walden

Some day soon I am going to stop overextending myself...
But until then here is an hyper extended post.

Before and After
Chair. Is. Done.There she be. My mom covered the chair with my remnant fabric find, and she got her stuffing replaced. Her purple arms and legs are take 2 of purples, the first was just not what I was expecting so I made David repaint. See how hard I worked on this chair! ;) It looks great and we all love it. And aren't we loving the sea foam green the evening sun makes my turquoise sun room? hmmm a thought?


Before and After 2
Remember my snail? Mike Schnail? He is huge. Proof....
Shocked right? He will be getting a bigger tank soon.

Product testing...
Waaaaaaaaay back at Christmas, our family played a little cake walk game. I (DP) won the grand prize of a Mini Cupcake Maker! This weekend, during a paper break I tried it out. 4 stars- cute tiny cupcakes. Only draw back is it make 7 at a time, and I am impatient. I made 14 and then poured the rest of the batter into a sheet pan. Then I realised DP and I have a whole cake to eat by ourselves... should have thought about that.


Walden Pond
Writing can not be rushed. Writing is organic. You do not tell the flowers it is time to bloom. ;) Sunday it was pretty outside, would you have wanted me to be locked away in my paper writing nook all day?

Somehow I convinced David to let me go to the park, I promised him something... can't remember what it was. I'm pretty manipulative like that.

So I read in the park, feeling very artsy and connected to nature. Watched some squirrels, petted some rabbits, took some pictures, felt a little better about British Lit, just a little.

I have 73 more days of this breakneck pace. Not rushing things, but surely feeling the intensity. It isn't even midterms yet. But I am doing it. I'm desperate to show 'them' that I can do it, that it isn't me, it was there. That will be empowering.

If you aren't squeamish, watch this. (this is a serious disclaimer, the opening is *cough* graphic. if you have delicate sensibilities skip to 15:46. don't say I didn't warn you.) We watched this video in class last night, it was very moving. If you care to, listen to the story of Agnes & Mr. Alligator. If you have ever experienced trauma I think this will be impactful. Eve says what healed her brokenness was to give to others what she needed most. Remember that bible school song about the lucky penny?

Love isn't something till you give it away
Till you give it away
Give it away
Love isn't something till you give it away
You'll end up having more

Love is like a lucky penny
Hold it tight and you won't have any
But, give it away
And you'll have plenty
You'll end up having more

The Beatles mentioned this also. But it is powerful to see put into practice. After suffering tremendous pain I still struggle with how to put it all back together. How do you heal that brokenness? And I always thought the answer was somewhere within me. If only I had my degree, I would feel whole again, set back on the right track, finish what I should have finished. All the walls and hiding from relationships because I wasn't "ready" to let love get close...

Light bulb moment. Healing isn't inside of me. I've been waiting for God to heal me, waiting at the bus stop for that bus to pick me up and take me back to a normal happy. Healing is outside of me, it is in healing others, in LOVING others.

Just knowing this makes me a little more put together.

so what mr. poopy pants

sometimes one has to write when they dont want to

or dont know what to say

or dont want to say what is asked of them

In my fiction workshop last year we read a great piece. Ever since I read it I hand it out like candy. I'm the Jehovah's Witness of Anne Lamott's "Shitty First Drafts." If you are a writer you already know why I love this article. You can read it in whole here. I hope you do.

Maybe I am just a crazy as every other writer but I get this overwhelming chorus of voices. (You tell someone you hear voices and they start to look at you differently, but I know we all hear them... right?) This is what she says about the chatter:

Close your eyes and get quiet for a minute, until the chatter starts up. Then isolate one of the voices and imagine the person speaking as a mouse. Pick it up by the tail and drop it into a mason jar. Then isolate another voice, pick it up by the tail, drop it in the jar. And so on. Drop in any high-maintenance parental units, drop in any contractors, lawyers, colleagues, children, anyone who is whining in your head. Then put the lid on, and watch all these mouse people clawing at the glass, jabbering away, trying to make you feel like shit because you won't do what they want--won't give them more money, won't be more successful, won't see them more often. Then imagine that there is a volume-control button on the bottle. Turn it all the way up for a minute, and listen to the stream of angry, neglected, guilt-mongering voices. Then turn it all the way down and watch the frantic mice lunge at the glass, trying to get to you. Leave it down, and get back to your shitty first draft.

Great right? And we can all use the jar image in every day life. Coworkers? Put them in the jar! Crazy motorists? Put em in the jar! Husbands with exceptionally loud breathing? In the jar! Devil telling you aren't good enough, smart enough, thin enough? JAR!

now back to my poopy pants draft.

81 days

A couple of things-

THE. CHRISTMAS TREE. IS. DOWN!!!!
*joyful chorus*
all of the Christmas decor is put up, I think, but aren't there always stragglers?

The chair
poor unfinished chair. Remember? I understand if you don't. It was a month ago that I swore I would finish it. Now that the tree is gone the chair (unfinished) can go to it's spot. I will say that my talented mother, finished the recovering part oh a month ago. It waits for a second coat of paint on the arms and legs. But Rigby has already enjoyed sitting in it.

Warming up
David bought me an electric throw, I guess if you call it a throw and not a blanket it will be 60 bucks cheaper. Well, the truth is my throw has been stolen, by a very warm kitten. Rigby Buttons has spent a total of 5 minutes off that blanket in the last week. He loves it. At night, he lets me share. (Picture- this morning)

Cake
So I had a meltdown this weekend when none of my clothes fit me. Has anyone else been there when every single pair of paints is magically 2 sizes too small. I saw my shadow a couple days ago and didn't recognise my butt- it has it's own shadow.
I consoled myself by eating a cupcake.

Breather
I get a small reading break this week. I have TWO weeks to read
Gulliver Travels
Buried Mirror- Fuentes
Street Car- Williams

Did you see that tiny list? It's so small. But what kind of professors would they be if I didn't have papers. I have to work on papers during this leisurely read. Two novels and a play in two weeks? Easy peasy lemon squeezy

In Review--
Our Town- not the play I wanted to read two weeks after my MeeMaw died. There were tears
Century of the Wind- Glad this series is over. History intensive, very interesting. If you have a soft spot in your heart for Communists this is the volume to read. he he
I'm taking my mom's advice and not letting the small stuff get to me. I have one job (well 2) for the next 81 days and that is to read/write. The house may be a giant wreck and filled with unfinished projects, and well I can't fit into my clothes, and I look tired and haggard. Four months.
Living will resume shortly...

yours Truly

This Valentine's Day my mailbox is empty for the first time. MeeMaw always sent a handcrafted Valentine, even after her eyesight started to fail. I saved most of them, some of them have started to fall apart some of them haven been lost.

But I have these words to hold on to.

I love you too...




A look at my valentines -- Happy Valentine's & Love

Of show'rs and sunshine

(title is quoted from Alexander Pope. Oh Brit Lit)

Reading is quite a distraction from the difficult reality that is setting in- small intruding moments that slip in, sting and linger. They are little things, feelings of waiting for The MeeMaw Report in the morning, or forgetting for a moment that she isn’t in her little house listening to the radio, the first Sunday back at church without her, or remembering her last “meal” of hot chocolate and melted Jell-O.

Along N Braeswood near Greenwillow, there was a water fountain topped with an armadillo. As a child I was a little obsessed with this armadillo. Right around Christmas Mr. Armadillo was taken, removed or stolen. I don’t know why this makes me sad but it does. I think of MeeMaw every time I see it’s missing. For 25 years I purposefully looked for that armadillo, and today I purposefully look away.

I read (or attempted to) at her funeral. It wasn’t the beautiful reading I imagined, but rather the tender reading she deserved. I wish desperately I were more like her.

The past few weeks I have been forced to ask for help- something I hate to do. I cringe when I admit that I can't do it all, bear it all, understand it ALL. How prideful. :/

Logically I tell myself, "Self, you can not do this on your own. Self, don't say you are 'ok' if you are not." I know there is a time to mourn, I do not have to feel peace in every moment. And I know that it is impossible to carry the weight of all things on my own. I know it, but I still feel all icky. (Thank you out there for all this help that I know I need, but am too stubborn to ask for, and your giving it anyway.)

In review:

I am enjoying Galeano’s Memory of Fire trilogy, and wish I had time to read it pleasurably. In order not to say anything negative about Brit Lit, I choose to say nothing at all. :)

This week:

Our Town- Wilder

Century of the Wind- Galeano

An Essay on Projects; Shortest Way with the Dissenters; A True Relation of the Apparition of Mrs. Veal- Daniel Defoe

The Tatler; The Spectator- Joseph Addison & Richard Steele

the good ol' days

I married a younger man. He is only a year younger than me, but occasionally I feel 25 years older.

Today he says to me-

"Those chairs are so old, my parents bought them in 1996."

Since when is 1996 a long time ago? David feels that 1996 is "a long time ago." I preceded to tell him that fairy tales begin, Long ago in a land far far away, and long ago references medieval times! 1996 was several years ago.

Later we are discussing Our Town-

I have never read it but was telling David my reference for what I do know about the play is from The Wonder Years. (remember Winnie gets the lead role?) David says

"Wow. If you still remember The Wonder Years, 1996 must not feel like a long time ago to you!"

Kids. shaking head