Self

Cliche and Shopping

By / July 30, 2011 / 5 Comments

Yesterday I took my daughters for a mother daughter shopping trip. We were out for hours, had a marvelous time, and came home with big bags of new things. I say new, but since we spent most of the time at at thrift store, the things were only new to us. This does not diminish the delight of my girls at their new things. Today I realized that my emotional reserves were empty and that I needed some time by myself. I didn’t need to be physically alone, though that would have worked, what I needed was to reside in spaces where I got to direct my steps without negotiation and where no one expected anything of me. I went shopping again, because that long trip with my daughters was all focused on them. I’ve long had wardrobe gaps to fill and worn out clothing to replace.

I remember our truly lean years. During those years we could not afford to buy clothing that cost more than $1 per item and then only if we really needed it. I shopped the thrift stores on dollar days and thought longingly of the days when I could buy $6 clothing on a whim. I thought about that as I wheeled my cart full of $4-$7 items to the check out stand. I am truly fortunate.

The goddess of shopping smiled upon me and my daughters these past two days. We each had a wishlist and each of us found something perfect to match it. This also held true at the clearance shoe section of Target. I can now pack for WorldCon feeling more confident and a little sheepish that part of my confidence is dependent upon clothing. Feeling like I look good makes me stand taller and walk stronger. This is true even though I might wish that all my confidence welled up from within.

Restructuring and Life Balance Progress Report

By / July 29, 2011

Back in May I had something of an emotional crisis. I realized that for years I had been structuring our lives in ways that minimized or sidelined my wants and needs. I summarized this in a post called Sinkholes and Structures. Our family made good progress on re-structuring and then school got out. I dissolved into summer and was quite happy until a wake up call showed me that I had swung too far in the other direction. Me doing whatever I wanted all day long didn’t work as a long-term family strategy either.

I’m pleased to report that during the month of July I’ve achieved a sort of balance. Most of each day is focused on the needs of others, but I get to do things that I want too. Most of what I am sacrificing right now is solitary time. I rarely get to be in spaces where other people are not nearby. I know this is temporary, and so I am fine. I also have WorldCon to look forward to. Having something to look forward to is an important happiness component for me. Another important component is project completion. July has had plenty of both. This is good.

I need to stock up on getting things I want because I have a strong feeling that September is going to be all about the kids. My things will be submerged, sidelined, neglected. This is fine, so long as I do not allow that pattern to continue into October and onward. Families have to sacrifice things for each other. I just need to remember that sometimes it means the kids and Howard sacrificing for me.

Embracing the Drift

By / July 28, 2011 / 1 Comment

Long about 1pm I ground to a complete halt. Every attempt to continue getting things done resulted in me staring blankly at my list of things to do without actually reading it, or, alternately, me standing in the middle of a room knowing I’d entered it for a reason but not being able to remember what the reason was. I decided a nap was in order. Unfortunately while my brain was too fractured to work, it was also too revved up to sleep. I lay like a lump while my brain ran in circles through the forest of stress. Sometimes I would snap completely awake with a terrified thought about something I’d forgotten, only to remember that I’d not really forgotten it. I’d just forgotten that I already did it. Fun.

The nap was not working, so I decided it was time to break out my new swing chair and embrace getting nothing done for the rest of the day. Remember that day last week when I browsed through porch swings and arbors on the internet. I bought neither, but I did happen upon this cotton padded swing chair. My will to resist was defeated by the $15 price tag. I ordered one for me and one to reduce the number of times I’d have to fight to get to sit in my swing chair. The seller sent the chairs promptly, they arrived last Tuesday and had been sitting quietly in the middle of my office floor every since.

I detached the standard swings from our redwood swing set and hung up the chair swings. When I settled my weight into them, they sunk lower than I expected, but it was very like sitting in a hammock. I swung gently and drifted in thought. Gleek came out and claimed the second seat. At first she chattered at me, talking about how she was bored and wanted to have a mother daughter date so that we could go somewhere. Going had fallen out of my repertoire. I answered noncommittally and soon she too was sitting in silence and drifting. After awhile I retrieved a book and read. Sense and Sensibility is a lovely book to read while sitting under dappled sunlight in a hammock seat. The air was a perfect 80 degrees. When the sun peeking through the leaves felt a little too hot, I’d turn the seat so that it hit differently. Sitting. Swinging. Reading. Drifting.

I finally dragged myself out of the seat somewhere between one and two hours later. My arms and legs felt limp and heavy, relaxed. I went downstairs and discovered that one of our marvelous GenCon helpers had proactively solved half a dozen problems. I got reports of Schlock book orders which arrived in perfect condition to balance out the few mistake reports. Our Schlock Mercenary shopping bags arrived and are stashed away for WorldCon. The world felt better and I began to get a few things done again, but when my brain fuzzed out, I would read for awhile. Or just sit. I guess I was overdue for a drifting day.

Arbors, Porch Swings, and My Gardening Summer

By / July 23, 2011 / 2 Comments

I should not be looking at arbors and gazebos online. There are so many more urgent and important purchases for us to make. We’re in the fat part of our income cycle, but another lean time is ahead and our surviving it depends upon me being wise now. Buying an arbor does not count as wise, no matter how lovely it would look underneath my wisteria vines. It doesn’t help that our wireless extends out into the garden so I can browse while surrounded by my green things and the scent of oriental lilies. I book mark the arbors and gazebos, knowing that two years from now I’ll delete the bookmarks without having visited them in between. I can hope that by then I will already have an arbor, purchased locally on sale.

Porch swings are less expensive than arbors or gazebos. I look at those for awhile too. I would not place it on my porch, which is too narrow, but I could hang it from the swing set on those evenings when my kids do not want to swing. It would be lovely to have a place to sit outdoors. I have those plastic stackable chairs, but they never were comfortable and have developed a permanent layer of filth from residing outdoors, year round, for eight years. I bookmark a lovely wrought iron swing with a flower pattern.

It is strange having these gardening dreams. They sprang forth from dormancy like flower bulbs discovering the earth around them is not frozen anymore. I love letting them grow even though I know that it may make the coming winter, both literal and figurative, harder on me. I still have time, three months before outdoors becomes inhospitable and I have to look inside for projects to dream. Or perhaps the opposite will be true. Perhaps hours outdoors now are filling my reservoirs, giving me reserves through the cold and dark. That is a lovely thought. It encourages me to sit and soak up the feel of grass under my feet, to smell the lilies and mimosa, to push back the grape leaves and see how many bunches of baby grapes I can find.

My neighbors are gathered outside. It is not an official event, we all just wandered out into the pleasant evening and discovered each other there. I listen to them talk. Their summers are busy, filled with going places. We’ve been at home this summer instead of running around. Ours has been the busy-ness of at-home routine rather than events and adventures. I think we needed this. It let us grow in calm and quiet ways, like the plants in my garden.

We are now entering that portion of the summer which I thought would be crazy stressful. It is busy and there are definitely elements of stress. Then I step outside and wander or work in my garden. I clear out overgrowth or pull weeds. I feel the living air blow around my face and I feel the dirt with my fingers. Sometimes I get hot and sweaty with this work, that is part of it and I don’t mind. Working with plants, my mind lets go of my lists and stresses. I stop clutching them so tightly and some of them slip away completely, not important after all. The garden is good for me and I seek more reasons to be outside in it, which is why I research arbors and porch swings even though I know I will not buy them today. It gives me hope that perhaps next summer will also be a season with gardening.

Summer Choices

By / July 10, 2011

Patch had a mosquito bite on his cheek. I caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye as he sat on the bench next to me at church. A closer examination revealed a second bite near his ear. They weren’t bothering him. He was too busy drawing. I noted their locations so I could slather them with lotion later. The increase in mosquito bites and lotion usage were a natural result of the additional hours we’d been spending out doors. I was outside more often and so were the kids. Since the middle of the days were too hot, we found ourselves out with the mosquitoes. Bites were inevitable, but Patch was particularly plagued. He had more bites per square inch than the rest of us combined.

Several years ago West Nile virus arrived in Utah with many loud warnings from the media. The news was full of information about how to defend against this new-to-Utah, mosquito-carried plague. We were all advised to stay inside during the twilight hours and if we absolutely had to go out, we should dowse ourselves with repellent. This barrage of advice was sometimes tempered by the annual warnings about sun exposure and skin cancer. Parents were advised to keep kids indoors during the hours of strong daylight, and if we absolutely had to go out to slather on sunscreen. I nearly laughed myself sick on the day when one of each of the above types of article aired with a third one which lamented how today’s kids spend too much time indoors attached to screens. Then down in the health section was an article expressing concern about the long-term effects of exposure to the chemicals in sunscreen and insect repellent.

At bedtime Patch came to me for the nightly ritual of bug bit lotion. The bites which did not bother him during the day, were sometimes a source of irritation at bedtime. He helped me find all the spots that were itchy and I daubed them carefully. We placed the occasional bandaid over a particularly itchy spot. Even with all of these bites, Patch did not catch West Nile, or if he had it was too mild to notice. Patch considered the itchy spots a fair trade for the evening hours spend running around with friends carrying toy swords. When Patch was tucked in, I checked on Gleek. Her skin had picked up a dark tan and her hair was bleached gold. At the end of the summer we’d need to trim off the split ends, thus delaying her goal of having hair as long as rapunzel. Yet Gleek didn’t notice or care about these things. She reveled in hours spent on bike and scooter.

I walked past a mirror where I could see my own darkened face and lightened hair. Our summer choices are writ upon our bodies. In years to come my skin will look older than that of someone who spent those same hours indoors. I may have to be watchful of skin cancer lesions. I will also have hands and arms which are strengthened by pulling weeds and a spirit which is calm and peaceful. All choices have consequences attached. No choice is free from risk. This summer we are choosing to be outside more; tans, mosquito bites, sun bleaching, and all.

Treasures in the Garden

By / July 9, 2011 / 2 Comments

I wander out my front door and instead of being depressed by waist high weeds, I see attractive plants and dirt. This is not the normal state of my yard in July. My bare feet step off the warm pavement of my walkway on to the soft lawn. The lawn is neatly mowed. All the bushes are trimmed. The grapes are growing along their wires instead of along the ground and up trees. My front garden is a place of order. Not surprising since I’ve spending an average of an hour per day working on it for the past several weeks. My garden is tame again for the first time since I began working full-time. I wander around the corner of the house to the one spot where weeds still lurk. Many more weeds still lurk around the back of the house. Four years of neglect is not quickly corrected. The weeds have a reprieve for the day. My back and arms are still too tired from the exertions of the previous days.

What changed this year? Why is my garden steadily looking more beautiful? Why do I find myself outside without actually deciding to go? Then once I am there I see a small task and decide to do it. Then one task leads to another and I discover that I’ve amassed yet another black trash bag full of detritus. I stand there with the bag and realize an hour has gone by and my arms are sore again. Some of it is a feedback loop. The yard is nicer, so I want to be out in it more. Because I am out in the garden, I see those small tasks and am drawn in yet again. It is a happy cycle. I enjoy the work and the sense of accomplishment. In the last week I have again found a stable happiness which somehow incorporates focused business thoughts, family chores, some writing, and a significant portion of gardening. All these things are fitting together defying my statements of past years that I simply did not have time to garden. Perhaps this blending is gifted to me now because I need it. It feels strangely as if all the digging unearthed secret deposits of time and energy, buried treasures.

It will not last. I know it will not. I am beating back the weeds with a vengeance now, but soon all of my energies will be absorbed by other things. There will be days and weeks when I step outdoors far too tired to begin even the smallest tasks. The weeds will gain ground on me then. Yet beyond those busy days and weeks there will again be times when I can tackle the weeds. I have finally come to believe that slow and steady is actually a better way to accomplish the things I want. I don’t have to hurry and get it all done before I become distracted. Instead I can do some now and trust that I will do some more later. Perhaps it is trust in myself that I have found. I finally have a long enough baseline as an adult to know which things will always cycle back into my life because I love them and seek them out. Or perhaps I have learned to trust that I will be gifted the peace and time that I need when I need it. Again this is cyclical. I’ll probably need to re-learn this trust, but it comes easier than it used to. For now, I am glad that gardening has come back to me. I missed it far more than I realized.

Summer Rain

By / July 7, 2011

I was supposed to be making dinner for the kids, instead I stood outside where the wind blew and the thunder rumbled. The air was still warm, making the first few raindrops a pleasant distraction. Summer storms were one of the things I loved about Utah when I was a childhood visitor. My native California failed to supply me with thunderstorms, but we’d usually get at least one when we visited in Utah. I still love the summer storms even though I’ve lived in Utah long enough that they could have become boring. When the rain starts to blow and the sky rumbles I want to be outside, or at least near a window. I want to participate in the weather event.
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I ran on the track team the spring when I was sixteen. It was my friends rather than the sport itself which kept me coming back. One particularly sweltering day, clouds rolled across the California sky and the rain began to fall. It was a warm, steady rain. Like the children we still were, even though we spent most of our teenaged hours pretending to be adult, my friends and I did not flee the rain. We reveled in it. My track shoes were soaked by the puddle splashes. My hair swung in long wet ropes as I twirled and stared at the gray sky. There was no wind, no rolling thunder, just a sense that the rain had washed away all the worry about the track meet on Friday and the biology test next Tuesday. In the puddles and the rain I could splash and not worry. My mother did not scold me when my clothes dripped all over the inside of the car on the trip home. I think she understood.
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Later that same year I visited in Utah for a church youth conference. Most of the conference was spent in casual clothes, playing games, attending sessions, getting to know new friends. One night was set aside for a spiritual service. We all dressed in Sunday best and gathered together. At the end of the meeting we emerged to discover that a storm had just passed over. The pavements were covered with fresh puddles and the last drops fell from the sky. Thunder rolled away from us in the distance, receding toward the mountains. I breathed deep the warm damp air. The meeting had affected me, the feel of the post-rain air affected me even more. Everything seemed possible, I had my whole future before me. Instead of walking sedately to our next destination, I kicked off my shoes and dashed. I zigged my path to make sure my feet landed squarely in some of the shallow puddles. I zagged so that my free hand could slap the water in the fountain. I twirled so my skirt swished around my legs. Only when I reached the building on the far side of the courtyard did I return the shoes to my feet and enter.
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Twenty years later I stayed standing on my porch and delaying the preparation for dinner until the rain came down in earnest. These bigger drops were cooler than the first ones. I opened my door to go inside. It was the responsible thing to do. Then I heard the laughter of my two youngest children. They did not see me there in the door frame. They were too busy. The splashes from their feet blended with the millions of tiny splashes from each raindrop. Their hair was plastered to their heads and smiles were plastered to their faces. I watched them there and remembered what it was like to dance in the rain. The wind carried the smell of wet pavement and earth to me. Minutes drifted past as I watched. Then I went and placed a pair of towels by the front door, ready for small people when they were tired of being wet. They came in ten minutes after and rolled themselves into the towels. A pair of be-toweled figures dashed for the warmth of bath and shower. By the time they were changed the spaghetti was almost done. So was the rain. The storm passed us by and all was well.

Shiny New Business Card

By / June 30, 2011

I spent part of my day designing a new business card for myself. It feels good to have a tangible accomplishment for the day. Everything else is pending and my moments of focused energy have been sparse.

Busy has Arrived

By / June 30, 2011 / 3 Comments

Last night I was unable to sleep until 3:30 am despite going to bed around midnight. My brain was spinning with things to do and anxieties related to them. This is in sharp contrast to last week which was all drifty and lazy.
The things my brain spun in circles trying to solve:

I was notified that a space had opened up in the gifted program for which Patch was an alternate. Howard and I looked at all the factors and decided to accept the placement. This decision makes next fall a harder adjustment for Patch. As a result, both Howard and I will have to spend more energy to be available to him and to Gleek who is also entering the same gifted program. We finally made the decision to go ahead when we realized the only thing holding us back was knowing how hard it is going to be. If I spend my life trying to avoid hard things I’d never get anywhere worth being.

Books arrive in one week. By this time next week our garage will be full of books and we’ll be busy schlepping them around so that Howard can sign them and then sketch them. I’ve also got invoices to sort, shipping boxes to order, supplies to gather, volunteers to organize, and bundles to assemble. All of this is familiar work, but I need to not lose track of any of it. Our book shipping day is July 25.

GenCon is in one month. This means that the minute the new books arrive, I need to turn around and ship a bunch of them to our support crew over there. It also means we have to hammer out designs and plans for the booth space so that everything can be set up intelligently. I will not be going this year, so I have to make sure that Howard and his crew have all the pieces that they need. Also I need to buy plane tickets for Howard.

WorldCon is in six weeks. I have an outline of a plan which gets me, Howard, four kids, two booth helpers, associated luggage, and all booth supplies to where they need to be. It is time to start fleshing out the outline and pinning down details. The details will show me the faults of my outline, this has already happened. We have to be in Reno a full day earlier than I thought we did. I have to extend the hotel stay, hopefully that will work.

School starts in seven weeks. I will have to cart all my kids home and then immediately turn around to start them off in school. My brain is still going to be post-convention unsettled and I won’t have time to settle it before I have to start working with schools and teachers.

Somehow in the midst of all of the above, Howard needs to not just maintain the buffer, but get ahead on all of it. I’m supposed to be writing. The kids are supposed to be doing chores. In theory Gleek and Patch are practicing times tables and reading books. Kiki is working her way through an online course which it now looks like she won’t be able to finish before the end of the summer. Kiki is supposed to be learning how to drive, but we haven’t yet felt brave enough to take her on the freeway. Laundry and dishes are omnipresent. Things keep growing in the yard and I have to suppress the unpleasant ones so the nice ones can flourish. Howard needs to brainstorm bonus stories and outline the things he wants to write in the retreat this fall. And my house is full of people all the time.

It is my intention that on July 4th I will re-capture the blissful denial of last week. On that day I will be excused from everything except hanging with my kids, having a chalk drawing festival, eating ice cream, lighting fireworks, and visiting with neighbors.

No wonder I couldn’t sleep.

This Could Get Expensive

By / June 29, 2011

I was out of sorts today. I’ve been more or less out of sorts for at least a week. I wasn’t able to figure out why since so many things about my life are going so well. Then today I accompanied Gleek to go care for a friend’s pet rats. Taking care of the rats meant playing with them for about 30 minutes so that the rats would not be lonely with their family gone. Gleek was a bit spooked by the thought of being in an empty house by herself, so I went with her. The neighbor’s house was gloriously empty and quiet. I sat down upstairs while Gleek tended rats downstairs, and I realized that I wanted to just stay and stay. I am an introvert and my summer has been very solitude deprived. I haven’t even been able to use errand time as alone time because Kiki is learning to drive and needs practice.

When Gleek was done with the rats, we came home. I didn’t stay long. I announced that I was going erranding all by myself. Two hours later I came home with a car load of groceries and a happy mood. Retail therapy can get expensive, but in this case my only impulse items were found in the produce section. We’re going to see if I can successfully cook spaghetti squash. Then we will see if my kids can be induced to eat the squash. I may also have bought an artisan bread which we didn’t technically need. But it will go great with the crock pot stew I’ve got planned for tomorrow. I’ve actually got a meal plan a day in advance; the first time that has happened all summer long.

I’m afraid Kiki’s driving practice may languish for awhile.