Saying yes...

Morning dreams and earworms...

Woke up... fell back asleep... had a bizarre dream about being on vacation, but had to switch hotel rooms because our one room was possessed. We left so fast, I left my bag and a $900 in cash... I wanted to go back in to get it, but the door would not open more than 3 inches, and when I even got it that far, all I saw was pitch black darkness, and heard something growl.  I stopped at the hotel chapel... the priest suggested I have friends go in to retrieve the money, but I was not supposed to.

Next... in our new room, I am attacked by spiders and dragonflies, but realize they are wooden, robotic creatures that are also tiny Christmas ornaments, and when I take a closer look, see there is printing on their sides that says "Thank you for visiting!" and gives the name of the hotel...

Grizzled's response to this dream?

"You're a strange woman... and you're obviously afraid of money! GO GET THE MONEY!"

Playing all during the dream?? And stuck in my head all morning??

Parts is Parts...

Stop reading if female parts scare you...

Laura's and fish's posts, as well as political discourse, has brought back memories... memories of being a young, single woman in the city... with a very dismal and unreliable paycheck. I believe I was working freelance jobs along with two part-time jobs... but still, paying for medical care was an issue, so I went to one of the Planned Parenthood-inspired places. It was not officially PP, but was basically the same deal. You paid for what you could, and most prices were reasonable.

Even though we were well into the latter half of the 80's, this place was right out of the 70's. Lots of ferns, lots of paneling, lots of Free to Be... You and Me stuff on the walls. I was fine with FTB...YAM, but did not necessarily want it every time I went for a check-up. It got even worse once I had to go a little more often. You see, you could not get your beloved birth control pills if your blood pressure was too high. I am notorious for having low blood pressure, but when in this place, with all of the questions, all of the doubtful looks, mine would shoot sky-high.

"We'll give you a month's worth of birth control pills, but you  must come back and prove you're BP is ok!"

Before these visits I would chant... think of dolphins, think of dolphins, think of dolphins...

But when they'd come in to check me out and would ask something that merited a smart-ass answer, with me giving it, and them taking me seriously, my BP would shoot sky high. I knew the drill... take the woman, who may or may not be abused, to a dark room... and let her think of dolphins for 10 minutes. Test again.

Most of the time I could chill, and the Rx was mine.

There was one time though that 3 women came into the room and suggested it was time to get to know my body.

Huh?? I was in my 20's! I knew my body?? What do you mean?? Know my body??

They produced a plastic speculum and a mirror... I kid you not. I scanned the ferns for hidden cameras...

They told me no women truly owns herself until she can examine herself... see the beauty of her cervix. I told them I was fine with a hidden cervix. My cervix was doing what it needed to do and I also trusted the professionals who checked it out...

They took this 'no' as an issue. I was like, "No, you don't get it... I was raised by a very down to earth mother who was nurse and called a spade a spade. Sure, my father might have been a little squeamish about the workings of daughterly parts, but Mom was fully on board with open discussion. I don't have issues... in fact, I'd like to use my parts with the man I love, the man who doesn't beat me, the man who accepts me as I am... while I myself am accepting me as I am... OK?? Take the Pap test and let me be on my way!"

But they insisted... which I felt was incredibly wrong, but hey... I was at peace with my parts, and as I mentioned, wanted to freely use my parts, so I did it. Woo-hoo! Look at my cervix! Woo-hoo! Yay! It looks like... a cervix... Can I go now???

They tried to give me a speculum to take home, but I think I shocked them when I said I preferred the flesh variety. Fortunately, soon after, I got insurance and was able to go to a Dr, who never once suggested I get in touch with my cervix... a Dr who seemed to understand that I was hip to my stuff... but relied on a professional to look up under my chassis.

(Heh... when I go to add a link to type up above, TypePad says, "Insert Link"... See?? These are the kind of thoughts that got me into trouble at the Women's place!)

The darkest hour is just before dawn...

We stayed in a number of different places while on the road. Some were chosen in advance... some were merely chosen by where we wanted to go that day or when we wanted to stop. One thing did not change... when we got there, Grizzled let me decide which side of the bed I was sleeping on.

Grizzled and I have been sharing beds for over 2 decades now. He said he used to think I always chose the same side, no matter the room, but he soon learned that was wrong. He then said he thought it was the side farthest away from the door, but that wasn't right either. He then realized it was safest to just let me pick... my picking being done the minute I walk in. I sense the side I want and plop my stuff down. I have been known to switch sides during a visit though if the room doesn't feel right, even though I know switching sides won't necessarily help. Sometimes the bed is just off.

We stayed in one of these rooms while on the road. It did not feel good to me and neither did the bed. I woke up in the middle of the night, certain something was in front of me. I could feel it. If I opened my eyes, I'd see it and I didn't want to. I also knew I had a chair next to my side of the bed and had put a bunch of my stuff in it so that was probably it. I opened my eyes and sure enough, saw a large, dark mass. I reached out, felt one of my bags and then something else that didn't feel familiar. I jumped and made some panicked noise.  I snatched my hand back in as fast as I could, pulled up the covers even though it was hot, and inched over to Grizzled's side... slowly enough that he wouldn't realize he only had 5 inches on which to sleep... and then I waited... it was a long night.

I'm not afraid of a lot, but my senses/imagination can have their way with me in the dark. Maybe it was too many horror movies as a kid... one too many scary novels, or camping out with friends and trying to scare the bejesus out of each other... or my brothers, who liked to torment like only brothers can... I like to be scared, but when I choose. I don't like to be afraid at night, which is why I'm glad I don't have to sleep alone... even when I was alone, I still had a dog. 

I remember when I was much younger and my grandmother was still alive and living by herself, I would ask her if she was afraid at night, wasn't she tempted to sleep with a light on... somewhere?? (She had a creepy basement with dirt walls... and a scary attic... those two places would immediately pop into my mind if I was staying overnight at her otherwise wonderful house....) She said she grew up with no electricity so darkness did not bother her. She also had the Lord to look over her... Well, Grandma's Lord gave me a wicked imagination that likes to mess with me... so again, I am glad I don't have to sleep alone. I am also glad I have someone who can sleep anywhere... and doesn't mind that I need to pick my side of the bed... or who doesn't mind when I leave him only 5 inches to sleep on because I am sure that something out of Grandma's basement is sitting next to my side.

The sinister wooly bison still haunts me... and it was in our hotel room that night... I know it.

What is this??

 I've always wanted to do this. When I look at this thing, I've always felt it needed eyes. :)

A whiff of past freedom...

Our weather has been so bizarre, I have no idea what month it is. My logical brain responds to what the calendar says... my reflexive brain responds to external cues. Daffodils are done, it must be May. Grass needs to be cut twice a week, it must be June. My senses are telling me it could be any day in a 3 month period, but the other night... after a day of extreme warmth, I smelled summer. I was bringing the dogs in when my nose picked up the smell of sweet, warm plants, warm asphalt... warm, warm, warm... It felt like it was July and I should be 16... and then it dawned on me... it's early April and I am not 16, but EL will be in a matter of days. I once again understood my father pondering how could he have a 40 yr-old child when he was only 40?? Only 40... Heh...

We seem to be back in April today, and work beckons... Onward!

 

Bittersweet

My father is 84 today. Yes, he's still with us... although I think I've been holding my breath for a few years now, always expecting that call... sometimes hoping for that call as opposed to thinking of what might be coming.

He doesn't live at home anymore. He went into assisted living this past summer... something I fully understand, but still hate and don't understand. I keep resisting the urge to bust him out... while also fighting the urge to lose my lunch.

How can this be?? How could so much have happened so fast over the past few years?? How does a man go from exercising every day and having a stellar mind, to not being able to walk, and not being sure what day it is?? How does a man go from building a home and living in it, to no longer being able to live there, even though it's still his?? He has a home! He just can't live there... at least not without a team of people. It's very easy to move a baby, it's not so easy to move a 6'1" man.

He's still there though... or part of him is still there. Sweetness, as I have mentioned before, has taken a stronger hold in him than he has probably allowed since childhood. That is one of the few blessings, no, probably the only blessing of the stripping away of who he is. 

He still has a fondness for ribald jokes. Go figure. You can ask him what time of year it is the day after he attends a 4th of July celebration, and he'll say October, but apologize to him for possibly giving him a wedgie when trying to move him from his wheelchair to his recliner, and he'll laugh right on cue and say it's probably the most he's felt down there in a long time...

He still retains (or I think he does) a fondness for flatulence humor, so today, when out shopping, and happening upon the scratch 'n sniff farting unicorn card, I snatched it up. I guess I'll find out Sunday, when we go to visit, whether this part of him still exists, or if it has joined the long line of characteristics he has left behind.

Below is my father, in younger years... Ha! I say younger, but he would have been roughly my age now when this was taken... 1976. He loved to cook out and built an awesome barbeque pit, which allowed him and one of his best friends to throw annual hog roasts. 1976 was one of the years they didn't... instead it was the Bicentennial Beef Bash... beef was chosen so a variety of other friends who did not partake of pork could attend.

You gotta love those shirts... again, it was the 70's... His glasses, however, were pure him. He's worn round spectacles since and before I've known him. I counted once, he had around 120 pairs... all different, but all round. Some crazier than others. He referred to them as his Magoo glasses.

And then there's that smile... a smile he often tried to restrain because it was crooked. Egads. What was he thinking. Smile Dad... smile!

The lyrics of this song don't really pertain, but it's been playing in my head since I put this up.

Dream Art Studio: Update Edition

I recently described my dream studio

... but I'm always tweaking, always rehabbing. I realized, my dream studio would need this app:

I would like to be able to push a button and all of the things I'll never need again, will never use, will never think of, will just be GONE! No sorting, no wondering, no pulling out some ancient box of whatevers and thinking, "WILL I EVER NEED THESE WHATEVERS EVER AGAIN!?!?"

If I ask my mind that, my mind will suddenly go to the millions of ways I might need these things, all of the ways I could use them. Best to keep it JUST IN CASE!

However, I'm finding that I have shelves full of "Just in Case"... when I really need to use those shelves for "What I'm Doing Now!" I would allow myself a shelf for the near future and a shelf for just in case, but my shelf is turning into a closet of "Just in Case".

I want to not have to even look at things I'll never use again because if I look, I might wonder... And it would also have to be things the lamblets would never use, because they're creative sorts and love to have access to a random smattering of things. Even if I don't want something, I might keep it for them.

Of course, my dream studio would also have that, "Exactly What You Need Right Now" closet... which would hold what I needed, whether I knew it or not. It would hold whatever anyone needed. Whoever opened the door would see only what they needed.

I would also like my dream studio to have the "This is exactly what you need to eat right now" fridge... which when I opened it, would have the perfect meal, ready to go... full of whatever nutrients my bod was lacking at that time... and not full of things that would give me hives, go directly to my butt, phlegm-up my sinuses, etc, etc. (My stomach just typed this one. It's lunchtime, and I'm hungry).

I am once again trying to clear out my office/studio space so it's not full of ghosts of abandoned projects from the past or monsters from the imagined future. I need it to be a place of focus, of clarity, of ease. I think I'm going to invent a drawing table/easel/line of sketchbooks that have blinders on them so you can't see anything but what you're working on... No, even better,  you can't think of anything, but what you're working on.

I have three areas I need to be able to devote my space and thoughts to (not necessarily in order of importance):

1) Class-planning

2) Finishing work I've promised

3) Getting 3 specific projects to their next level of development.

I need to get distractions out of my way. I need to make space for what's going on now. That eject button for things I never need to think about again would sure come in handy.

New Years Rulin's

This was circulating around about a week ago... Woody Guthrie's "New Years Rulin's" from 1943. He bit off some big pieces to chew on some of them... some are probably the same as everybody else's, and will be the same next year and the year after that. I do love though that dance better came in just ahead of help win war and beat facism. :) Deep down, we all have our priorities...

Color Pron

We are still on the receiving end of Holiday Fruit around here... Last evening, a large basket of fruit arrived from someone Grizzled works with. This person always sends it after the holidays, which is nice, since our fruit stash is usually waning. It wasn't this year... and now we had more...

Since it said "Perishable! Open Immediately!" I tried to find places to put it, our fruit bowl was already filled, and there was no room in the fridge. I pulled out my lovely stack of cheapo, but lovely colored, Michael Graves mixing bowls. It only took me a second before I knew what I had to do... all of that bright fruit, all of those colorful bowls. I tried to hide my activity in dinner prep, but heard EL, who is hip to my ways, beckon from the other room...

EL- Mom??? Are you sorting the fruit by color??

Me- ... maybe...

EL- Are you sorting it into complementary colored bowls??

Me- ... maybe...

EL- (muffled reaction)

Me- BUT LOOK AT IT!! When do we ever have this much fruit?? In all of these colors?? OK, we could use a better purple, but come on! Look at how nice those lime green bananas look in that pink bowl! I wish I had painting class this week! I'd take it all in and make them paint IT ALL!!!

And then I went back to making dinner, but left the fruitscape on the counter, forgetting it until Grizzled came home.

G- Did you sort the fruit by color??

Me- YES! I DID!!! I COULDN'T HELP IT! LOOK. AT. IT!!!

G- I was just going to say, you missed the lighter blue bowl... those not-fully ripe tangerines would look really good in it...

He was right.

Or forever hold your peace...

When I was a young lamblet, the Vietnam War was a regular feature on the evening news. I don't necessarily remember watching it, but I do remember it being on in the background... it was hard to miss, even for a kid who was distracted by other more important things such as toads, Liddle Kiddles, and was Frankenstein really buried under that big cement slab back in the woods... What I do remember noticing though was that this war seemed to be playing out in an area with no buildings. After seeing endless newscasts filled with jungle green, I came to the only conclusion I could... they must go somewhere with limited population in order to "have war"! Yes, that's it! Because if you're going to do something as silly as have a war, it would at least be best to have it in an area where there would be little collateral damage. No, it would be better to have some remote area designated as the fighting area, much like the corner of the rec room where my brothers were sent when they couldn't get along. You go to that area, free of items to be hurt by your flailing... you flail, and then you see the errors of your way and get back to life as you knew it. Yes, this made sense to my single-digit mind. It was a way for me to make sense of war.

And then I believe I shared this revelation with an adult... the next thing I remember, my father was showing me a photo or two of London after the Blitz. Once again, war made no sense. My mind tried to make sense out of what I was seeing, but there was no sense to be made. As Dylan Brody so succinctly puts it in his current post (go read it):

War cannot be waged decently. War cannot be waged or supported with clean hands or with a clean conscience.

War still makes no sense to me. What makes even less sense is that in 2012, it's still such a viable option.

I often wonder what my lamblets think of it, both of them older than I was when I first came to my "designated war area" conclusion... but I'm guessing it makes even less sense to them. Even though we now have a continuous news cycle, war and its ugly impact seems to be covered even less than some 40 years ago... the true impact so far removed from daily chatter... from anyone's chatter. Best to keep it quiet... best to keep shopping.

Update:

The comments made me remember this song/video...