Last Blog from Salem

I will probably not take my computer down before Saturday - yes, I'm that addicted to checking my email, and writing and using the Internet to look things up now that all my reference materials are packed.  I'll be offline until the middle part of next week when I can set set up again in Arkansas.  So as I sit down this morning, I'm very conscious that I'm in the last hours of my life in Indiana and that this is the last blog I'll write from this place.  I think it's no secret that I have not been happy here.  I look around me and judge myself to be a whiner when I see the beauty of the rolling hills and quiet farms that surround my home.  How could anyone fail to be happy in such a place?

My Mom asked me the other day whether I was crying as I was moving my things into storage.  No.  I'm not.  I look at this house, and its just a house.  It's a nice house in a lovely place, but I'm not attached to it.  This house sheltered us from the elements, but it also saw the death of my marriage in spite of the most sincere desire and efforts to save it.  I'm ready to leave it.

I have learned some things about myself during my time here, and they aren't startling revelations.  I need people.  I don't just mean that they are nice to have around for the convenience of not having to do everything myself, I mean I need people.  I need friends.  I have lived for over five years in a community where I have literally not made a single friend.  I know people.  I am on friendly speaking terms with a variety of acquaintances.  But there is no one in this town who would call me if they were sick and needed chicken soup.  There is no one here that I could call and say, "Hey, wanna meet me at the Coffee Crossroads for a Cappucino."  There isn't a single person I could count on if I needed someone to watch my kids while I went to a dentist appointment.  Now that school is out, I'm back to the same place I was before I enrolled the boys in Public School.  Anywhere I go, the kids have to go with me. 

My unhappiness here has not been a lack of appreciation for the wildflowers or the animals that share my living space.  I've been honored by deer, wild turkeys, a fox or two, raccoons, opossums, squirrels and chipmunks by the dozens, and don't even get me started on the rabbits.  This has been a beautiful place and that beauty has been my salvation day after day.  Even now that the cicadas are here...

I've heard the story, I'm sure you've seen it make the Internet rounds, of the old man sitting on his porch when new neighbors drive up.  They introduce themselves, explain that they are hoping to meet people and ask what the neighborhood is like.  The old man chatted with them for a minute and asked him what their old neighborhood was like.  They tell him is was great, the people were friendly and could be counted on in a crisis.  They made good friends there and hated to leave.  He smiles at them and tells them that they will find the people in this neighborhood are the same.  Several days later the scene is repeated with another couple.  Only this time they explain that in their old neighborhood people were cold and unfriendly, they were constantly bickering and nothing was ever peaceful or calm.  He shook his head sadly and said, "Yes, people are that way everywhere and you'll find this neighborhood is no exception."  His wife asked him why he gave such different answers to the two couples when it's one and the same neighborhood.  He explained to her that it was his belief that people would find in other people what they had in their own heart.  The best way to know how these new people would view their new neighborhood was to hear them describe their old one, because people everywhere are the same. 

Well, I have lived in more than one neighborhood.  And to a degree I believe the point of thst story.  You find what you expect and you expect based on who you are and what you know that you will give.  But I also know that this is the first and only place I've ever lived that I've had difficulty making friends.  So as I'm leaving here, I'm very mindful of the need to be open in my new neighborhood to being the friend that I want to have.  I don't know who I'll meet or what the neighborhood will be like, but I know what I'm bringing.  I have an appreciation for people of all ages and I enjoy (almost prefer) people who have a different background than my own.  I find people to be endlessly fascinating and the source of the greatest stimulus to learn new things and become a better person. 

... I'll be in Colorado Springs in about six weeks singing it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.  Won't it be fun to see who picks up the chorus?

... After the Beep

My friend Mary, says that she usually doesn't know what she thinks until she writes it down.  I approach it more like I know what I think, but I'm not sure why until I get it on paper.  Usually, I begin a blog with a conclusion in mind and I wander around my mental landscape until I reach it.  No such animal today.  I have a question.  Really, it's one of those things I think in the middle of the night, that usually fade with the morning mist.  But this one is still with me. 

Remember when we all got answering machines?  And we left all those cute messages for callers?  We put a lot of work into it, saying just the right thing in just the right tone.  Or we tried to be funny.  Nowadays, most answering machines spout a business-like greeting to inform the caller that there is indeed an answering machine and a message may be left. 

I woke up this morning with several thoughts in my mind and one of them was simply voice MAIL.  I take letter writing seriously.  If you've ever received a letter from me, (or even an email,) you know what I'm talking about.  My letters include salutations and benedictions.  There is a definite body.  I think of letter writing as an art form.  I love to receive mail - I love to send it.  There's something magical and otherworldly about entrusting my words to paper and then handing them off to be carried through time and space until they are physically held in your hand. 

I once had a novel in mind - okay actually it was just the first paragraph of a novel - in which a woman mails a letter than she's been carrying in her purse for three months waiting for the moment to fire it off like a bullet from a gun.  I spent a lot of time day-dreaming about what that letter might have said, and who the recipient might have been.  Never wrote the novel. 

SO here's my question - (and maybe all the rest of you have "been there done that" but it never dawned on me that the mail I leave on your answering machine - voice MAIL - might be an artform as well.)  Have you ever deliberately called a person at a time when you knew they would be gone so you could leave voice MAIL?  I mean deliberately thought out words and phrases in a particular inflection that would be hanging in a sort of alternate universe of time waiting for the recipient to hear.  Messages in a bottle ... epistles to be read and perhaps reread if they have the capacity to "save" your message. 

What kind of message did you leave?  A love note, an apology, or perhaps a poetic thought you wanted to share?  Something that was particularly suited to being spoken as opposed to written or text messaged...

What do you think?  Is it possible that I (we) have been missing an opportunity to develop a new form of communicative art?  OR when these thoughts come to me at 5 AM - should I simply roll over and go back to sleep?

I'm tired ...

My stuff is in storage. 

Tucker came home today with a certificate for having the best sense of humor in his class.

Michael told me that he doesn't mind leaving Indiana, but thinks it's irresponsible of me to take him to a place where they have tornadoes.  (I told him that there are sometimes tornadoes here, but since he hasn't seen one with his own eyes, he isn't sure he believes me.)

My list today including the following:

• Pay Dr Sarah (dentist)
  
• call Verizon to schedule phone service cancellation
  
• get driver's license renewed (oh and I hated this one, because I'll have to get a new one once I get to Colorado, but my current license was due to expire on June 18.  )
  
• go to bank
  
• go by insurance agent to pay insurance and arrange to have policy changed from home owner's to renter's
  
• stop by post office to pick up change of address cards
  
• stop by attorney's office and drop off a letter I received this weekend from a company that apparently hasn't noticed that we filed bankruptcy
  
• buy bread so I can make sack lunches for the boys' last day of school picnic
  
• go to landfill

I did everything on the list.  Its a little deceptive because normal people can do all this in a reletively small area ... I had to drive to three different towns to handle all my business so in addition to just handling the errands, I drove 150 miles.  I will need to go back to the landfill a couple more times, but I'm getting there.  And because two of the places on my list actually charged me less than I had been billed, and I had a phone call from the school saying they found Tucker's library book so they were tearing up the check I wrote ... I ended the day with $55 more than I thought I'd have when I left this morning.  Every bill paying day should end this way. 

Tucker had a "zero checkmarks" day (this is a GOOD thing) so he naturally wanted to have a treat.  He and Michael have gotten really good about managing their money.  When they earn a treat, I give them a dollar.  They choose what they want to buy (Tucker usually goes for life savers or skittles - Michael likes to visit those vending machines that dispense something cheezy for 25 cents.)  They keep their change in the ashtray of the car.  This way if there is a day they want something more, they can splurge.  Today they splurged.  Michael bought a slinky and Tucker got a flavored milk - Nesquik Banana. 

I decided that I deserved a treat too, so we went to the car wash.  I spent the dollar to wash my car, and then ANOTHER dollar to vacuum it.  I know, I'm a wild woman.

Field Tripping

Today, Tucker's class took a field trip to the Louisville Zoo.  It's a really cool zoo, made the AAA top ten list in an article they recently published on zoos with exceptional exhibits.  Many of you are familiar with the story of Louisville native Dian Fossey whose story was told in the film "Gorillas in the Mist".  After her murder, her hometown took up the torch of conservation and anti-poaching activity.  Fundraisers sponsored by the Louisville Zoo go to support the efforts of the Dian Fossey foundation, and they have recently opened a new exhibit, the Gorilla Forest which is just as cool as it sounds like it might be.   

Tucker's favorite exhibit is the penguins, and since today was 90 degrees with humidity nearing soaking wet, I was all for spending as much time watching the frigid flightless fowl as he wanted.  I felt a little guilty at the multiple hugs and "You are the Greatest Momi EVER!" remarks he gave me for waiting patiently with him to see them hopping up and down the steps while he shrieked with laughter.  I know that I have in the past rushed him through things that he preferred to take a little more slowly, but the gratitude he showed me today made me determined to take things a little more at his pace whenever I can. 

In fact, today was just a very good day between Momi and son.  When I walked into his classroom this morning, a little girl approached me and said, "You must be Tucker's Mom." 

"Yes, how did you know?"

"He told me you were really pretty." 

When we got back to the bus, Tucker asked his teacher if he had to sit in the same seat as on the trip down.  She told him that he could switch, so he chose to sit with me.  We were delayed leaving the zoo because another parent had taken his child and left without telling anyone.  Some people ...

Anyway, during the twenty minutes of frantic phone calls trying to locate the missing child and parent, Tucker curled up in my lap and talked to me.  I asked him what was his favorite part of the trip.  He thought about it for a minute and then said, "I liked having you all to myself."  Shortly after we pulled out for the ride back to his school, he fell asleep, still in my lap, still with his arm holding around my waist.  Another little boy across the aisle (actually THE little boy that has been Tucker's nemesis all year) said, "Someone really needs to take a picture of you two."  I would have asked someone for just that, except when I grabbed my camera this morning, I failed to grab the memory stick.  It's still in the computer from where I posted the photo of the stuff I HAVE to take with me to the desert island.  ((And a note to Barry - I didn't mention my Bible specifically, I am taking it in my suitcase and in the tray with the essential computer software, I have a disk that contains 12 versions plus reference books. - Just in case. ))

But lest you think that Tucker has been stolen away by aliens, I should tell you about his rain storm.  He has this pack of balloons he's been playing with.  He filled one with those "beans" that are the stuffing from a beanie baby that sprung a leak.  When he blew up the balloon, he was able to shake it and make a rain sound.  Then he released his grip of the mouth of the balloon.  That thing shot beans all over three rooms.  While I was still gasping from the deluge, he said, "Wow!  I made HAIL" and he was starting to reload for a second try ...

Have a great weekend! 

Tuckerism

"Mom, where are all the spoons and forks and stuff?"  (Since they've been packed since Monday, I'm wondering how this has escaped his notice.)

"They're packed.  Use the plastic stuff."

a few minutes later he walked by with a plastic spoon dangling from his nose sadly saying,

"it just isn't the same ..."   

Answering an Old Question

It occurred to me this morning, that without thinking through all the possible implications of it, I have answered one of the old questions that comes up in those lame meetings where you are asked to do an exercise in order to introduce yourself to the other participants.  You know the one where you have to say what you'd take if you were going to be on a deserted island for a month?

Okay, I'm not exactly going to a tropical island, but as I've been packing my things away, I've been pulling aside the things I'll have with me while everything else goes into storage.  There are many many things that I obviously want to know I'll be able to return to, but which things did I decide I MUST have with me.  I have limited trunk space, and most of that space is going to be devoted to the suitcases holding mine and the kids' clothes.  But I have allowed myself a craft tote that I have packed with .... mostly books.  In a sense I'm cheating, because the question generally limits you to five items - this is the real world where *I* get to decide how much space I have for essentials. 

The photo turned out a little dark, but I think you can see well enough to get the idea.  If it's blurred, right click and choose "View Original Photo" (Mini-rant --- and here is something that I'll say because some of you have chosen to disable right click on your sites ... if you post photos, that disabling thing - while I understand it protects you from having your stuff stolen - it's a pain in the neck because it prevents me from doing two things that are no threat to your copyright 1) I can't right click and see your original so often I'm looking at images too blurred to recognize; and 2) I can't right click to open your comments section in a new window.  Going back and forth between comments and blogs when I'm catching up is cumbersome and so I don't leave as many comments as I otherwise might.  I'm not asking you to remove your scripts, I understand that some of you have had serious issues with people stealing your work.  I did want to point out that there is a down-side for your honest readers.  End of rant. )  I have a section of poetry that I am taking because I'm learning about the forms and structures of writing poems.  I have serveral volumes of philosophy which I've worked my way partially through and I think that this summer will be the time I finally finish.  I have my Step by Step series to go with my Microsoft Office software.  Since my treadmill is in storage, I'm taking two pilates/yoga DVD's that were gifts from a friend.  And the things that look like books with no titles on the spine are boxes of stationery so I can stay in touch.

There is a little tray that sits down over the main compartment and it holds CDs with drivers for my computer, the Rand McNally road atlas I'll be using to find my way across the country, and my portable CD mp3 player with a CD wallet for my music.    

I know it's boring - but hey, I'm in the midst of packing (still) and it's the best I could do on short notice.  If I'm able to finish everthing I have in mind today, I'll have packed all the stuff that's going to storage.  I'll still have stuff I have to take to the landfill and to the Goodwill donation center, but the packing will be done.  Wish me luck and perseverance because I can feel a big bubble of "I don't want to do this anymore" rising inside me. 

Trojan Horse of a Different Color

With Troy making history at the box office, I (having not yet seen it) have enjoyed the many reviews of the film, the actors, and so forth.  As a point which has absolutely nothing to do with the intended subject of this blog, I would like to state for the record that spoilers are great for me.  Because of the way I process stimuli and data, when I see a film I am generally overwhelmed the first time through.  I miss important dialogue when I get distracted thinking about lighting, camera angles and why the director did the scene this way instead of that ... the more I know about the film before I go in, the better I'm able to enjoy it. 

I've seen several blog/reviews which take exception to the handling of The Iliad's storyline.  And that caused me to reflect on a subject that I enjoy.  Reliability.  Bibilographically speaking The Iliad is considered by scholars to be the second most reliable document of antiquity.  Bibiliographic reliability refers to the degree of confidence we have that the version of the document we possess bears at least some resemblance to the original.  Bibliographic reliability does not answer the question whether or not the text of the document is true.  There are no extant copies of original documents of antiquity, we have manuscripts, laboriously copied manuscripts.  What we know is that over time variations crept in as the texts were either deliberately or otherwise altered in the copying process. 

We look at several factors to see whether we can make a determination about the original wording of the text.  We look at how much time passed between the authorship of the document and the manufacture of the oldest copies we possess.  This makes sense, the less time between authorship and copy, the less opportunity there has been for changes to be made.  We look at how many copies we possess.  Where we would hope for the first test to be a small number, with this second test we want a very large one.  The more copies we have, the more we can compare them to see which is most likely the original wording.  And then the sub-category of the second test is to examine the variants - are we looking at things like spelling or the change of a single word which doesn't significantly affect the meaning of the passage in question, or are there larger discrepancies, passages added or subtracted which complicate the process of attempting to determine what the original text was like. 

The Iliad was composed approximately 800 BCE.  The oldest surviving copies date from approximately 200 AD.  A span of a thousand years.  We have approximately 650 copies of the epic and between those copies are variants so wide that scholars translating it from Greek literally must chose between major plot lines with no more than their personal preference to guide them.  And keep in mind that The Iliad is the second MOST reliable document we possess. 

My Great Books of the Western World collection contains the Annals of Imperial Rome by Tacitus.  If you've studied anything of ancient history, you've been exposed to Tacitus whether you knew it or not because he is a prime source of information.  Tacitus wrote his history about 116 AD.  The first six books of that work exist today in one manuscript copied in 850 AD.  Books 7-10 are lost.  Books 11-16 are manuscripts dating to the 11th century.  I would be willing to bet that although Tacitus is a primary source of information, no one ever told you that the information you were being taught is not considered reliable. 

Another book that students of Ancient History refer to widely is Flavius Josephus' Jewish War.  I have a copy on my shelf - okay actually, it's in a box, but I have one.  Josephus was paid by the Romans to construct his history in about 100 AD.  We have 9 Greek manuscripts which were copied in the 10th, 11th, and 12th centuries. 

So when you view the film Troy, keep in mind that just because the story you see on the screen may or may not closely resemble the story you read in high school, that doesn't prove that it's less faithful to the original.  Maybe the screenwriters used a different manuscript or chose a less well known variant ... or maybe this is a case of the copyist inserting a new spin on the subject.  Either way, I'm planning to look this horse in the mouth.  (In between ogling Brad's biceps and Sean's ... well, everything.)

Remember SPC Truit over in Iraq in need of basic supplies?  The first packages we sent him arrived!  Thank you, thank you to everyone who remembered him and the other soldiers in his unit suffering without toothbrushes or other basic needs.  (The toothbrush thing really kills me.)

Anyway there is more infomation over at Dread Pirate's site.  I could repeat it here, but then I'd miss the pleasure of having him make me walk the plank for linking him. 

Giddiyap

I told you yesterday that on the list of the things I was doing, was "NOT eating chocolate."  It's a weird thing about me, and apparently I'm in a weird mood because I'm about to tell you.  I have this one day every month when I absolutely MUST have chocolate.  There is always chocolate in the house, in fact - wanna see Momi's Medicine Shelf?  (I haven't packed it yet ... )

Yes, that's not one, but two bags of Ghiradelli squares.  Simply because I crave chocolate, I refuse to eat it.  I know, it's a head game, but it makes me feel like I have control over myself.  Of course, if I really had control, I could probably eat just one ...

No one asked me what poems I was reading yesterday.  I noticed this but I'm not taking the hint.  I'm going to quote one at the end of this blog. 

In a conversation I had yesterday with a friend, who for the purposes of this blog shall remain completely annonymous but is a male ... now aren't you all wondering?  I made a statement about myself.  It wasn't a flattering statement about my appearance and he reacted strongly to it.  In fact, I think it would be fair to say that he pretty much read me the riot act, and he even made a couple of valid points that I've been thinking about ever since. 

It's true in ways that I forget every day that the things we say become our reality.  If I speak of myself in negative terms, other people, even if they protest my statement, will see me in a less positive light.  Obviously, saying that I'm fat doesn't change the size jeans I'm wearing.  But it can change the perception of the person listening to me.  And that was point number one, perception is everything in human relationships. 

The second point is that size has nothing to do with beauty.  I have been both smaller than I am right now and larger by several standard deviations from the mean in either direction.  I know from direct experience is that the size of the body has nothing to do with whether a person is beautiful and even less to do with capacity to give and receive pleasure.  This isn't new wisdom, I've heard it since we were children that you can't judge books by their covers, beauty is only skin deep.  Sir Francis Bacon said, "There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion."  But for some reason I forget that when I look in the mirror.  I see hips just a little wider than TinkerBell's and I start thinking that I've outgrown the possibility of happiness.  I see legs a little shorter than Barbie's and I start thinking that I'll never measure up to my dreams.  I see breasts, arms, lips, and other parts and I forget that I'm not my parts, I'm a whole person.

I've discovered, and I believe this to be a universal principle, that the most beautiful people I know are the ones who see me.  A person who looks into my eyes and connects with me, shows me soul and relates to me, that person is beautiful.  Doesn't matter what kind of clothes or body the beauty is wrapped in, I know it and bask in it's glow.    

I've been reading the poetry of Nikki Giovanni and if you haven't discovered her yet, you are missing a treat.  She's raw and earthy and honest and in your face and tender and all the things that I like best about contemporary poets.  One of the poems I read yesterday is called Giddiyap ...

my old man is fat as he can be
my old man is as wide as the deep blue sea
what I do for him he does for me

we don't fly and rarely take a train
mostly we enjoy our own terrain
sitting in a rocker in the rain

singing

giddiyap horsie giddiyap
giddi giddi giddi giddiyap
giddiyap horsie giddiyap
giddi giddi giddi giddiyap
rinding on the top of a silver lined cloud singing giddiyap out loud

my old man says he would lose for me
get as slim as i would want to see
but all that him is him enough for me

i'm not lazy neither am i shy
i don't worry neither do i cry
when he touches me i want to die

shouting

giddiyap horsie giddiyap
giddi giddi giddi giddiyap
riding on a rainbow cloud singing shouting giddiyap out loud

Now if that don't make you want to get with your honey and have a good evening, all I can say is I don't understand you at all.  Me?  I'm taking a bubble bath and painting my toenails.  Happy Friday everyone.

PS - My boys have discovered Elvis ... so we are also listening to the King.  Life is really good. 

Day Off

 I woke up this morning with a terrible backache.  I have arthritis in my lower back from since Michael was born.  I actually haven't had too many flared ups over the past year, but we had a big front coming through and I have been working kind of hard this week, so .... I took the day off.  What do you do on your day off?

Well, I vacuumed the house, did laundry, cooked, cleaned the kitchen - did NOT eat chocolate.  (There's a story behind that one but it's kind of weird, I'll save it for another blog.) 

I did something I haven't done nearly often enough.  I looked at the list of people who are subbed to my site and went visitin' - Wow.  I am humbled and amazed by the people I met this afternoon.  I've been terribly lazy over the past six months, I haven't even looked at my subscribers although I do notice that the total number has remained bizarrely constant.  I'm not really sure what's up with that because I've been erratic in my posts and neglectful of the people who comment here.  But you have offered me the grace of remaining subbed in spite of my poor manners. 

Oh!  I thought of another of my Mom's favorite sayings, "Shoot a Monkey!"  It's really hard to describe the exact meaning of this one, it comes out half frustated and half sarcastic.  Like well, "we can't do anything about it so we might as well shoot a monkey." 

I spent some time this afternoon while all my servants (the dishwasher, dryer, washer, etc) were working, lying on my bed reading poetry. 

I had a really good talk with Tim.  It started off a little awkward which is kind of standard these days.  We're still feeling our way through the changes we've undergone.  Neither one of us wants to say something that will hurt or offend the other, but we are friends.  Because we are friends we are determined to try to open lines of communication so we talk through the awkward moments.  That's something that came out strongly in our conversation today.  We are getting more and more to a place where we can talk about things that really matter.  Not just stuff about the kids' dental appointments and what they did or said today, we're talking about who we are, who we were and where we're going.  Stuff that we both wish we'd talked about years ago.  We talked about things we're scared of and what's exciting about the opportunities we are creating for ourselves.  We talked about things that we are learning to take responsibility for and really that has meant a whole lot of learning not to bash ourselves for the way things ended up between us. 

He's a really nice guy.  I'm a pretty cool woman.  I know that before either one of us is fully healed, we're going to have to come to terms with how it was that we came to have such an unhealthy relationship.  But right now, that's still a raw wound and I won't speak for him, but I know that I'm not ready to lance it.  Call me an emotional coward if you like, that's what I'm saying to myself. 

My therapist told me last Fall that leaving a marriage, it's to be expected that it would take about one year for every four the marriage lasted to work through the issues that were created.  I thought that I was a fairly intelligent and self-aware person, so I thought that surely I could cut through some of that time.  But that was sheer arrogance on my part.  I still haven't faced it all, and I know now that I can't face it any faster than it comes. 

Um - yeah, I spent part of my day thinking.  A large part of my day thinking.  And you know what, I'm in a particularly "let it all hang out" mood so I'll even share some of what I was thinking in particular.  Last weekend, Tim and the boys were looking at an old photo album.  They brought it to me and showed me a photo of myself.  I was shocked.  In the first place, there aren't a lot of pictures of me in existence because I'm usually the one behind the camera.  But in the second place, that woman in that photo, looked really really sick.  Dead eyes, unflattering haircut, sloppy clothes ... it was embarrassing.  I wanted to tear ir up and pretend it wasn't true.  And I knew looking at that photo that I lived that way for years.  Don't ask, I won't post it.

This morning after thinking about the way I am now versus the way I was during the last years of my marriage, I wrote an apology to Tim.  Have I mentioned that I really really HATE being wrong?  Want to make a guess why our conversation started out awkward?  Yeah, it's going to take a while before I can face all my issues.  But I'm getting there.