I've been watching the Hallmark channel. A lot. It seems to be one of the few places left on TV where I can find generally clean shows. (I've had to delete even a few Hallmark movies because of questionable activities.) One of the shows had the above title and the movie was, "Meh," good at times, boring at others but didn't leave me filled with a sense of, "Why did I just waste 1.5 hours of my life that I'll never get back?!"
The point - the movie title, combined with Kari's comment here, combined with an article I read once somewhere on the internet (meaning no link) about how as a SAHM, every time my children say, "Mom!" is the same as the bells at a monastery calling the monks to prayer or to life devoted to God all add up to the idea that it is in the ordinariness and monotony of days that I find the true brilliance and miracle of life.
Granted, beyond the general idea, I don't see it much.
While I've gotten to the point in my life that I've surrendered to the idea that there will always be more laundry to wash and that I need to buy food even though it just becomes poo, I still have a hard time finding joy and opportunity and miracles in the service.
I have an even harder time finding the humor in these moments.
But I was thinking that the exercise of trying to blog more of daily life instead of deep thoughts *might* (I have some skepticism here) lighten me up a bit and just *might* improve my writing skills.
To that end, may I just say that my 10yo made dinner last night? I had to drive some errands for the business so he got dinner started with a few instructions over the phone: rice in the rice cooker; canned green beans heated in the microwave; and chicken boiled in 1/2 c. of soy sauce and 1/2 c. of apple cider vinegar. Nothing fancy. Nothing gourmet. But I didn't have to lift a finger to make dinner.
Priceless.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
It's A Different World
I've heard it again and again: today's world is a very different place, even from the world I grew up in only, ahem, a few short years ago.
This could not have been further underscored than it was today by this realization: my children only know Christopher Walken as the nice farmer from Sarah, Plain and Tall, and Dick Van Dyke as the evil night security guard in Night at the Museum.
This could not have been further underscored than it was today by this realization: my children only know Christopher Walken as the nice farmer from Sarah, Plain and Tall, and Dick Van Dyke as the evil night security guard in Night at the Museum.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Cake Boss
I love this show.
Every time I watch it, all I can think about is the family I married into and all the parallels: the control freak tendencies; the loud passion; the irritation with anyone who disagrees with them; the food! (and the fact that I'm not really allowed to cook for family events); and so forth. Every time I watch the Valastros, I think of my own, my more diluted but still very much Italian-American family and just laugh. Even better, they *totally* don't see the connection.
The down side? This show is so not good for my waist line! I had already had a bad, ahem, "rest" day. Then I watched the show and, since we didn't have any delectable cake with ganache and I didn't feel like making one. Or waiting. (Really, it was the waiting.) So, I ate ice cream. And ganache. And ginger thins. And chocolate. And then I stopped because it was getting out of control.
I still want cake.
Bad. bad. show.
I so want to visit Jersey just so I can have a canoli.
It's a sickness I tell you!
Every time I watch it, all I can think about is the family I married into and all the parallels: the control freak tendencies; the loud passion; the irritation with anyone who disagrees with them; the food! (and the fact that I'm not really allowed to cook for family events); and so forth. Every time I watch the Valastros, I think of my own, my more diluted but still very much Italian-American family and just laugh. Even better, they *totally* don't see the connection.
The down side? This show is so not good for my waist line! I had already had a bad, ahem, "rest" day. Then I watched the show and, since we didn't have any delectable cake with ganache and I didn't feel like making one. Or waiting. (Really, it was the waiting.) So, I ate ice cream. And ganache. And ginger thins. And chocolate. And then I stopped because it was getting out of control.
I still want cake.
Bad. bad. show.
I so want to visit Jersey just so I can have a canoli.
It's a sickness I tell you!
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Writer's Block
I've been trying - without a whole lot of success - to post daily. I did well last week but not so much this week. Is it because, once I start writing, that urgency and *need* to post dies? Or is it, as I think, that my life is just too routine?
Do you really *want* to hear about my run yesterday? The storm? Volunteering at the Charter School and helping 30+ teenagers start a weaving project? (Because I can cut 18" of hemp string like nobody's business; and I did. 30+ times.) Perhaps how our insulation project is going? Pumpkin in chocolate brownies? Homemade granola bars? The frustration of trying to take advantage of a free photo book offer only to finish said photo book fifteen minutes after the offer expired? And losing sleep and being tired *because* you were working on the *(#%$&^ photobook?
Any interest?
Yeah, me neither and I'm living it.
Do you really *want* to hear about my run yesterday? The storm? Volunteering at the Charter School and helping 30+ teenagers start a weaving project? (Because I can cut 18" of hemp string like nobody's business; and I did. 30+ times.) Perhaps how our insulation project is going? Pumpkin in chocolate brownies? Homemade granola bars? The frustration of trying to take advantage of a free photo book offer only to finish said photo book fifteen minutes after the offer expired? And losing sleep and being tired *because* you were working on the *(#%$&^ photobook?
Any interest?
Yeah, me neither and I'm living it.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Alaskan Seasons
My mom used to say that she got married on the first day of fall.
She got married August 1.
I would argue with her every time she made the above statement that fall doesn't start until September 21st (or there abouts) and that I had a whole store full of calendars that would back me up.
My mother, of course, never wavered in her opinion.
This year, I was on the trail (running - because I'm sick like that now) and noticed, on August 1, that there were leaves on the ground.
Mom was so right.
The biggest question in my mind has been, "If fall starts August 1, when does winter start?" So I've been waiting and paying attention and, in my humble opinion, winter starts (at the latest!) on the autumnal equinox.
Why do I say latest? Because, once again in my humble opinion, winter is already here.
There is fresh snow on our tallest mountain peaks (which are all under 5,000 feet). We have our first nasty storm of the season hitting us right. now.
And....
our power just went off for the first time this winter.
Yup. I should start the cocoa and light the fire because winter is most definitely here.
She got married August 1.
I would argue with her every time she made the above statement that fall doesn't start until September 21st (or there abouts) and that I had a whole store full of calendars that would back me up.
My mother, of course, never wavered in her opinion.
This year, I was on the trail (running - because I'm sick like that now) and noticed, on August 1, that there were leaves on the ground.
Mom was so right.
The biggest question in my mind has been, "If fall starts August 1, when does winter start?" So I've been waiting and paying attention and, in my humble opinion, winter starts (at the latest!) on the autumnal equinox.
Why do I say latest? Because, once again in my humble opinion, winter is already here.
There is fresh snow on our tallest mountain peaks (which are all under 5,000 feet). We have our first nasty storm of the season hitting us right. now.
And....
our power just went off for the first time this winter.
Yup. I should start the cocoa and light the fire because winter is most definitely here.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Ramona and Beezus
First I have to preface this by saying that I am an emotional movie watcher.
The first movie I ever cried at was "The Little Mermaid;" not the Disney version but the real one where she turns into sea foam.
After that first event, it was a sob fest ever after. My little brother even once qualified that a movie had to be great because, "M cried."
I never thought how obnoxious it must be to watch a movie with such a sobber; I always agreed with my mom that my dad and brothers were just insensitive clods who had less emotion than a tea cup.
My daughter is teaching me their pain.
Yesterday we watched Ramona and Beezus and when the cat died, my daughter came up to me and fell into my side crying.
"It was so sad when the cat died."
My first thought was that she was faking but then I looked at her and her lashes were wet and there were real tears on her cheeks.
I took a deep breath and found my inner patience and said a silent prayer of gratitude to God for all the years my family put up (and continues to do so) with my tears and a prayer that they find more patience because I think our sobbing club just added a new member.
****update: yeah - I totally teared up at the end of the movie. Damn family shows.
The first movie I ever cried at was "The Little Mermaid;" not the Disney version but the real one where she turns into sea foam.
After that first event, it was a sob fest ever after. My little brother even once qualified that a movie had to be great because, "M cried."
I never thought how obnoxious it must be to watch a movie with such a sobber; I always agreed with my mom that my dad and brothers were just insensitive clods who had less emotion than a tea cup.
My daughter is teaching me their pain.
Yesterday we watched Ramona and Beezus and when the cat died, my daughter came up to me and fell into my side crying.
"It was so sad when the cat died."
My first thought was that she was faking but then I looked at her and her lashes were wet and there were real tears on her cheeks.
I took a deep breath and found my inner patience and said a silent prayer of gratitude to God for all the years my family put up (and continues to do so) with my tears and a prayer that they find more patience because I think our sobbing club just added a new member.
****update: yeah - I totally teared up at the end of the movie. Damn family shows.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Apologizing
Why is it apologizing makes me feel angry?
Supposedly when I apologize I should feel release and a weight off my back.
Instead, I'm feeling annoyed.
I screwed up. I acknowledge that. Which is what led to the apology in the first place. DH asked specifically for some help and I completely ignored the request, justifying my decision by the fact that I was right and of course DH would make the same choice if he had all the facts, which I did, never, of course, bothering to actually have a conversation with him and ask him if I could alter the schedule or if he would change his mind.
So I apologized.
But as I was apologizing, DH would say things like, "This isn't the first time you've done this," and "If I had done this, you would be pissed."
He's right.
I completely acknowledge that.
But it doesn't irk me any less.
Grrrr....
Supposedly when I apologize I should feel release and a weight off my back.
Instead, I'm feeling annoyed.
I screwed up. I acknowledge that. Which is what led to the apology in the first place. DH asked specifically for some help and I completely ignored the request, justifying my decision by the fact that I was right and of course DH would make the same choice if he had all the facts, which I did, never, of course, bothering to actually have a conversation with him and ask him if I could alter the schedule or if he would change his mind.
So I apologized.
But as I was apologizing, DH would say things like, "This isn't the first time you've done this," and "If I had done this, you would be pissed."
He's right.
I completely acknowledge that.
But it doesn't irk me any less.
Grrrr....
Friday, September 16, 2011
Cell Memory
I have this year been losing weight. (This is part of the sticky beginning that I have no idea how to write.) But what I have noticed is as I have journeyed backwards in weight, I seem to be passing thrugh the emotions of the last time I was at that weight.
The first few pounds were no big deal - family drama/the move and all that being the root cause of the weight gain (or at least the handiest excuse) - other than the anxiety caused by weight loss and worrying that I'm going to gain it back or how to make the best choices when I really would rather eat french fries than raw zucchini.
The next set of pounds was harder, being the weight I gained after my mother died. This is when I began to notice a correlation and wonder. The last couple of years have been okay for me; I've been sad when approaching her death day but nothing overwhelming. This year, it started early and was hard, as in weepy all the time hard and beginning to look at people who lost their mother's recently thinking, "Well, they got 5 or 10 or 2 more years than I did," and feeling jealous.
But July 26th passed and I am feeling more grounded and the next few pounds didn't really seem to trigger much - just keep working out and sticking to an improved diet (SO many more vegetables than I've consumed in a very long time!).
But now I'm down to where I was in high school (don't get too excited - I was an obese teen) and the weight loss has stalled.
No doubt part of this is due to having worked at this for the last eight months and just feeling tired of all the work. However, I can't help but remember that this next group of weight was gained when I was an insecure teenager for whom food was a best friend and a solution to everything. I cannot remember how many times I would have a horrible-no-good-very-bad day and solve it by stopping at the convenience store for a package of oreos (the one pound sucker, not just a small candy bar size, of course) and a quart of milk or maybe a pint of Ben and Jerry's (chocolate brownie something or other was my favorite) and then going home and putting a sizable dent in either before I felt complete and happy.
I also can't help but think that food was my rebellion and where I could let go; so many "don'ts" that I really didn't do and food was one that no one could really tell or did tell me I couldn't.
I find myself back in those same shoes now that I am back at that same weight. Food is my best friend; it's always there when I need it and now I'm even better at finding those tasty combinations that are oh so delicious and nourishing to the soul. There are so many other things I stress about, do I really need to stress over food?
Which underscores what I've been feeling about this whole journey and life in general: there is just no avoiding the hard stuff; you can try to go around it but really you're just delaying the inevitable. I avoided accepting and dealing with all my emotions when I was a teenager, preferring to stuff or put things away because they were all just too much and now, at 36, I am having to pick up that gauntlet and figure out how to move through it. I just don't know that it's any easier now than it was 20 years ago.
The first few pounds were no big deal - family drama/the move and all that being the root cause of the weight gain (or at least the handiest excuse) - other than the anxiety caused by weight loss and worrying that I'm going to gain it back or how to make the best choices when I really would rather eat french fries than raw zucchini.
The next set of pounds was harder, being the weight I gained after my mother died. This is when I began to notice a correlation and wonder. The last couple of years have been okay for me; I've been sad when approaching her death day but nothing overwhelming. This year, it started early and was hard, as in weepy all the time hard and beginning to look at people who lost their mother's recently thinking, "Well, they got 5 or 10 or 2 more years than I did," and feeling jealous.
But July 26th passed and I am feeling more grounded and the next few pounds didn't really seem to trigger much - just keep working out and sticking to an improved diet (SO many more vegetables than I've consumed in a very long time!).
But now I'm down to where I was in high school (don't get too excited - I was an obese teen) and the weight loss has stalled.
No doubt part of this is due to having worked at this for the last eight months and just feeling tired of all the work. However, I can't help but remember that this next group of weight was gained when I was an insecure teenager for whom food was a best friend and a solution to everything. I cannot remember how many times I would have a horrible-no-good-very-bad day and solve it by stopping at the convenience store for a package of oreos (the one pound sucker, not just a small candy bar size, of course) and a quart of milk or maybe a pint of Ben and Jerry's (chocolate brownie something or other was my favorite) and then going home and putting a sizable dent in either before I felt complete and happy.
I also can't help but think that food was my rebellion and where I could let go; so many "don'ts" that I really didn't do and food was one that no one could really tell or did tell me I couldn't.
I find myself back in those same shoes now that I am back at that same weight. Food is my best friend; it's always there when I need it and now I'm even better at finding those tasty combinations that are oh so delicious and nourishing to the soul. There are so many other things I stress about, do I really need to stress over food?
Which underscores what I've been feeling about this whole journey and life in general: there is just no avoiding the hard stuff; you can try to go around it but really you're just delaying the inevitable. I avoided accepting and dealing with all my emotions when I was a teenager, preferring to stuff or put things away because they were all just too much and now, at 36, I am having to pick up that gauntlet and figure out how to move through it. I just don't know that it's any easier now than it was 20 years ago.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
I Am A Runner
(As an aside: I'm never certain about small words in titles - do they get capitalized or not? 'A' seems like it shouldn't be but then "I Am a Runner" looks kinda stupid.)
And, completely on topic now, I feel like a complete poser for even typing the title.
I started a C25K program back in May...or June thinking that as a good rule of fitness I should be able to run 3 miles.
It was torture.
The torture was made a bit easier by these podcasts and the image of Jesus running alongside me with robes billowing in the wind. Blasphemous? Maybe. But it seems less blasphemous than Jesus running in spandex.
The first time I had to run for 20 continuous minutes I thought the guy on the podcast had made an error and was secretly on crack; it turns out no, I really was supposed to run for 20 continuous minutes. And I did. Apparently I was the one on crack.
Which led to the discovery of the "runner's high."
I don't think my "high" is quite the same as the mythical runner's high which involves a feeling of euphoria like you could run forever. My high is more along the lines of, "I CAN STOP RUNNING!!!! I'M DONE!!!!"
But I DID manage to run my first 5k race (I use the term "race" loosely as there was no way I was coming first....or third....or even 30th so race meaning "getting to run with a bunch of strangers in a public setting" as opposed to "annihilating anyone who dares to compare their running speed to mine.") at the end of August and finished in 33:16 - not bad; slightly less than 11 minute miles which was fabulous for me.
But today.
Today was amazing.
Today was about everything I love about running. It was sunny and there were moments of God touches when I ran through sunbeams filtering through clouds and fog. So beautiful. I run on a hiking trail about 1/2 mile from my house (really so no one sees me because you know THEY ARE ALL STARING AT ME as I run by - it's true. Don't deny it) and I could smell the greenery and all the leaves on the ground and see the water and the mountains and the old pilings and mining ruins and it's just so damn beautiful it's like walking in a post card. And I had my Jesus music on and I ran and aside from the little things like lack of breath, muscle fatigue and tripping twice and almost dying, I finished.
How well did I finish?
Today I managed to run 3.11 miles in less than 30 minutes. 30 HELLO minutes!!! Less than a 10 minute mile! How awesome am I?!?!?!
Why just the approximation? Well - I had some mp3 player problems and had to restart the podcast (after one of those near-death trips) and I'm completely guesstimating that the distance I run is actually 5k (based of off walking the track laid out for a race earlier this year) but I feel that even with all those variables, I CAN say that I ran 3 miles in less than 30 minutes.
And that, my friend, makes me feel *expletive* good.
And, completely on topic now, I feel like a complete poser for even typing the title.
I started a C25K program back in May...or June thinking that as a good rule of fitness I should be able to run 3 miles.
It was torture.
The torture was made a bit easier by these podcasts and the image of Jesus running alongside me with robes billowing in the wind. Blasphemous? Maybe. But it seems less blasphemous than Jesus running in spandex.
The first time I had to run for 20 continuous minutes I thought the guy on the podcast had made an error and was secretly on crack; it turns out no, I really was supposed to run for 20 continuous minutes. And I did. Apparently I was the one on crack.
Which led to the discovery of the "runner's high."
I don't think my "high" is quite the same as the mythical runner's high which involves a feeling of euphoria like you could run forever. My high is more along the lines of, "I CAN STOP RUNNING!!!! I'M DONE!!!!"
But I DID manage to run my first 5k race (I use the term "race" loosely as there was no way I was coming first....or third....or even 30th so race meaning "getting to run with a bunch of strangers in a public setting" as opposed to "annihilating anyone who dares to compare their running speed to mine.") at the end of August and finished in 33:16 - not bad; slightly less than 11 minute miles which was fabulous for me.
But today.
Today was amazing.
Today was about everything I love about running. It was sunny and there were moments of God touches when I ran through sunbeams filtering through clouds and fog. So beautiful. I run on a hiking trail about 1/2 mile from my house (really so no one sees me because you know THEY ARE ALL STARING AT ME as I run by - it's true. Don't deny it) and I could smell the greenery and all the leaves on the ground and see the water and the mountains and the old pilings and mining ruins and it's just so damn beautiful it's like walking in a post card. And I had my Jesus music on and I ran and aside from the little things like lack of breath, muscle fatigue and tripping twice and almost dying, I finished.
How well did I finish?
Today I managed to run 3.11 miles in less than 30 minutes. 30 HELLO minutes!!! Less than a 10 minute mile! How awesome am I?!?!?!
Why just the approximation? Well - I had some mp3 player problems and had to restart the podcast (after one of those near-death trips) and I'm completely guesstimating that the distance I run is actually 5k (based of off walking the track laid out for a race earlier this year) but I feel that even with all those variables, I CAN say that I ran 3 miles in less than 30 minutes.
And that, my friend, makes me feel *expletive* good.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The Middle
I've missed my blog.
Terribly.
I've missed getting comments (although the lovely birthday message from Kari that was completely unexpected was quite a bonus).
I'm finding I don't have much time for reading blogs and interacting the way I did a few years ago (hence getting more people to read my posts and more messages - which was always relative anyway as I never had more than single digits (unless I artificially inflated the numbers by leaving pithy comments to myself)) but I am also finding that I miss the writing.
I have been playing games at work of late. I think I kicked the Facebook bug and it's attendant games (too much time having to request items from other people, playing my made-up characters (I had about 8 or 9) so I wouldn't have to interact with REAL people (pity the poor extroverted introvert) and such but occasionally I do get the desire to continually click my mouse and move things about. However, today, I was thinking about this stress release and realized that the time was incredibly repetitive and nothing too exciting and left me with nothing to show for it. So, perhaps, I thought, I should use that time, my break time, to write.
Also, there has been so much to say, so much changing and so much that I need to process. Blogging helps in this aspect. But I have this annoying CDO aspect that makes me want to start at the beginning of this rabbit hole I'm in. But then I have to go back to 2004 and there's so much to say and I end up saying nothing at all.
So, perhaps the solution is to stop caring so much about neat and tidy and sense making and just to start in the middle, to start in the present, and let everyone (the millions reading this and waiting with baited breath for my next post) catch up as they can.
The present: Rafe is camping with his middle school class and I'm terrified of when he goes on his mission; if I miss him so much when he's gone for just a few days, how much worse will two years be? Q and Eliza and I are cleaning vermiculite out of the attic space to make way for modern insulation.
And I have a new laptop.
My old laptop replaced my dad's work laptop (which was antiquated six years ago) and I have been flying without a computer of my own. My dad finally got sick of me borrowing his home computer and bought me own for my birthday. I think I bought a nicer one than he wanted me to buy (read: I spent WAY too much money) but that's what happens when you just open up your wallet and say, "Have at but get. it. done!"
And that could really be the reason for this post - less "I JUST NEED TO WRITE!" and more "I really want to type on this keyboard and here the clickety clack of the keys."
Terribly.
I've missed getting comments (although the lovely birthday message from Kari that was completely unexpected was quite a bonus).
I'm finding I don't have much time for reading blogs and interacting the way I did a few years ago (hence getting more people to read my posts and more messages - which was always relative anyway as I never had more than single digits (unless I artificially inflated the numbers by leaving pithy comments to myself)) but I am also finding that I miss the writing.
I have been playing games at work of late. I think I kicked the Facebook bug and it's attendant games (too much time having to request items from other people, playing my made-up characters (I had about 8 or 9) so I wouldn't have to interact with REAL people (pity the poor extroverted introvert) and such but occasionally I do get the desire to continually click my mouse and move things about. However, today, I was thinking about this stress release and realized that the time was incredibly repetitive and nothing too exciting and left me with nothing to show for it. So, perhaps, I thought, I should use that time, my break time, to write.
Also, there has been so much to say, so much changing and so much that I need to process. Blogging helps in this aspect. But I have this annoying CDO aspect that makes me want to start at the beginning of this rabbit hole I'm in. But then I have to go back to 2004 and there's so much to say and I end up saying nothing at all.
So, perhaps the solution is to stop caring so much about neat and tidy and sense making and just to start in the middle, to start in the present, and let everyone (the millions reading this and waiting with baited breath for my next post) catch up as they can.
The present: Rafe is camping with his middle school class and I'm terrified of when he goes on his mission; if I miss him so much when he's gone for just a few days, how much worse will two years be? Q and Eliza and I are cleaning vermiculite out of the attic space to make way for modern insulation.
And I have a new laptop.
My old laptop replaced my dad's work laptop (which was antiquated six years ago) and I have been flying without a computer of my own. My dad finally got sick of me borrowing his home computer and bought me own for my birthday. I think I bought a nicer one than he wanted me to buy (read: I spent WAY too much money) but that's what happens when you just open up your wallet and say, "Have at but get. it. done!"
And that could really be the reason for this post - less "I JUST NEED TO WRITE!" and more "I really want to type on this keyboard and here the clickety clack of the keys."
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