, cutting tee-shirts up, and exploring new places with my dog. And planning trips to Africa and trying to recruit friends to go with me. And planning road trips.
I want to explore, I want to experience, I want to do something that scares me, I want to make a difference, I want to touch, feel, smell, hear the world around me.
Come to think of it, I don't want to. I need to.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
I feel...
revived
invigorated
unstoppable
creative
strong
happy
comfortable
stretched
challenged
aggressive
spontaneous
blessed
receptive
talkative
generous
I feel alive.
invigorated
unstoppable
creative
strong
happy
comfortable
stretched
challenged
aggressive
spontaneous
blessed
receptive
talkative
generous
I feel alive.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
renovated hen house
What is the proper protocol?
I ask myself that a lot about random shit that probably doesn't even have protocols.
Like, what's the proper protocol for introducing yourself to the new neighbor? Do you wait until after they've moved in? During? Is 9 p.m. too late? Is 8:30 a.m. too early? Do you have to take a gift? What if you don't? And what if you never do - does that mean you never introduce yourself?
The Cottage and I are literally a stone's throw from the Big House where a young couple moved in shortly after I did, and we are the only two inhabitants on the land. We're like a compound.
Avoiding each other is pointless, and I didn't have a desire to avoid anyone, despite my rogue tendencies to be anti-social. I was just getting home late every night last week and didn't want to scare anyone by knocking on the door.
Finally, yesterday, it happened. I came home from work early in the afternoon and Kacey was outside with their puppy. I carried some stuff from my car into the Cottage and then it happened.
We halved the distance between the Cottage and the Big House, and introduced ourselves.
And then she told me the Cottage is a renovated chicken house.
My beautiful sanctuary was a chicken coop.
I laughed, because oddly, it's fitting. I like chickens, I think they're an oft-misunderstood animal, and let's face it, in my soul, I am half chicken.
We visited for awhile and then parted our not-so-distant ways. Later, I was fixing a wooden shelf outside and she was having trouble starting her vehicle. With nails in my mouth, and a cigarette in her hand, we talked about what we needed to do to get her truck running. She invited me to eat frozen lasagna and I took Diet Pepsi with me - by far, the worst "welcome to the neighborhood" present EVER.
I introduced her to Pinterest, she told me her life story, and I felt strangely old compared to her 20 years.
I have a neighbor and her name is Kacey, and the Cottage is a chicken house.
I ask myself that a lot about random shit that probably doesn't even have protocols.
Like, what's the proper protocol for introducing yourself to the new neighbor? Do you wait until after they've moved in? During? Is 9 p.m. too late? Is 8:30 a.m. too early? Do you have to take a gift? What if you don't? And what if you never do - does that mean you never introduce yourself?
The Cottage and I are literally a stone's throw from the Big House where a young couple moved in shortly after I did, and we are the only two inhabitants on the land. We're like a compound.
Avoiding each other is pointless, and I didn't have a desire to avoid anyone, despite my rogue tendencies to be anti-social. I was just getting home late every night last week and didn't want to scare anyone by knocking on the door.
Finally, yesterday, it happened. I came home from work early in the afternoon and Kacey was outside with their puppy. I carried some stuff from my car into the Cottage and then it happened.
We halved the distance between the Cottage and the Big House, and introduced ourselves.
And then she told me the Cottage is a renovated chicken house.
My beautiful sanctuary was a chicken coop.
I laughed, because oddly, it's fitting. I like chickens, I think they're an oft-misunderstood animal, and let's face it, in my soul, I am half chicken.
We visited for awhile and then parted our not-so-distant ways. Later, I was fixing a wooden shelf outside and she was having trouble starting her vehicle. With nails in my mouth, and a cigarette in her hand, we talked about what we needed to do to get her truck running. She invited me to eat frozen lasagna and I took Diet Pepsi with me - by far, the worst "welcome to the neighborhood" present EVER.
I introduced her to Pinterest, she told me her life story, and I felt strangely old compared to her 20 years.
I have a neighbor and her name is Kacey, and the Cottage is a chicken house.
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