Better Late Than Never…
Well, It’s been a while since I’ve blogged. I feel a little bad about being a shirker, because I meant to do this once a week. Cest la Vie, I guess. I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to work full time and go to school full time and also speak to my husband once in a while. I usually do a post-commentary at the beginning of the year about how I did on the previous year’s Resolutions and make new ones, so here it is a little belated, in case you’re interested:
I managed to stay in school this year and do well with straight B’s. That’s the best I’ve ever done, and I got so much out of it. My new love is American Sign Language, we have a lot of fun in that class, just chatting without using our voices. I’ve also discovered that I’m not the irresponsible child I used to be, and that was nice to know.
My car is alittle cleaner than it was last year. The trunk is cleared out and the trash is mostly relegated to a bag in the back seat (notice I said mostly…) .
I’ve been awfully good to Brian this year, and he’s been awfully good to me in return. We’re always nice to each other, but this year we went above and beyond and I think we like each other even more than we have in years previous. I think it’s nice to like your husband.
All in all, it’s been one of the best years of my life, if you don’t count the economic problems. Things hit the Entertainment industry first and hardest, I think, and I’m definitely suffering from that.
What do I want this year?
1. To take better care of myself. I should go out and get haircuts when I want them, wear makeup sometimes, wear nice clothes, and brush twice a day like it’s recommended, instead of the once I always manage. That stuff is important.
2. To Successfully complete ASL 4 at my college, that way I have career options.
3. To somehow be either making more money, or be on the road to making more money by the end of the year. I know I’d feel a lot more secure if I knew I was getting a paycheck for the same amount every week and could count on that income.
4. To write more often. It’s good therapy, and I like to know I’m keeping my hand in on being a creative girl.
That’s a quick recap of my life this year. I’ll try to do better about the bloging this year. I have a little more time now that I’m not at work every spare second, and I need to devote myself to something useful. It might as well be this.
Girl Stuff
I recently picked up The Daring Book For Girls in my local Costco, and I was completely delighted. It’s like my whole childhood has been recorded in between the gilded blue covers of that book. It’s missing a few things, of course, but it also covers a few things I never knew, (all about female pirates) or knew how to do. (I now have my husband in paranoid suspicion that I will short-sheet the bed some night when I have to work late!) In the spirit of that amazing book, I’ve decided to record some of the things I think would enrich a girl’s life, if she knew about them. This is part one…
Fox and Goose is a game best played in the wet sand at low tide (it becomes very obvious who just stepped out of bounds), although if you have chalk and a big expanse of pavement that works too. Fox and Goose is essentially a game of tag with boundaries. The Fox is “it” and the Goose is everyone else who’s playing. Like any game of tag, when the Fox tags a Goose, that Goose now becomes the Fox. There’s never more than one Fox at a time.
Draw a giant circle on the ground. Don’t forget that you’ll be running around this circle, so make it really huge- especially if you’re playing with a lot of people. Draw another circle just inside the big circle to make a pathway where a line of people can run. Draw a tiny circle in the middle of the pathway just big enough for a person to stand, and label this “FOX”. Now connect the Fox’s den to the giant circle with a bunch of straight paths. You should end up with a game board that looks a lot like a bicycle wheel turned on it’s side, like this:
The Fox can ONLY run in the spokes of the wheel, or the small circle that’s her den. The Geese can run anywhere on the game board, including the Fox’s den if she’s daring enough. Anyone who steps out of bounds automatically becomes the Fox. Otherwise, the rules are the same as for any regular game of tag. Have fun playing!
Garden Time
It’s been daylight savings time now for 17 hours and already I feel the sun baked vigor of summer creeping into my bones. I planted a garden last week, quickly wiping the backyard of the air of death stagnating in the corners, left over from that cat corpse I found about a month ago. It was strange and wonderful to me how quickly my backyard was transformed. A couple of hours hard manual labor, a few tomato plants, and my backyard is no longer the city of weeds. It’s a real backyard, where you want to have a party and barbecue, spend the afternoon sunning yourself, or spend another afternoon digging in the dirt.
I have garden plans. I’m putting a flower garden in the back corner of the yard, and I’m filling it with all sorts of amazing and beautiful plants. Don’t ask me what those plants are yet, but it’s getting done and it will be spectacular. I have decided. My main problem right now is that it’s a shady spot that gets literally NO sun during the day, and I don’t like many shade plants. There aren’t many shade plants to like, for that matter.
I thought I had the black thumb of death, as far as plants are concerned. Every living chlorophyll creature I’ve taken care of to date has died a crisp death of brownness in a rock-hard (yet attractive) pot. I think I’m the only human being on earth who has ever killed a cactus. His prickliness died a soggy death of over watering- overcompensation, perhaps, for my previous attempts at keeping things alive. It may be a sign of my increased maturity that I can be responsible enough to water plants nearly every day, because I’ve had a beautiful pot of pansies since Valentine’s Day, and they are growing and thriving like no other plants I’ve ever owned. Lovely. Who knew I had it in me?
It’s nice to know this side of me is still there. I used to love helping my mother out in the garden when my sister and I were youthful girls still living as a family with a parent or two, as the case may be. Then I was only ephemerally responsible. I could plant and dig to my heart’s desire and not have to keep anything alive. That was someone else’s job. I love it still, and my biggest disappointment is going out into the yard each day and seeing no visible changes since the day before. When I really sit and think, things have grown a lot over time, it’s just hard to notice when you’re out there every day.
If you need me I’ll be out in the sun, sweaty and mud flecked with a trowel in my hand. Hopefully the plants will thrive for a little longer, and my black thumb of death will turn at least a vague shade of green. We’ll see!
Of Myths and Constellations
I have a guardian angel. Well, OK, I guess he’s not exactly an angel, but he has been in the sky for thousands of years. He’s one of the oldest men around. Or oldest three men around, if you live in France or South Africa. He also doubles as a canoe if you live in Australia. Now how many men can you say that about? He’s a smart handsome guy, and he doubles as a canoe!
But seriously. Orion has been showing up in some strange places lately, and I love to think of him as my good luck charm. Every location he’s shown up has been somehow injected with wonderful for me, and it’s nice to look at his off-kilter frame shining brightly in the deepest blue of the night sky and know that good things are happening.
It’s funny, a few years ago I couldn’t pick Orion out of the sky if you paid me. I could find the dippers, if you gave me a few minutes, and the Milky Way, if you took me to a dim enough location. I remember one night, staring up at the millions of twinkling stars, cool dewy grass beneath my bare feet. My mother, who seemed so tall and adult to me, pointing out the constellations she knew. The crash-hush of the ocean played in the background as we stood between the two red ancestral houses and gazed at the sky. I guess he must have been one of that bunch, but it wasn’t until I was practicaly an adult myself that I could point him out to anyone, as my mother had to me.
I started seeing him over Brian’s house when we were dating. He hung out there, reposing lazily on his side over the roof of the house, twinkling and winking at me as I emerged from the car. He’s sometimes over my mother’s house too, when I need a good cheer-up. But right now, if you drove into my driveway, you would see how he shines like a beacon above my new little house. I turned around the other night at work, waiting for the parade to come gliding in, and he was there too: directly in the path of the bright bulbed performers. He had that look on his face too, the one where he seems imensly proud of himself. Like he’s the cleverest thing around to have thought of being there, of all places.
It seems like I have been in a world of myths lately. Between all the research my lovely husband has been doing, and all the fairy tales I’ve been reading, Orion arose at the perfect time. The Greek Gods killed him for trying to rape Artemis a few ages ago, and I like to think that he’s trying to mend his ways now. If he keeps watch over me, and assures that no harm comes to me, maybe his redemption will be forthcoming.
OK, OK, I know I’m a little insane sometimes. I promise to lay off the fairy tales for a while. But still, it’s a lovely thought, don’t you think?
Resolve
What is it about the new year that’s so incredibly inticing? It brings a wash of happiness to me every year as the clock strikes twelve and the bedlam erupts around me, a joyfull din. I guess it’s that the new year brings so much promise with it, so much hope that the next one will be better than the last. If I wasn’t afraid of tempting fate, I would say that anything is bound to be better than last year. I compromised on every deal I ever made with myself, tried to sell my soul for money, almost lost everything I really care about, only to realize that none of this was neccisary in the first place. Another year older, another year wiser, I guess.
I have a few New-Year’s resolutions this year, and I intend to tell you about them. I think I will be more likely to keep them if there’s some record of my wishes. It will be fun to see what takes off soaring, and what falls like a lead balloon. The only one I can remember from last year was not biting my fingernails, and I accomplished that admirably until E. P. started up again, and I lost every single fingernail to costuming emergencies. Oh well, they went for a good cause.
This year I intend to:
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Keep my car clean. The poor thing, with a nickname like “trashmobile”, and nothing it can do about it except long silently for the vaccum. This shoud change.
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Appreciate the husband more. He’s really such a wonderful fellow, and I don’t give him nearly enough credit for all his amazingness. (yes dear, I know Amazingness isn’t strictly a word, Mr. English Major, but it applies to you just the same.)
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Go back to school for real this time, and not just because my parents want me too, and that’s what girls my age do.
I think that’s just about it for now. Of course I still intend to work insanely hard and be the best Lead that E. P. has ever seen, but I like to list tangeable, measureable things as resolutions. That way a girl can tell if she’s succeeding or not.
I’m New To This
Do I realy have anything to say? That is the prime question. Brian, my excellent husband, and I were talking the other night about ordinary. He says that ordinary uptight people like us have no future as writers because we simply have nothing to say that is interesting. We have no strange bohemian experiences to relate, no tales of being stranded, no stories of our travels. When we have a day off from work (which is never) we go to Disneyland or the movies without fail, when we go to a resteraunt we order the same exact thing on the menu that we always have, and we’ve only ever traveled to see family.
I don’t believe that living an ordinary life bars you from having something to say. There are plenty of authors that write about everyday life as most of us live it. Garrison Keilor and Louisa May Alcott, for two. Everyone has an opinion, everyone has relationships, and everyone has experiences that are worth while. No matter where you live your life or how many things you’ve seen. Lack of experience does not make you any less of a human, or your life any less meaningful.
This Blog is intended as an experiment. To see how long I have something to relate. I think I can keep going for quite a while, but you never know. I guess we’ll all find out.
