Christmas Dreams, Dashed

A nice day with the family was had, turkey was consumed, great conversation and comfortable laughs with my kickass family (with a few absent.) 

It was a terribly early dinner (I'll call it "Thanksgiving Lunch,")  though, so by the time I got home....I had a lot of time to pull out the Christmas tree and (finally) put it up.  Truthfully, I've been leading-up to this for the last week at least....teasing Steph the whole time.


Well, long story short, my Christmas decorating dreams have been dashed. 

I was all set. I pulled out the iPod, turned on James Taylor's Christmas album, started opening the box and pulling out the tree.  There were a few "what is this part" questions, but on the whole this tree is just like the trees I've had in the past (it was an LED upgrade this year, though) so I knew the landscape. 

I set up the stand...put in the bottom part....and the stick didn't fit in the hole.  I tried it every which way, even with a hammer.  I begged, searched for some piece I'd maybe looked over....nothing.  Hell, I even broke out a hammer and pliers.  It didn't fit.

I knew when I was cussing out James Taylor, giving him a filthy piece of my mind and telling him to "Shove it and THEN go tell THAT on the mountain, JIMMY...."....that it was time I took a break.  By break I mean put it back in the box and walk away.  By break I mean prepare to return it for another tree.

By break....I mean break my heart.

So I was bummed out and opted to not put the ornaments up in the TV....or hang the effing lights up on the front porch.  That'll have to wait until tomorrow....or maybe Saturday when I can get the Christmas tree I was meant to have today.

I was looking forward to having tea and reading by the light of my tree (and my nook) tonight.

Instead I'm in my jammies in the sewing room, having distanced myself completely from the front room and the disappointment.  Sophie and I are watching the National Dog Show on DVR. 

Saturday - Saturday is MY DAY.

A look into my future...but not my present.  Could I be any more dramatic??

Quick Like A Bunny

1)  Telestrations is one hilarious and super-fun game.  A quick-hit that I'm considering buying before Thanksgiving just so we can play it with the fam....or at least before the next Big Gay Dinner Party

2)  In a game of Telestrations, "throw pillows" can quickly become "betty stripes" which then slides into "betty ford standing in front of a flag." (This is to say it can go downhill quickly.)  Also, just about any scene can become "indian massacre."  Brutal, also true.

3)  I rocked the hell out of some salad dressing tonight.  Olive oil, balsalmic vinegar, maple syrup, dijon mustard and salt.   (Whuuuuut?)  On a spinach salad with walnuts, bacon, red onions and pears.  Dang.

4)  My church dinner company this time is, hands down, the best damn dinner company I've ever been a part of.  I laughed so hard tonight my eyes were bulging out of my face, my SKIN hurt from being stretched because my MOUTH was open in screaming laughter.  This is to say I had a nice time.

5)  I was up this morning at 5am because my body woke me up at that time. I was not pleased, but I did do a full load of laundry, exercise, and have a leisurely breakfast before the time I'd normally get up.

6) GracieBeans was not pleased that I was up and not using that time to pay attention to her, so she proceeded to get into the middle of everything I was doing.  This included jumping from the couch to my back mid-exercise.  She is not a jumping cat, so this is saying something.

7)  Speaking of GracieBeans, I just discovered that she is IN LOVE with being "lint rolled" -- positively loves it.  This is good, but weird.

8) Tomorrow will be full of many obligations -- including (but by no means limited to) cooking for Steph's family's Thanksgiving on Sunday, cleaning the house, grocery shopping, returning 2 Christmas trees, and laundry.  Yeesh, housewife much?

9) In light of that, I must go to bed.  Now.  Goodnight, moon.

I Sang The Whole Way Home

My mom and dad occasionally tell the story about when I was young (5? 6?) and we went to Grandma and Grandpa Kemmer's house for Christmas eve (as we did every year.)  I was so excited, so worked up, so wired for sound.....that as soon as I got out of the car, right before we walked up to the house.....I just had to scream.

So I did.

I still do that, when I get super excited about something.

Today I got great news, really excited, lots of energy, full of YES YES YES!!  The details aren't important (and nope I won't tell you) but the way I felt?   So excited....I could have screamed.

Except I was at work and one doesn't scream at work. Especially not when there's a loud student in the office right across from you, and a co-worker on the phone, and....oh lord I just realized I read that email when I was on the phone with someone ELSE!  Heavens!  But I stomped my feet, and I balled up my fists and made muscles in my arms, and my eyebrows leapt to the top of my forehead.

I had to hold it together for a couple of hours before I could leave work and really let it out.  After lunch I'd stopped for a coffee on the way back to the office...and then as a celebratory (and sweet as pie) gesture when she couldn't get through to me on the phone, Steph brought me a coffee too (not knowing I'd just finished one.)   I'm not a fidgety person, but my legs were bouncing...and I was just building up for that awesome Christmas Eve Scream.

I left work late and had to be somewhere at 6, so I had to move quickly....I thought I'd explode as soon as I left the building, but leaving the building with me was a veryprofessionalcolleague who was parked in the same lot as me....so we chatted cordially.  I couldn't even skip sideways....I had to walk normally.

So I got onto my scooter, I pulled out....and I SANG THE ENTIRE WAY HOME.  I laughed into the wind on the straight-aways....I yelled and yipped....and I SANG.  For six minutes (I don't live far from work) I spent 2 hours worth of excitement.

When I got home I was as energetic as a Little Richard song (woooo!) and I came into the house with a huge smile on my face.  Steph met me at the door, "Are you really that excited or is it the 2 big coffees you've had in the last 3 hours?"

"YESSSS!"  

I'd Wish This On Anyone

Tell me how much more perfect my life could be right now?  I currently have my sweet dog, my constant companion and best friend for the last 7 years, curled up underneath the blanket, right next to me on the couch, sighing from her contentedness.

My Love, still my biggest surprise after all these years, is sitting in the front room talking and laughing with a friend.  I love her laughter, her loudness.  She's my fiercest defender, most loyal and vocal advocate.  She pushes my boundaries, supports even the most stubborn parts of me, and absolutely loves me unconditionally.

Our sweetest kitties are sitting in the room with me, Frank in his perch, on top of my lockers, wondering when Steph will be in (I'll always play second fiddle to her.)   GracieBeans is loafed up on the coffee table, immediately at my knee.  She's taking breaks from blinking at me to go over and steal drinks of water from my cup.  She's clearly waiting for me to put the laptop down and invite her up, so she can snuggle under my chin and purr so loudly I need to turn up the tv. 

I am healthier than I have ever been in the last 15 years.  Aside from the weight loss, after a pretty significant food overhaul, my cholesterol, triglycerides and othernumberthingies are completely normal, which has (on two occasions now) caused my doctor to jump out of her chair.  The migraines I've suffered from since 2002 - the ones that could flatten me from the pain for a full day, cause me to nearly throw up when I even felt a breeze hit me....they're completely gone.

I live in a house that is happy and healthy.  We have two roommates who share our (enormous) space and who I genuinely enjoy.  They are both very different, but both incredibly generous and funny.  I think since I lived in and ran residence halls for 10 years I really became accustomed to having different energy in the house, others around.  The best part is that I don't have to bust them for alcohol use, or set up behavior agreements and/or quiet hour rules.


I have a job that I adore and look forward to doing.  Sure, there's grief that comes with untangling bureaucratic red tape and getting yelled at all day...but the work that I do makes a difference every day, and it's a tangible outcome that I can really see.  

While there are challenging moments, I don't have terrible days.  I have love, am fiercely loved, and have so much laughter and light in my life. I wish this....on everyone.

An Elevation Change

After a few months off, I had an awesome massage tonight.  Because the weather was so nice I choose to ride my scooter up to my appointment, and then run to Target and the store immediately after.  To lengthen the ride, I opted go to the stores farther north, rather than the ones closer to our house. 

There's this.....elevation change, a dip down, in the road that goes on for about four city blocks before it comes up again.  The trees are more dense, the houses sparse.  It's my favorite spot to ride through because of the way it smells.  Sure, you can tell you're getting closer because the temperature drops, but then you can tell you're there...when you can smell the woods.

I know that many people are nostalgic for childhood smells, and I'm no different.  Dryer sheets, cut grass, baked goods....they don't do the trick for me, though.  The woods?  Absolutely.

It's the woody, damp smell.  The layers of dirt and moss and leaves.  It's thicker, heavier air to smell.

My Great-Grandparents lived in a little house on the side of a county road with the woods behind them.  I spent a lot of time there when I was a kid and the woods started out pretty scary to me.  My Great-Grandpa Faudree would take me on walks though, down, past the trash burning bin and little house, to show me where the opening to the woods was, how to follow the path.  Way in the back, there was a stream that had mostly dried up, but clearly used to be much more and he'd built a bridge to cross it.  In no time I was out, exploring on my own.  

Grandpa Faudree told me to keep an eye out for ignis fatuus...and even though he explained to me what it was, I will always define it as the word that cost him the spelling bee championship. (He thought it started with an "e" but he was wrong.)   He collected the exoskeletons of cicadas while I was gone and kept them for me, until I visited the next time, hanging on the railing to the front porch.  He taught me how to fire his BB gun at old cans...but made me first promise to find all of the BBs after we were done, so we could reuse them.  (I only bought that one once.) 

Summer hours stretched out for me there.  The heat fell away to the damp, cool air....and the smell of the woods was ubiquitous.  

Even though those woods are 2+ hours away, whenever I drive through that stretch and can smell the woods, I can feel the slope of the back yard towards the woods under my feet, hear him whistle as clear as a bell, and talk to the birds like old friends.  Summers sure don't stretch on like they used to...but that smell and the incredible ways my Grandpa showed me his love has never left me.

Really, Spam?

I'm not sure I understand technology, but the good news is that I don't have to in order to use it.  What baffles me, though, is how we've managed to single-out certain strains of the flu, tetanus, and other diseases and also administer prophylaxis for them........but we still can't come up with a way to keep a REAL email message out of the SPAM folder.

Sorting through spam  is about as high on my list of priorities at work as vacuuming behind the refrigerator is for me at home.  Sure, I tend to my spam more frequently, but it's not really something I can devote set time in my day (or frankly week) to do.

Sorting through, though, it is a necessary evil, since we can't manage to make a computer program that is smart enough to keep the emails that say "Hi Jennifer I need your help with my academic issue" from co-mingling with ones that encourage me to click to "the humongous bouncing boobies*."  Nevertheless, I try to sort through them about every week to 10 days. 

I have a spam system, though, so I don't have to click through individual messages and delete one-by-one.  Instead, I do keyword searches in my folder for the usual spammy words (viagra, rolex, pills, etc..), selecting-all in the results, then delete.  It's fairly effective, given that a search for a gentleman's sausage takes care of between 30-40% of the load. After all of my words are searched, I've trimmed the 2500+ emails down to usually less than 200 in just a few minutes, which is absolutely manageable. 

Since I don't have that on a set schedule, I do it when I realize I need to.  Interestingly enough, that was today.   I was about half-way through my list when a student walked in to see me, so of course I abandoned my search and worked on his issue. 

We worked for a while and it wasn't a particularly conversation....all of which he had full view of my screen....but that was okay because there wasn't any student names or issues visible to him... 

....until he left...and I turned around to see that the results of my last search had populated while we were working together....and every email with the word "COCKZILLA" in it was there, listed on my screen.

Here I thought the SpongeBob SquarePants sticker a mom affixed to a letter she mailed to me a few weeks ago was the low point of my professionalism.....clearly I hadn't set my sights low enough. 

Check and clean your spam kids!! After hours!!!




* I swear I picked that email title randomly, I just scrolled and found it.  



EDIT:   as a follow-up I should note a few things. 
1) I've been working with this student for 3 years, so we have a good rapport.
2) When I called him about 5 minutes after he left my office, I asked if he'd seen my screen, apologized for what was on it, and explained that I was cleaning out my spam folder.  
3) He said he didn't see anything but would have pointed it out to me within about 3 seconds of seeing it, laughing anyway.  
4) I told him he could lie and say he did, it'd be a funny story. 

Sunday Seven

We spent the day up north at my Love's parents' house, cleaning their carpets for them...and we've miles to go (an hour west to Sandusky to drop off a new buffet for my parents, then 2.5 hours back to the CBus.) Not sure how I'd be able to fit in a blog on-time again tonight, or my interest in doing so after spending nearly 6.5  hours on the road today...so I'm mashing on my blackberry en route.

In lieu of an intentionally written, more thoughtful post, I've been thinking I'd do a list on Sundays instead. It worked for me in grad school...so we could even write this off as a "throwback," you never know!

So here's my Sunday Seven (things that have made me happy today:)

1. An extra hour of sleep.  Duh, what a gimme.
2. Watching and appreciating my church family as we took communion this morning. I always sit in the front row and get a bit teary as everyone walks past. I always appreciate that Keeny looks directly at each person...a very intentional, and intimate moment.
3. "The gluten-free Body of Christ for you" -- it helps when your best friend is also a pastor. I don't think I got enough of the Cup, though...I started choking during the Lord's prayer.
4. "Johnny(Angel" - as I've been calling him) ... our new renter. While rarely being there so far, he is a thoughtful and kind roommate who has a great personality and also likes Indian food...huge bonus!
5. I put on a pair of freshly washed jeans today and they were comically large on me. (Think: clown pants.) I pulled them off without unbuttoning them and put them with the 5 bags of clothes to donate.
6. The 70 mph speed limit on the Turnpike. (Though I'm not driving currently, Love is.)
7. My love's dad, who graciously changed our front brakes and rotors today, while we were doing the carpets...in exchange for two 12 packs of Great Lakes beer. Yay improved stoppage!! 

Childhood Re-Writes

I realized today that there are a lot of things I used to/somehow believed as a child that I have a hard time letting go of as an adult.

For instance: I was walking through the house today, past the closet where we keep the litter box, when I caught a whiff of the air freshener I just replaced (since we're switching Frank & Beans over to new food.)    As soon as I smelled it, I held my breath.  Why?  Because when I was a kid, I actually believed that air fresheners would take away your ability to smell.   My dad told me that (or likely he uttered some variation of those words)....and I looped it around into my head that you'd never smell again if you smelled too much air freshener.  I always hold my breath now.

On that same vein:  Did you know that the reflective markers in the middle of the road are called "cigarettes?"   No? That's because they're not.  I have no idea what they're called, but I'm confident that they're not cigarettes.  I call them that anyway, though.  One night when I was really young, we were driving home I remember asking my mom (as we were driving from 115 onto 65 by Springbrook) what they were. Because I was probably not doing a very good job of keeping my focus or using correct, descriptive words (read: "Uhhm....what....are....HEYLOOKACAT!....what are those thingiiiiiies?  On the road?"    She replied, "Cigarettes?"  That deal = sealed.

My Grandma told me (a number of times) that it's a rule: all children have to to fold their arms in stores that sell breakable items.  I can confidently remember her telling me this after I knocked something off a Christmas display in Lazarus (I was probably doing my best impression whirling dervish.)  To this day I can't walk into a fine store with open displays or narrow aisles without reflexively folding my arms.  I'm sure the unintended standoffedness that results is that's why sales people don't ask me if they can help me...   Bonus, thanks Grandma!!

Finally, though no one ever told me this....and being absolutely unschooled about this growing up:  You can't open a dishwasher mid-cycle because 25 gallons of water will spill out, all over the floor.  I honestly thought this was true until someone did it in front of me when I was (thirty-two.)  I gasped and squealed when they did it, fearing for the life of their cat, who just happened to be walking by at the time.  I was sure he'd end up scalded, and be not only an ugly, mean sonofa, but now also bald.   I didn't grow up with a dishwasher and didn't have one myself until I was 28 - I honestly thought they cleaned the dishes by filling up completely, like a bath-tub.   I don't know, I didn't think it through. 

A few weeks ago I opened up the dishwasher mid-cycle when my talleryounger brother was here....he squealed and gasped...and took a step back.  Clearly we're both apples from the same tree.

Remind me to ask him if Grandma ever made HIM cross his arms in a nice store....

Kitchen (not kitten) Nightmares

The other night we were watching Kitchen Nightmares, a show that we started watching on the BBC (because they just have better programming) but is now also in the US.  Gordon Ramsay is a world-renowned chef who goes into family-owned, trainwrecked restaurants (who generally don't believe they're running a shit show) and whips them into shape.  Each episode is pretty much the same:

1. Ramsay comes in, orders enough food for 4 (off of their 20 page menu,) hates everything, cusses, sends it back.  Wait staff is sympathetic because they know it tastes like poo.
2. Overly confident owner/chef doesn't understand what he could have possibly found wrong and usually tries to say Ramsay doesn't know crap.  Ramsay cusses.
3. Words are had, owner concedes to some help after Ramsay cusses.
4. Ramsay observes the shit show, finds rotting meat in the kitchen drawers, cusses a LOT
5. Owner postures and/or acts surprised and blames someone else.
6. Ramsay has a Coming To Jesus talk, appealing to the (insert values of individual restaurant here) history and emotional side of owner, sometimes cussing. 
7. Ramsay rebuilds their menu, usually offering a simple twist on one "specialty" and infuses the staff with hope, good cheer, and personal unicorns.
8. The restaurant gets a facelift over night, the staff comes in, cries, and reopens....they falter...but they pull it out.
9. They hug Ramsay and he walks away, usually still cussing.   

This is clearly a show that I think I probably watch for very different reasons than my Love does.  I think she watches for the cussing, the drama, and the crazy before and dramatic after.  She worked in the service industry for a while and no doubt has worked for "that owner."

I watch it because I'm a therapy and communications nerd.  I'm fascinated with interpersonal dynamics, the visibly changing personal landscapes during conflict, and the way Ramsay engages in debate and persuasion...classic rational emotive therapy stuff.   I cover my eyes at the mold and the ick, and choke through the awkward producing...but I'm right there in that a-ha moment, when you see it click and they figure out what's going on. 

I realized the other night when we were watching...that I can see parts of my JOB in Kitchen Nightmares. Sometimes we get the really big, nasty, shit show....we figure out what we're dealing with...look in the nooks and crannies for what one side has overlooked or tried to shove out of the picture...we cuss a little (okay that's usually just me)...fill the kid in on what their responsibility is...we call on the good relationships we have with others and ask for help to rebuild.  

The currency I deal in....is changing landscapes, made muddy by the fears of adulthood and the posturing of childhood.  I try to let them roll out their map....show me where they are on it....point out pit falls on the path they've traveled and inconsistencies in the terrain ahead.  Sometimes I tug their ears, sometimes I box them. I'll spar with a student to help them see how they're impacting their positioning...and offer suggestions at how to change that.  Sometimes I even cuss!

 ....I realize that I really could work on that unicorns part, though.  Truth.

On Giving Up...and Taking On

In 2007 I gave up consuming...the buying kind. I stopped shopping and didn't buy anything save groceries and necessary toiletries.  No new shoes, cute ceramic owls, clothes, cooking accessories, etc..   I looked around and realized I had everything I needed...and I gave up control, putting faith into the belief that the Universe would provide me with so much more if I just let things be.

I wanted to look at how I used what I had...and really figure out the "Need vs. Want."  I knew I'd learn lessons about how media and advertising impacted me.  (An interesting approach for someone who is fascinated with marketing, no?)   I hoped I'd learn a lot about myself while shedding what few consumerist pounds I had in my veins.  (I wasn't really a big 'buyer' before then anyway.)

I had no idea I'd learn so much about others int he process, or that I'd spend such a significant amount of time assuring others that I didn't give a hooey about what THEY bought...no really...I don't care. 

Most friends knew about my "Year of Not Consuming" and their reactions to it were fascinating...and tiring.

"I'm going to Target...ohmygod, don't judge me because I went there...." 
"I was at Kohls this weekend and got three shirts and two skirts for under $100. *gasp* Oh no....SORRRRY....I hope I don't offend you by talking to you about this!??" 

While I appreciated the fact that they were trying to be...helpful (?)...sensitive (?)...what I never could really get through to people is that my decision to not consume WASN'T ABOUT THEM!  It wasn't about their spending. (I don't care WHAT you buy!)  It wasn't about their shopping excursions. (Go wherever you want!  Buy what you want!)  I honestly don't CARE.   No...really!  Go forth and be happy...with whatever!

Was it a lesson on how my intentional life-changes psychologically impacted others? 
Was it a lesson on how when you make a change...then others will automatically think you're judging them? 

I have NO idea...but those are two of the questions I walked away from 2007 with.  (That, and a lot less STUFF.)    

I fully believe that I am responsible for ME...and that others are responsible for THEMSELVES.  I can support you but do not have to personally take on  the troubles that you're having in order to do so (see the book: If You Meet The Buddha On The Road, Kill Him.)    I can have unconditional positive regard for you (see: Carl Rogers) and accept you absolutely where you are, but not have to be going through, or have gone through, the same things in order to accept you. 

As I was thinking about this post (not for long, I didn't want to overthink it) I wondered if it was my background and training as a therapist that helped me really separate my own issues from others, and others issues from me...but I know it started a lot earlier than that.

I was, in many ways and for many reasons, picked on a LOT as a kid.  At different times as I was growing up I was fat, a feminist, opinionated, and gay (eventually all at the same time! Whee!!)    I was bullied, belittled, randomly friended and unfriended, and insecure...and like many who go through that, I internalized it.

Somewhere along the line I started to figure out that none of the things I was picked on about were actually MY issue, they were others' issues with me...and probably really ABOUT themselves, not me at all.  As I came to really understand and live that out, I had a terribly rough exterior about it ("Don't like it? Go to hell.")  Later I realized that we're all broken and I can stand next to you and choose to not let your opinions impact me.   On the other side of that, I can have an opinion...and you don't have to take it as a personal attack either.    Sure, I always need to work on my own edginess...and understanding the responses and reactions of others, but there's always something we need to work on. 


What I picked up without cost that year was the realization that we're all somehow, for some reason tied together with emotional strands...and tangled up in there is a wild web of emotions and fears.  My strand that reaches out to you is honestly one of acceptance, that you can be who you are, make the choices you want, and I will still accept you, though I may not want to do as you do, or believe the same things. If I make a change, or have a feeling about something, it may somehow trigger an emotion or a fear of judgement in you...but it's just ME, not you.  Be YOU.  I'm cool with that.  I promise.

NaBloPoMoFaLaLaLaLa

You know what I used to do?  Blog.  Almost every day: long posts, explanations, clever witticisms.  I started my freshman year in college, just journaling my thoughts on a web page to get take a break from writing papers. I cataloged the random thoughts and goofy ideas I had.  I went to grad school and got pretty busy, so I focused on 5 things I was thankful for every day.  On the tail-end of my Masters, I transitioned from my own webpage to a blogging site...and it turned into something NOT just about putting thoughts out, but about community-building and expanding friendships as well.

Blogging, to me, wasn't time consuming.  I was in the habit of collecting thoughts, pulling them together in some semi-cohesive way throughout the day, and sitting down to write them out.  I kept blog posts in my brain and literally just dumped them. 1000 words out in 15 minutes, easy because I'd had them in my head all day.  That was neat - I had time for other crap too.   Apparently I had more room in my head.

Today I can honestly say that I'm out of shape with collecting thoughts and writing them out....and this actually makes me a bit sad.  It's like my muscles have atrophied...my brain is slow to start.  Like after taking (oh 15?) years away from the piano, it's like sitting down and everything looks the same...but my fingers don't work the way they used to.  I need to warm-up.

So I'll take this NaBloPoMoFaLaLaLaLa challenge - who knows, it might encourage me to get back in the habit of writing for fun every day.  Lord knows I have enough to say, I hope I can pull it out of my big o'le bean.