Seeing Things

I've decided to try out a writing prompt. I'm always trying to use writing as a way to detox my busy, busy mind. Problem is, I get a little caught up in self-criticism, and either stay too much on the surface (a.k.a., I write about rancid yogurt) or too deep (a.k.a., I wouldn't dare publish the post because innermost thoughts aren't meant for places like facebook). So, maybe a writing prompt will provide me with a happy medium. Here's the one I found just now:

From where you are sitting right now, make a list of everything you see. Keep listing until you feel compelled to write more than just a list.

My daughter, curled up in a "C" on my lap, has just finished nursing. Her features, while still small and delicate, are growing in size and sturdiness at a rate I can barely track. Her once paper-thin fingernails are now strong and sharp as they trace up and down my side, slow and rhythmic as she fights the urge to sleep.

Her head rests on a burgandy throw pillow that we bought a good five years ago. A time in our lives where things like throw pillows made us feel more like adults. I took comfort in the domestic significance of a throw pillow. Patrick, however, approached decorative housewares like a claustrophobe approaches an elevator. I think he saw them as youth's death sentence, and in essence, he was exactly right.

The pillow's twin rests to the other side of me, propped perfectly in one corner of the couch, just where it should be. I need order, especially now, when parenthood presents daily, unexpected, little eruptions of chaos. Even when I'm ten minutes past the point I needed to leave the house, I will always stop to arrange those pillows, despite knowing full well the dog will toss them to the floor before day's end. He's just another shifty pawn working to undo my already failing sense of order. He sees through the guise of an organized house. He knows, as we ask each other for the second time that evening, "Did you feed the animals yet?" that we aren't a tight ship.

Above the couch are two, newly framed photographs I took this summer on our second annual trip to York Beach. It's a diptych (two separate pieces hung together to create one comprehensive piece of art) of a multifaceted, mirrored column, reflecting the seaside town's amusement park. A colorful whirlwind, abstracted and broken down into separate, structured pieces - I guess that's a pretty accurate description of myself right about now. It's nice to have some of my own art up on the walls again. Somewhere in between college and the acquisition of throw pillows, I'd stashed all my work out of sight. Starting a new chapter of my life, prints of naked women cradled by large desert cacti didn't fit in with my more subtle style of expression.

The propane fireplace directly in front of me, while undoubtedly warm and convenient, is not very interesting to gaze upon in terms of fire. The fake, "burning" wood and flickering, glowing embers are mildly convincing, but the flame follows a very short pattern that lacks all the spontaneity a real fire boasts. I could watch a real fire for hours, and have. And though all the technology that goes into operating my flick-of-a-switch fire would likely have Ben Franklin turning cartwheels in his grave if he only knew, I'm much more awed by basic, burning wood. Of course, with the family, the 9-5 job, and the need to sit down and enjoy some time to myself once in awhile, I guess I'm better off with the switch.

The room observations stop here, as the household routine ensues. There was a time I could've broken it down all the way to the coasters in the bowl on the coffee table... but I think it's safe to say that things have changed.

Snowed in, and writing about yogurt.

A few months back we visited our old stomping grounds of Brattleboro, VT, for a wedding. Every time we go there, or even just pass through, we're fondly reminded of the different pace of life there. It's an anything-goes type of place, but not in that elitist sort of way where you have to be weird to be normal. Come to think of it, the last time we drove up main street, a father with huge hair ran across the street with his young son (who was wearing an animal tail) into a shop called "Knit or Dye." And, it just was what it was.

I used to work at the Brattleboro Food Co-op; a vegan paradise for me at the time. I still favor the food there (grocery and deli) more than anywhere- partially because it's a great selection of really tasty stuff, and partially because of the nostalgia factor. On our last trip, I decided to bring back a quart of yogurt, since I buy one each week to eat at work. "Butterworks Farm Maple Yogurt." Can't get more VT than that. Well, breakfast time on Monday morning, I was anticipating a little "bring-me-back" moment when I took my first bite of creamy, organic, mapley goodness. Instead, I almost gagged. I don't know what happened to that yogurt on its journey from cow to container, but it wasn't pleasant. There are some foods that we Americans have over-processed, over-sugared, or watered down into a version so tame and bland, we're completely missing the true food experience. I've had "real" yogurt before. Some can be sour or strong, but it's more in the way of "this is different," than "this is BAD." My maple yogurt was just wrong, and I was sad.

I've been on a kick lately of seeking out help when I'm dissatsisfyed with a product. I had never been one to contact customer service over anything, until I started hearing all the ridiculous emails coming in to my friend and cubicle neighbor at work, who answers customer emails of all kinds. Like, "I've lost weight and can't afford all new clothes- will you take back my ratty old extra large tee shirts and give me brand new ones in a smaller size?" That kind of ridiculous request. So, I figured, if that lady can get a tee shirt or two out of the company I work for, perhaps my justified complaints may see some results if I'm nice about it. So far, Starbucks is the only company that didn't do something for me. (Please keep that in mind the next time you're deciding where to get a coffee.)

Well, just yesterday, after I'd long forgot about my letter to Butterworks Farm (which I had to snail-mail, as they don't have an email address), I got a response back. A two page, hand written letter by the founder of the farm, including a 5 dollar bill so "I can either try another one or buy some more Stoneyfield. [The farm is] too small for the coupon thing." He also told me,"we are not the least bit put off if you like Stoneyfield yogurt better. We are number one here in Vermont."

There's just something about the proud, yet non-defensive reply I received. This farmer hasn't had any customer service training, and he didn't have to hem and haw over what to do about my letter. He simply gave me my money back, along with the tip that the State St. co-op in Concord sells his yogurt. If the world was run like Butterworks Farm, we'd all be in a much better place. Joking aside, most of Vermont pretty much runs the same way, and the natural, simplistic zen of it all is why I'll always long to return.

(http://butterworksfarm.com/)

Star Searching

I take horoscopes as one step up from a fortune cookie. I don't think the message inside that little, processed, mass-produced origami wafer is ever destined for me and me alone (even if I did always want to learn how to say "umbrella" in Mandarin). However, I can always find some truth, some applicability, in the piece of wisdom inside my cookie. And, if it's an intriguing fortune, I usually keep the idea on my subconscious radar, and in turn may be more apt to notice something that would have otherwise passed me by. Like I've been given a little tip from fate, I will consequently walk with ears pricked for the "good news that will soon come," or eyes seeking the "chance encounter with an old friend."

Anyhow, considering that fortunes are all of about a sentence, horoscopes lend a little extra insight. I know that everyone has a 1 in 12 chance of getting the same lowdown as me... but why is it that we often relate most to our assigned predictions? Nine times out of ten, my horoscope is more appropriate for me than any of the other months. Maybe I just want it to be. Maybe it's just another way to make sense of all the ridiculousness- or maybe it adds to it. Maybe it's a security blanket to hold onto; facing the future like it's a monster-concealing closet. Whatever it is, a good one gives me hope.

The traits of my astrological sign are right on. http://www.astrologycom.com/pisces.html It does make me consider that, somehow, the time of year I was born has a strong influence on who I am. While I'm always skeptical of these notions, the romantic side of me loves the idea that the stars have their way with me, decide who I'm compatible with, and what the future holds in store.

I ran across this year-at-a-glance horoscope today. I intend to put the positive points into my subconscious, and with any luck, I'll bump into one of several opportunities on the horizon.
http://shine.yahoo.com/page/2010-horoscope

Flight

High time I clip my proverbial wings
and assume responsibility,
but the apple juice that trickles from my lips
signifies my immaturity.
And while I've learned to harbor the actions,
I'm struggling with thought.
As if the snake that winds around my tree
has trapped me in a knot.
Leaving me bound, in perfect irony,
for I have a choice to make,
yet neither option presents itself
as a risk I'm willing to take.
And so, there's a comfort in helplessness-
my excuse for standing still.
The wings, though folded, remain unscathed
and probably always will.

E.T. text home.

I want to know how, and when exactly, we decided it was okay -in the middle of a conversation- to pick up a tiny little square electronic device and turn our attention to it. Be it a razor, a blackberry, an i-whatever... I just can't stand how perfectly rude and perfectly acceptable it's become to momentarily disengage from human interaction just in case the message in one's hand is more interesting. Because even if it pales in comparison to a person's present moment, he or she undoubtedly still diverts focus just long enough to check what's going on elsewhere.

Now, I really don't mind mobile phones when used for their intended purpose. It's the texting that really... saddens me. Sure, a text is a super handy way to say "meet me at 6," versus going through the whole how-are-you routine when that's the main purpose of meeting at 6. But then I meet you at 6, and as I tell you how I am, you half-heartedly listen while typing to god-knows-who about god-knows-what on your itty bitty keyboard. The irony is that if you were with god-knows-who, I'd probably know more about what was going on in your life, because you'd be ignoring god-knows-who as you texted me.

I'm not saying it's wrong, I'm not shaming the cell-savvy, and I'm not even saying I don't do it, too. But I will testify that I'm someone who dissects human behavior. I try not to judge it, and when I do pass judgement, it's only after I've attempted to assess that which I judge from every angle. More commonly, I observe, I consider, I observe some more, and then marvel. Even the most atrociously boring person is fascinating to me if I'm given the opportunity to observe from a short distance. (Just don't make me talk to them.)

I'm a little off-course: the story of my life. But I think what I'm aiming for is that my as-of-late observations on human interaction are so depressing. I really am pretty shy when it comes down to it, so figuratively hiding behind a phone does indeed sound... comforting. But then, not so comforting is the thought that I -that WE- are creatures of habit, and we like our comforts. We're not going to come out of hiding; we'll only burrow deeper into ourselves and our need to look occupied.

I started out pissed at the way technology has spiraled our face-to-face social skills into the sewer. But really, I'm just frightened of the world my daughter is going to grow up in. I'm weirded out by the teenagers I saw out to breakfast; 4 out of 5 phones going at all times. All I can picture is WALL-E.

I could vent for a good while longer, but I can only take so much computer.

(P.S. Don't laugh, but the whole reason I went on this rant is because I just ordered a new phone.)

Rain

The best thing about a rainy night is that no one bothers to go out in it. While I have to psych myself up for the wet ground's tendency to latch on and creep up my pant legs, or for the smell of damp dog fur that will undoubtedly follow me back inside... I honestly love the privacy of a walk in the rain after dark. It's relaxing, and kinda romantic to be alone under an umbrella without a visible horizon to separate the pavement from the sky.

But I do agree with the Carpenters: Rainy days and Mondays always get me down. Okay, not always, but today at least. It was one of those days I would have liked to have had a remote with 3 buttons on it. Rewind, Skip, and Delete. Would've pushed 'em all day long. The rain was almost ridiculously cliche, and I listened to Radiohead on repeat in honor of the circumstances.
As my friend Coyote once said -as we slogged through our tenth straight day of rain hiking through the Tennessee woods- sometimes you just have to "embrace the suck."

Tonight, I embraced it as best I could. Hopefully, it worked.

25 Random Things (and one random picture)

A good writing exercise... and a challenge to even come up with 25 honest and interesting things about myself. I always feel pressure with this stuff- so we'll see how I do. ;)

(Rules: Once you have been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. Also, tag the person who sent it to you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you or you wrote 25 things about you already. If I didn't tag you, write anyway!!)

1) The house I grew up in was built in the 1800's, and we still use the original key to get in the front door. It's longer than my index finger, and I used to live in fear that I would lose it- there was no copy.

2) I used to wish on stars at night for a baby sister. I hated being an only child, and for this reason, I want to have another kid.

3) I also used to wish for a best friend. This wish came true in first grade: A girl with the same name and the same lunch box showed up to my classroom in the middle of the school year. (Made me a believer in a higher power for quite some time.) We were absolutely inseparable -even our cabbage patches were best friends- until she moved away at the end of the summer just before 4th grade. The day she came to say good bye before riding off in that minivan still ranks up there as one of the worst days of my life.

4) (Since I'm stuck on the topic of childhood...) As an only child I was forced into fostering my creative imagination. I discovered a giant boulder in the woods that looked like it was smiling. I named the rock "Hibble," and deemed her grandmother of the rock planet. I developed a rock language (a character map and the pronunciation) and wrote secret messages to Hibble in a locked spiral bound notebook while sitting atop her "head." Odd kid, I know! To this day, I love the personification of inanimate objects... in a less serious way, of course.

5) If you know me well, you know that I wrote my 7th grade research paper on the life of Neil Diamond. I didn't get to see him live until this past summer... and it was worth the 17 year wait.

6) I can remember some of the dreams I had when I was 3 years old.

7) I am great with names, but can't recognize faces to save my life, unless someone's appearance is exactly the same as it was the last time I saw them. I often think a stranger is someone I know, or fail to recognize someone I should know, even if they start talking to me.

8) I honestly think I have a disorder when it comes to my sense of direction. I am fine with north and south, OR east and west, but I can't use them in conjunction. I memorize my routes based on visual landmarks, and am too stubborn to depend on a GPS.

9) I did love living in Boulder, CO, because the mountains always let me know exactly where I was. I had no problem navigating the Rockies region. Yet I do look at that move as one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. I went out there to fill a promise to someone else, but I didn't listen to myself. I learned a lot from my time there, and it lead me to where I am now... but overall, what a stupid move.

10) I probably don't give things enough of a chance, but still I've never regretted a snap decision when my gut was polled. My gut is surefire. It's the decisions that I hem and haw over that get me into trouble.

11) I wish I'd gone to college for something other than art.

12) I have an extremely high tolerance for pain. I didn't cry when I broke my wrist or during natural childbirth... and I'd be really proud of that, but I think it's simply an inherent trait. My 'rents are rugged.

13) Even though I'm super healthy most of the time when it comes to food choices, a trip to the beach is not complete without a bag of nacho cheese doritos and a few captain 'n' cokes with lime. Something about laying lazily in the sand makes me want junk food.

14) Pre-Patrick, I have about ten journals that I've filled. Post-Patrick, I have about ten that I've started and dropped. My single self was the best muse I ever had, which is funny considering that my single self was constantly seeking a muse.

15) I miss the satisfaction of being pursued by the opposite sex. I've been "taken" for 9 years, and often wonder how my 20's would have played out had I been available a while longer. I wouldn't want things to have turned out any differently... I just wonder what "differently" would have been.

16) I'm not very organized but because I desperately want to be, I'm very anal about my house, my car, my desk at work... clutter is very hard for me to cope with... especially if it's someone else's, because then there's nothing I can do about it.

17) Unloading a full dishwasher (when I know where everything goes) puts me in a meditative state.

18) I usually evaluate the ratio of exclamation points to periods when I write an email. I use exclamations too frequently, so I have to limit myself. Since my emails are also often sarcastic, the infamous sideways smiley also must be kept in check. There's almost always at least one, but there shouldn't be more than two, tops.

19) My dad and I had 2 horses in my mid-teens. As much as I love the thrill of fast trail rides and the awe of big animals, I've never felt like a real "horse person."

20) I'm incredibly social, but only when provoked. Yet, Patrick constantly provokes, and is responsible for 80% of the plans we make.

21) A good cup of coffee and good company is my idea of a perfect afternoon. Patrick and I have judged every town line we've ever crossed by whether or not it has a good coffee shop.

22) If we hadn't conceived a child by 2009, we were going to vacation in Italy. Zinnia was created last March, and thus we happily settled for Maine.

23) They say that thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail with a significant other is worth 25 years of marriage, and by my experience, I completely agree.

24) The day I actually got married I was only nervous about one thing. The weather. My dream wedding consisted of very little criteria, but the sun was a major expectation of mine. It showed up about 10 minutes into the ceremony, and I still remember how perfect that warm glow made me feel.

25) Whether it be in 5 years or 25 years, I am confident that we will one day move back to Vermont.