Disembodied Ninja

Box of Time

2012-02-14T16:29:00.000-07:00

Beloved Husband presented Herself with an unexpected Valentine's Day gift last night: lovely earrings in her birthstone, accompanied by another tiny set (for her second set of ear piercings) in the shape of an animal that has significance for them. She was truly surprised, and touched. There has been more than one occasion in the past couple of months that Herself has disintegrated into weeping because her Beloved is so very busy and has so little time to spare for her. The fact that he went out of his way and used his rare and valuable time to find this particular gift, as well as to present it to her at a moment when the Offspring were in bed and he and she were both still awake (a rare occasion!), means a great deal to her.

Thank you, Beloved.

Mechanical Success

2012-02-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday evening, Herself put the last load of laundry into the dryer, and turned it on. At first, all was well; suddenly, however, the dryer began making a grinding/screeching noise with every rotation of the drum. It was loud and alarming enough that Herself immediately sprinted over to turn off the machine and inspect matters.

She suspected that the root of the problem was the same as had occurred previously (a year ago, or more), when the dryer had begun to make a somewhat similar, though not quite as urgent, squeaking noise. Back then, an appliance repair person was called, and he -- at great cost -- replaced two of the four tiny "drum slides" in the machine. At the time, Herself was flabbergasted not only at the charge merely for the mechanic to set foot into the house, but also at the outrageous price of those two pieces of plastic that together would approximately cover an area the size of a single business card.

She would fix this herself, she decided.

Step one: determine where to purchase replacement parts. Herself's Beloved kindly called the local hardware store to see whether they carried such items; they did not. Rats. Herself went to bed, resolving to take care of it in the morning.

Bright and early Thursday, off to the internet Herself went. A brief perusal indicated that she would need the model number of the machine. Unfortunately, however, the sticker with the model number upon it had long since worn off of the inside of the dryer door. Miraculously, she located the instruction booklet that came with the dryer, and identified the model number based on the receipt that was attached to it. Alas, that model number did not match exactly any of the model numbers at the appliance parts website; it was very close to four different model numbers, though.

She studied the diagrams for each of the four similar model numbers, though, and determined that they all used the same parts number for the dryer slides. She ordered four (shockingly inexpensive) slides, and a new lightbulb for inside the dryer for good measure since it had recently blown out. Total cost, including shipping, was under twenty dollars.

Happily, the parts arrived midday Saturday, far sooner than the three-to-five-business-days indicated as the shipping time frame.

Once more, Herself went to the internet. She found a video detailing how to replace the dryer slides. She viewed the relevant parts, and then off she went to the machine. The top of the dryer had to be removed, as did the front. The slides needed to be located and replaced. The front of the dryer needed to be fitted back properly with the drum afterwards, and everything else put back together.

With the top of the dryer back on, the screws all back in place, and the new lightbulb installed for good measure, it was time. Would it work?

Herself turned the dryer on. It hummed nicely. There were no grinding, squeaking, or screeching noises whatsoever. Success!

I know this may seem like small potatoes to some. Nevertheless, Herself was enormously pleased. Though she is not mechanically inclined whatsoever, she managed this repair. And as a bonus, it cost about one-tenth of what it would have if the mechanic had been called.

VICTORY. Huzzah!

Bridge

2012-02-11T09:20:00.000-07:00

May I become at all times,
Both now and forever,
A protector for the helpless,
A guide for the lost ones,
A ship for those to cross oceans,
And a bridge to cross rivers,
A sanctuary for those in danger,
A lamp for those in darkness,
A refuge for those who need shelter,
A servant to all in need.
~ His Holiness the Dalai Lama

Myself

2012-02-10T10:05:00.000-07:00

For this moment, I am wholly myself, unshaped by the needs of others, by their dreams or expectations or sensibilities. But I am also lonely. With no one to shape me, who stands here, watching the moon, or the stars, or the clouds?
- Kij Johnson, The Fox Woman

Dance

2012-02-08T08:20:00.000-07:00

Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free. - Rumi

Enemy Mine

2012-02-07T08:08:00.000-07:00

Perhaps my greatest difficulty is that I expect too much.

You are your own worst enemy. If you can learn to stop expecting impossible perfection, in yourself and others, you may find the happiness that has always eluded you. ― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

In The Ladies' Room

2012-02-06T10:37:00.000-07:00

Gentlemen, take note: the following is a discourse on some of the inner psychological workings of women. It may be particularly helpful when you are unexpectedly faced with a vent, rant, or meltdown from a woman in your life. You may still not know what to *do under the circumstances, but at least you will understand a bit of what is transpiring. This is dedicated, with much thanks, to those among you who, unfortunately, have been on the receiving end of such Moments. It is your listening ears and your earnest attempts to be consoling that make all the difference.
----------------

Why, men wonder, do women so often visit the ladies' room together?

The men speculate that the women are talking about them. On occasion, that may be true. However, there are other reasons to visit the loo together, apart from taking a pee or checking one's makeup.

One primary reason: girl bonding.

When women are together, they typically attempt to establish conversational intimacy. To this end, the confiding of concern about a particular aspect of one's appearance is oftentimes used to establish a companionable rapport.  Women talk about their insecurities, for insecurities are commonalities that women all share. Women then typically offer mutual support and expressions of admiration or care. Thus reassured, the women leave the ladies' room, fortified and possibly ever-so-slightly more confident that they -- for the moment -- just might be sufficiently presentable human beings.

Stereotypical conversation in the ladies' room may include such snippets as the following:

Woman 1: "Ugh, my hair is being weird."
Woman 2:  "No, it looks great, so shiny."
Woman 1: "I like your jeans."
Woman 3: "I'm surprised I could stuff myself into them."
Woman 2: "No, you look tiny! I could only get half a leg into them!"
Woman 3: "Your shoes are fabulous."
Woman 2: "Thanks! I got them on sale."

And so forth. It is mundane conversation, and no doubt quite boring to an eavesdropper. Nevertheless, it is these tiny back-and-forth comments that fortify women and bind them together.

There are, however, occasional women who do not play by the unspoken guidelines of give-and-take in inter-female relationships. It is difficult for other women to know what to do with these rule-breakers. They are upsetting.

Herself has one long-term acquaintance who regularly diverges from the expected conversational patterns of the ladies' room. This acquaintance has been this way for ages: for example, a few weeks before Herself's wedding with her Beloved, Herself expressed concern to this acquaintance that Herself had not been able to exercise as much as usual due to work and last-minute wedding arrangements, so Herself was worried about fitting comfortably into her wedding dress. The acquaintance, rather than reassuring Herself that she would look lovely and not to worry, instead stated that Herself's dress might in fact end up being too tight: "Well, so you won't be able to breathe on your wedding day."

As it turned out, Herself need not have fretted: she was comfortable and happy in her dress. Still, as you can see from the fact that she recalls with clarity this conversation she had over twenty years ago, Herself was extremely bothered. The rules had been broken: rather than offering the reassurance that Herself needed, the acquaintance threw Herself to the wolves of self-consciousness and doubt.

This acquaintance has not changed much in the two decades since then. Whenever Herself attempts typical girl bonding conversation with this acquaintance, Herself frequently receives back-handed compliments, as well as instructions about what Herself should do to improve her appearance (and, occasionally as well, unsolicited advice regarding her housekeeping skills, her pet care, or even her parenting). Herself is always surprised and disappointed, and newly self-conscious all over again. Every time.

Perhaps Herself is excessively optimistic -- or overly naive -- in thinking the acquaintance will somehow, the next time, behave in accordance with the expected girl bonding conversation. Could it be that Herself is just being hypersensitive to what the acquaintance says? Perhaps occasionally. But, I think, not always; not often, even.

Is it time for Herself to give up trying to relate to this woman in the same manner as she relates to other women? Perhaps yes. Herself is saddened to do so, for she feels that she is giving up hope. Yet, Herself realizes she must not deliberately step before the targeting scope. She will no doubt periodically find herself there; nevertheless, that is a different matter from purposefully placing herself there. Self-protection, once more, is paramount.

Herself is tired. And in need of some reassurance in the ladies' room.

Writer's Block: Pen and Paper

2012-02-05T11:02:00.002-07:00

The pen averts his eyes from the paper,
Afraid that with a glance, he will reveal
The fiery longing he has so carefully hidden.
He dreams of inscribing upon her
Phrases as beautiful as her smooth white surface –
Making her his own through his words.
Ashamed of his unquenchable desire,
He is both terrified and exhilarated
By his fervor to be joined with her.
So cocooned is he in his yearning,
The pen cannot see
The paper
Trembling with anticipation and hope.

Weak/Strong

2012-02-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

Our strength is often composed of the weakness that we're damned if we're going to show. - Mignon McLaughlin

The Lone Banana

2012-02-02T11:10:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I should dispose of that?

What's In A Name?

2012-02-01T11:32:00.000-07:00

Everyone has a name: Firstname, Lastname. Sometimes a middle name, or two. Lots of people have nicknames as well - shortenings of names (your parent's brother Robert - "Bob's your Uncle!"), descriptive words ("Chubbs," "Beanpole"), suggestions of creatures one might resemble ("Lurch," "Oso"), diminutives ("Little Dude") or endearments ("sweetie"). Endless permutations and possibilities.

Herself frequently uses nicknames when addressing those around her; it is rare that she call people by their actual names when speaking to them. In fact, the fonder she is of someone, the less likely she will use a formal name to address him or her. It's a bit peculiar.

Let's use the Ottoman-shaped, portly dog, Thorbert, as an example to describe this phenomenon. Herself will refer to him by name during a conversation with another ("I was telling Thor about that delicious steak you and I had eaten"), as long as Thor is not within earshot. If he is, she will likely use a nickname ("I told Ottoman-shaped dog about that delicious steak we had"), or include him in the conversation with a nickname or endearment ("Fatbert, remember how I was telling you about the delicious steak? You do, don't you, sweetie?")

Why is this?

Names are common property: an appellation for all to use. Yet to her, there are aspects of certain close relationships for Herself that go far beyond that public identifier. The individual, to Herself, is more than solely a moniker; there is a form and substance to that person within Herself's mind that is much bigger than the few syllables of given names.

It is difficult to find the right identifiers for these people because the shapes and magnitudes of their presence in her mind defy assignment of a single word. Sometimes, she has her own unique appellations for these people within her head. She employs epithets for them when writing; uses nicknames or endearments orally; and keeps her chosen appellations for them to herself. (Occasionally, a serious comment will require use of one of those internal names aloud; their sparing use, solely in private, emphasizes their importance.) It works well for her, most of the time -- until she must address these people aloud in front of others. Then, she is stymied. Mustn't panic! She tries to rework what she must say to avoid directly addressing them, and hopes they do not misinterpret her hesitation.

Should you happen to notice that Herself does not use your name terribly often, or pauses before doing so, do not despair. Rather, realize that she feels a disconnect between your formal name and the appellation for you within her mind, and cannot easily switch back-and-forth. You are important, far beyond your name. She is glad to have you be so.

Input/Output

2012-01-30T10:30:00.001-07:00

There are eight million tiny things to do every day.

Last week, in the interest of seeing where her time went, Herself recorded all that she did in a day. Or rather, she tried to do so; after midafternoon, though, she gave up trying to write things down. Granted, it was a particularly busy Tuesday. Would you like to see?

Sometime last night: let ailing dog out to pee three or four times. Morning: get up.  Wake up Offspring the Third. Take baby dog out. Feed baby dog. Feed guinea pig. Take all dogs out again. Provide breakfast for Offspring the Third. Put away the two loads of laundry. Make bed. Check FaceBook. Make bag lunch for Offspring the Third. Provide him with water bottle and send him off to school. Empty the dishwasher. Load dishes that wouldn't fit last night. Check e-mail. Check list of work projects. Answer a few work e-mails. Put in load of laundry. Make breakfast for Offspring the Second. Make bag lunch for Offspring the Second. Prepare chicken and lentils for lunch. Clean kitchen. Take Offspring the Second to school. Go to physical therapy for hip. Receive call from vet while waiting to pay for physical therapy. Write down instructions for type of insulin and type of syringes, and make appointment to learn how to give shots to dog. Go to car. Cry three tears. Pull self together. Go to pet store to get bedding for guinea pig; to pharmacy to get insulin; to grocery to get oatmeal for Beloved Husband. Go home. Feed big dogs. Fold laundry from dryer, put fresh load into dryer. Do Work work. Warm up lunch for Beloved Husband. Make phone call to resolve medical billing error. Look up driving directions to attend doctor's appointment with extended family member the next day. Do more Work work. Greet Offspring the Third and provide post-school snack.

That was from about 6:30 AM until 3 PM that day. The rest of the day was a similar blur of activity.

Herself does not (usually) mind taking care of all the little things. Looking after the household is what she enjoys the most.  She needs fuel, though, to motivate her and to keep her moving.

What is that fuel?   Adult companionship.

Herself has never been particularly a 'people person.' She dislikes large groups, crowds, social functions. Nevertheless, she does require interaction: ten minutes' undivided attention from Beloved Husband; a telephone call with her lovely sister; a bit of talk with another adult at the gym; a text or e-mail conversation with a friend.

Logistics oftentimes impede matters, though. Beloved Husband is extremely busy and often exhausted. Herself's sister is occupied with her own children and complex life, and is too far away for spontaneous get-togethers. The schedules of the adults at the gym vary, and there are days when none are there except Herself. And texts and e-mails are only checked periodically; people all have their own lives to manage.

There are days -- sometimes several in a row -- when some kind of communication with the world beyond the walls of the house is sparse. Or nonexistent. Herself starts to flounder. She becomes angry at herself, both for what she perceives as her sloth as well as her weakness.  Yet she hesitates to reach out, lest she inconvenience her friends or loved ones. Or worse yet, reveal herself to be needy.

Apathy sets in. All the things that need to get done do not get accomplished. She does not care.

What is it about loneliness that keeps her from mopping the floor or dusting the shutters?

Sometimes, it is the seemingly tiniest of things -- a short text; a humorous e-mail message; an invitation for a walk -- that keeps her from feeling as though she might wither away completely. The outside world has reached in to her and held out its hand. She is grateful. She has more fuel once more, and can start anew on the next eight million things to do.

Lifeline

2012-01-29T22:10:00.006-07:00

A walk in the dark restores my balance and strengthens my roots. The wind blows, but I am strong. I may bend, but I will not break.

Expectations

2012-01-29T08:30:00.001-07:00

She was becoming sad. There is no joy involved in following others' expectations of yourself.
- Miriam Toews

Struggle

2012-01-28T14:06:00.000-07:00

It's always a bit of a struggle to get the words right, whether we're a Hemingway or a few fathoms below his level.
-- Rene J. Cappon

Dawn

2012-01-26T11:47:00.000-07:00

Christina Perri - A Thousand Years.

Even though this song is associated with the Twilight series of books and movies -- which Herself eschews for a variety of reasons -- it nevertheless speaks to Herself.

She listens to it, and the music momentarily erases the grind of the ten million little things that have weighed so heavily upon her of late. Sorrow, concern, despair, worry, frustration, longing -- all dissipate. She lets go of the difficulties of the moment, and instead, acknowledges what is truly important: the people she loves. She sees them with such clarity. So wonderful, they are. So perfect, even in their human imperfection. Lucky is she to know them. They are the pieces that complete her heart.

I have loved you for a thousand years. I love you for a thousand more.

Not Enough

2012-01-25T10:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, the millions of words in my head fail me. Abysmal as I am in putting together all the necessary words for a spontaneous conversation, I must often resort to writing down what I would like to convey. Even then, sometimes the portrait I have constructed with my words -- despite the hours I have invested -- is woefully inadequate. My story, my correspondence, my simple sentences: all, not enough.

There are times when I wish I had the ability to communicate, with a simple gesture or a touch, what is in my thoughts and in my heart. How frighteningly powerful that would be. How dangerously raw, too. It would likely be too much for another person. Some things are best left unsaid.

It would be easier with animals, for they are free of the constraints that hinder human beings. No societal conventions, no misunderstood language, no hidden messages. No baggage of history. They are in the moment, and the moment is all. Simple.

Today, I wish that I could convey to our Ottoman dog, Thorbert, how much we care for him, how grateful we are that he is with us, and how we are trying to help him.

He's a smart dog. He might already know.

Pity, Party Of One, Dismissed by Man Up

2012-01-24T17:33:00.000-07:00

I turn the blog over to Herself today.

I had just finished physical therapy for my hip today, when my phone rang. It was the vet, confirming what we had suspected: Ottoman-shaped dog, Thorbert, has diabetes. His excessive thirst, his need to be let out several times a night, his sudden loss of his normally prodigious girth: all the hallmarks were there. We had needed only the lab results to be certain.

The vet queried: "I need to ask: are you willing to treat the dog?"

How could I possibly say no?

I know it's likely that I will be asked about the cost of the insulin and his treatment. Really, that's like putting a price on his head: he's worth X dollars, but not Y dollars? I cannot get rid of a pet who has been with me for 8 years just because he has incurred additional expenditures. Yes, it'll cost money to treat him. Fortunately it's not prohibitively expensive, as far as I can tell; likely it won't cost much more than the regular heartworm tablets, or the pills for his sister-dog's kidneys.

I know there might come a point when treatment options for him -- or any one of the pets -- would be excessively expensive. I'm a sensible person (I think); I'm not going to break the bank to prolong a pet's life, particularly at the expense of pressing household needs. I also know I'm extremely fortunate in that the family has sufficient income to treat him.

I need to bear Thorbert's well-being in mind, too: I will not attempt to extend his life under the guise of "I want him to stay alive for me" if it's clear that his quality of life isn't good. That's cruel. We shall see how treatment goes.

I was told by an acquaintance, "Well, at least it's not one of the children." Well, YES, of course, I am incredibly grateful it is not one of the Offspring. Nevertheless, it is an unrealistic burden to require that I always have to be happy that things aren't worse. I think that I am allowed a moment to feel bad for my dog, who currently looks like Death Warmed Over, and for myself. Yes, things could be worse. They could also be better. I cannot be relentlessly cheerful all the time. Surely I can be upset on occasion? Or is that just selfish behavior on my part?

I was not sure that I would be able to give Thorbert a shot. The vet provided me with a crash course in the needles, the dosage, and the technique for injection. I felt faintly nauseated with the anticipation of having to poke my dog with the needle. I teared up just a tiny bit when it came time for me to make my first attempt, because... well, because I am human. (Pity party of one, your table is ready!)

I will say, the vet telling me at that point: "If you don't do this, he will die," was not particularly helpful. I am well aware that untreated diabetes is a death sentence. I just needed a moment to let go of my expectations of health and well-being of my dog, and become accustomed to the idea that he has a manageable, though life-threatening, medical condition.

Man Up Time. I pulled myself together and gave Thorbert a shot for the first time. It was not as dreadful as I'd feared.

Thorbert will receive injections twice a day for the rest of his life, along with special food (which Thorbert indicated was quite delicious). The vet said that as long as Thorbert does not go blind (cataracts are common with diabetes), and as long as we can maintain a good weight, that is all we can do.

Thorbert, you are a faithful dog, a constant companion, a cheerful and devoted soul. You deserve every effort to make your life, however much or little remains, as pleasant and healthy as possible.

I will do the very best I can for you.

Cellular

2012-01-23T14:26:00.000-07:00

What a piece of work is a man, How noble in
Reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving
how express and admirable, In action how like an Angel!
in apprehension how like a god, the beauty of the
world, the paragon of animals. and yet to me, what is
this quintessence of dust?
- Hamlet, Act II scene ii, William Shakespeare

The miracle of complex life: thousands and thousands of tiny cells working together, their sum far greater than their individuality. Neurons, epithelium, endothelium, sensory, stem, immune system - I cannot properly pick even a few examples of the more then 200 types of cells within a single organism. And the building blocks for the cells - DNA, RNA, ribosome, protein, endless complex machinery to maintain. It is no surprise when things go wrong.

The fat dog of the family, Thor, has suddenly and quickly become noticeably thinner. The vet suspects diabetes. Pancreatic islet cells failing, going awry. We will know more when the lab results come back. Oh, Thor, you are stalwart, unwavering in your devotion, a loving furry soul. We will do the best we can for you.

A lovely woman, very close to Herself's heart though distant geographically, got a call after her first mammogram because of a 'suspicious area.' Follow-up tests appeared to indicate papilloma, likely benign. Nevertheless, there will be biopsy and lumpectomy to be sure. Herself is worried; so often are women defined by their biological attributes that even a likely harmless aberration of cells in a breast strikes fear into every female heart. Lovely woman, you are a beautiful wife, mother, friend -- all that Herself aspires to be -- and you are in our thoughts constantly.

An extended family member who has recently successfully undergone cancer treatment has received some disconcerting follow-up lab results. Biological markers raised. What could those cells be doing? We cannot even begin to speculate. Kind, patient, marvelous man -- our prayers go with you through every upcoming test.

Please, Universe. Help us to do what we can for those in need. Give us strength to face what we must.

Another Toy of Yore

2012-01-22T17:44:00.002-07:00

Happiness is a warm blanket. - Linus (Peanuts)

Herself had just read the above quote, and was contemplating the Peanuts gang -- she has always loved Snoopy -- when she had a sudden recollection of one of her favorite childhood toys: the Snoopy's Beagle Scouts Colorforms Stand-Up Playset. Pure unadulterated happiness in a box. Through the marvels of the internet, she searched and found pictures of the playset: there it was, exactly as she remembered it. Magnificent.

What was it about that playset that made it so incredibly marvelous? The simple beauty of the colorforms, with their pure colors and soothing shapes; the three-dimensionality of it that so wonderfully folded down into the storage box; the smoothness and coolness of the colorform pieces; the slightly rough feel of the edges of the characters and the trees; the scent of the plastic and the laminated cardboard.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost feel the shapes between her fingers. Aaaaaah.

Practice

2012-01-21T10:44:00.000-07:00

To take upon the suffering of others -- that is the practice of compassion.

To give others your own joy and happiness -- that is the practice of love.

- His Holiness the Dalai Lama

Cosmic Hangnail

2012-01-20T13:01:00.000-07:00

It seems to me that the problem with diaries, and the reason that most of them are so boring, is that every day we vacillate between examining our hangnails and speculating on cosmic order. ~ Ann Beattie

Amon Amarth

2012-01-17T21:22:00.001-07:00

Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas. Herself, the menfolk (her Beloved, Offspring the Second, Offspring the Third, and Cherished Friend) and I reached its apex midday on Sunday. The view was astonishing. All of Texas laid out before us. Undulating hills, winding roads, magnificent earth and sky as far as the eye could see.

I cannot truly express in words our experience of climbing this mountain.

I can provide a few of the mundane details: the day was chilly and periodically overcast; the wind was ever-increasingly gusty as we ascended; a third or more of the trail was covered with snow that varied from hard-packed and slippery to well over a foot of crunchy and treacherous covering; and there were seemingly endless switchbacks and occasionally gut-wrenchingly frightening cliff edges.

The further we ascended in terrain resembling Hithaeglir, even as we joked about finding the entrance to Khazad-dûm to use its shortcuts to the top, we could feel the burden of our quest for the summit weighing ever heavier upon us. During the four hours it took us to reach the peak, we were required -- over and over and over again -- to draw upon patience and perseverance that we were not sure we had. The gathering of the necessary strength of will and determination to continue was far more exhausting than the significant physical exertion itself.

Herself's greatest motivation? Her role as Samwise Gamgee. It was solely through her attempts to encourage and assist the Frodos of the group when they were in need, that she was able to maintain the wherewithal to reach their destination herself. Her own arrival at the peak was secondary -- even irrelevant -- in comparison to ensuring their successes. If they made it there, so would she.

She is incredibly proud of the menfolk for conquering the mountain. Even more: they conquered themselves. That was a much quieter, though far more noteworthy, achievement. She is honored to have been witness to it all.

In a tiny way, she has been forever changed by this journey.

Will we ever climb Guadalupe Peak again? I do not know. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Many other adventures await, too.

To The Peak

2012-01-16T18:14:00.000-07:00

Courage can't see around corners, but goes around them anyway.
~ Mignon McLaughlin

Weekend

2012-01-13T15:05:00.000-07:00

Only eight of the twenty-six things on the To Do list have been accomplished so far today. EGADS.

Offspring the First has been put on the plane to go back to college. It was lovely to have her at home for a while. It is bittersweet to see her go, for though we miss her, we know she is happier there than she is here.

Onwards. Herself is gearing up for a couple of days of hiking and camping/RVing with Offspring the Second, Offspring the Third, Beloved Husband, and Cherished Friend. Delightful. We will tell you all about it upon our return.

History

2012-01-12T14:06:00.003-07:00

You will recall a bit ago when Herself was contemplating old scars and new wounds. A person had provided Herself with some information that appeared quite clearly to indicate that person had previously had an opportunity to come to Herself's aid in a time of great need, and yet had failed to do so. Herself took the news hard. With time, though, and with the help of those close to her, she assimilated the information and built the necessary protective wall around herself. She moved on.

Yesterday, that person made some statements that directly contradicted certain of the statements she had made previously.

Herself was, briefly, beyond perplexed. The new statements did not ameliorate or remove the betrayal Herself felt before. Yet, it was as though a giant chunk of a puzzle dropped off of the table. There was no longer a cohesive picture. It made no sense.

Quickly and decisively, though, Herself has come to the conclusion that the person in question has been seeking to create a bond based on some kind of sympathetic commonality of experience. To do so, though, a different assessment of past events was required. It was not necessarily lying, per se - it was a reformation: the person uses words and statements to unravel the fabric of history and reweave it as she would prefer it to be.

I am sure that we all at one point or another try to justify ourselves or to paint our view of our experiences in a way that puts us into the best -- or at least a better -- light. When there is a common history with such vastly different viewpoints, though, it is easier to see when things are amiss.

Herself is surprised that she is so at peace with the situation. The walls she built have served their purpose: she is protected. While there will no doubt be other moments, right now, she has a glimmer of understanding. That is good enough.

Ducks, Ducks

2012-01-11T15:15:00.000-07:00

There appears to be some kind of warp in the space-time continuum. Time moves slowly, then much too quickly, and not everything that should get done, actually does get done. Herself feels once more as if she's being pecked to death by ducks. Many blunt beaks, all at once. PeckPECKPECKpeckitypeckPECKpeck.

On the horizon, though, are things to which she looks forward. Details will follow soon.

A mallard duck, found at National Geographic.

Hippy

2012-01-09T16:17:00.000-07:00

Herself has started physical therapy to address the issues she has been experiencing with her hip. She has been thrice now; first, for an initial evaluation, and then for two separate sessions. So far, so good. She is pleased that activities like walking, using the elliptical trainer, and even rolling onto her side when sleeping are now relatively comfortable. It is good to be on the low end of the pain scale. Kicking in taekwondo is still throbbingly painful, though, particularly when there is any pivoting involved, and that is quite frustrating. It is clear that further improvement will take quite a bit of time.

The most difficult part of physical therapy has not been the stretches or the exercises, though; It has been the close and undivided attention of the physical therapist. Having to voice aloud exactly what hurts and where is strange to Herself, because it seems almost like complaining, and complaining is Just Not Done. Having the physical therapist watch while Herself performs the required exercises is quite odd, too, since it goes against Herself's regular assumption that she is invisible. To have the physical therapist adjust, align, demonstrate exercises, and measure range of motion and strength in Herself's hip also has required the therapist to occasionally lay hands upon Herself. The therapist is unfailingly professional, courteous, and informative, but there's a few neurons in the back of Herself's brain that periodically shout in alarm, "AN UNFAMILIAR PERSON IS TOUCHING ME."

Herself idly wonders whether other individuals have this problem. People interact through small touches every day; surely not everyone goes to Yellow Alert every time a casual contact occurs? She sighs, and mentally adjusts her personal space sphere. She can do this. It will help her in the long run.

Bookshelf

2012-01-08T11:50:00.000-07:00

Offspring the Second is rearranging his room with an eye towards procuring a new drum set. (His passion is drumming.) To this end, he consolidated and organized some of his possessions and his books, allowing him to move one bookshelf out of his room. It is now in Herself's room.

Her absolute delight at having a bookshelf is almost silly. It's just a shelf. Yet for ages, her books have sat haphazardly cramped like canned sardines either on the bottom shelf of a small table, within the base of her bedside table, or in various piles on the floor. Now, they have proper places on shelves, and it is most pleasing indeed.

The Harry Potter books occupy their own section; the collection of nearly all of C.S. Lewis' publications shares a shelf with various writings of the Dalai Lama; Italo Calvino and Kahlil Gibran contentedly share space with the Lord of The Rings trilogy, a few hiking books, log home plans, the magnificent Phantom Tollbooth and few other favorites; and a final shelf holds the miscellany -- tomes on various topics from language to science to religion, as well as some borrowed books that must return to their owners. There's even a Klingon dictionary there somewhere.

Alas, the shelves are full already. But they are tidy, and Herself is happy.

Heartfelt

2012-01-07T11:39:00.000-07:00

This morning, Herself spent a bit of time reading a short story written by a high school friend. Her friend described the serendipity that placed her in the right place and at the right time to discover a problem associated with her congenital heart condition, as well as her recent corrective surgery. With the help of the surgeon's skill and a touch of miracle, her friend is happily on the road to recovery. Herself confidently and fervently wishes that her friend will grace the world with her warmth, intelligence, and positive energy for many healthy years to come.

So fragile and yet so resilient, the human machine. So mysterious and so wondrous, the bonds of friendship that connect us over time and distance. Today, we are that much more aware of the love we hold for our friends, as well as the joy and the comfort they provide for us. Rare indeed is a true friend, and grateful are we for their presence in our lives.

No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth. ~ Robert Southey

Sing, Muse

2012-01-06T12:22:00.002-07:00

Herself is on the cusp of writing several things. One thousand miniscule thoughts -- sentence fragments, blog entries, plot possibilities -- have sprouted in her mind's garden. She waters them carefully in contemplation, and turns each one toward the sun. She knows they need more time to grow into what they will become.

It is difficult to be patient, but she knows these things cannot be rushed. Which ones will bear fruit? We shall see.

Nose

2012-01-05T08:04:00.000-07:00

It is difficult to type -- as well as to orient a picture properly -- when a Tiny dog has wedged herself into one's sweatshirt atop one's cleavage.

Side By Side

2012-01-04T09:46:00.001-07:00

Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue, a wonderful living side by side can grow, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole against the sky. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

The Pile

2012-01-02T16:58:00.001-07:00

It's difficult to be tidy when one is young.

When Herself was a child and a teenager, keeping her room clean was a fairly low priority. She was not sloppy -- no food was allowed in bedrooms, so there were no crumbs or dishes -- but toys or clothes or possessions did not always find their ways back to where they belonged promptly. In high school, her classes were quite rigorous, so organization of anything except for schoolwork took a back seat to studies.

Occasionally, the mess of her room would become intolerable to her mother. And so, when Herself was out at school or outside playing or elsewhere, her mother would go into Herself's room and make The Pile. Any item that was out of place -- be it book, shirt, toy, or other item -- would be put into The Pile in the middle of the room. When Herself would return to her room, she would, without warning, find The Pile. Her obligation at that point was to put away properly all of the contents of The Pile.

Herself hated finding The Pile. She always found it to be a tremendous violation of her space and her privacy to discover that her possessions had been moved in this manner, and she no longer felt safe or comfortable in her own room. She would cry in anger and frustration while she put her things away. She vowed that she would never use The Pile upon her own children.

Now, so many years later, she has the Offspring. They find keeping their rooms clean to be a fairly low priority, just as she did at their ages. Herself reminds them to pick up when the floor is no longer visible, points out specific tasks that need to be done, and so forth. Unfortunately, the Offspring have packrat tendencies; there are times when their rooms need intervention.

Herself resorts to very specific sequential instructions. Sometimes, little gets done. It is frustrating. It is such a difficult line to walk: to respect their autonomy and privacy, and yet to help them to figure out to clean and to manage their possessions properly. Many times, it seems as though it would be easier for her to go in herself and clean up. Yet what would truly be accomplished then, and at what price? They would learn nothing. They may very well find it to be an intolerable invasion of their space. It is better that they should accomplish their own tasks. She volunteers to assist, but tries to leave them be when they prefer to do things themselves.

This has, oddly, been one of the most challenging parts of parenting. Hopefully, in time all of the Offspring will become tidy individuals. We shall see.

And The Year Is New

2012-01-01T12:17:00.001-07:00

New Year's Eve was everything for which Herself could have wished. She tidied the house, and then savored preparing a new recipe for dinner and kneading the dough for fresh bread. She, her Beloved, all three Offspring, and Cherished Friend spent the evening together, consuming tasty things, watching a movie, and enjoying one another's company. Her heart was full. She could not have asked for anything more.

And now we have landed upon New Year's Day, immensely grateful that 2011 is over and that 2012 has begun. We put behind us the raw sorrows and frustrations and worries of the year, and open our hearts once more to hope for the future. We cross our fingers and dream that 2012 will be better.

Herself kept one New Year's resolution from 2011 all year long. She is satisfied with this success, and plans to repeat the resolution for 2012 as well. She has explained the resolution thus:

Like a lot of people, I struggle with my weight; when I figured out that some days my mood would depend on the actual number of pounds, I decided that my attitude was far more unhealthy than any possible excess weight. I resolved not to look at the number on the scale all year long. I concentrated on trying to eat better and exercise more, and to focus on how my clothes fit and how I felt about my myself. I had ups and downs, quite literally, but in the end, I gained a better control over my self-image and self-confidence by ignoring the number on the scale entirely.

This morning, she weighed herself for the first time in a year; this will be the only time for another full year that she will do so. So, what did the scale say?

Despite it being holiday season (with its typical bonanza of consumption), and even despite her relative lack of exercise over the past month due to hip-associated issues and illness, a calculation of her Body Mass Index (BMI) using the number on the scale today put her at 22.4, which is squarely within the "normal" range. A brief search using The Google further reveals that in relation to other women her age and height, she is in the 15th weight percentile -- which means that comparatively, she's maintaining a weight that is less than 85 percent of women her age.  In the grand scheme of things, all the statistics are Good. Onward!

Her new resolution for this year is simple: to improve her diet.  She plans to eliminate as many pre-processed and pre-packaged foods as possible, to increase her intake of fruits and vegetables, to cook more often and to watch portion size more carefully. The results will hopefully be twofold: one, she will maintain a healthy weight; and two, she will minimize migraine by reducing the number of migraine-triggering foods she consumes. She can do this. We will keep you informed as to progress.

My lovely readers, I wish for you security, health, laughter and kindness. May the Universe grant us a bountiful year. Together, we can conquer all obstacles and find joy.

End, and Beginning

2011-12-31T16:45:00.000-07:00

Drop the last year into the silent limbo of the past. Let it go, for it was imperfect, and thank God that it can go. ~ Brooks Atkinson

Highlights 2011

2011-12-31T10:35:00.004-07:00

There were many hard parts of 2011. In the spirit of New Year's Eve, though, we will let those difficulties go, and instead concentrate upon the highlights of the year. They included:

a glorious trip to Carlsbad Caverns;

some pleasant hiking in the Franklin Mountains;

a marvelous visit to Aden crater;

a peaceful weekend in Davis Mountains State Park;

the earning of a black belt in taekwondo;

the final Harry Potter movie;

a visit with Herself's lovely sister;

the twentieth anniversary;

the ensconcing of Offspring the first at college;

a visit to the Gila cliff dwellings and City of Rocks;

an examination of the prehistoric trackways national monument;

the long-awaited and very satisfactory tent camping experience;

and a myriad small enjoyments - kitchen experiments; writings, both in the blog and beyond; and time spent with friends and family.

Thank you, my readers, for your encouraging presence throughout the year. I am enormously grateful for you. I hope that the new year brings you health, happiness, and all good things.

Bridezillas

2011-12-29T08:32:00.000-07:00

During this winter break, the Offspring are enjoying one another’s company. It is a pleasure to behold. Offspring the Third shouts up the stairs to Offspring the First: “Come downstairs so we can watch TV together!” She joins him, and eventually Offspring the Second arrives in the family room as well. They ensconce themselves on the variety of couches, surround themselves with snacks and the dogs, and chortle and comment together.

Last night, the Offspring were – oddly – watching Bridezillas. For the uninitiated, Bridezillas is a television series that captures the alleged trials and tribulations of women who are preparing for their weddings. After watching two episodes with the Offspring I can say, without any exaggeration whatsoever, that the women shown on the show are the most appallingly self-centered, spoiled, dreadful specimens of humanity that I have ever seen. The disregard for the efforts, feelings, and needs of others; the extensive (and oftentimes unaffordable) expenditures; the “me-me-me” attitude: how can a person possibly be that way? It’s truly shocking.

To put so much emphasis and expectation on a single day is a recipe for disaster. No matter how perfect the planning, there will always be some small mistake or problem; it is an absolute necessity to be tolerant, forgiving, creative. Furthermore, while the right formalities, dress and accoutrements can be important, it cannot be the be-all, end-all. The whole purpose of a wedding is the exchange of promises between two people. Ultimately, all else is extraneous.

Sometimes it seems that in the quest for Things and Stuff and Trappings and Display, all individuals – not just the brides of Bridezilla -- lose sight of the value of one another. Our human (and very necessary) solitude is highlighted and enhanced by its contrast with the periodic presence of another. We must always be mindful of the pleasure of another’s company; of the knowledge that if one has a disaster, there are individuals who will come to one’s aid; of the comfort of having someone no more than an e-mail, text, or phone call away to listen to even a petty annoyance or minor grievance. There is a joy in being able to provide for another’s comfort, to rejoice in another’s happiness and to be thoughtfully present in another’s times of need. These are the things that matter. When we die, our legacies are not our possessions, but the impact we have had on those around us.

Perhaps Bridezillas does, in fact, serve a useful purpose. It certainly has reminded me to be grateful anew for the people who have allowed me to be a part of their lives. Including you, my readers. It is my pleasure, and my privilege. Thank you.

Strangled by a Giant Squid

2011-12-28T12:48:00.002-07:00

In the cold of the winter with the holiday season surrounding us, we continue to ponder all of the hard questions of midlife. In addition to philosophical and esoteric queries, there are mundane concerns which also warrant review. Today, we contemplate physical matters. (While I, disembodied as I am, remain free of most of such considerations, I know that they are oftentimes uppermost on the minds of those around me.)

There are wrinkles forming about Herself's eyes; there are a few more gray strands among her hair than there were before. There are the dozen surgical scars, faded now, yet forever present. There is a bit more padding, so to speak, here and there. There are aches in joints, chill in fingers, a headache, the surprising impact of a virus: the body is a delicate thing. In this culture of smooth, thin, beautiful and eternal youth, it is difficult indeed to come to terms with corporeal fragility and imperfection. Herself wonders - what problem will surface next? It is not a question of if, it is rather a matter of when. She tries to be grateful for relative health, and fears the inevitable decline. She fervently wishes that she will hold on to her wits unto the very end, for she is terrified of losing her memories, her thoughts, her words.

Yet, the body is still a serviceable machine. While it still is running relatively smoothly, it is possible to take action: hike through that forest. Crawl into that cave. Recline under those stars. Or just walk. Then, dream bigger: make plans to paddle that lake; to sail that chunk of ocean; to drive to those mountains and scale them. It need not all be done right away, or even soon. What is important is to think about it, to set a goal: To do. To go. One hill at a time. When a hip aches or a neck is stiff, we hope that will be a reminder of all that we have accomplished despite difficulty. The pain of success.

In the end, we do not want to arrive at the close of our lives as a well-preserved corpse. We want to go out in a blaze of glory, magnificently: to be decapitated by a great white shark, to be strangled by a giant squid. Or, alternatively, we hope that we *pop* at the end - quickly and painlessly with our faculties intact. Even as the body fails, we will nevertheless be able to recall in our minds' eyes the splendor of the times when we pried open the jaws or escaped the tentacles during our adventures here on this earth.

I do want to consider my passing into the next life as the next great adventure; not fearing, but anticipating, all that is to come. If the Universe is willing, though, that next adventure will wait. There are so many things I want to do here first.

Under A Star

2011-12-25T11:28:00.000-07:00

I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.
- Taylor Caldwell

Under The Tree

2011-12-24T11:39:00.000-07:00

The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention. - Richard Moss

Moose!

2011-12-23T10:07:00.000-07:00

Moose the guinea pig wishes you happy holidays. (He also wishes we would not subject him to such indignities. Alas, the hazards of being a well-loved pet.)

Signs of the Forthcoming Apocalypse

2011-12-22T19:12:00.000-07:00

Sign one: Twilight-themed hair implements.

HURGH

2011-12-21T10:28:00.000-07:00

"I'm not dead! I feel happy!"

Herself has a horrible virus. Yesterday was appallingly bad; it has been a long time since she has been that wretchedly sick. Today is much better by comparison. Go, immune system, go!

Virus model. Woo!

Santa's Elf

2011-12-19T16:46:00.002-07:00

Her junior year in college, Herself belonged to a certain social group. Based in a large house that had amenities including a dining room, a computer room, a TV room, a few pool tables in the basement, and various places to sit, the students of this group would generally eat, hang out, and/or study together.  They were a motley bunch of individuals, but generally were studious, pleasant, and quite fun.

When Christmas approached that year, various students decided to organize a "Secret Santa" party. All those who wished to participate put their names into a hat; then, each drew out the name of an individual for whom they were to provide a gift as Secret Santa. Over the course of a week or two, a mound of presents -- some lumpy, some oddly wrapped, and some beautifully arranged -- appeared under the house Christmas tree. Herself added her carefully-selected present to the pile.

When it came time for the Christmas party, one of the group's members (a large and jolly student) dressed as Santa Claus, and a party was held. Herself had the privilege of serving as Santa's Elf. She wore her festive hat, and ferried presents from under the tree to Santa, who would call out the name of the individual to whom the present belonged. Many of the students cheerfully sat on Santa's lap to unwrap their gifts. Some of the presents were serious: a pen with the school's logo. Other presents were less so: the elephant-shaped g-string presented to Santa himself, who modeled it over his Santa suit to the delight of everyone. There was much merriment.

The pile of presents decreased steadily until there were only a handful left.  Herself gathered the last of the packages and realized that whoever had drawn her name for the Secret Santa party had not come through: there was no present for her. She was stricken.

She wondered for a brief moment which of the people who had gladly received his or her own present was her Secret Santa. She did not know who her Secret Santa was; she could not imagine that any of the people in the room would deliberately go out of their way to try to hurt her by not providing a present for her. She couldn't take her Secret Santa's failure personally. The big question was: how to gracefully escape? If she had been solely an audience member, she could have easily hidden among the rest of the partygoers, and no one would have known that her Santa had failed. But she was elf. There was no way to hide.

After the last present had been distributed, the crowd began chanting, "Elf! Elf! Elf!" in the expectation that Herself would have the privilege of being the last one to sit on Santa's lap to open her own gift. All eyes were upon her; yet there was nothing she could say. She hurriedly shook her head at Santa Claus and busied herself with the cleanup of stray bits of wrapping paper. The crowd's chants fell away, and the students gradually began talking among themselves and moving away to the dining room in search of snacks. She finished tidying and went back to her dorm alone.

The next day, there was a present labeled for her at her station where she sat to check the meal cards. She could tell by the handwriting and the wrapping paper that it was a gift from a warm-hearted and generous friend of hers, who had witnessed the Secret Santa party and had understood what had happened. It was extremely kind of her friend. Somehow, though, it was not quite the same as a Secret Santa present.

-----------------

Christmas can be a very isolating time.  There may be inadvertent (or even deliberate) exclusion from one's social group; there are distances from family and friends, both in time and in space; there are memories of loved ones gone, of innocence lost, of expectations dashed, of hopes unrealized. It can be difficult. Nevertheless, we can find joy in the moment. Even if there is no gift right now for us, we can still be Santa's Elves, ferrying presents both literal and metaphorical to those around us. We can make a difference. And we will.

Merry Christmas, from me to you.

Two Turtle Doves, and A Partridge in a Pear Tree

2011-12-18T17:41:00.000-07:00

'Tis that season again: the time of year when it is traditional to bestow presents upon a variety of people. As we have mentioned before, Herself loves to give gifts. Every aspect of the act -- from careful thought, to selection, to wrapping -- is a pleasure. She does have a tendency to be shy about offering gifts, since she prefers to allow the receiver an opportunity for opening the present in private rather than to watch the unveiling. Nevertheless, Christmastime is filled with enjoyable moments of gift-giving for her.

This year, she was a bit slow to get into the spirit of the season. Mundane matters, too trivial to mention, have generated a general Bah, humbug sentiment that has prevailed for quite a while.

This afternoon, though, while curled up in her flannel sheets nursing a migraine, she had a small epiphany. She was contemplating gifts for a particular person, and fretting that she had not found just the right book for that person, when an idea popped into her head -- a wonderful thought of a book that she believes will delight and entertain the person. Through the glory of the internet and Amazon.com, she now eagerly awaits its shipment to her within the next few days, just in time for Christmas.

There are fewer things more pleasant than the anticipation of bestowing what she feels will be a Very Good Gift upon someone for whom she cares. She is happy.

Bah Humbug

2011-12-16T08:13:00.000-07:00

Offspring the Third desperately wanted a Christmas-themed T-shirt to wear to school today. He brought down a white shirt and proposed that a Santa hat be generated upon it. He suggested the use of permanent markers (decoration of one's t-shirts with markers is a common occurrence in the household). Herself smelled potential disaster in the use of permanent markers (one mistake would no doubt cause the implosion of the planet); fortunately, there was a plethora of felt available. And lo and behold, a T-shirt was made.

Herself's thoughts: Why, CERTAINLY, youngest child, I would be DELIGHTED to manufacture a Christmas-themed T-shirt for you RIGHT NOW ten minutes before you must leave for school, with all the MULTITUDE OF CRAFTY TALENTS that I do not have. It's not vexing at all that you did not remember to mention it yesterday evening when I told you I was going out to help your father do some shopping for his office staff, even though that would have been the PERFECT time to say, is there a chance you could pick me up a T-shirt while you are out? And the fact that all of my hot glue gun glue sticks are mysteriously missing so that I have to use a pencil to jam the last mangy crumbs of glue stick through both wretched glue guns to complete the project? NO PROBLEM!

Herself's consolation: a couple of handfuls of chocolate chips. Ah, chocolate, you soothe frayed nerves. We will regret your consumption later, I'm sure, but we appreciate your help now.

Herself's creation, as modeled by Offspring the Third:

Hip, Hip... Not Hooray

2011-12-14T16:27:00.000-07:00

Herself's right hip has taken umbrage of late at certain demands put upon it, in particular, things such as push-kicks and side-kicks and other routine tae kwon do movements. It is frustrating, because she needs the movement and the exercise, and yet finds her hip quickly becoming painful each time. She is not quite certain what the problem is, but she is sufficiently annoyed that she is actually contemplating making an appointment to see the doctor to discuss it. Given her general dislike of appearing before medical professionals, that is a bit significant.

She secretly hopes that if she ignores the problem long enough, it will go away. That never quite seems to happen, though, does it?

Fur

2011-12-13T08:53:00.001-07:00

After more than a decade of carefully tending a variety of guinea pigs, as well as various hamsters and a pet mouse, not to mention the small-medium-and-large-canines, why is Herself all of a sudden getting daily advertisements from a fur coat company?

I know we could debate at length the issues surrounding use of animal-derived products, such as the wearing of leather, the consuming of meat, and others. Perhaps it is a double standard that Herself does not generally have problems with such things. For some reason, though, the idea of sporting a garment made of an animal pelt seems particularly egregious, especially after regularly medicating and syringe-feeding more than one needy or elderly rodent, as well as recently holding one while he took his last breaths.

The only fur Herself will be wearing will be attached to whatever living animal is currently draped across her lap.

One Bean

2011-12-12T11:13:00.000-07:00

One year when Herself was quite small, she and her family went to visit her paternal grandparents who lived several states away. Always prone to motion sickness, she felt a bit ill after the plane flight and subsequent drive to their house. After a rest to settle her stomach, she joined the adult relatives who remained gathered around the dining room table, chatting after a meal.

She sat upon her mother's knee, and her mother offered her a few edibles, including beans. Herself did not mind beans, but was not in a bean sort of mood, so asked for not too many. Her mother carefully arranged one single bean on the plate with the other items, and asked with gravity: "Did you want me to cut the bean up for you?" Herself answered, "Yes, please." And her mother did so with a flourish.

The mixture of humor, kindness and loving attention that was bestowed upon Herself in that moment was a comfort that she will always remember.

Contemplation

2011-12-11T13:59:00.001-07:00

Around the age of forty -- sometimes slightly before, sometimes slightly after -- many people, Herself included, begin to ask themselves some difficult questions. It is a time of reevaluation: assessment of all that has come before, and contemplation of what is to come ahead. Have I made the right choices? Would I do things differently? Why have I not accomplished all that I thought I would by now? What did I actually think I would have accomplished by now, anyway? Who am I, truly? What am I doing? What do I want to do? What are my true skills? How can I pursue my dreams? What are my dreams?

We look around and see people in the public eye who are so clearly driven by what they do and who are so very successful. We see young upstarts who somehow become famous and manage to make millions of dollars while still in their teens. How do they do it? How did they know what to do? Is it too late for us? Have we somehow missed the boat? It is easy to become discouraged, fearing that we do not have any particular magical, marketable, marvelous skill. What to do?

First, we do what we must, for we have responsibilities. We go to work and to the store. We attend to the myriad minuscule tasks of daily life: laundry, dishes, bills, plumbing, cars, pets. We plow ahead.

And yet: we dream. We search. We think about trying new things, even though we do not yet take the steps to do so. On sunny days, we relish the myriad opportunities that lie in front of us. In our darker moments, finding even one small comfort seems an insurmountable challenge. Despite that, we do not yet despair, for we know in our hearts that the sun will come out again.

We move forward. We sometimes retreat. We learn to appreciate the pleasure of, and to express gratitude for, the small and profound moments. We love. We break. We heal. We look for meaning and purpose. We wait. We hope. We try. We try again.

We have courage. We have patience. All will be revealed in the fullness of time.

Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.
And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself like a lotus of countless petals.

- Kahlil Gibran

Photograph copyright Mediocria Firma, 2011.

Rudolph

2011-12-10T09:41:00.000-07:00

I know, I know - dogs aren't meant to wear clothing. Yet for some reason this tiny seasonal dog-suit, which was irresistibly on sale, captured our imagination. The Very Small Dog dislikes it enormously, for she is a free-range dog and eschews all garments, including collars. Nevertheless, we are mightily entertained.

Judge Not

2011-12-08T21:31:00.000-07:00

There are times when Herself is truly dismayed by the unkind or heartless words that leave others' mouths. This would be one of those times. Even though the statements in question -- which are best left unwritten -- were not directed at her, Herself is not only perplexed that an individual would say such things, but also dismayed that she could not be there in person to defend the targeted individual or deflect the cruel commentary.

Promise me, readers: if there comes a time when I am judgmental rather than welcoming; when I am more concerned with outward appearances than with enjoyment of another's company; when I mock the interests of individuals rather than supporting them in their endeavors; when I plow forth with my own agenda instead of listening carefully to others -- should any of these things happen, you must take me out to the desert and leave me there, so that I may reevaluate myself.

If you judge people, you have no time to love them. - Mother Teresa

California Bean Bag

2011-12-07T09:10:00.002-07:00

We were listening to Rihanna's California King Bed in the car while driving Offspring the Second to school this morning. He was listening to the lyrics, and then deadpanned:

"California Bean Bag."

Hee. I will never be able to hear that song again without thinking "bean bag."

Offspring the Second has a marvelous wit. He is stoic and generally quiet, and yet his magnificent sense of the absurd, of sarcasm, of contrast and alliteration and pun and wordplay, flows constantly under the surface and emerges periodically like a serene and glorious fish in a river of language. His interpersonal skills and understanding of the human race are remarkable for a young man of not-quite-seventeen. He is kind, thoughtful, and humorous. Such a blessing, he is.

I admire him tremendously.

Not Snow!

2011-12-06T15:37:00.001-07:00

For strange and mysterious reasons, the high-speed cable-modemn internet connection cannot tolerate any form of precipitation. The molecular dusting of snow that this desert land received yesterday was apparently sufficient to cause the connection to give up in despair. Although a temporary cable-free connection is available, it is quite sloooooooooooow. Alas.

At first, the provider offered a service call on Saturday. When we explained that Herself telecommutes and that a greater-than-96-hour delay in restoring internet services was not acceptable, we were transferred to another individual who informed us that we were quite fortunate to be able to squeeze in a service call a mere 53 to 57 hours from then. :::commence the grinding of teeth:::

We will hopefully be back with aplomb within two days' time.

Frosty

2011-12-05T09:42:00.000-07:00

This morning we awoke to find that the grass was all frosted. Oooo! Pretty! So chilly! The Very Small Dog was not at all sure that she wanted to walk on the frost. She looked mighty silly trying to sniff out the right place in the yard to pee, while attempting not to put more than one paw on the ground at a time.

The frost reminds Herself of winters in New England, where she was born and raised and spent five years after graduate school. Though she doesn't necessarily miss New England itself, there are times when she is nostalgic for the mountains of snow. As long as her toes and her fingers were warm, she was happy to be out in the cold. The white blanket of snow, the gray sky, the quiet. Beautiful.

She remembers shoveling snow in the winter when she was pregnant with Offspring the First. At five or so months along, she had finally left the days of nausea and fatigue behind, and there was something very satisfying about the combination of the warmth of her burgeoning belly within her parka and the mild exertion of the shoveling. Chipping ice off the windshield was not nearly as enjoyable, though.

She would not mind a little shoveling this winter. Will there be snow?

Yours For The Asking

2011-12-04T11:58:00.002-07:00

How difficult it is, to ask for what one wants.

Herself has a firmly-ingrained abhorrence for asking anyone for anything. She has always worked carefully to avoid inconveniencing or upsetting others. She remembers that even as a small child she would deliberately refrain from speaking up about her wants. She would remain silent even if her siblings mentioned their preferences about even the smallest of things, such as the selection of a vegetable for dinner, lest she create extra work for someone or cause someone else to be unhappy with her choice. (There were a lot of log-shaped green beans -- her brother's favorite -- throughout her youth.) She would not ask to attend a school function if it meant that someone would have go out of their way to drive her there. She would not mention feeling unwell until she was sick enough to require bed rest. She would not ask for any of the clothing that was popular amongst her peers, for that would mean that one of her parents would have to take her shopping and, worse yet, spend money on her. One of the most difficult questions was, "What would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas?" Egads.

She was a very quiet child.

She is still much the same way today. Much of her aversion to the telephone stems from a fear that she may somehow interrupt or inconvenience the person whom she is calling. She puts the Offsprings' and her Beloved's needs ahead of her own even if it is to her own detriment, always. She remains silent when a relative criticizes, lest she wound the feelings of that relative by speaking back. She does not daydream about what things she would like to have; she considers that a waste of time and energy since she will only very rarely spend money on herself -- it could be better spent on others. She does not ask for help except under dire circumstances. She is most comfortable functioning within these self-imposed parameters.

Underneath it all, though, there is a slow and quiet evolution. Over the past few years, Herself has begun to realize that she is allowed to want. Her needs do count. Perhaps, occasionally, it is appropriate for her to speak up for herself.

She works hard to anticipate and meet the needs of other people. I'm sure she errs on occasion, but she tries. Very hard indeed. Nevertheless, after much analysis she has determined that not everyone does -- or can -- do the same. Humanity is not telepathic, nor even always empathetic, nor do people (including herself) often understand all the little eccentricities, motivations, and driving forces in even those with whom they are close. Other people cannot meet her desires unless and until she shows them what they are.

Her needs are not often complex: usually, they are basics such as a need to get enough uninterrupted sleep. Occasionally, she would like to have a calm and helpful person step in and handle matters during the rare moment when she feels too exhausted, upset, or ill to take care of matters herself. Yet because she so seldom asks anyone for assistance, it is impossible for those around her to ascertain when she is close to her breaking point.

Therein lies the greatest difficulty. She must learn to ask. It goes against every fibre of her being to do so. Yet it must be done.

She has begun to try. It no doubt surprises everyone around her when she states what she would like another person to do. So unexpected! She evaluates at length before making any request to ensure that it is in fact a reasonable one. She does her best to choose her words carefully, too, so that people will understand that her statements are not a criticism of them, but an explanation of her own particular needs. She knows that her requests might be met with a "no," and she understands that she cannot take such refusals personally. It is difficult. She is learning.

She would do well to remember that the asking and giving of help go hand-in-hand, always. Fewer things bring her greater happiness than to help others; perhaps, occasionally, she should offer someone she loves the opportunity for such a happiness for themselves. It could be wonderful.

Refusing to ask for help when you need it is refusing someone the chance to be helpful. - Ric Ocasek

Barcode

2011-12-03T10:15:00.000-07:00

Marvelous, indeed.

NaNoWriMo Results

2011-12-02T18:04:00.000-07:00

National Novel Writing Month drew to a close this week. Herself had aspirations. How did she do?

Erm. Well.

November was A Difficult Month, bookended by the car accident at the beginning and the passing of James the guinea pig at the end, and with assorted things in the middle. There was blogging, but not much work upon the story. Nevertheless, I will point out encouragingly that the story is three times longer than it was at the beginning of the month. So that is good. While it is not a great deal of progress, it is progress just the same.

We will see how much the story advances in December. I am optimistic that it will continue to grow.

Small Success

2011-12-01T10:32:00.001-07:00

Herself had to dress slightly upscale this morning, in dress pants and a sweater rather than her usual running pants and fleece.

She was pleased -- and relieved -- to find that her size 4 dress pants fit comfortably.

In the daily struggle concerning body image and self-confidence, it's a small but satisfying victory.

Spectres and Phantasms

2011-11-29T10:14:00.001-07:00

Herself has always been a vivid dreamer. It's odd. Even though she considers her imagination to be fairly pedestrian when she is awake, her subconscious -- or whatever mechanism serves to generate dreams -- is extremely creative, bringing forth complex, multilayered storylines while she sleeps. She is more likely to have unusual dreams if she has a migraine pending or if she is ill, although even ordinary nights can yield dreams of exceptional detail. She always remembers her dreams, too.

Once when she was very tiny (probably three or four years of age) she had a fever-induced dream that she still can recall today. She dreamt that her bed was made of sand; there was a warm yellow sunlit glow in the room and a soft pleasant breeze. She was digging happily in the sand, feeling it flow through her fingers and patting it into piles, and was singing a song aloud to herself. When she got close to the end of the song, the air in the room suddenly became still, a hush fell over everything, and the closet door flew open, revealing a paper grocery bag standing upside-down with the bottom toward the ceilling. The bag mouthlessly sang the last line of the song in a loud, proud voice. The bag was alive. She woke up drenched in sweat, horrified.

Nightmares of inanimate objects becoming cognizant have long since passed away. Adult dreams tend to have a foundation in the mundane, such as being back in college and realizing she has missed a class or not studied for an exam, or needing to facilitate a complex homework project for one of the Offspring. There are the typical flying/falling dreams that most people have, too. Even within those dreams, though, there are tiny details - heat and cold, sounds, smells, sensations of touch - that linger in her memory after she awakens.

More powerful than the sensory elements of her dreams, though, are the vivid emotions that occasionally come into play. Dreams generating anger, fear, or despair: the feelings bleed into the first minutes after she awakens, and she must actively douse the flames of the rage, the terror, the sorrow, lest they follow her into the day.

She had one such dream last night. It was an unusually intricate nightmare, so very real in its details and so very horrible in its content, that more than once she asked another individual, is this a dream, or is it real? She could not tell. She finally was awoken by a sensation of panic and was able to drag herself back to consciousness. Such a relief. She is still haunted nearly four hours later. I asked whether describing the dream here would help to release her from its hold, but she cannot bring herself to put it into words. In truth, she says, this dream needs only a single word to describe its horror:

Abandonment.

Fascinating, what hides in the psyche.

Off She Goes

2011-11-27T13:22:00.000-07:00

Herself took Offspring the First to the airport today to return to college. Alas. Such a short visit.

It was delightful to have her home. She was cheerful, patient, pleasant, conversational, and her usual witty self. Wonderful.

As she watched her daughter ascend alone on the escalator in the airport, Herself was struck by how grown-up Offspring the First has become. Traveling by herself - imagine. Making her own way in the world, one step at a time. Exciting.

Spread your wings and fly, child, fly. So many adventures await. I am happy for you.

James

2011-11-26T07:33:00.003-07:00

James the guinea pig did not come out of his house to eat his lettuce yesterday evening. For James, who heartily loves his veggies, this was a giant red flag of alarm.

Herself took him to the emergency vet last night. Given his age and condition, he is likely in kidney failure. He was sent home for hospice care. Herself knew, even before the vet's caveat that it could be hours or weeks, that the end was near.

And indeed it is. While James took a syringe feeding well last night, but this morning, he was limp. There is no point in trying further. He does not seem to be in any pain - he periodically twitches and lets out a tiny piggy squeak, but it seems more like reflex than a purposeful action. He is wrapped in a towel in Herself's lap, where hopefully he will be warm and comfortable until his last breath.

Go towards the light, James. Better things await you. Thank you for the time you have spent with us.

Update, one hour after initial posting: James is gone.
Godspeed, James.

Gray Friday

2011-11-25T17:55:00.000-07:00

Beautiful weather today - cool, rainy. Such a pleasant change.

It would be glorious weather for hiking.

:::daydreaming:::

Giving of Thanks

2011-11-24T08:27:00.000-07:00

Herself speaks:

I thought to write a note of thankfulness - yet I find that when I read last year's Thanksgiving entry, it says the things that I would like to say.

I will add only: thank you, my readers, for the opportunity to be a part of your life. I am enriched and rewarded by your presence, and am grateful for the momentary connection we share during the time it takes you to read. You inspire me to write, and the writing brings me hope, consolation, and happiness.

You make my life a better place.

Anticipation

2011-11-23T08:46:00.000-07:00

Offspring the First arrives home this evening, for the first time since we dropped her off at college over three months ago. HUZZAH. How we are looking forward to her visit. Lovely child, now grown-up young woman, we have missed the presence of your smile, of your humor, and of your loving spirit. It will be a pleasure to have you under our roof again, even if for only a short while.

In the Tree

2011-11-22T08:22:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday, my friend.

Not Ready

2011-11-21T07:36:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving is in how many days?

Who is coming into town, and when?

What do I need to cook?

Where is my brain?

Breakfast first. Then planning.

Chastity Dog

2011-11-20T18:39:00.002-07:00

Tiny Dog takes umbrage upon any attempt of an individual to touch the person whose lap she is currently occupying. She frequently sits upon Herself, and the rest of the family members entertain themselves by attempting to poke Herself with a single finger while Tiny Dog snaps vigorously at their hands and growls menacingly. (Well, as menacingly as a 3.5-pound creature can growl.) Tiny Dog prefers most to drape herself across a person's crotch like a tempermental merkin. She is certain to keep one's virtue intact.

It's The Little Things

2011-11-18T07:58:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Herself spoke at length on the telephone with her marvelous Sister; made chicken soup for her Cherished Friend and saw him briefly to hand it to him; had a short but lovely catch-up chat on the telephone with her Pea-in-a-Pod Friend; prepared a quiche for a relative's visit for dinner; and took a long walk with the dogs and her Beloved, who had unusually arrived home early enough from work to do so.

It's these seemingly ordinary things that make Herself happiest.

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. - Kahlil Gibran

Questionable Musical Tastes, To Some

2011-11-16T09:42:00.000-07:00

Confession: I like James Blunt. Not in an obsessive, screaming-Justin-Bieber-fan kind of way, but in a "if he ever has a concert near enough, I am SO THERE" manner. I have his three albums; two books of piano music of his songs; and even a commercial DVD of a live performance of his. If a song of his comes on the radio or appears in the shuffle on the iPod, I will always listen to it. One does not skip over James Blunt.

I particularly enjoy Tears and Rain and Cry from Back To Bedlam; I Really Want You and Same Mistake from All The Lost Souls; and Into The Dark, No Tears, and Best Laid Plans from Some Kind Of Trouble. For dancing: I'll Be Your Man works quite well. I'm also quite partial to his cover of Crowded House's Fall At Your Feet.

I know others may scoff. I do not care. Do not mock The James, for I am fond of him.

Socks

2011-11-15T07:44:00.000-07:00

If we were all hobbits, there would not be this enormous sock mountain on the kitchen table. It is comprised of the various socks of the five household members; when Herself folds laundry, if a pair is not easily found, the leftover socks go into this basket. Eventually the socks reach a critical mass, and a weeding-and-matching session is in order. Occasionally, Herself tries to bribe one of the Offspring into doing so, with a (fulfilled) promise of remuneration for the effort. The pile of socks in the basket grows much smaller, and then gradually larger again over time, until the whole cycle repeats itself.

Wretched socks.

I think that this time, we will stuff all of the remaining odd socks into a single big sock, and give it to the dogs to play with. They love socks. It will be entertaining.

Mystery Muffin

2011-11-14T07:34:00.000-07:00

Today's new muffin is:

the butternut squash muffin.

Slightly lighter in color than the pumpkin muffin, it is rather pretty, I think.

Fairly tasty, too!

Guns, Again (CHL)

2011-11-13T12:06:00.000-07:00

We've come quite a ways since our first post on guns.

This morning, Herself and her Beloved completed the range qualifying portion of the course that is necessary to obtain a Concealed Handgun License. Herself was a mite anxious, but it went fine. The primary difficulty for her was the requirement that the gun be .32 caliber or larger - the .380 that they used certainly packs more punch than the .22, with which Herself is most comfortable. Nevertheless, a brief round of last-minute practice yesterday afternoon ensured that she was sufficiently familiar with the weapon so that all would go smoothly today. And so it did.

It's still a wee bit odd to think of Herself handling firearms. They used to be wholly outside of Herself's comfort zone. Now, though, they are within the fringes of her comfort zone, and with a bit more practice, will become even more familiar. She's come far.

What will be next?

Purposeful Fishes

2011-11-12T10:03:00.000-07:00

Herself is looking after Cherished Friend's fish for a few days. It cheers her to see the fish swimming about; they are small, colorful, and purposeful. There is one petulant piscine who hides just long enough for Herself to begin to worry that it has croaked, before it makes its appearance - ta-daaa. Can a fish be mischevious? What goes on inside those teeny tiny fishy brains? I wonder.

Friday Nights

2011-11-11T23:04:00.000-07:00

Although Cat Stevens once sang about another Saturday night, it is Friday nights that are most problematic when Herself lacks adult company. When the Offspring were small, such Friday evenings were not quite as difficult because there were still the labor-intensive child needs of entertainment, bath supervision, story time, and bedtime routines. Now that the Offspring are half-grown, though, the evening no longer has much plan or definitive structure.

The Offspring take this day off from their usual homework and taekwondo, and have their own activities. Offspring the Third spends time hanging out with his neighborhood buddies, plays with the dogs, and watches television; Offspring the Second devotes a significant amount of time to his drums, and roams his favorite internet sites and FaceBook; Offspring the First, off at college, likely enjoys time with her friends.

If Herself's Beloved comes home early enough on a Friday, sometimes they take the dogs for a walk around the block, and Herself might even have an opportunity to cook dinner for her Beloved. Tonight, however, Beloved is out at a particular function -- the culmination of several late nights' work -- and will not be home until the wee hours of the morning. And so, Herself is alone.

Without the motivation of adult companionship and conversation, Herself lacks the impetus to do much of anything. She looks at the carpet, but is unmotivated to plug in the vacuum and drag it throughout the house. She plays the piano for a bit. She tidies the pets and makes dinner for Offspring the Second and Third. She folds the laundry. She grumbles at the dishwasher, which did not release the soap properly in the last cycle, and resets it to try again. The tile could use some steam cleaning, she supposes - maybe tomorrow. Her elliptical trainer awaits; and it will continue to do so. The small dog has tucked herself into Herself's hoodie, and they recline on the couch together, feeling the cold of the evening settle upon them.

Funny how, when there is so much empty time, so little gets done.

Perhaps I will send Herself to bed. In the light of the early morning, all will seem just a bit brighter, and she will be able to get things done once more.

One Song

2011-11-11T12:06:00.000-07:00

How many of you listen to the same songs, over and over and over again? The same musician, over and over and over again?

I do. Herself does.

Today, as on other days, the songs of Ben Harper accompany us as we write, as we clean, as we cook. His music is direct, intimate, raw. It speaks to us.

I cannot explain why his Amen, Omen fills the void as no other song does. There was a time when this song reminded Herself of her friends; it still does, though it is now much more. It is a prayer, a sorrow, a remembrance, a call to strength, a wish and a question.

It is perfect for right now.

Manning Up

2011-11-10T12:11:00.001-07:00

Herself asks for your forgiveness and patience for her difficulties of late. She is more fragile than anyone realizes. Nevertheless, she has tied a knot in her rope, manned up, and gathered herself again to resume doing what needs to be done.

She reminds herself that self-pity is fruitless. She tells herself that she wants, not that she needs. She knows that she must find her own comfort and strength within herself. It is there.

In the depth of my soul there is a wordless song. - Kahlil Gibran

Tying a Knot

2011-11-08T17:11:00.000-07:00

Herself speaks:

There are days when I am tired of being an adult. There are eight million little pieces of life that all require my attention. There is this project at work, that deadline at work, this e-mail, that telephone call, these reminders, those concerns about clients paying and about having adequate amounts of work to do. On the home front, there is the laundry, the food, the bills, the cleaning, the pets, the house -- an endless cycle of care and attention. Added to that, is the delicate balancing act of handling the needs and wants of all the various family members. Everyone needs nurturing.

I do too.

More than anything else, I would like someone to make me a snack, pat my hair, and tell me that everything will be all right.

When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. ~ Franklin D. Roosevelt

Solitary

2011-11-08T08:11:00.000-07:00

It is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be a reason the more for us to do it.
- Rainer Maria Rilke

Clair de Lune

2011-11-07T07:07:00.000-07:00

At night, I open the window
and ask the moon to come
and press its face against mine.
Breathe into me.
Close the language-door
and open the love-window.
The moon won't use the door,
only the window.
- Rumi

Unrequited

2011-11-06T19:37:00.001-07:00

Herself thoroughly dislikes romance novels, romantic comedy and romance-based drama movies, and works of similar ilk. Reading about or watching missed connections, misunderstandings, and failed relationships is discomfiting at a visceral level for her. While she will willingly listen to the heartaches of her friends and attempt to offer them solace, she always vigorously declines to subject herself to the lovelorn sorrows of fictitious individuals.

It is therefore incredibly odd that there appears to be a subplot centering on an unrequited love in the story she is writing. Although the overarching themes and story line have yet to be determined, this particular element in the story revealed itself early on while Herself was working on developing the main characters. It likely will not be remotely central to the finished story; yet it does remarkably exist.

If I flew away tonight
Would you search for me?
Or would you glance at my empty perch
And forget me even before you turned away?
Unencumbered, wherever I would fly,
I would be free to think of you in peace.
In silence, I would reflect on the color of your eyes
And yearn for the tender strength of your hands.

I will be interested to see how this element of the story completes itself.

Just an Ordinary Saturday

2011-11-05T09:55:00.000-06:00

It's remarkable how the crunch of metal in a car accident echoes in one's head afterwards. That is a terrible sound. I hope you are spared from ever hearing it.

Onwards, and upwards. Today's projects: exercise, clean, write. In that order. And daydream of happy places.

Almost As Good

2011-11-03T23:54:00.000-06:00

There are times when one longs for human company, but it is not to be had. In those moments, I recommend a good book for solace. I have just finished the first Percy Jackson book. It was quite a good read. Perhaps this weekend I will read another.

Wish I'd Gone to the Grocery Store Instead of the Gas Station

2011-11-03T13:07:00.000-06:00

Note from Herself:

Minor car accident. No injuries, thank God.

It really does all happen in slow motion just like on television.

Feeling just a bit traumatized by the experience. The blog may be a tiny bit quiet until I regain my equanimity.

This, too, shall pass.

National Novel Writing Month

2011-11-02T09:40:00.000-06:00

It's NaNoWriMo!

Remember the story that Herself had begun a while ago? She wrote two short scenes then -- approximately 400 words each -- and then stopped. It seems, perhaps, that those pieces were crying out to be put into words, but that the full formation of the rest needed to brew slowly. She has contemplated the story periodically since then, generating additional characters in her mind. She has no distinct plot yet. Still, with a bit of work yesterday, she now has just a hair over 1,700 words. With the average novel being anywhere from 60,000 to 200,000 words (according to various searches in The Google), at this rate, it will take a mighty long time. Nevertheless, the creative process is always a happy thing.

Character development is particularly tricky for Herself; she has rather a lot of difficulty putting herself into another's shoes, seeing through another's eyes. She knows that the fictional individuals she creates will likely have qualities similar to those of actual people, for she can write best from what she has seen and felt, even if she adjusts, idealizes, or otherwise alters those experiences. She wonders whether people will see themselves in her book, or if they will erroneously attribute actions or motivations to her familiars by assuming that particular characters are modeled after certain real individuals.

She will remind everyone: it is fiction. Those who know her well already know that her life is an open book. This written story will be something else entirely.

Boo!

2011-11-01T08:13:00.000-06:00

There were approximately 600 trick-or-treaters this year. They came more gradually than last year, though, as we still had treats at 8:30 PM, in contrast to last year when everything was gone long before 8 o'clock. There were many tiny pirates, the usual princesses, a few scary masks, and general good cheer all around. Offspring the Second delighted in leaping out and frightening passers-by, and Offspring the Third was practically beside himself with excitement at the whole trick-or-treating bonanza.

There was even a bit of pumpkin carving, too. So impressed were they by the jack o'lanterns made by Offspring the Second and the Third and Cherished Friend, that Herself and her Beloved have already discussed decorating the yard for next year's Halloween with a great multitude of pumpkins. That will be excellent indeed.

The most intricate, as well as carefully and patiently wrought, was the Star Wars Death Star. Fabulous.

Nu-nu

2011-10-30T10:06:00.002-06:00

Continuing with her nesting, Herself has tidied the remainder of the kitchen cabinets and the drawers. She threw away some things, rearranged other things, and generally organized the rest of the things. It is quite pleasant to open a drawer or a cabinet and find exactly what one needs now.

In the back of one cabinet, she found a pacifier, still in its packaging. Affectionately referred to as a "nu-nu," a pacifier was a staple in the household for a long, long time. All of the Offspring were extremely orally inclined as infants and toddlers; they spent a great deal of time sucking on thumbs, fingers, and nu-nus, as well as attempting to put all kinds of non-comestible items into their mouths. Herself always kept a spare emergency nu-nu handy in her purse.

It has been ages since anyone in the house used a pacifier, and Herself was a tad wistful at the discovery of the nu-nu. Mercifully, though, she is not all verklempt. I think she has almost completely come to terms with the fact that there will never be another baby in the household.

All the same, she would be pleased to be able to hold someone else's baby for a little while.

Happy Place

2011-10-29T09:46:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, a picture captures a moment so beautifully that it refreshes the soul just as much as the moment itself did. I present to you one such picture from camping a few weeks ago. We are ever so grateful to our Cherished Friend, the photographer. Thank you.

Heavy

2011-10-28T16:11:00.000-06:00

Today's post is brought to you by The Jeans That Are Uncomfortably Tight.

Herself has gained a bit of weight. How much, she does not know; she has kept her New Year's resolution not to step on the scale, in an attempt to break herself of her borderline obsession about about the numbers. What she does know, though, is that her favorite jeans -- which used to be fairly comfortable --are just a hair too constrictive right now.

Let the self-loathing commence!

She is angry at herself for her clear lack of self-discipline. She should exercise more faithfully, she should watch her diet more carefully. She currently is spending time forging a new set of rules in her head to try to lower her caloric intake and increase her activity. It should help. Losing weight is always a slow process, though, particularly in women of a certain age. She's set a reasonable goal of several weeks out to be able to wear her favorite jeans again. I think she can do it.

The hardest part, though, will be to change her eating habits. For she is a stress eater, and she turns to food in times of distress. Self-comfort with carbohydrates.

Life has been a bit tricky of late. There have been cookies.

She supposes in some ways that it must be like trying to stop smoking: just as there are certain circumstances - during stress, as a habit, or even with pleasure, too - under which people feel a need for a cigarette, there are particular times when she craves food. She needs to find a replacement for those times. But what? Jog around the house instead? Drink a glass of water? Chew gum? (She does not chew gum. It is yucky.)

She tells herself, maybe if she just grew a *backbone*, she could exhibit some self-control and would not have this problem.

We know it's not quite that simple, though.

She is trying. It will be one day at a time. Baby steps.

Wish her luck.

Nesting

2011-10-27T21:57:00.000-06:00

During the past couple of days, Herself has spent several hours cleaning and tidying the refrigerator, the freezer, and the pantry. She also eliminated the large pile of orts and gobbets of family life that had taken up residence on the kitchen counter and was slowing growing, like a fungus. Her plan for tomorrow is to rearrange the pots and pans in the cabinets.

It's a bit odd. I think that she is feeling a seasonal nesting need -- like a chipmunk preparing for winter -- and just happened to start in the kitchen. She plans to spend one hour each morning on a small project, with the long-term goal of weeding and organizing the rest of the house, one room at a time. She is enjoying the progress she has made so far; I think it will continue to be fruitful. We shall see!

Emerging

2011-10-25T23:09:00.000-06:00

Arthropods -- insects, spiders, crustaceans -- shed a skin in order to grow. It's an odd process in which a creature works its way out of its old covering and moves onward, leaving an empty shell behind. We came across evidence of such growth in one of our adventures, when the horde of cicadas that buzzed so noisily left a multitude of surprisingly sturdy casings clinging to the trees in which they had perched.

While people -- mercifully -- do not literally shed their skins, there are times when humans do undergo similarly significant growth.

Herself knows that she is many ways very different from how she was even a few years ago. It has been a gradual transformation; there has been no precipitating event, no watershed moment to which she can point. What is certain, though, is that she has changed. Even those close to her have noticed: her mother-in-law (a truly lovely woman) has stated that Herself has blossomed and "come out of her shell." And indeed, she has. How so? It is difficult to describe.

She is more likely to speak her mind. She questions more, and expects differently. She occasionally puts her own needs ahead -- not necessarily first, but certainly higher up than ever before. She is less tolerant of unkind words and actions, and actively takes steps to address issues that hurt her or those whom she loves. She appreciates the unique qualities of each member of her family more. She has found remarkable reserves of patience and kindness. She has reached out to other people in ways she would never have dared do before, and she is joyous and grateful for the return that she has received.

She laughs more. She hopes more. She risks more. She dreams more.

To what can we attribute her transformation? There are many different factors. If you ask her, though, she will tell you that the primary reason is:

she has true friends.

Close friends contribute to our personal growth. They also contribute to our personal pleasure, making the music sound sweeter, the wine taste richer, the laughter ring louder because they are there. - Judith Viorst

She has shed her old shell. She will never wear it again.

Likin' Lichen

2011-10-24T16:22:00.000-06:00

One of Herself's favorite classes in college was Biology of Plants. She was a freshman, and most of the class participants were juniors; nevertheless, she was not intimidated, for the subject matter was so very fascinating. The professor would sprinkle his lectures with interesting, plant-related anecdotes - and lo and behold, the anecdotes would turn up on the quizzes and exams. Tricky. The kind of learning Herself loved best.

She is a little rusty now on xylem and phloem and rhizomes and such. She has asked Offspring the Second to retrieve her textbook on plants from the depths of his room, so that she may refresh her recollection. She looks forward to it.

Every time she is out in the wilderness, she looks for her favorite plants - lichens and mosses. They are unassuming, yet immensely capable. Beautiful to look at, and texturally interesting to the touch. I am quite fond of them as well - one could say, I've taken a likin' to the lichen. Hee.

Smoke

2011-10-23T11:48:00.000-06:00

As part of the preparations for attending the Halloween party Friday, Herself took a late shower and then put her still-damp hair into a barrette. During the course of the evening, she was sitting in the path of the smoke of the fire in the firepit. Her hair must have absorbed a fair amount of the tiny smoky particulates, for this morning when Herself got into the shower, the wetting of her hair by the water released the faint scent of campfire smoke.

She wishes she could pack up her tent and her sleeping bag and go camping again. Right now.

Costumed

2011-10-22T14:45:00.000-06:00

Herself and the family attended a Halloween party at her Pea-in-a-pod-friend's abode yesterday evening. It was warm, friendly, and entertaining. There were seasonal foodstuffs, movies appropriate for the holiday, and a slightly smoky fire in the firepit in the back yard. A good time was had, particularly by Offspring the Second and Offspring the Third. It pleases her enormously when the Offspring have an opportunity to spend time with their friends and peers. Good for them.

Since it was a Halloween festivity, everyone went in costume. Herself eschewed her traditional Trinity (Matrix) costume in favor of something new. She opted this year for a Star Trek (Original Series) uniform (blue, for science officer, naturally) T-shirt dress, along with the requisite tights and knee-high boots. Slightly nerdy, but humorous. Fun!

A bit like Uhura - well, that was the goal, anyway.

It was a good outfit - in theory. In reality, Herself could not shake the feeling that it might be just a wee bit too short, or a wee bit too revealing. Is it inappropriate for her to dress in something somewhat clingy? Is it alarming, disconcerting, unpleasant for those who see her?

The real question in her head: is she just too hefty?

She tries hard. She exercises. She attempts to eat right. She makes a solid effort to keep in shape. Yet when she looks in the mirror, she is unhappy. She does not like what she sees. There is too much of her. Too much cleavage. Much too much cleavage. Also, too much tummy, too much thigh. Too much ass. She turns away, and attempts to reassure herself by reminding herself that she's a middle-aged woman, and thus, invisible to the general population anyway.

She is sad.

I don't know how to help her feel better about herself.

Loud

2011-10-21T10:01:00.004-06:00

Herself can be Loud. I know this may surprise you.

When she was a child, Herself was quite quiet. She toed the line, did what she was told, tried hard not to complain. Her needs and desires came second to the directives she had been given. She learned: don't cry, don't overreact. Such a stifled child.

As an adult, Herself has gradually -- slowly, painfully -- learned that it is OK sometimes to give voice when she is upset. She is not very good at it.

Take this morning, for example. The dogs were, yet again, all clamoring at her, barking and growling and clawing her ankles. She was Done. She yelled at them. And she irritated other household members in the process.

Retrospectively, it is easy to see why Herself had reached the end of her rope. The moment was, in fact, the culmination of over a day's worth of minor irritations, piling up one atop the other like the grains in an anthill. There was work: while mercifully present, there were unexpected time constraints on certain projects that made things a bit tricky. Taekwondo class involved unexpected sparring (albeit "non-contact" sparring - which means that while she was spared most blows, the ones that accidentally landed hurt more) followed by the pressure of performing forms individually in front of the class. An hour and a half was spent roaming the party store among hoi polloi with Offspring the Third, who desired a costume and yet was uncertain as to what he would like (and who ultimately ended up deciding to wear a costume he already had at home). The guinea pigs were nibbling incessantly and noisily on their cage, begging for treats. The shreds of a tissue were spread upon the carpet she had just vacuumed.

And more: a conversation with a distant relative who put a negative spin on every single subject raised; the migraine that started at 3 AM and kept her awake for two hours last night, and the residual headache and nausea that greeted her when the alarm clock rang; the noise of the kitchen fan and the smell of the oil in the air while the eggs were being cooked; the multiple e-mails requiring immediate attention. The dishes. The laundry. The bills to be paid today.

And, the very last straw, the barking and the clawing.

Even as she scolded the dogs, she was aware that she was loud. Like Offspring the Third, when Herself is upset, she lacks a volume control. She had reached a point beyond her ability to reel herself back, and even pointing out her difficulties would not have helped her to regain her equanimity. It was A Moment.

She wishes she could do better.

What to do? Herself knows that she clearly needs to learn to walk away from that last straw that is poking her. Or better yet, to request assistance. Yet we know how abysmal she is at asking for help.

Have patience, gentle souls, when she is loud. See whether you can remain quiet and collected when it is clear that she cannot. Step to her aid, even unasked, or even inquire what you can do to help.

She will be quieted -- and she will be grateful.

Heels

2011-10-20T11:18:00.000-06:00

The other day, Herself and I came across an article regarding footwear.

Men in heels.

Just, no.

While Herself is generally a live-and-let-live, equality between the sexes, sort of person, this fashion trend seems unsettling and inappropriate to her. She admits to me that she's probably far more conservative than one would surmise, given her fairly liberal upbringing and schooling. For her, certain things are in the domain of The Men, and other things reside in the territory of The Women. While there may be occasional crossover (Herself periodically takes a vehicle to be inspected or to have the oil changed, and she is charmed, rather than discomfited, by a man who folds laundry or takes care of dishes), she tends to divide activities -- as well as certain types of garments -- along traditional gender lines.

While men's cowboy boots, work boots, hiking boots, and so forth, may have a bit of a heel, that is not the issue here. Rather, it is pointy, strappy, wedged, decorative footwear: the stiletto, the pump, and other such shoes. These, Herself feels, are solely for women. It may not be the most politically correct position, but it is Herself's honest opinion.

Now that we have contemplated footwear, Herself feels a sudden urge to find an opportunity to wear high heels herself. Much as she loves her hiking boots, every now and then, she longs to dress up in proper girly fashion. And that is: in heels.

Bug Haiku

2011-10-19T11:00:00.000-06:00

Insects. Arachnids.
Caterpillars and inchworms.
Grashoppers, crickets.

Strange warning noises.
Uncommonly bright colors.
Crawling, flying, JUMP.

Far too many legs
Mesmerizing, frightening
Beautiful creatures.

Camping: It Was Good.

2011-10-17T21:53:00.001-06:00

Ah, camping. It was Very Good Indeed. I will tell you a bit about it and show you just a few of the many pictures.

Herself got up exceptionally early Saturday to ensure that the food was packed properly and the house was clean (she tries very hard to leave things tidy so that homecoming is pleasant). Her Cherished Friend arrived a bit before dawn, and he, she and her Beloved packed up the various bins of equipment. Offspring the Second and Offspring the Third, who had been roused quite early as well, consumed a bit of breakfast, and then off we all went to the Gila Wilderness.

A pleasant campground was found in due course, and they set up the campsite. Tents sprouted like mushrooms; chairs were arranged; tables were set; firewood was placed.

After a late brunch, there was tree-climbing. Herself loves to climb trees.

Later, off we all went for a short hike and exploration of a wash with interesting terrain, rocks, and insects. There was a bit of water, clumps of algae, and purposeful red beetles.

As the sun started to set, we returned to camp, had a meal, and sat around the campfire until all the stars came out. So relaxing.

Overnight, it was rather unexpectedly chilly. There were howls of coyotes, hoots of an owl or two, and bright light from the nearly-full moon.

Emerging from the sleeping bags in the morning was rather difficult. Everyone donned multiple layers of clothes (Herself informed me that a cold brassiere is not a pleasant experience) and the campfire was started up once more. After a leisurely morning, camp was packed up, and off we all went to the City of Rocks.

There, we found a wee little rattlesnake. We watched with considerable interest when the rangers arrived and removed it to a safer location with the aid of a large trash can and a very long pole.

After a bit of a snack, Herself took a short nap in the shade of a rock while the menfolk climbed the rocks and explored a bit. Then it was time to go.

It was a lot of pleasant adventure in a mere 37 hours away from home.

Herself was very pleased. Spending time out in nature, away from It All, is always one of Herself's greatest pleasures. Finally being able to use her tent and her sleeping bag was a long-held dream come true. Watching the four menfolk relax and enjoy themselves, far away from the burdens of work and school, was marvelous to behold. Her heart was full.

We will go camping again one day. Soon, I hope.

Camping - Trial Run

2011-10-14T14:42:00.000-06:00

This weekend, we are making our long-awaited attempt at tent camping. Woo! We will see how it goes. Pictures and commentary to follow.