Faking it

a friend told me today that she wanted to be 'fake friends' with someone else.  I knew exactly what she meant and somehow the rest of the day has seemed to sink into exactly what she meant, in lieu of my real life. ....
good news swallowed by the very hungry caterpillars' monstrous hunger.
brothers overwhelming desire to knock one another down.
flinchfest on the part of an already stretched mother.
Universal disagreement about portents and which way they point.

I'm losing my ability to fake it, and while i can say unreservedly that that is probably a good thing, it sure does suck when you still have to answer the door. . .

Lets detail the rut, shall we? part one...

I am home from a vacation of little routine.  I am a creature of routine, as well as a creature of kin to the ocean.  But the waves are the creators of the original ruts, you see?
this is a rut:  Around 11:30 in the morning, after doing or not doing the chore/activity/swim/park/playdate combination for the day, we are in the car driving towards the homefront.  I am in sugar depravity mode at this hour, and I hunt my soul for the resistance to get myself PAST the drive thrus. and I fail, fail, fail.  Chicken nuggets for all, we squeal.  ( i limit it to once a week, barring catastrophe..)
and this is why it is a significant rut, right here.  I am, by no means, a 'greenie'.  However much I compost, or recycle or try to buy seasonally,  I am counteracting the good that I do in this world by supporting the organization behind the drive thru.  I KNOW. I'm not duped. I KNOW that they are helping to destroy the world and I KNOW that when I go there, I am giving them money to do it.  I KNOW this. and I also KNOW that it is not good for my kids.  If I know all of this, and I have chosen to not smoke cigarettes because it is bad for my kids, then why am i so happy to feed them this bad juju?
ahye?
rut.
AND, while on vacation I bumped into the fact that my sister-in-law feeds her kid better than I feed my kids.  It is complex in that I don't even like half the things that she makes her kid eat, and so I will have a very hard time if I have to eat like that.  How much grain salad can a girl take? HOWEVER, I would like to make it a goal to provide/force on my kids?  opportunity for more food variety, more of the 'whole' choices that exist, especially in the summertime.  (and see how it will help with the above rut? but perhaps crush me by giving me more work, less ease)
AND, while on vacation, I read 'Gift from the Sea', again.  And, while i am still crushed by the middle-agedness of the fact that I remember when my mother gave it to all her friends, and I am daunted by the fact that that was at least 20 years ago... and I remember it.  And what else? the book is still relevant, and in fact, speaks to me of silence and solitude and the need to not spend our energy fruitlessly.  to have purpose, and intention as part of our daily routines, not just the frittering of energy in unseens.
hm, i feel repetitious. 
damn rut.

+i found my camera, so soon will show you the ocean's piece that i got. . .
peace out . . .

the mariner's book of days and NotMuch

I have this empty desk calendar (2001, thank you very much) sitting next to me to be used as scrap paper when i need to jot something.  but the thing is too damn pretty, and on each day there is some sort of interesting tidbit there to befuddle my brain on the way to its jot. like this:   
 in 1858 the clipper ship James Baines caught fire and burned while unloading cargoin Liverpool, England.
thats right. that was April 22.  now wait here. . . you say... useless information? unneccessarry to my daily life? Yes?
and then i say unto you, you neophytes, you thought i was using quotation marks yesterday/whenever and did not correct me! when in reality, i was using poorly fingered apostrophes and hyped up and floating commas.  These little details mean nothing until pointed to, fingered and figured and placed up on a pedastal. pedestal. second.
I am here, but am feeling a bit disjointed from the writing. Maybe as my fingers fly I will settle in more.  Much of what I wrote while gone is too personal to play in here.   I had visions of enumerating glamours and  making a narrative voice and making it all about "real" writing. Now, those were quotation marks. . .  But no.
My kids are asleep, I have tried to get back on the laundry train, I am putting my kid in a full day camp next week just to try to break myself into the habit of it.  Kindergarten. holy hell. One kid at home to entertain or ensure safety for, at the very least.  I think I am going to be lonely for him.
Can you hear how my voice has changed? I can. It was the 7 cigarettes I had on the porch, when the kids were inside and the wine was ice-cold.  I think I prefer beer, but the folks I was vacationing with? all wine, all the time, and the beer they DID have was way way too good.  Budweiser Ice Cold and a pizza, and this girl is on vacation all the time. all the time. so cold you cannot even taste it. ice on the glass.
ahg.
ramble.

- 1958, September 24. A record-low sea-level atmospheric pressure of 877 millibars was recorded in the eye of the typhoon Ada east of Luzon, the Phillipines.

(by whom or by what?!)

-I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast for I intend to go in harm's way.  -John Paul Jones

huh. probably would not have liked him.

-I love the sea: she is my fellow creature. -Francis Quarles

would have liked him/her. yep. please hang in there, i swear my voice will return. well, i won't swear it but i do think it will. i do.

Vacation is...

was.
much harder than I thought it should be. i made a lot of lists of good things, things I am proud of, things that are beautiful and good and right.
if 'right', 'beautiful', and 'good' exist at all. it all just IS, right?
hm.
yesterday I went to a woman's only 'sweat lodge'. (bear in mind that as I read what I type I actually stop to make 'quotation marks'... it is exhausting. heh. )
it was hot, really hot, and when I am in a sweat lodge, i cannot wear my glasses or my hearing aide, so I am effectively shut off from the world of communication, except that I can speak. and sweat. so, if you were there, and you were watching, i would be communicating 'i am hot' without working on it at all. sweat sings, sometimes.
There were three rounds with three different meditative points, the first: what do you want to be rid of, the second: what are you thankful for, the third: what do you hope for, it is the third that i feel most taken with.
I said aloud in the semi-dark hut:
I hope for more moments of grace, moments of being in-tune, content with what IS. I hope for more groups of laughing, smiling women. (men too, if they be around.) I hope for more 'dispersal' of self, less self-importance, and more recognition of my part in a whole.

I do hope for that, I am not even sure what it is. but it IS.
and I think it would be good.

Jiggity

fig.
I'm home again. sweating again, without a beach to run down to.
suffer in silence, i will not.
(well, actually, typing IS rather quiet, right?)
The kids are back to fighting with the neighbors, or 'playing' as they call it over here...
my neighbor, who was 'watching' the cat for the two weeks, came over bearing milk and juice and bananas for the kids, and a large salad she had made. there is a rumor that she also made us dinner. also, her house is being foreclosed upon and she will be leaving and her kid can't go to school with my kid because the classes are full.
there is, and there is, and then there is the other, but it still is.
I'm home again.
miss me?

word choice, the first.

I am at the beach. well, i am up the street at a cafe which has wireless... ehem. I've been reading, responding, and so on. what is exciting for me, is that I have been writing a whole bunch, while not connected to anything but the sand on my seat. Its a good transition to have made, to be 'posting' without the 'posting'... and I have been able to slow down and think and ponder my word choices and try to get closer and closer to capturing what it is that i mean to say. One of the great difficulties is that I don't always know what it is I mean to say. when one thinks so closely on a subject, things start to waver. what is true? what is only sometimes true? how is it that when i call something or someone boring or lackluster, there is only a partial truth ? hmm. I mean to say, when I call something boring, that it doesn't light the spark within. that is what I mean to say. Sometimes my children and I experience that together, sometimes we don't.
I am going back down there now, and I will share sometime later this week what I am writing about this and about that. Happy Birthday to D.
enjoy the days.

Is motherhood supremely boring?

Busy, yes. Nonstop action of the 'neccessary to take action to stop a bloodbath' sort. . . but, I do very distinctly recall being bored out of my mind when my first son was 11 months old. Bored out of my mind. all i did was watch him move from inanity exploration to inanity exploration and look thrilled or like he was pooping. . . or hungry.
and now, it is different, but the same.
more needs, different needs, but my job is judging the needs as to validity and moving forward from there. and i find it supremely boring sometimes. but it is nonstop boredom. non.stop.
and this is why i am looking forward to vacation. because i am going to be at a house which opens on sea grass and ocean. (sea. ocean. you guess...) and i am not tending to any needs beyond food and sunblock and respiration. (no underwater adventurers yet)
think of the colors we are about to see.
and forget about the dragon pinata.
thats kidsplay.
we are on it.
i am off it.
you will miss me terrribly and i am sure i will find some way to tickle the keypad while i am away so fret publicly, so that i know there is a reason to write beyond george michael's untouchability and the wierdly borderlandish/ to wall or to welcome? / space between my inner and outer worlds...

BORING-do not read...2...yes, the sequel...

oh my god, i am so bored. i think its the heat, i think its the tv. i think its the fact that i only play light pop on my car radio for my kids who think it is 'rock and roll' and i've been thinking about george michael and his completely whacked out lyrics far too much. 'but there ain't no joy, for an uptown boy, whose teacher has told him goodbye'...

'don't leave me hanging on a lively yoyo'...

silent whispers? really? silent, whisper.

hm. . .
how did he handle all the womanfest on his ass during the gogo years? what a wash that must have been for him. he just wanted to boink the boys.
really, this is getting to be too much.

somebody, give me a subject. i am going on vacation soon, and I need something to be witty about. or thoughtful. or somesuch blather...

and god help me, i'm hosting a birthday party for five year olds. . . dragon pinata included. . .

Happy Happy Happy Happy...Happy anniversary... H....

so. hubs and I go out to dinner to celebrate our 8 yrs of marriage and our 9 years of knowing each other and its the hottest day in over 10 years and I legitimately, 'have a headache', which, in some ways, is becoming a relevant symbol to me in my rut and how comfortable I am with the walls around me. I am not referring to sex, as I like that a lot when I can remember what it is, but I AM referring to marriage.
Marriage.
I love my husband. I stand by my multiply asserted statement that there isn't anybody who could have fit my torn up letter to the gods asking for a 'mate and lover' more perfectly. nobody.
I should probably bold that, because he thinks that my writing here is slightly curved to the unhappy, and frequently, the unhappy with he.
BOLD.
I think marriage is an incredibly difficult proposition. Not all the time, and not every day, but in the larger pictures of trying to blend two independent entities into one? big difficulty.
I think lots of people do it very well.
I don't know how.
Our kids are getting older now and the worklife is starting to settle and I think we have just sort of 'landed' here, with a five year old and a two point five year old and we're in the position of being able to look around and try to move forward with an actual direction for pretty much the first time. and it feels like that, the first time for all of this, parenting, homelife-ing, family-making. it is a bit unsettling to be 'awake' at a time when most people have seemingly been so for the whole ride, not just the crest at the peak... lull, if you will. my god. am i trending towards rut again?

I think I have more work to do. I think that I try harder with some of my friends than I do with my husband, because he's my fallback, my 'has to be there', life goes on because he is there to make everything all 'everyday' everyday. . . . I don't take the time to be loving and nurturing as often as I should because I'm all about me most of the time. J gets home from work and I need a break so bad I am FURIOUS if he has a need of his own. selfish, so selfish. heh.
and I know it is ME who is selfish there, it is a joke of the tonal sort that doesn't really translate into type.
so how do I get past ME? hmm? without feeling like I'm running down ME? (see the problem? still all about me...)
but what of the tit-tat of marital tallymark/scoresheets? what of, why should i do all the work when he/she doesn't think any work needs to be done ? why doesn't he/she see that work needs to be done? why am i the worker all the time?

hmmm.
I love my JD. I do. its a good beginning. . .

Heat Warning

Who knew the Power Rangers were so provocative? aye?

There are some hangover remainders from the time i lost my hearing that i cannot get rid of. here they are.

1. the smoke/fire alarm that shakes the bed. heaven help us if we ever start vibrating and can't figure out what the hell is causing it...

2. the phone which connects to a teletype type operator, has written script of the conversation. the other person HEARS me, but i READ them. haven't used it in months, its our only landline and receives an ungodly number of solicitation calls and I'm convinced that if i give it away... like giving away the baby clothes...

3. the emergency weather emails that arrive in my email box. they alert me to the craziest of things, like impending snowstorms, floods, etc. (when you can't watch the news, don't want to smell the air and the sky is cloudy in a miscellaneous fashion)

Said news program delivered the message to me that tomorrow afternoon will be dangerously hot. with high humidity. and that if i were to go out and perform strenuous outdoor exercise or labor, I would put myself in danger of a heat stroke.

thank you.

I would like to take this moment to tell you that the heat and I are not friends. I am dreaming of the first snowfall already. and while it is wonderful to lose track of the mittens and the wintercoats for a long long time, it is a with a heavy dose of dread that I herald the arrival of August. if one can dread and herald at the same time.

I ran an air conditioner in our room last night for the first time in a long time and it soaked the corner of the cedar sweater chest and now i have sweaters draped all over the room . and i was still pretty hot.

and now i have a lot of wet wool.

sweet.

of course, all the suggestions you make are brilliant... beach, mall, library... pond, pool,

but let me just tell you. getting to the car is too much. the flipflops are melting, man, the flipflops are melting...

i am on vacation starting this weekend and i will stay in my same outfit for fourteen days, and there will be naked children and sand in nefarious places. and it will be glorious. and that, in a perfect world, is how to do the heat . i understand why all of europe is upset that humanity is so boring that it cannot conceive a solution to economics other than to work more and longer and give up the whole notion of months of vacation. i understand. it is hot, we should be sleeping or naked. or both . all of us.

I do not like the fourth

so sue me.

there are fireworks for three days straight in my neighborhood. the local baseball stadium packs them in for three nights, beginning this year on thursday and each night at 9:30 we have a whambamthankyoumaam party that rocks the house.

and i just don't like it.

my kids are mostly asleep by then, and my wholebody flinch with each and every bang leaves this motha sort of frazzled. the kids who aren't asleep are bugging the hell out of me to go visit the neighbors who are out on the street running around with their kids in highly inappropriate drunkenbinge-ness.

and i just don't like it.

call me anal. call me anal, go ahead.

really.

i see that everyone else LOOOOOVEs it. and i am glad for them and sad for myself that i am stuck in a rut the size of canada and cannot feel the love.

but i guess, i'll always have my rut.... maybe i should examine it more closely, make it my friend, learn to feel the bliss of my own set of rugged granite boulders. . .

rugged allows for handholds, you know. i could even climb if i felt like it.

but, clearly, i am more of the mind to sit down, enjoy the shade at the bottom of my ravine and wait and see what sort of wildlife is going to show up down here.

(besides that of the neighbors, of course) .

and, by the by, I am still more awake. (doesn't mean i am a joy factory. just awake, which is Good.)

quilting pictures... a jumble of thought. . .

my god, you are so happy i deleted what i had written earlier. so glad. i had been fasting for a life insurance health exam and was completely whacked. as in , wh- acked. blood sugar is the bitch of my life and i always need more swedish fish, it seems.

As part of my purposeful parenting thing, I foolishly, but purposefully, made a rule that there would be no toys allowed in the house that did not have something beautiful about them, fully allowing that beauty in the eyes of a five year old boy, is something different than in mine... and then I was hit by the birthday of a boy turning 5. I labored for an obscene amount of time with this kid and now his love for all things plastic is about to kill me, finally, five years later.

i'm showing off the baby quilt i just finished, a full year of my life, fabric from nyc, fabric from Grammie, fabric from vintage dress finds and a whole lot of thought about the chakras and their colors and a helping of devotion to a tiny little egg of a girl... who is now officially on the number chart, at one year of age.

the boys are marathon nap/sleeping, as they intuit that summer is here in a very big way. why the rest of us don't catch on is a mystery. the heat should make slugs of us all and yet we persist in 'getting things done'. could swear to you up and down about how i probably gave in to antibiotics because i had a kid having a fifth birthday party and i needed to be present at it, or to 'at least' make it special for him. as in, wrap everything, make the 'spiderweb' of family fame and otherwise do a bunch of things he cares naught about. . . for him, it all came down to the 'omnitrix' at the end of the spiderweb. all.

someday i'll describe the family tradition of 'spiderweb', its a keeper, and i love it. strings take over a room, each kid gets one and there's a gift at the end... and this time, an OMNITRIX!!

if you don't know what i'm talking about, thats allright, you must not have watched cartoon network in long while. . . it would kill me to have to explain so i am going the way of self-preservation.