Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Another odd scribble
It's hard for me when the ending comes to my head first and I have to get there from blank paper. But as the prompts kept coming I found my way to what first sprang to mind. If you haven't, you can meet Mariposa here. Thanks, Megg and Laini!
Due for a vacation we were more than happy to jet off for his co-worker’s
We finished lolling and were headed back to our room to clean up for the ceremony, but found something unexpected inside. The bed was made in that artful, exact fashion I always find so intoxicating when I slip in. The curtains were pulled, framing a postcard behind the sheers. But something didn’t fit. Something was … off. It was dusty! All over! Dust cloaked the otherwise Web-worthy photograph.
He ran his finger across the table and looked stunned. “It’s fairy dust,” he said. And then I saw here. At the base of the potted plant she had tucked herself in. Her skin was that awful grey I remembered her having when I found here in the Costco dairy fridge.
“Mariposa?” I fell to the floor but feared touching her. “Mariposa, are you cold?”
“Hello, dear. I just knew it was you. Who else would he have been with? And I knew it was him. So handsome, so gentle. So I knew it was you, too. And I crept into your bag … you nearly squashed me with your journal you know. How do you tell all those black sketch books apart? Anyway, that was yesterday. Today I hid from the cleaning lady. It’s you I need, dear. Will you help me once more?
There was no other answer: “Of course. Of course! After all you’ve done for us ….”
She interrupted me … usually it was the other way around. “You did that, remember? You believe. How are the babies? Do they still believe?”
“Oh, of course!” we answered together. She had secretly spent hours with our three kids while waiting for a ride home a few years back. Her magic had changed our lives. And now, here, her skin was dull and her wings didn’t look right and her fairy dust didn’t shimmer as before.
“Mariposa. Oh, Mariposa. Are you dying?” I couldn’t keep the crack from my voice.
“That’s hard to say,” she said. “Fairies don’t die as humans do, but we do change. I mean, my time as you’ve known me is ending. That’s why I need your help.”
She nodded to him to hit the showers. “I know why you’re here, Handsome. Let me see you all spruced up.” I saw my husband wipe a tear from his eye and nod his agreement. He left and she detailed everything.
When he returned, all dressed for the wedding, she shooed me off to make myself ready and spent some time with him.
“ … I crept into your bag … you nearly squashed me with your journal …”
He always complained that my “takin-the-kids-to-the-pool” bag was outlandishly huge, but I can’t bare to carry all those loose items. One bag makes it so much easier!
“How do you tell all those black sketch books apart?”
I couldn’t stop it. I leaned against the shower wall and sobbed.
When at last I returned I heard her say: “It will just be tonight.” She sounded so far away. “Tomorrow Brontay will be waiting on the beach. You must take them to her.”
He wiped another tear and nodded further agreement.
“Don’t you two look splendid together?” she said more than she asked. He was red-eyed and I was puffy faced. “Well, we’ve said our good-byes then.” Her wings flapped slowly as she carefully stood up. Her legs looked strange. Her thoughts came slowly. “Don’t be sad. There’ll be nothing of me to miss. … They will be all of me … as well as themselves. … They will be the next step.”
I tried not to think of her as the barefoot couple exchanged vows on the sand. But as the newlyweds danced in the moonlight I noticed the familiar glisten of fairy dust. We left earlier than we expected, but followed her instructions. We were not to return to our room for another few hours, and so sat alone on the patio of the hotel bar. Neither of us said much. Neither of us cried again.
In the morning it was just as she said it would be, her wings curled into a pod hanging from the potted palm in our room. He cut the branch carefully as I dumped the contents of my beach bag into a drawer. We rigged it so the pod would hang, rather than lying it on its side, then left to find Brontay.
As the hotel doors slid open I was struck by the intensity of the sound. How had I missed it these past days? The distant rumble of construction equipment echoing across the inlet stopped me for a moment.
“Please, please let Brontay find them a safe new home,” I whispered as I thought of Mariposa’s woods gone condo.
The goose stood still as a statue as we approached. The beach was otherwise barren. I held open the bag and, as my husband lifted the branch into the sunlight, the wings sparkled once more. Unfurling they revealed Mariposa’s daughters, two peas in a pod for a final instant. They took immediately to the air and we drank in their fairy dust as they spiraled around us. At last we were able to smile.
They landed on Brontay’s back and the noble bird gave us a nod. We stepped away. She took flight with the fairies on her back. And just like that, life went on.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
An odd scribble
It’s funny what summer does to us. I never used to think of it as a busy time, but really, truly it is. It is full of stealing every moment of nothing and squeezing it right out of the season and into your soul.
I mean, no one schedules a squirt gun fight or a day at the public pool or a picnic in the park after a trip to the library. No one blocks out the calendar for early morning cartoons or the wild imagination rides the kids take on a day where the house is sealed to block the heat.
When you’re a kid summer goes too fast. When you’re an adult, at least for me, it seems to go even faster! Who is swiping this season, anyway? Some of their friends, who we had hoped to see this summer, we have missed. Vacations have us in town on opposite schedules. Out-of-town guests keep families hopping. Camp demands keep many of the neighbors busy as the parents are at work. There have been some weeks when it has felt as though we are the only people home. And with our kids gone these past days, our front porch has been an unusually sleepy place. No comings. No goings. Just a container garden wilting in the heat and whipping in the wind.
So Hubby and I made it our goal to pirate every bit of this precious silence, turn it into a secret treasure. We took a night with friends. We snuck some time together. We cooked up a couple of culinary schemes just for the two of us. Then, we plundered our bedroom.
Sounds like a tasty tidbit, I know. But not really.
See, when you’re stealing time back from the clock, it’s about getting something done that you didn’t realize would make you feel just … so good! Again, it sounds like a tasty tidbit but I swear it’s not. The plundering was actually cleaning.
No, not that “cleaning” I do each week, where I change the linen, dust and vacuum. This was C-L-E-A-N-I-N-G. It was the hardcore kind where you pull everything down from the closet and go through it … chuck the toys you said you’d try to fix though you knew they weren’t fixable … make a stack of shirts to give to Goodwill … toss the garments that, really, just are not fit to be worn. It was the kind of cleaning where you pull anything and everything out from under the bed and ask, “What the hell do I have THIS for?” The kind where the paper shredder overheats because you’re cleaning out your files. So, at one point, there was stuff everywhere! It truly looked as though the place had been ransacked.
Until this house we never lived anywhere more than two years, maybe not even that long. So, approaching the sixth anniversary of our arrival here, things have piled up in places and we don’t really think about it. And after today, we feel lighter.
“As long as we don’t reload …” I said to him as we sipped a beer in our nice, clean room … which outwardly doesn’t look a bit different than it did yesterday.
It was just one of those things we knew we had to do, but it never made it onto the calendar. It’s nothing to write about, really, but just another drop of goodness squeezed out of summer. And sometimes those moments … romantic or otherwise … have to be stolen from the humdrum of every day. I can’t slip time in my pocket, but I sure can do my best to keep it from slipping through my fingers. And speaking of pirates, I’m off for a few hours with Johnny and Orlando, oh yeah, and Hubby, too!
Thursday, July 20, 2006
WHAM! They grow up fast
Having her wish granted, she was overwhelmed by possibility.
Should she run out and wander weightless and free?
Should she scrub and vacuum and make life less dusty?
Should she offer her services with storm recovery?
Should she lounge and luxuriate, savoring long sips of coffee?
Alas, without transportation, she can’t manage one or three.
So, house straightened, she’ll explore creativity.
Craft a little something, maybe write a story.
A day at home in silence, surprisingly lonely.
Sometimes a wish granted can make you see clearly
That little ones outgrow their noises all too quickly.
Once a year Grandma and Grandpa take the kids, each in turn, for several days at their place, about an hour away. I and the two left at home enjoy the change in dynamic while the one on vacation always comes back happy to see us. This year, Grandma and Grandpa took a different approach. Now that none travels with equipment beyond a favorite stuffed animal all three are on vacation together. (I packed clothing/toiletries. They packed important stuff, ie. aforementioned bedtime friends and toys.) And I am here alone with the dog and the cat, one of whom seems lost without the kids and one of whom is blissfully curled up on her favorite dining room chair. (This cat has little use for most people, especially those of the short, noisy variety.)
Initially I thought this would be a great time to get a lot of work done. Now the schedule is wide open. For years I’ve thought, “Gosh, if I could just get a few hours alone in this house! I could … blah blah blah …” So, here I am, two days alone and realizing, sadly, I could never make it 24 hours without speaking. The poor dog keeps getting up and coming in to me whenever I talk to myself!
Sure I could use these two days to tackle a bunch of chores beyond the basics. Or I could continue to pursue new freelance clients.
B-O-R-I-N-G!
Realizing my personal growth is an impowering thing. I think I’ll load the CD player with Broadway soundtracks and scatter scrapbooking supplies all over the dining room table. Hope I don’t wake the cat!
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
feelin' hot hot hot
Monday, July 17, 2006
This blog is like a box of chocolates ...
You never know what you're gonna get. Sometimes I re-read my blog and think "What a nut case!" But such is the life of a moody person who types!
"Some Days are Yellow. Some are Blue. On different days I'm different too. You'd be surprised how many ways I change on different colored days."
I’m working my way back to blue, thank you Dr. Seuss. The copyright notes on My Many Colored Days (published in 1996) say by Dr. Seuss Enterprises. The paintings are by Steve Johnson and Lou Fanch. I don’t feel so all-over-the-place any more, but am still worried about money. I had just visited Melba and her post helped me decide it would be OK to share the jumble inside, if for no other reason than to get it out. It certainly was a jumble! And it did help to get it out.
And Melba’s comment was dead on … “You were working and then a company can't afford you (although they can) and now maybe you might be a sham, but are worried about the money” … Yup.
The worst part is the feeling like a sham. I have no aspirations to be a millionaire. No aspirations to write for some big-time magazine. (However, I would love to see my children’s stories in a bookstore!) My philosophy on journalism is that too many of us want to make it to the big-time when the stories that have the most impact on us are the ones in our own towns, schools, houses of worship, that get a blurb by an intern at a local level. I like writing for small publications, but the place I lost was the best paying small publication I worked. A couple grand is a lot of money to this Stay-At-Home-Mom!
I decided it was time to stay at home in 1999, about six months after my second child was born. I jumped off the career ladder of a major metro daily and can’t help but wonder, some days … still after all these years … where we could be financially if I hadn’t kissed my paycheck goodbye. I mean, when a family cuts its income in half it kind of doesn’t matter that you’ve moved to a cheaper city. Half is half.
But then I look at these three amazing people I spend each day with.
I think about who they would be if they’d been in daycare all these years. Or if my mom had continued to baby sit them. (This thought leads to a separate grey, wandering jumble of thoughts better left un-blogged!) I think of all the things I would have missed and I realize that I wouldn’t change any of this for the world.
Not even the feeling like a sham. I feel especially sham-full when I get depressed because of money when I earn none. I CHOSE to earn NONE. So why does it still make me feel so crumby sometimes? But then I look at these three amazing people.
I think about the stuff they ask for and how to teach them that the stuff doesn’t matter. And I think about the debt and the fact that, someday, it will go away. They won’t need a fulltime SAHM forever, especially not if I’ve done that job well, so someday I’ll be fulltime again. I think about our retirement dreams and realize as long as it’s with Hubby I don’t care what we’re doing.
OK, so I’m still sort of all over the place, but at least I’m not plopping.
But while I was plopping I did my annual “Where else can we cut corners?” exercise. Then I think about the stuff in the basement and about a garage sale. But you never earn enough for the time you put in. And Hubby is dead set against them.
“We’re going to be fine,” says the person who brings home every penny I spend. “Stop thinking about only yourself. [That really stung, but shook me out of my plopping.] A garage sale’s a pain in the ass. Besides, how many people could really USE that stuff? Just give the shit away.”
Then came the Scribbling prompt of baggage. Few words are flowing. I just keep thinking about all I have and trying to express gratitude rather than self pity.
So I couldn’t help but chuckle when I sat down at church yesterday and opened the weekly bulletin to a scripture reflection entitled “The Burden of Baggage.”
“It’s not merely the things we stuff in our luggage or carry along with our entourage. It may be all the excess trappings of our power, privilege and money. It may be crusty ideology and pet theories. As an old woman used to say: ‘I’d rather see a sermon lived than talked.’”
So no more plopping. No more piling up baggage. I’ve got it pretty damn good. I’m hungry because I’m trying to lose weight. I’m chilly because the A.C. is on. I’m thirsty because I can’t seem to trade my cup of coffee for a glass of water. I’m loved and I’m valued and I need to feel more of those things for myself instead of stuffing good feelings about myself into a sack labeled “Indulgences.”
And maybe the time I devoted to that client can be spent in better ways. And as I work toward working more there’ll be no more thinking only about myself. I want to find at least one way to use what I write to help someone else, so I’m going to start here.
There is someone to whom I am grateful and for whom I would like to do more. She has been working hard and his halfway to her fund-raising goal as she trains for a three-day, 60-mile walk to benefit the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund. I’ve done the Komen Race For The Cure in the past, but never anything as ambitious as 60 miles in three days! To learn more about my friend and her amazing mom click here.
Thanks for taking in the ups and downs of this blog, which might not be so up-and-downy if I wrote every day. But as my Scarlet works toward blue, "I’ll think about that tomorrow."
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Through the mists
Yup. Grey. Not blue … blue is too beautiful too me. But I wander and meander when I’m grey, so my apologies to Theodore (and Johnson and Fanch) as I borrow this work because I want to be yellow
or orange
or pink
I sat and listened intently to the weary voice on the other end of my phone as he told me how the two companies (each of which has millions and millions) went back and forth over a couple of thousand bucks until they found a middle ground, which I was six feet under. No more need for that service. Oh the work was great. It was a numbers game. Call this guy and see what work he can get for you.
I went through the colors, which is something I have to do it seems. Though as I’ve explored myself more, catalogued my strengths and corralled my weaknesses, I’ve learned to move through these mists a bit more quickly.
Shock
Anger
Isolation
I look at their faces and know quitting fulltime work was absolutely the most best thing (as they might say) I could have done. I talk with a friend, a fellow SAHM, who points out that even if she got a fulltime job all it would pay for is daycare, not even. And let’s all be honest here, those daycare workers DO NOT get paid enough. But who can afford to pay them more? I think of single moms and what they must feel and wonder: “What, exactly, am I whining about?”
He was gone for eight days. Gone to the wilderness and I couldn’t even talk to him on the phone and I really thought about all that he is to me and all that we are together and all that we could be if I could stop thinking
and wondering “What can I do to get out of this debt?” And, after rewatching a classic for the first time in a long time I thought about another color,
but not in the way you would think. I thought about lying there,
all brown and purple and grey, waiting for tomorrow and then putting it all off again. What is it about some of us that we just lay there and wait? What is it that makes the hoppers hop up and go at it when the ploppers just plop? Can you go from being a plopper to being a hopper? Has it been done?
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” I’ve been a plopper and now I want to hop up. I’ve hopped up and felt how it feels and I know I’m stronger when I take control than when I wallow. And for the first time I smiled at the end of this old, old movie.
“After all, tomorrow is another day.” http://fan.geekish.net/gwtw
And maybe tomorrow I’ll be blue again.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
It's Independence Day
One of the books I found for the kids is Don’t Know Much About the Presidents by Kenneth C. Davis. I’m always interested in how historians approach Bill Clinton and
“There is nothing wrong with
There’s so much I thought about trying to say today … politics … promise … the many gifts of living in this country … the despair I can feel when I take in the news … global citizenship … my curiosity about how we are perceived by the rest of the world. But my head kept coming back to a song.
I’ve read a lot about putting a soundtrack to my life and I found it this weekend, making the trek to Chicago I pulled out some CDs I hadn’t listened to in forever. Two of them were Garth Brooks’ concert in
Just an ordinary man
When I close my eyes I see
The way this world shall be
When we all walk hand in hand
When the last child cries for a crust of bread
When the last man dies for just words that he said
When there's shelter over the poorest head
We shall be free
When the last thing we notice is the color of skin
And the first thing we look for is the beauty within
When the skies and the oceans are clean again
Then we shall be free
We shall be free
We shall be free
Stand straight, walk proud
'Cause we shall be free
When we're free to love anyone we choose
When this world's big enough for all different views
When we all can worship from our own kind of pew
Then we shall be free
We shall be free
We shall be free
Have a little faith
Hold out
'Cause we shall be free
And when money talks for the very last time
And nobody walks a step behind
When there's only one race and that's mankind
Then we shall be free
We shall be free
We shall be free
Stand straight, walk proud, have a little faith, hold out
We shall be free
We shall be free
We shall be free
Stand straight, have a little faith
We shall be free
