Day - the next ...

I came here this year determined to do better than last year. I would attend EVERY single lecture, class and reading. But, just like last year I find that I am exhausted and want to do nothing but crawl back to my room when class is over.

So last night I missed the reading at Prairie Lights by Marvin Bell. He's a WONDERFUL poet and teacher who has been a mentor to an impressive cadre of contemporary poets. It was my great loss.

Sigh

But I am maybe needing to admit that I MIGHT fit a little better into that middle aged category than I orginally was thinking.

The class I'm taking has been phenomenal from the first moments. The instructor comes in with an ambitious agenda for every meeting and manages to squeeze in even more than she writes on the board. I have to say, for those of you who write and who might ever consider a writing conference/workshop, you cannot do better than the Iowa Summer Writer's Festival. Energy and creativity flow like water through the campus and every corner seems to hold something new and thought provoking.

Robin Hemley presented the general lecture this morning on Memoir and Truthtelling. He gave a fascinating history of the fake memoir a la the scandal of the James Frey brouhaha from last fall. But it was more than simply a "this has happened before and it will happen again" kind of revelation, he discussed the line between memory and imagination, the boundary between the author and his readership.

We have not only fiction posing as memoir (see Frey as mentioned and replay Oprah's shocked disbelief) but we also have fiction which is promoted as truth (see Dan Brown ...) What is the responsibility of the reader who allows herself to be deceived by these things? he didn't pose this question, but I have a distant memory of discussion in literature classes about the "willing suspension of disbelief" and how this is a contract between the author and reader, but the earlier approach was that the reader was only willing to grant so much license and if the story became too fantasic EVEN IF IT WERE TRUE the reader wouldn't "believe" it. But apparently there are some loopholes in that contract that I wasn't aware of.

In my class we received our big assignment of the week. I'm to write a story in the form of a series of postcards. There are 10-15 of these cards due tomorrow, so I'd better get to work...

Dear Xanga
Iowa is an unlikely spot for a magical castle with enchantments, wizards, and mythical creatures, but they are here. Turn right at the 1198th cornfield past Des Moines and then duck under the stone bridge. The gate is guarded by a fey sprite with wildly tangled hair and a bright bold laugh. Charm her as your entrance fee. Bring extra pens. See you there.

 

I am a happy woman tonight.

God may have made me 5 foot nuthin' but Nine West levels the playing field. 

 

This Side of Dawn ...

I love my bed, and my window, and the light of dawn.  When I got my new bed, I commissioned it to be made by a local artisan.  He came over and talked with me about what I like, drew up a few designs and then bent every piece of metal for the frame in his garage workshop.  I am in awe of the work of art I sleep in every night.

He brought it over and set it up for me.  (He also came back and moved it for me rather than allowing someone else to touch his masterpiece ...)  When I asked Tucker what he thought he said, "Mom that bed is wonderful.  It must be just like sleeping in a pig pen."

Wanna see my nighttime cityscape view from the window ...?

Im halfway through my six straight days of working the store by myself.  I've only made three unforgiveable errors, and I've only managed to offend one person.  But I think we'll all survive.  I'm really lucky that my boss's boss thinks I'm funny ...

 

 

Battle, Battle Battle ... When Will the War be Over ?

I'm excited about my new job.  Very excited, and also a little nervous and intimidated.  I got a call last week saying that a meeting has been arranged for Friday morning with me and the Board of Directors and CFO of a large Credit Union.  So my first thought of course was that I would need to lose a bazillion pounds immediately.  And my second thought was that I need new clothes.

I really do need new clothes.  I haven't bought much over the past three years, and unfortunately, most of what I've purchased ... well, in the words of my best friend, all my clothes are from the "Mommy" line.

So I went shopping. 

It was not a pretty sight.  I struck out totally at three different stores.  I finally wound up at Dillards where you would think that they would have business suits out the wazoo, but no.  At least ... not in my size.  See I'm five feet tall.  That's it.  I NEED a  __Women's Petite.  If it's not a WP, I have to hem the sleeves of the jacket, and the legs of the pants, and probably alter other parts as well. 

They had WP suits.  They had them for women who are three to six sizes larger than me, or for women three to six sizes smaller than me.  They had nothing in my size.  I gave my size to the salesperson, and she kept bringing me things that were at least two sizes too big.  I politely handed them back to her twice, but finally because she was so insistent I tried on a pair of the pants.  To say that I looked like a clown is an understatement.  They bagged from my butt to my knees.  After that, she at least tried a little harder to bring things that were the size I requested. 

My best friend (THANK GOD for text messaging or I would have felt entirely alone and panicked by this whole process) tells me that this just means I'm a popular size.  And now that I've had a couple days to think about it, its starting to feel like that's as good an explanation as any.  But the day it happened (this was on Sunday afternoon) I came home hating my body. 

I hated my roundness and my lack of height. 

There's nothing I can do about my height.

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I remember the promises I've made.  And as ephemeral as that seems, those promises are my salvation.  If I can't do what I've said, then what do I have left to believe about myself?   But sometimes, this fighting makes me bleed, and I have a couple battle scars.

I came home that day with no thought other than punishing my "fatness."

I am a lucky person though.  Not just my best friend (who as usual was two steps ahead of me and had feared this very thing) but two other friends who had no idea what I was struggling through, came to my rescue.  They told me the truth about healthy behavior, and about the folly of judging myself by the size of my clothes.  They offered me love and affirmation.  And they told me that  I'd think more clearly in a day or two, but to be gentle with myself in the moment.

I love the poetry of Mary Oliver and she has a piece that has nothing to do with body distortion or eating disorders, but it comforts me to read these words ...

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
     love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanshile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

 

Isn't that a wonderful poem?  And a wonderful line "You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves ..."

I love feeling healthy.  I love being able to do things and move my body in ways that I couldn't when I weighed ... much more than I do now.  And the soft animal of my body doesn't deserved to be punished because of the number on the label of an article of clothing.  Together, this soft animal and I are battling our way out of a thick dark forest. 

 

PS - with the help of Weight Watchers, I have lost a total of 8 pounds this summer ... we won't think about how many I have to go for goal. 

 

 

 

Admitting the Dawn ...

I love my new room, I love my Princess bed, my thick purple comforter, and my eastern facing window.  I love that gentle light through the window in the morning.

I'm working a lot this week, have I mentioned that already?  My boss' husband is home on a two week leave from his deployment to Kuwait.  So understandably, she is taking vacation.  And even though I'm working LONG hours, it's okay with me because this was my LAST promise to fulfill before I leave this job.  I told her in February that I wouldn't go before she had her vacation with her husband.  Yeah, I gave that much notice. 

I should also end up this week with close to 16 hours of OT.  At the wage I am paid that's not nearly enough money to compensate for how tired I'll be, but that's okay.  I'm not relieving her for the money. 

Saturday evening I leave for Iowa.  The Summer Writing Festival at the University of Iowa is something I've looked forward to for the past 365 days since the last one ended.  This year I'm taking a class called "Postcards from Gods and Goddesses" that I am very excited about.  My friends have suggested more than once that aspects of my life are worth writing about.  It will be fun to play for a week at doing just that.

I'm still unpacking although the pile of boxes is shrinking.  Last night I only unpacked a small plastic bag of refrigerator magnets ...

There are more magnets for the freezer, they are meant to hold the kids' artwork so I'm saving them. 

Then I took photos of the rainbow outside.  It was a wonderful rare complete bow with the Northern foot touching the roof of Best Buy and the Southern foot ... well, let me show you.  The photos are a little dark, but I think you'll get the idea. 

 

 

Because of You ...

We are required at work to have the radio on, and we are required to have it set on a particular easy-listening station.  I'm tempted to tell my current employers that it's this policy that is forcing me to leave them, except that as irritating as it is, it's really less than 10% of the irritation I have with this company.

But this radio station has a predisposition to play songs that just grate on my nerves.  "The Wreck of the Edmond Ftzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot - GL has so many WONDERFUL songs they could choose from, but no, they play this one.  "At Seventeen" by whatzerface.  Lord, can you get more depressing!  And several times a day, they play Kelly Clarkson's "Because of You."

At first I had the thoughts that I'm sure she was hoping to inspire.  I looked at my kids and my relationship with them and questioned whether I've made good decisions.  I wondered how they will be impacted as adults by the lessons they are learning from me now.  I thought of my own parents and the things they taught me for good and bad. 

And then I thought, yeah that's right.  My parents taught me some things that have held me back and contributed to self-defeating behavior.  But being a grown-up means facing those things, making decisions about how I'm going to act, and then acting in accord with my desire to be a healthy person rather than reacting to situations as I've been "programmed."

So I was having this conversation with my sister, and explaining how I feel about this whole grow up and stop blaming your parents thing.  And I said a bad word.  Unbeknownst to me my mom had picked up the other phone and heard me.  It was a prime moment for me to either fall back into old patterns of placating, or just say, well, yes I said it.  No, I didn't intend you to hear it.  But oh well. 

A few years ago such a situation would have led to major drama, angst and hand-wringing at the least.  Having my mother upset with me has been known to cause me to throw up for days.  But this time, I figure she owes maybe a dollar to my therapy jar, cause the amount of disturbance was minimal.  A couple minutes of "you aren't a bad person because you occasionally choose to use bad words," and I'm good to go.

(And let me be clear that the change here was on my side, my Mom still is my Mom.)

See how easy that is?  And it only took me 43 years ...

 

 

 

Two New Friends

I have this new friend, Laura.  Laura has been here in my blog a few times although I can't remember if I've ever called her by name.

She was the one who rounded up the four testosterone laden 18 year olds who loaded and unloaded my stuff from the U-Haul truck last week to get me moved.  And I have to say that of all the frustrations that day brought, the quailty of the help was not among them.  These guys were great (and cheap).

So tonight, Laura and I met after work for dinner.  We had scoped out a place to go, but when we got there it had a line WAY out the door and around the parking lot, so we went to a different place where we could slide into the bar for open seating.  We had pizza and chicken enchilada's and it was fabulous.  And we had girl time.

Laura has this idea that for some reason (call it exhaustion or maybe the fumes from the bar) but it seems really good to me.  She said that women need to be liberated and we need to take off our shirts.  Sorry guys, she was very specific that this is a girls only type activity.  There's just something about the thought of sitting around a table, topless, that kind of cuts through the layers of pretense, deceit, and protectiveness that we all wear in day to day life.  Something about being semi-naked with a semi-naked sister that invites you to talk about what's real in your life.

No, we didn't rip off our shirts in the bar. 

But if our older sisters can wear red hats and purple, why can't we start a trend - a social club where women are free to be ... free about their lives.  Like I said, I like the idea.  I like it a lot.

I also have to go to work in the morning and I'm DOG tired.  So I'm heading to bed without my nightly Sudoku.  Hugs and kisses.  And may you be free to dream all the dreams your heart can blow like bubbles through the night.  May the moon bathe you in hope, and the breeze wrap you in mystical whimsical delight.  yeah.  That sounds real good to me too. 

 

I Like Dreaming ...

I've been having some odd dreams lately.  Last night I dreamt that I was being robbed at work.  In my dream the robber was a former customer, easily identified on the camera, and he took a little over $2,000 without my feeling terribly threatened.  In fact, I don't know that I even dreamed a weapon.  He just showed up, said, "Give me the money." and that was about it.  I pressed the alarm beneath my drawer and the robber was caught before he got out of the parking lot. 

I was still thinking about it when I got to work this morning.  The odd lack of fright, and the fact that the robber was so obviously not going to get away with it from the time it all began seem significant to me, but I'm not sure how.

I must have been especially quiet today because my boss asked me what was going on.  So I told her, "I've been having some odd dreams lately and I was thinking about the one from last night."

Immediately she responded, "Well that's your guilty conscience."

o_0  I'm not sure what she thinks I have to feel guilty of.  But I thought that was an interesting response to give before she knew the content (facts) of my dream.  It made me think about the roots of the word "conscience".  con = with, science=facts   Thinking about it that way gave me an insight that I hadn't had before (call me slow) because it's always puzzled me how someone could "train" their conscience not to bother them.  But if someone were deceived about the facts of a situation, or if they believed that their behavior was justified by facts that most of us would not consider justification then it suddenly makes sense to me how a conscience can be trained.

I've been having another dream that has come to me several nights in the past couple weeks.  In this dream there is a young woman whom I do not know personally, but I know of her because of having heard another person talk about her and describe her to me.  This one is strange because in my dream I know the person who tells the stories very well and have over time come to feel as though I know this young woman.  But I know that she doesn't have the same benefit in reverse by which I mean she doesn't know me at all.  For reasons that make sense only in dreams, the person who has been sharing this information with me doesn't talk about me to her. 

But now, she's learned something of my existence and she wants to talk to me.  So in my dream I get a phone call from this young woman and I'm not sure what to say.  I know so many details of her life, and she knows nothing but my name.  You know, as I'm typing this I'm thinking maybe the young woman is me.  I can know about her because I'm intimately acquainted with my conscious.  She can't know anything about me because she has no frame of reference to understand the 43 year old she's going to become. 

... Hmmmmm ... maybe if I dream it tonight I'll suggest that she read my Xanga blog to level the field before we talk?  God knows I pretty much let it all hang out here ...

And speaking of which ... Dawn asked what's behind the closed doors.  Well, she wants to know what I put in those small cabinets next to the microwave.  So far, not much.  The cabinets are so narrow that anything other than that which can sit right at the front edge of the shelf is too difficult to reach.  I'd have to empty the shelf every time I needed to pull the back things out. 

But because you asked ... I have more photos. 

I was talking with my best friend about the difficulty of unpacking the kitchen and because MBF is an imminently RATIONAL person, I got this response, "Well, you got it all in that tiny kitchen in the apartment, surely you can fit it into this much larger kitchen."  yeah, you'd think that would be the case! 

But no, I still have several boxes of food stuff to unpack and the pantry here is full. 

The only thing that reasonably goes in those narrow cabinets, is the coffee stuff on the one side (I put the coffee pot below) and a box of microwave popcorn on the other side.  Oh, yes, I AM the Princess of Quite a Lot More!

I've putzed around a bit tonight, emptied another 4-5 boxes but nothing strenuous.  I'm kind of tired of strenuous for now and I'm giving myself grace to be leisurely about unpacking.  Now that I've found the important stuff, the rest of it can wait another day or two.  Come to think of it, I'm still missing a couple important things.  I spoiled myself after the boys left by purchasing a pack of paper plates.    And I haven't seen them since I got here to this place ... But I know where the real plates are.

 

I wanted to take a photo of my room, but I'm having trouble figuring out a good angle from which to take it, plus there are a few things left to be done in there before it's "House Beautiful" so that one will have to wait a while longer.

And as for me ... I'm curling up in my Big Blue Chair ...

... to work a few Sudoku puzzles and then I'm going to bed.  Wonder what I'll dream tonight?

 

 

 

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are Created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalieanable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their powers from the consent of the governed.  That whenever any form of Government becoes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or  to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

Red is for Blood
Of Patriots who Died
to Free us

White is for Justice
and Government of Law

Blue is for Honor
and Faith in all we do

This is our Flag
This is Old Glory
And it represents
the Spirit of America

 

I felt rather sorry for myself because I had to work today.  Sometimes, it's not about money, it's about having a life, and the job I have for the next three weeks is not one suited for a person who cares to have a life outside work.  (And the money isn't that great either.)

But if I had to work, so did the Adelphia Cable Guy, Rupert.  He turns out to be a very cool Jamaican type with hair as long as I am tall and a much better attitude toward work than I possessed today.  He came in with a smile, hooked me up, figured out that the fancy new modem they brought me was a dud, and used the modem I've been happy with for the past two years to get me back online. 

He said, "Its hard for me to say what's importnat to my customers, and if it's important to them, it's worth me doing it right and doing it when they need it done."  I tried to look as though my internet were important but not supreme, I don't want him thinking I'm addicted or anything ... he doesn't have to know that I've been slinking over to Starbucks to check email and monitor my bank account. 

Yes, I haven't quite conquered that need to make sure I still have money in there every day, so I like to log in and see the number and then I can go about my day.  If I don't log in and see it, I start worrying mid-morning that I might have an automatic payment for something I've forgotten that's roughly the equivalent of the GDP of a small island nation off the coast of Indonesia and  I'm going to be paying overdraft fees until I'm dead.  I know, that's NEVER happened, but if I didn't check every morning ... it might!

So I tried to look as though the internet is important enough to interfere with his BBQ plans but not a matter of obsession.  And I'm pretty sure I suceeded right up until he restarted my computer, it didn't work, and he said, "This is no good ting."

The trembling, cold sweat, and fixed dilated pupils probably gave me away.   But it is the Fourth of July so maybe he thought I was just tense from some paranoid fear that fireworks stored in the condo below will suddenly ignite and destroy the buildning.  Yeah, that could be the ticket.  I feel better. 

But in the end, regardless of what he thought or didn't think, he got the Internet working and I've checked in on my accounts and my email and life is good.  I still have MUCHO unpacking to do but I wanted to show you at least one photo of the new place. 

Heh, just kidding!  Well, not really that IS my living room and those are the boxes I still have left to unpack, lets see ... How about a photo of the desk from which I'm writing this blog! 

Or, maybe you'd like to see the view from my deck?

Yes, My view is away from the mountains, but it's still very nice.  Especially once the sun is down and I'm looking over the city lights.  Behind the tree where you can't see it is the Mimi's I worked at last summer.  And on the back side of that shopping center is Skysox stadium where they do fireworks on Friday nights (if there is a home game - always fine print, no?)

And I know the kitchen is kind of boring, it's just cabinets and appliances, but also on my kitchen counter, I have the cookie bouquet (or at least the un-nibbled parts that are left) that my landlord gave me when I moved in.  Did I tell you that story?  I had a major panic when I got my lease because it seemed very one-sided and obligated me to all kinds of unreasonable charges in case of anything needing fixed.

I worried and fretted.  My best friend listened to me and then said, "Why don't you just ask her if she'd be willing to negotiate it?"  So I took a deep breath and sent a polite but assertive email expressing my concerns.  And she changed EVERYTHING I asked her to negotiate on.  So major brownie points for me.  Big step down the road of taking care of me properly.

Then when I moved in she had left the cookie bouquet with a card that reads, "Here's to new starts, being strong, and independence!"

Yeah, it's Independence Day.  And I'm feeling a whole lot like a grown-up.  I get it that I can be assertive without being offensive or aggressive.  I get it that it's a good thing to ask for what I need.  I get it that I don't have to be a doormat and I can still have friends.  Really, I get it! 

Once More From Starbucks

Happy Fourth of July to all - I am enjoying my morning cappucino at Starbucks. Checking my email. Checking in on my Xanga buddies. Andgenerally avoiding anything that looks like the work of unpacking the remainder of my possessions. Sigh, I do have to work today, but I get off early (2 pm) The cable guy is supposed to be there between 3-5 to fix my cable so I can be online from home.

I'll be back tonight (hopefully) with a real live blog from my new place. And MAYBE even include photos. I have learned that my deisgn ability doesn't quite match my imagination. I can SEE in my head how I want things to look, but the execution leaves a little to be desired. I tried to drape the long sheer scarves around the top of my bed and it looked like a six year old had atacked.

I haven't heard for certain but there's a chance that my sister Cheryl will be coming back with me when I go to pick up my boys. She can just walk into a room and immediately see exactly what needs to be done to make it right. SO I'm hoping she will save me from myself and help my place be a home. I won't make you wait that whole month for photos though. I'm loving my new place.

I have said for a long time that I am Princess of Quite a Lot. In my new place I feel like Princess of Quite a Lot More.