Thinking of you today, Dad, and wishing with all my heart you were here with us. I still look for your face in crowds and I've so many questions to ask you. With every passing year, my heart breaks into more pieces.

I miss you.

The time to make up your mind about people is never -- Tracy Lords, "Philadephia Story"

Have you ever loved someone so much, you can't stand another minute of his or her company?

Yeah, me too.

I've been watching Philadelphia Story quite frequently lately. Every time I watch it I get something else from it. In my twenties, I was amused by the dialogue and impressed by the perfect chemistry between the cast, but irritated that Tracy Lord was redeemed only after being publicly humiliated, which leads to the man she loves embracing her but only if he can without her flaws. Seeing it now, some twenty years later, I still love all the things about it I first did, but completely changed my mind about Tracy's story.

I won't go on about it, except to say that like another film she made, Stage Door, Hepburn's character comes to know herself better through her personal failings and stops trying to control everything around her in part by accepting that being right is not the same as being true to herself. Another benefit of failing with witnesses is friendships can still be made while we try and fail. Disappointment and embarrassment usually drive us to hold each other at arms length. Imagine what it would be like to look on it as an opportunity to share ourselves and commiserate with each other. A little grace in these situations can be much more endearing.

 

One of the things I love about Stage Door is the strong female cast. The personalities are varied, and the way they interact with each other is somewhat realistic. Women can be competitive about the dumbest things. We can also be remarkably supportive of each other, but there has to be an element of trust and respect before that happens, along with empathy.

Many of us have been raised to think that we need to accomplish certain things in order to be happy. We must be perfect, or our best at all times, before we can be perfect with others (family, friends, lovers). Until then, we are excused from any responsibility for our own choices and happiness. "It just wasn't meant to be." Well, baloney. When Katherine Hepburn made Philadelphia Story, she was already considered box office poison, and yet she wanted to make this film so much she overcame all the obstacles in her way and made it happen. The cast was not the one she originally picked, but it worked, and thank gawd for letting go of that small bit of control and letting it happen anyway. The results were well worth it.

As for the people I love so much I can't stand their company for another minute? Maybe in this instance it is just me. I'm doing something completely out of character for me, and throwing out my expectations. But I am also not holding still in the meantime. Things will change, and when they do, I fully expect to be in good and welcome company.

Thankful for small favors that are not so small

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Rest, 1879

Years ago, I quit a job in haste. I was working for a bully and one day finally got fed up and gave my notice. Later that day I called a friend to make plans for lunch. Her husband owned a few local bookstores, so I when I called I said, "I just quit my job, are you hiring?" She thought I was kidding. When she realized I wasn't, she put in a good word for me with one of their managers, and before my notice was over I had a new job at a bookstore. I only planned to stay there for a summer, but I wound up staying for eight years until the business closed for good in late 2008.

Tonight, we said goodbye to her husband. He battled cancer for many years, and passed away late last week. Clearly exhausted, she moved among her friends and family, expressing concern over their grief and loss. I wanted to take her home, fix her a cup of tea, and make her sit and rest. Tomorrow is the funeral, so there will be more socializing and comfort to be given, and hopefully shared. After that, two young children to care for and a life to put back into motion again. Promises were made to spend time together soon, and we will. But I wish I could find the magic that would wipe the tiredness from her eyes and give her some peace.

As for the gratitude? I wish I could thank him for the job, but really she is the one I should thank. Without her help my life would not be crowded with such wonderful people, including another friend who accompanied me to the viewing tonight, shared memories and my hope for better days ahead. It was such a small thing that became and continues to be so much more, and I am so very grateful.

Run away

As in, I am.

For a bit.

I'll be back soon.

Maybe.

Everyday I'll Write the Book

Writing a novel is a terrible experience, during which the hair often falls out and the teeth decay. Flannery O'Connor

Oh goody. Something to look forward to...

I have just spent an evening in the company of other aspiring writers. Some of us have decided to take up the challenge presented by the Office of Letters and Light, a group that sponsors National Novel Writing Month. The contest is meant to encourage hesitant writers to dare to write a novel of 50,000 words in a month (November 1 through November 30). Our group was formed because two friends decided to try it and wanted to bring others along for the developing nervous breakdown experience. The contest leaves no time to edit or to even rethink one's work, merely to see where the writing goes and if one can meet the tight deadline. A great deal of bad writing will be the result, but the point is to get folks to try and to offer opportunities for novice writers to support each other.

I have no idea what I will write, but using anything written in advance is absolutely verboten. One must use original work starting on the first day of the contest. However, we are encouraged to think about it, so I anticipate the anxiety dreams will be even more vivid than usual. Wish me luck. We have a nicely diverse group of folks so far, and discussed some opportunities to meet and work along side each other for that moral support. A couple of members of the group have done this several times, with one "winning" the 50,000 word goal three times.

I was worried before the meeting, but now I am excited. I confess that by nature I am more coward than not, so this will be a first for me. In art classes, I dreaded "critique" day, when other students and the teacher would discuss my work. Most reviews of my work were fair to middling (my work was often too literal for some tastes). In this instance, we aren't judging content, but I can't help but feel my heart creeping up my throat. But what the heck, they're only a few words, right? Right?

Here's the link, for anyone else out there willing to try it. Look under the NaNo Near You to find independent booksellers taking part in "Come Write In" and offering their support. You'll find many other kindred spirits. http://www.nanowrimo.org/

You might want to also check out No Plot, No Problem:A Low Stress High-Velocity Guide to Writing a Novel in 30 Days, by Chris Baty (the Executive Director of the Office of Letters and Light). Don't disappoint me. Make sure you get your copy from either the public library or your favorite independent bookstore.

Consider this my double-dog dare.

Who rang that bell?

My dreams often include a varied cast of characters from my own life, in no particular combination. After another one of my restless nights brought on by a prolonged bout of bronchitis and very little sleep, I dreamt I was working at a vet clinic with the special task of distracting the rabbits from the call of the wild with a magic show. I was less than successful. I couldn't even get a volunteer from the audience. There were bunnies everywhere. The staff was very angry with me, including a familiar voice who yelled at me to "Stop asking so many questions and just put the GAWDAMN whoopee cushion on the chair!" So naturally, I sat up in bed, picked up the cell phone and placed in firmly in the cup of tea on the desk.

“I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each other's dreams, we can be together all the time.” Calvin and Hobbes

I am a very stylish girl

This is what remains of a big shirt I made from an Esprit pattern in the 1980s. It's clearly been lived in. The fabric has slowly worn away from the stitching.

As a teenager, I was a real clothes horse without a regular allowance. The sister closest in age to me had the hour glass figure, while I had the figure time forgot, so hand-me-downs were a bit roomy. My mother taught me the basics of sewing, augmented by home economics classes and learning the hard way. My projects were always a bit ambitious with occasionally attractive results. I had a good eye for bargains at thrift stores and garage sales, and the patience to alter things to fit. It was the middle of the whole preppy craze, coming on the heels of Annie Hall, so old, threadbare, and rumpled were considered the new old classics. As I got older, I became completely shameless, telling friends their outfits would look so much better on me. The quality of the hand-me-downs improved considerably, in spite of my cheek.

One of my first jobs was at a fabric store during the purple paisley/metallic lace/ginormous shoulder pad craze of the 1980s. The store was the size of a department store. I used to watch people walk in the store for the first time with expressions that ranged from "oh wow" to "oh ralph," it was that overwhelming. I worked in the notions department, which meant helping customers figure out what they were looking at, did they need it, or if something else they already had might work. Objects of pity were the folks who'd stand in front of the sew-in bra display and ask, "Are these the only shoulder pads you have?" At one point, we were selling self-adhesive bras. Customers would walk up to the display, then ask the staff, "do these work" without looking us in the eye, as if we were all demonstrating the product for them at that very moment.

I gave away the clothes I made from back then, but still have a fine collection of fabric I keep adding to, and changing my mind about. Sewing really is the worst hobby for someone as indecisive as me. I never have to make a decision. Sometimes I just take the fabric out, look at it, think about it, fold it, and put it away again. Buttons and trim are just as bad, taunting me with the possibilities, yet suffering the same fate as the fabric. It's like playing Barbies without the dolls.

I have a regular desk job now, but work one day a week at a friend's fabric store. I spend most of the time showing people who are new to sewing how to get started. My friend and I don't get to sew as often as we'd like to and realized that every time we talk about it or plan to, the opportunity to do so becomes ever more elusive, like we'd cursed it. Yesterday we decided to only refer to it in passing as the "Scottish play" in reference to the superstition of mentioning Macbeth in a theater.

This is the crazy season, where everyday feels like a full moon. I get through the madness by pretending each customer is a performance artist and I am part of the floor show. The owner looks on me as the costume engineer, helping customers figure out how to make costumes on the cheap using glue, staples, and tape to hold the pieces together. Sometimes, I manage to convince them to try actually sewing it together.

Last year every college girl and three or four of her closest girlfriends had the original idea to go as "Pocahontas," "an Indian princess," or a "Native American." The guys all wanted to go as Max from "Where the Wild Things Are." Once, I had to convince someone who had the great idea of making his own straight jacket that maybe it wasn't such a great idea after all. I merely asked him, "How are you going to hold your beer, and how are you going to hold your beer?" He went as an accountant instead. The best homemade costume I saw last year was someone as a hamster on a wheel. I hope more folks take the DIY approach. Someone answer my prayers and go as Mildred Pierce. I know where you can find the perfect shoulder pads for it.

For Ronnie and Nancy

It's been over ten years since I drew something that wasn't a quick stick-figure sketch of a design for something else, or a floor plan for the furniture in the apartment. This is the result of being out of practice and a bit squishy on technique, but it was fun to noodle around a bit with different colors than my usual black and white. I did this using wax pastel crayons on plain sketch paper with a bit of texture to it.

My brother-in-law is my favorite artist. I can remember as a teenager being stuck inside on yet another rainy weekend chatting over a cup of tea with my sister, while he doodled in a stream-of-consciousness fashion snippets of our conversation. Everyday events offered their own opportunities to create, and inspiration found everywhere. Getting hopelessly lost touring a historic cemetery became a theme for my sister's film project. Cooking on a limited budget meant never following a recipe. A school holiday meant accompanying him to the printmaking shop at university to try my hand at printing my own sketch off of a metal plate, while he finished an etching for a class assignment.

My sister was brave enough to know art was her future, and smart enough to know what path to take. She had a strong affinity for print and publishing and became a graphic designer. She is by nature a very practical person who is unafraid to admit when something doesn't work and make whatever changes necessary to grow. When she and her husband started their business print was still the main market for her gifts. They made the leap to web design and other electronic forums when that area was still largely unknown to the rest of us, moving to the West Coast to pursue their dreams.

To say these folks are my heroes would be an understatement. I am trying to make more room in my life for all those amazing things I experienced with them and with their encouragement. For anyone who doesn't have time for it, that sketch took ten minutes. Shut the TV off, put the phone down, and do some creative procrastinating. It's fantastic! And I don't use exclamation points lightly.

A cup of tea, some honey, and you-hoo

Yeah, today was kind of like that, complete with cackle and hairpins flying.


Everyone relies so much on email and other impersonal means to communicate now that I find myself often on the wrong side of things. Face-to-face is even worse. I do not have a poker face, so when I am angry it's there for everyone to see before I can even form a complete sentence. I hate confrontation. It takes a lot for me to speak up for myself or to disagree with someone. I'm talking climbing out of my skin and looking for the nearest exit uncomfortable. I wait too long and everything tends to come out in one long spew. Yeah, I'm a real pip.

Every day I try to be less of a jerk and more like the person who will be missed before she leaves the room. However, I tend to get things more wrong than right. I've hurt people because of my temper. Then it's not "I wonder which rock should I crawl under...," but "here, throw this one at me, and this one, oh and maybe this one too, while you're at it."

The only comfort I take is that I only have to do today once. If I forgot anyone, don't worry. Tomorrow will bring fresh opportunities for me to win that particular popularity contest where the talent portion involves a pack of matches and a bridge.

Go Speed Racer, Go!

Dreamed the powers that be enacted a law to allow horse and buggies on the HOV lanes. Back ups near Occoquan led to a new trend in road side stands and Whoopie Pies were suddenly all the rage.

And then I made myself wake up because it was all too ridiculous.

But a Whoopie Pie would be most welcome right about now...

Where is the good in goodbye?

Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.  ~George Eliot

Pride is a memento that clutters up the heart and gathers dust. Let it go.

Shemp Howard is My Stylist

After running for the bus with the back of my skirt tucked up into my pantyhose for the third time in as many months, I've come to the realization that maybe a little more care in preparing for the day should be in order. No one would ever accuse me of being a girly-girl, but I do try to make an effort to look presentable. It's just that lately things seemed to have gone slightly askew.

I am grateful that I do not have a job that depends on my stunning good looks and sense of style. I've been a "woman of a certain age" for a few years now, the pressure is off. Except for about a week in sixth grade, boys have always looked me in the eyes. And yet, last week, my blouse exploded. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, June busted out all over. I didn't realize the buttons fell off until after the meeting with the client's boss. The problem with cloth-covered buttons is they don't make that bullets-ricocheting-off-something sound that would have at least alerted me to there being something awry. One would think the breeze would have been a hint, but one would be wrong. The air-conditioning in our office is controlled by Yetis. It's always breezy.

Today, three people complimented me on how I "fixed" my hair. Here's the complicated method I used. I forgot a rubber band to pull it back in a ponytail and had to wear it loose. That's it, that's all. I fussed, well for me anyway. I don't think I even combed it. Tomorrow, I fully intend not to part it. I bet I'll be beating admirers off with a stick.

The beautiful is as useful as the useful...perhaps more so

Thank you, Victor Hugo.

This is just a small peek at the glamorous world that is a book and record store. People were sometimes envious, but I didn't get to read all day and the books didn't shelve themselves. This is where I discovered huge gaps in my education with regards to literature, music, and pop culture in general. With the help of my esteemed colleagues, I found a few new (and old) things to try.

Sadly, the shop closed, a victim of Internet sales and local competition, but it was fun while it lasted. If I were working a closing shift tonight, here's a few things I might be listening to...

Yo Yo Ma, Yo Yo Ma Plays Ennio Morricone, "Cinema Paradiso: Looking for You"
Slim Harpo, The Excello Singles Anthology, "Baby, Scratch My Back"
Al Green, Greatest Hits, Belle
The Quintet (Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Bud Powell, Charles Mingus, and Max Roach), Jazz at Massey Hall, I sincerely hope you do enjoy "Salt Peanuts"
Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, 100 Days, 100 Nights, Be Easy
Buddy Holly, Definitive Collection, "Think It Over"
Kinks, Well Respected Kinks, "All Day and All of the Night"
Neko Case, The Tigers Have Spoken, "If You Knew"
Wilco, Being There, "Say You Miss Me"
Galaxie 500, On Fire, "Strange"
Buena Vista Social Club, "Viento Anos"
Radiohead, OK Computer, "Electioneering"

Go on, be a daredevil. Pick up a book just because the cover intrigues you, or buy a CD just to find out what a song is about. Don't be a slave to others' tastes. You are so much more interesting when you know something I don't know. Yet.

Failing to Bits

My friends will tell you that my dreams are nonsensical and completely implausible. Yet I will follow the thread to the very end when I realize that no, this is not really happening, I am still in my pajamas. A champion worrier, I have even had anxiety dreams on behalf of others. Like the time the client I work for was facing the difficult task of selling colleagues on yet another idea from the higher ups, I dreamed we were teaching bears to tap dance, and I was quite good at it.

This morning, I dreamed I was vying for a blue ribbon at the State Fair. I was competing against a dozen or so women who all looked a bit like the lady on the Grandma Brown's Baked Beans can (for those of you unfamiliar, a pleasant looking, elderly woman with slightly blue hair). We were showcasing our preserves. Unfortunately, the market for pickled Brussels sprouts has not been discovered yet, and I did not win. However, I did get an honorable mention. I woke up before I discovered what the honor was, but I'm sure it was probably something like packaging a roll of antacids with it, or some other thoughtful gesture. The winner was some upstart with a bad perm and a jar of pretty pickled beets.


My father was big on hobbies. Nearly every year he'd try his hand at something new. He would approach each new passion methodically, as any engineer would, yet there was always a little something different. His first boat was a rather small dingy with an outboard motor, so naturally, he subscribed to Yachting magazine. He decided to try making wine, but rather than use the abundant supply of fruit from our yard (berries, grapes, plums, pears, cherries, and apples), he chose turnips. The wine was horrible, but he and his friends drank it anyway and fondly remember it as the most gawd awful hangover ever. I've learned that self-taught skills are often the most satisfying and rewarding, but the results are unpredictable and sometimes the "story" is the best part.

So today, as of this moment, I will be learning more things the hard way, and (hopefully) laughing while I'm failing to bits.

(This bit of mindful meandering is the result of a mother who should always get what she wants, family who have told me to DO something, and a generous and long-suffering friend who really deserves much better.)