kellementology

life according to me

Tag: Blogging

  • Letters to a growing boy…

    And the letters to sustain me during NaBloPoMo continue. But the RT’s school photos arrived yesterday, so I’ve been staring at them and marveling at just how fast time goes by. Mind you, the photos came some time ago, and I thought it strange that I hadn’t seen them yet when he walked up with them last night, apologizing for forgetting to give them to me. They’d been in his backpack, where many a valuable possession has vanished into the depths of its blackness. Never to be seen until June. So I’m feeling fortunate that the photos have nary a scratch or bend.

    Letters to You

    November 13, 2007

    My Dear RT,

    When you were born, I started writing letters to you in a journal about your daily life. Although the letters were very nearly written each day in the beginning, by the last entry, written on your 8th birthday, they were very infrequent. Very soon, I’ll show you the journal so that you can read about growing up. And someday, it will be yours so that you might do the same for your child.

    Here are some of the letters.

    Thursday, May 12, 1994

    You were almost two…

    Your Dad took you to Grandma & Grandpa W’s house and measured you on Mother’s Day. You’re nearly 36″ tall and weigh about 30 lbs. (Is that right?) Anyway — that’s taller than we thought you’d be compared to your cousin when she was your age, and she’s tall!

    You can count to 13 now! It’s pretty funny.

    You’ve been throwing things way too much — at people, on the floor — everywhere.

    Lots of whineyness in the early evening time around dinner. It’s hard when everyone has had a long day. We’re trying not to push the bottles just to see if you’ll forget about it during the day — preschool is just around the corner and the bottle won’t work. Diapers? Who knows? Changing yours is a complete chore. You kick & scream & twist & turn. It’s like some ridiculous game. Gramma did say today that she told you that you needed your pants changed & you walked right into the house to have it taken care of. You hear everything we say! This morning you were laying on the rug watching Barney & I made a comment to Gramma about your “poofy” hair and you looked at me and reached up to touch your hair.

    I’m getting ready to leave you for nearly 8 days and I’m not looking forward to it. What I want is for summer to be here so I can be a mom for a change.

    You’ll be big before I know it, D.
    Not yet Two

    Saturday, January 24, 1997

    I see this book now, mostly when I dust & vacuum around the basket of books it keeps company with next to my bed. That’s pretty much where it’s been since we moved to this house when you were 6 mos. old. It seems so long ago now. You’re 4-1/2. You’re in the dining room playing your usual conditioned response breakfast games. Your dad is trying to guilt you into eating, but he is also singing the “Green Acres” theme song, so somehow I’m sure he’s not very threatening.

    Thanks for climbing into bed with me for a while this morning and telling me about the rocket you built of Legos. You showed me how it flies, how it loses its boosters & leaves the capsule where the men are and then uses parachutes to bring it back to California where it lands. A lot to think about on a Saturday morning.

    Yes, the Lego era has had a 2nd dawning. They’ve never quite been completely gone, but C & R have had them stashed under their bunk for a number of years. Now they show you how to build everything. But mostly things that fly. You’re pretty good at it yourself.

    I make sure I get my squeezes & hugs & kisses from you as much as I can. It seems your “olderness” is right around the corner, D. You are very aware you are 4, but not 5 yet and tell me about it. I know you want to stay at Taproot School to become a “Palm” instead of going to another kindergarten. But you’ll have to make that change soon enough. Taproot stops after Kindergarten and then you must move on.

    This should be a big year. Baseball? Soccer? Music Lessons? What are you interested in? What do you want to learn?

    You found the plastic pink heart which stays in a dish on my dresser as you got up this morning & had a wistful, but puzzled look on your face as you rolled it in your fingers. “We still have Heart Baby’s heart. He still loves us, D,” I explain.

    “He gone?”

    “Yes, remember we lost him at the old Target?”

    “But he didn’t go to the garbage. He went with a boy.”

    “And he cares about that boy, but his heart will always be with us,” I finish.

    You put the heart down and seemed content with the conversation we’ve had many times before.

    Clown baby still goes to school with you every day, but it’s more of a ritual than a need. I’ll have to rescue him one of these days before he is misplaced.

    I love you, D. You’ve grown up so very fast.

    Mom
    School Photos

  • Dear San Diego Union-Tribune:

    As I drag my unwilling body over the scorching sand of the Sahara that is my carpet, I yet again position myself at my trusty desk and keyboard to put a checkmark in the box that denotes another NaBloPoMo done…

    November 12, 2007

    Dear Whomever Makes the Decision to Fold the San Diego Union-Tribune in a Particular Order:

    I often take time on certain days of the week to notice which page is “up” as I sit down to read through the paper. Often when there has been a tragic occurrence, the main page is noticeably tucked behind something that someone at the paper has deemed less controversial, or more for the faint of heart. On Saturdays in general, the “Family” section is what I see when I pull the paper out of its plastic bag. At least I think that’s the routine. But when I do notice, I leaf through the rest of the paper to see what you may be trying to prevent me from seeing on first glance, as if I hadn’t already seen or heard about it on the Internet the previous day.

    This past Saturday (and I’ve had to wait a couple of days to write about it because it upset me so much, it put quite a damper on my Saturday morning) you did have the “Family” section in full view. But as I scanned the page, I began to wonder what was really going on. Was it just some poor sap who follows directions, or was it by design that unsuspecting people would be forced to read with their morning coffee three articles that were anything but conducive to a relaxing morning. I don’t like being manipulated.

    I’m not going to apologize for being less than enthused about reading these particular pieces. I’m not a wilting violet, and I have far too many opinions about too many things. But I will say that sometimes, I want to choose when I get worked up over something. And most often, it’s because I’m the type of person who immediately feels that I have some degree of responsibility for the problem, that I should be more involved in doing something about it, or that I’m being educated and then chastised about not doing anything to help the problem. I’m sure there are pills for this particular malady, but I don’t like taking pills.

    I know that you’re not to blame for my idiosyncracies, nevertheless, they are what they are and I thought that it was time to let you know how I feel about all of this.

    “Scratch that 7-year itch; it’s 5 now,” by Shelley Emling was another one of those articles that prove again that anyone can say anything with a set of statistics. Good thing to know as the MoH and I approach our 20th anniversary, that we’re past the scratching and itching stage of it all. But it’s an odd story to run on the “Family” page. I’m sure you’d call it objective reporting of the results of a study. I’ll call it pessimistic. Reporting, that is.

    “Missed lead?” by Jane Clifford had me shaking my head with a “what’s next” attitude. Let’s take paranoia about lead in toys to the next level instead of paying attention to more serious issues about pollutants in water, the air, the ground, the materials our homes are built from, and the food we eat. Yes, I do think that just about covers it. Look quickly and you just may see Chicken Little scurrying around with her chicks, trying to keep them from kissing their dolls.

    And speaking of food? Well, that’s the article that is to blame for this tirade, because although I only scanned the two previous articles, I read this one to the last grim line. Thanks, Luis Humberto Crosthwaite. Thanks very much for your well-written and informative “Hearts ache for children of the fields.” Thanks for reminding me that in Mexico, as in many impoverished countries in the world, families put their children to work at a very early age, even though it’s illegal. That many of those children die working in the fields handling produce that is shipped to this country.

    Thanks very much for letting me know, “It’s sad to consider that our salad was picked by small hands.” Sad to the point of tears sad. Very.

    What am I supposed to do about this? What can I do about it? Not eat lettuce? Boycott stores that sell produce from Mexico? Seriously. Sure, that would work. If someone actually organized the effort, and it was successful, how would it play out? The produce would not be sold, it would be left to rot in the fields, there would be less of a need for workers, so then the children wouldn’t have to pick produce. We could all get in bed at night and feel great that we did something to make a difference. Not. Sadly, what happens is then they don’t have work. The families aren’t paid. They have no food.

    The families have to eat. They’ll try and find different work because they have to. And the children will be right beside them, working at something perhaps even more difficult than picking produce. There will be no sitting around waiting for a check in the mail. *Oops. Did I just say that? Shame on me.*<!–

    Should I call the Mexican government and inquire about why poverty and child labor exist in their country? Because that’s the real problem. Why they don’t seem to care? Or do anything about it? Sure. That would work.

    Like it works in this country.

    But I’m sure our child mortality rate isn’t as high.

    So thanks for reminding me that I need to be thankful for what I have because perhaps I didn’t already realize it, and for letting me know that my lettuce may have been picked by a child who has died in the process.

    But I’m not sad about it today like I was Saturday. I’m just very angry.

    Sincerely,

    A Subscriber

  • Dear House Fairies…

    Okay, still going strong with NaBloPoMo. Lovely Sunday morning — coffee, magazines, a tasty hot bowl of steel cut oatmeal with green apples, pecans, brown sugar and cardamom. And the MoH and RT cozied up watching football. *sigh*

    November 11, 2007

    Dear House Fairies,

    Yanno, I need to swing a deal with you guys. I’m totally not getting around to doing my housework and the place looks like, well…crap. There are piles everywhere from redoing the RT’s room, and from preliminary stages of organizing the office. My mom’s photos are also being gone through now and are in stacks of this and that and those. Jeez. I never quite perfected the art of finishing one thing before starting another. I am making some progress as I’ve given away more of the RT’s books from childhood, and two chests full of Legos. But it hasn’t put much of a dent in anything. It’s quite pathetic.

    How about if you just find a way to sneak out of where ever you hide in the night to just spruce everything up. ‘Kay? Sort of Martha-ize the place? Because I just can’t seem to do everything I want and need to do in a 24-hour day and I’m perpetually behind.

    Does fixing toilets fall under the category of Martha-izing? The luridness of the RT’s toilet isn’t something I can quite capture with mere words. The newly painted walls haven’t really done anything other than make it stand out even more. I’ve been thinking about whether I might be able to feed a power sprayer through the window from the spigot outside in the back. You know, sort of blast the thing into the next century?

    And the laundry room is quite the wreck. I think the cats play in their catbox since there’s more sand on the floor than there is in the box and one of them insists upon leaving crap uncovered every single time, like it’s some little present. What is up with that?

    Then there’s the RT’s pile by the garage door. It’s a wonder one of us hasn’t tripped over the backpack, the boxes of models, and textbooks. His shoes, and stinky bag of damp towel and swim trunks from PE. Everything is strung across the carpet.

    Speaking of carpets, I need to have them cleaned. What? You don’t do carpets? So I guess I’ll have to call. But my roots are seriously beginning to show and if I get the carpets done for Thanksgiving, then our guests will have to try and figure out why I’ve parked a skunk on my head. It could distract them from their meal.

    Do you guys do hair?

    No?

    Whatever.

    Oh, but could you speak to the car fairies about getting my tune up taken care of? What? Your guys don’t talk to their guys?

    Fine.

    Forget the perfunctory missive concluding niceties…

    Me.

    p.s. And I don’t want to hear anything from anybody about what a completely stoopid letter this was. I have to write about nonsense once in a while, right?

  • Writing until the cows come home

    November 10, 2007

    Dear NaBloPoMo,

    My tongue’s not quite hanging to the ground yet with daily blogging, because I’ve missed very few days since I began last March. I do have the ability to write my way around any situation while standing on my head and singing Yankee Doodle. Or something like that. But I have a tendency to not write both days in the weekend because my house really does need to be cleaned occasionally.

    The other reason I may not write on the weekend is because of my food blog. It takes some time, and I enjoy spending time there with other foodies. And I fear that I neglect that world far too much compared to this one. And foodies are such a lovely bunch of people. I truly enjoy them.

    So today, I’m deferring to said foodie haven Sass & Veracity for today’s qualifying post. Even though this actually counts as a post.

    Besides, my post there is for a very worthy cause.

    And thanks to Mike at Port 16 for the idea.

    Have a lovely Saturday!

    Me.

  • Dear Whomever is in charge of Coastline spying…

    Nine days and counting on NaBloPoMo…Yay! It’s Friday. The downside is that the weekend is when I have a tendency to drop a posting day. But not this month! I’m on it, pecking away, and fighting with my date stamp which is completely driving me nuts…

    November 9, 2007

    Mike McConnell

    Director of National Intelligence

    Washington, D.C.

    Dear Sir:

    Although I’m sure that you’ve been briefed about the recent discovery of yet another boat left on the shore in a neighboring beach community, I felt the need to share a few thoughts I’ve had with respect to the idea of security in our country. Since this is the second such occurrence in less than two months, the last of which took place not two miles from my home, I’d say there should be some eyebrows raised about what constitutes “safe.”

    I’m not paranoid, but still.

    1. What difference does continuing to process everyone at the airport make if people can ride the surf packed in small boats in the dark and jump onto the shore to enter the country? Mind you, I’m not referring to the fact that they’re entering the country illegally. I’m suggesting that being able to enter in this fashion at all would be a problem. Where’s their security check-in processing and wand-style detector waving session?
    2. It’s just wonderful that so much of everyone’s time is spent “securing the border” with those more concerned about “illegals” coming to work in the country as it is needing to know who they are and if they’re someone to be concerned about. Are you having a bit of that “it’s not my job” difficulty between your departments? The Border Patrol doesn’t speak to the Coast Guard who isn’t expected to acknowledge the existence of ICE. I’m sure I left one out.
    3. Perhaps you are paying attention to the coastline, and you already knew who those people were that got out of those boats, and had decided that they were harmless. That you’d let the local authorities round them up at some point so people around here won’t get their panties in a wad because more undocumented people gained access to the land of opportunity. Yes, perhaps you knew.
    4. I would hope that because Immigration and Customs Enforcement officials have recognized that human smuggling using boats is a “seasonal phenomenon in San Diego, with smugglers trying to blend in with pleasure boat traffic during warmer months,” that they also acknowledge that not many boats are out in the dark, especially near shore. Well at least not boats without lights, and packed with people who all happen to be wearing black. Now, they could be New Yorkers lost on their way to a party in L.A. by way of the Panama Canal, but still.
    5. You might want to have some of your agents dress like drunks and lay on the rocks to keep an eye on things. Or, you could just pay the people who already do that. I haven’t seen any signs down at the shore that say “Will Spy for Booze,” but it’s only a matter of time if these boats keep pulling in.

    Thanks for your time on this matter. I’m sure your departments or agencies, or whatever you call them will get this figured out and actually communicate on the matter.

    Sincerely,

    Me

    p.s. You could probably call Arnold on this.

  • You know you’re a redneck when…

    Redneck Chef Award It’s true. I’ve been slapped by Robert at Miscellaneous Ramblings.with a Redneck Chef of the Week award. *scratches left arm pit* How did he know I have Okie roots? I figger ee calls ’em as he sees ’em since it’s all on account o’ them nut bars I dun up last week. Musta been tha two-and-a-quarter pounds o’ butter. That’s pounds, not cups. Wait a minute. I’m thinkin’ here…

    To be truly dee-servin’ o’ tha ‘ward, I woulda put margarine in them thar bars. Or lard, mebbe. Thanks, Robert! Right back at cha, mister!

    Ahem. Of course I didn’t eat them all myself. I gifted the hummers to several groups of humans who had no idea the nut-filled caramel and chocolate honeys were headed in their direction. But still.

    Since I find making butter bombs so much fun, and can’t see a day in my future that I won’t enjoy baking, then what’s the point of writing down everything I eat and drink? Okay fine, there is a point, but I don’t need to do it here. I decided that the day after I said I was going to do it. One more thing to keep up with when I need to be doing other things. If I could only find that list. So cancel that idea about the Daily Nitty Gritty. Oh, you didn’t know about it? Well, fuhgeddahbowdit anyway. *all two audience members glance knowingly at one another* Fine. I’m weak. Whatever.

    I did have plain yogurt with a sliced banana this morning, however. Okay?

    Moving right along, I’ve also been graced with another accolade. One that I’m very proud of, but personally feel I’ve been slacking on a bit lately. Because I haven’t been blogging a year yet, I’m not sure if seasonal dips and sways are part of the problem. Or maybe it was THAT PROJECT that is finally done. D.O.N.E. Wah-hooooo! And since it’s been complete, I’ve had the time to think about blogging and working and being a human being in the real world. One who is still adjusting to some fairly heavy changes over the past year. *one man music show puts cymbals down and reaches for violin…*

    Community Blogging Award The award? The Community Blogger Award, bestowed upon me by Dawn at Twisted Sister, who also calls it like she sees it, *a woman after my own heart* has made me think hard about how I support the bloggers I visit. It’s made me think about what really constitutes a community in this strange land of the Internet. Of course there are the social networking sites, but that’s not really what I’m talking about. It’s that feeling I get when I visit and comment on a blog, and I see that others I know have been there, too, and I feel comfortable. Or that when I haven’t visited in a while, I feel remiss, and make an effort to do so, sometimes getting my coffee or wine *or plain yogurt…* and hunker down settle in to read several entries to catch up and see what I’ve missed out on. It makes me stop and wonder about the people I know in my non cyber world who don’t get nearly as much attention.

    The strangest thing I’ve noticed is that when I peruse the blogs in people’s sidebars choosing one or two to visit, sometimes it doesn’t quite work. Almost like I’ve invited myself to someone else’s dinner party. You know, pull up at the table with my own place setting and everyone at the table turns to stare at me wondering where I came from and why I’m there? I’m sure it’s only my imagination, and I pull up anyway rarely waiting to speak before I’m spoken to. Listening intently to what others have to say, and sometimes not quite knowing how to respond. Trying to decide if I fit in or not. If I should be there.

    Like Junior High. Egads! Run. Don’t stop for anything…

    But definitely stop and visit the following people, because they, too are ever so faithful, putting up with my nonsense, and making serious headway in adding grace to my day. Thanks for your tolerance, kindness, wit, and *fill in this blank with your favorite descriptor*. It’s greatly appreciated.

    The Chick

    Wonderland or Not (I know, Cooper. You less than love this business. But I just had to sing your praises. Grab a nut bar while you’re here.)

    Thought Sparks

    So on this rainy Monday in Paradise *like, totally amazing, but true…* I’m feeling grateful and gearing up to make some changes on both of my tiny pieces of the Bloggoverse. I’ve been busy writing and working and visiting and haven’t paid much attention lately to how things look and work. Which means I’ve been a slacker. I need to get back to learning about the techie side of things, gird my loins and upgrade to WordPress 2.3, install a new theme, and redesign a header. I’ve done my homework, I just keep putting it off. And, I’m also thinking about moving my foodblog to WordPress. Thinking would be the key word here…

    I also need to force myself to learn how to use the Adobe CS3 software I have *seriously lucky person, huh?* which looks soooooooooooo hard every time I open anything but Photoshop, I cringe and close it after only 10 or 15 minutes.

    But I’d rather figure that out than deal with the Daily Nitty Gritty. I know. I’m still weak.

    Whatever.

    Nut bar, anyone?

  • Feh. Thoughtless Thursday. Whatever.

    So much for Thoughtful Thursday.

    I didn’t read the paper today. Well, except my horror-scope.

    I stayed focused for eight entire hours working.

    I did carpool TWICE.

    I ate plain low-fat yogurt with animal feed trail mix for breakfast for the fourth day in a row. Mooooooo-wahhhhh.

    I paid absolutely no attention to the helicopters still circling over that landslide a few blocks over because I completely OD’d on it yesterday.

    I had a nice green apple for a snack. Yum. With salt. Totally.

    I got my work done. Seriously done. Within spittin’ distance of the light at the end of the tunnel. Woot!

    Now my back hurts like a sonnovab*t*ch, which it never does when I blog. Ever. I have college day knots between my shoulder blades screaming for a massage.

    But I’m also signed up for National Blog Posting Month. Are you? Well?

    NaBloPoMo Um… Wait. Do you think it’s a problem that I’ll be in Lost Wages, Nevada BAY-BEE the weekend before Thanksgiving? Oh. And uh…I guess I forgot about Thanksgiving, too. Wait. People blog on that weekend?

    HEY! Who’s idea was this anyhoo?

    But I’m game. Sure. Put me in coach. I’m ready to play.

    SHeeeeee…… it.

  • I’m lovin’ my foodblog…

    Well, hello!

    Since all I seem to be getting these days is spam visitors, I hereby decree this the shortest post I’ve ever written and I’m going to drown my sorrows in foodblog land.

    Not too many worries there, which is nice for a change.  Not too complicated.  Just pleasant.  Lots of food porn (no, not nekkid people with food spread on them), great recipes, and well, foodies.

    Toots!

  • Thoughtfully synthesizing statistics, dreams, and spiders

    As another month draws to a close, I am left wondering why, oh why this particular post has been viewed so many times this month. As of two minutes ago, it has been “viewed” 1,004 times. When I scan down the statistics presented about this site to the key phrases and words used for searching, “spider” is far and away the greatest one that this site is connected with. At one point or another, someone was looking for information about spiders, photos of spiders, ground spiders, pictures of spiders, etc… You get the idea. Spiders. Nine-hundred-thirty-three times. It has to be the time of year. People see their webs, their gorgeous plump orange bodies and want to know if the creature will eat their Yorkshire Terrier. People are curious.

    So back to my stats — of course I know that “viewed” doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve actually visited my page. But I have accumulated nearly 2,000 unique visitors this month — nearly 300 more than last month. I’m not sure why. Perhaps people are simply trying to figure out what to do about those short hairs. But if they have viewed that post, I doubt they stopped long enough read what I had written. That’s too bad, because I truly like that post. It’s about dreams. Not spiders. I had recently had a dream about a tarantula, so the post was my attempt to analyze it. The whole experience was rather strange and fascinating. Okay, so it was fun, too. I’ll admit it. And since nearly four months have passed, I’ve decided that it’s a good time to revisit some of what I deciphered about what spiders in dreams mean — and show you my latest photos of my resident orb weaver, Clyde (who is probably a female…), and his – er, her buddies.

    Clyde fixing his web for dinner Clyde is pretty busy, isn’t he? Go, Clyde, go. Go, go, go.

    (Clyde appears to be small here…)

    With respect to “staying away from an alluring and tempting situation,” clearly that would be blogging. I’m hooked. But it isn’t just about the writing, or the social network that blogging has created for me, there’s a technical side I truly enjoy and want to learn more about. I’m annoyed that lately, I have to put that curiosity aside to be more constructive about the project I’ve been working on which will actually earn money if I ever remember to turn in my time sheets. Every situation is tempting at this point, with the first deadline looming on October 15th and the second November 1st. Laundry is enticing. Toilets aren’t yet tantalizing, however.

    “…a powerful force protecting [me] against [my] self-destructive behavior” again has to refer to blogging. Exhibit A would be this post. But to be fair, it’s Thursday. I have mentioned before that Thursday is my favorite day of the week and to celebrate that, I’ve instituted for myself Thoughtful Thursday. Ironically, I hadn’t remembered that until just now. That confirms that I’m simply basking in something I’ve always enjoyed, that my spirits are high, and that I’m…well…being thoughtful about what I want to be thoughtful about instead of what I have to be thoughtful about. You know. That project. I’ll get around to it when I’m finished being thoughtful about dreams and spiders.

    Small, new spider buddy on the block

    (This guy is so much smaller than Clyde. Just wait…)

    So what other kind of self-destructive behavior could there be? Hmmm…that isn’t the kind of thing I want to think about right now, but it could be a great discussion for later. Suffice it to say that the topic would include Food + Wine, and no, I’m not talking about the magazine.

    Okay, moving right along…Just a note that the spider searchers have already given up on me because I haven’t provided any information about spiders in this post yet. That’s too bad, because I have a huge spider treat saved for later. And yes, it will be just about as Hallo-weenie as I get. Dreams…where was I?

    “…energetic in my labors and fortune will be amassed…domestic happiness.” I truly can pat myself on my back for being a diligent, avid member of Bloggsville. Hell, I could be mayor. As far as the fortune goes, I believe that’s relative, and that I feel fortunate for what I have. It’s not about the cash — it’s about gratitude. And that extends to domestic bliss as well — um, except for when the Yack Star barfs up her breakfast on the rug immediately after leaving her bowl twice in two days. No, she’s not sick. She has binge and purge problem because she’s a plus size feline. It’s a problem that rates fairly low on the domestic bliss meter.

    Clyde’s little brother, Mr. Busy.

    (This guy is half the size of Clyde…)

    With regard to “an aspect of myself that is vulnerable and helpless…” er, um…I think you know that I’ve really been struggling with some physiological changes that are kicking my butt. I’m about as far from helpless as Bush is from being an elocutionist, but do feel a bit as though I’m just not what or whom I used to be. It’s unsettling, but I refuse to get depressed over it. I’ve got my stuff lined up on the counter, and am trying very hard to stick with it day and night so I don’t end up being helpless from neglect. Sad, but true. Take care of your bodies, or you will regret it.

    And finally, “maintain a balance…everything [I] do now is weaving what [I] will encounter in the future.” Yes, I know. As much as I harangue on myself about avoidance and slovenliness, I am a fairly deliberate person. No, an extremely deliberate person. I have fun magnifying my idiosyncrasies because it’s healthy and allows me to examine my faults. Although I’d enjoy sweeping a few of the under the carpet, it wouldn’t be productive. I’d still know they’re there, and at some point would have to deal with them. They sit around in all their glory for me to think about each time one surfaces. The more I work on them, the better the future will be. See how that works? I know. Write a book.

    “I am the keeper and writer of my destiny, weaving it like a web by my thoughts, feelings, and actions.” Future, destiny…I was born with a steering wheel in my hands. It doesn’t quite work the way the one in my car works. It’s more of blowing the seeds of a dandelion into the wind and choosing one to follow until it’s time to choose another, and another, and so on…It keeps everything interesting. It’s a bit painful at times because I wait too long to change directions, and then there’s a huge upheaval that affects others in a way that I’d love to avoid. Yes, this is quite nebulous and I realize you are scratching your head about now, but I don’t want my thoughts to drift too far down that path today.
    IMG_3900.JPG (

    Clyde the Spider has grown…)

    And to get down to the clencher, “enemies are about to overwhelm you with loss…” My immediate reaction in revisiting these words was that I don’t have enemies. Or if I do, I don’t know who they are. (Don’t care who they are if they exist?) And then I read what my original response was — I was so right! Doubting voices, indeed. Especially when I consider the project I’ve been working on. In fact, this morning on my walk, I told my VBF that what I was working on completely sucked. That I’ve worked on the words and they all just sound like jargon — meaningless and inane. But I also know it’s normal and so I just keep plugging along. I’m not enjoying the work, however. News flash. It doesn’t feel as if it belongs to me, and I am very undisciplined in engaging in anything that my heart and soul are not invested in. It’s a problem and I seriously doubt I’ll outgrow it at this point in my life.

    No, I’ve just decided to embrace it, fists clenched, teeth bared.

    Balls to the wind, as my mother would say.

    Which is why I’m being so thoughtful today.

     

  • Work, Beethoven, and Bad Drivers

    I have a treat for you, but before I get to that, thanks to those of you who took the time to offer your suggestions about staying focused yesterday. I didn’t have a list as some of you mentioned, and which I’ve used in the past when work had me by the short hairs, but grabbed a few cds to keep me anchored to the monitor instead. Thanks to Essential Beethoven (especially the “Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-Flat Major’s Adagio un poco mosso“), and Rachmaninoff (“Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini”), I managed to stay focused with little or no distraction.

    And today will be the same. Somehow, my iTunes playlist doesn’t quite work. It is distracting. And it’s not about my being able to sing along. I can actually “sing” to the classical music as well. I do a mean Beethoven’s 5th Symphony Allegro con brio nearly all the way through. You know, the Dat-Dat-Dat- Duhhhhhhhhhhh…Yes, that one. It’s quite entertaining without being distracting. The walkers outside my window now know I’m a complete goner, however.

    So, it’s 8:59 and I have to work. But I heard about LA CANT DRIVE on CNN this morning and thought I’d share if you haven’t seen it. This guy is totally my hero and I’m so sad he beat me to the punch on blogging about drivers who have their heads where the sun doesn’t shine. It seems that L.A. traffic is so bad (OH REALLY?) that one has a double chance of dying in a car crash there as opposed to New York City. The only place that one’s chances are higher? San Diego. True. Sheesh.

    And I’m sure it’s because of all those Urban Attack Vehicles that crowd the road each morning dropping off their future superior court justices and combinatorial chemistry specialists for school each day. The blonde and ponied Audi driver who cut me off THREE TIMES and then took on a school bus to situate herself before it at the red light wins the a**hole driver award for the day from my neck of the world. Too bad I don’t have more time, or I’d send in her photo. Wait. No, come to think of it, she probably has a few attorneys on retainer for her little problems in life. Come to think of it, I just might invite that blogger down to Paradise. His dislike for Mustangs and Escalades will immediately dissapate after he sees our UAV Babe-n-steins in action.

    Kay. Have a splendiferous day, but don’t put your nose too close to that grindstone or you’ll end up with a big scab on your nose.

    Disgusting.