Doggie dog dogs :)

Vintage Boxer Framed Signed O.E. LARSEN Lithograph

All I want to do right now is eat cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. I prefer that they have milk chocolate. I'm kinda off the dark chocolate train right now. I love those peanut butter blossoms with milk chocolate Hershey kisses - those are amazing. I will eat them with milk. Right now I have soy milk. I like soy milk.

Vintage Painted Ceramic Whippet Figurine

Dogs also make me very happy. I think they make other people very happy too, so I often buy vintage dog stuff for my shop. Just think of how it feels when you see a dog's smiling face pointed in your direction. There are a lot of dogs in my life. When I'm feeling sad, no one makes me happy quite like a dog. Last night it was a skittish little chihuahua wearing a bow tie and a fleece sweater watching me make cookies. Ah, bliss.

I have nothing to say. I have nothing to write about that feels right to me. My store keeps going and my life keeps going, but I don't have anything to say. I will go running tonight though. That might feel good.

Writing a book.

For the past several years, I have been slowly working on a book. Slowly is an understatement. This book might never be finished. But it is a part of me in a way that I cannot quite express, and therein lies the purpose of the thing. I write because it is who I am, and the book is my way of trying to figure out who I am. It's a weird circular thing.

Seeing myself is difficult, like running-an-ultramarathon-in-the-desert-difficult. I've spent most of my life seeing myself the way other people have described me: melodramatic, annoying, crazy, ugly. To challenge those messages, some of them a lifetime old, is a daily struggle, a work in the deepest primitive part of my brain. So to reach inside that part takes a different kind of energy than the day-to-day walking-around kind of energy.

Anyhow, the book is about my family and the reasons I am the way I am. But it'll probably take me the rest of my life to make something I'm really proud of. So in the meantime, it will be something, a hope, that sustains me.

Peace.

Oh, Canada...

Shout-out to my Canadian peeps - wish I were visiting :)

Last winter/spring, my best friend and I took a few weekend "writing retreats" where we holed up in a hotel room, and other people's empty houses, to write our senior papers. And I loved it. My paper didn't turn out amazing like I'd hoped, but it said something, and people read it, and they either loved it or they hated it, so all-in-all, it was a success.

I remember thinking to myself, "Let's make this a tradition". But when I mentioned this brilliant idea to said friend, she acted like she'd rather die. So, I think I'm going to write by myself. I have post-it notes on my computer, documents on Google Docs, and a senior paper on my desktop, that either need to be written, or heavily edited for publication. Maybe I'll even get a thrift store zine finished for all my faithful followers out there.

So I'll be sitting in this big empty house, with my laptop, enjoying the silence of vacation, and hopefully getting some things done.

Peace out :)

Thrifted gifts?

Kid-friendly and appealing vintage Yosemite mug? Made for me.

Dear germophobe friend (you know who you are), stop reading. Do it. Do it now.

Thanks to Van over at Thrift Core for being awesome and vegan and thrifty and cheap, and inspiring me to be less lame and a total downer (as I totally have been lately, admit it), and talk about some recycling.

Thrifted gifts? Yay? Nay? My ethic of gifting is finding the perfect thing, the thing that says "I know you, and I see you, and I love you as you are." Oh my gosh. I'm cracking up right now, because after writing that, I realized what a weirdo I am. But anyhow, there are no guarantees. You may get a thrifted gift from me, or you may get a poem, or a framed piece of art, or a framed original comic (I am an excellent single-pane comic artiste - no joke).

So yes, that does mean that I have a stash all year long that waits for birthdays and Christmas to get used. It also means that my goal is your happiness. So selfless of me (meh. I'm just trying to buy your love like everyone else).

You will not get something gross. Because if I couldn't think of anything on the way to your house at the last minute, I will bring you alcohol, or cake. And that will make you happy.

Peace out :)

Theology...blah, blah, blah

I presented my senior paper for the second time this morning. It's about the theology of place and how land and places and buildings and dirt can be knit into our souls. Blah, blah, blah. I reread parts of it last night, and became fairly convinced that I was stoned when I wrote it.

I kept thinking about people though, this morning, when I was sitting on that step stool looking all smart and shit. I kept thinking about the people that are knit into my soul, the people that feel like home to me. I had to stop myself from talking about things that I shouldn't have been talking about though, because there were only 45min, and I could have talked for hours about the places and people in my own soul, and the love and commitment found therein. My own brain is scattered with all the houses I've ever lived in.

I know I've talked about this before, but it's been hitting me in a whole new way, this idea that other people change us fundamentally, and that we cannot truly leave another person. We may not speak to a person for ages, but some people really do leave marks on us, proof that they were there. And to be sure, some people naturally leave deeper marks than others: parents, childhood friends, first loves, siblings. Good, bad, it's all there. There are some people you will just love forever (or hate forever, if you choose to do so).

Peace out :)

People are animals!

There are few words to describe the past several days of my life. So I don't know if I'll try. All of it makes me feel very alone, and that cannot be helped.

But then some good things are happening, like I thrifted a lot yesterday. I bought Throwing Copper because I dunno, I had a seizure several years ago and got rid of all of my "dark" music, and listened to this song over and over again in the car. Also, I found a brown tweed shift that goes all the way to my knees (!) from Ann freakin' Taylor. Then, I finally figured out how to go to one of those quick car washes with free vacuums, so now my car looks so much better. Also, my thirteen-year-old friend made chocolate cake, and the dog ate a frog, so I laughed a lot, and got a lot of crazy kisses from dog #2 whose mouth was not foaming. So now I'm gonna go to work, and I'm gonna think about all of these good things when I'm feeling down.

Thanks for being here. I'm quite fond of you.

Forever with me.

Vintage Silhouette - Made in Austria

I've written a lot of poetry in my life, lots of terrible wonderful poems about love and loss and longing and anger with God. I'm sick today, and feeling lonely in my sickness, because being sick is always a lonely occupation, isn't it? And I'm trying to figure some stuff out, so I start looking through the last two years of poems to try to get some clarity on my feelings and how they've remained constant in some ways over the years, how my trajectory has, in spite of all obstacles, stayed straight and sure.

Vintage Liz Claiborne - Totally make me think of the early 1990s

I've figured out something really important. My love for other people, my deep unfailing commitment to what some would (and have) declared delusional, has carried me through my life like a bright shimmering string of hope, woven through the mess of my life, inextricably linked to who I was, who I am, and who I will become. These people did not earn that love, nor did they provide it to me. It was something inside of me that kept it going, kept that fire stoked through many stormy times.

Those people can never give me that love that I've created for myself with their names on it. They can never live up to the hype I've given them, because they're human, and I made that hope inside myself so I could keep living when I didn't want to. I deeply want to show these people what they have, with their mere existence, given to me, but it seems to be an impossible task. How do you really love another person? How do you give a person, in a few moments, a decade of hope that you have forever inside you because of them?

So I love them, not because of anything they did, but because at one time, they loved me. And it was everything to me.

Solitude.

Bjorn Wiinblad, Nymolle Denmark-"August Bye Bye"

What is necessary, after all, is only this: solitude, vast inner solitude. To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours - that is what you must be able to attain. To be solitary as you were when you were a child, when the grownups walked around involved with matters that seemed large and important because they looked so busy and because you didn't understand a thing about what they were doing.

Rainer Maria Rilke (Letters to a Young Poet - #6)

A little explanation

So the past two days, I've been talking about wanting and how I've decided to want things, like things beyond the usual things like eating dinner and watching the Olympics and not dying in 110 degree heat.

1. I've been living in a garage for the past year, and I'm ready for a house, with a kitchen that I can cook in as opposed to my cobbled together faux kitchen I've made work in my little place. While housesitting this month, I've realized that I'm done living with less.
2. I want to write memoirs about my awesome life, and all of the crazy stupid things that have happened and how in spite of all of it, I still get up every morning. Mostly I just want to write them for myself. Maybe other people will read them. I don't know.
3. I used to be a nanny for this family who had three boys, and they were just so boyish, and they were always running and climbing and we'd do fun things with bugs and it was wonderful. For whatever reason, I've only ever been a nanny for boys. I love my sister and all, but I have just always seen myself as a mother of sons. Perhaps my lover (as I will call him daily) and I will use the sex-choice method, or maybe we'll just be working with fast sperm. Again, I don't know.
4. I want to be bilingual. It will make my work infinitely easier.
5. One of my books will be about my family's story in Slovenia, and it will probably take me several decades before my heart will allow me to take such a huge risk, but it's on the list anyway.
6.
7. My uncle hiked part of the trail a few years ago, and I looked through all of his books while he was preparing. I don't know if I'd even be up for it, since it's so long and all, but my heart wants to do it, so there.
8. My hips don't like to open, and my head is really far from the ground, and my torso is shorter than my legs, so this may be a lifelong process, but I'm working on it. Let's all remember that a year ago, I couldn't do this, so anything is possible.
9. Something about the North Bay beckons me with its cool weather and Goodwill outlet :)
10. She said 'yes'. We are so going.
11. There are supposed to be thousands upon thousands of used books. Doesn't that sound like ecstasy?
12. I thought that as soon as I graduated, I'd suddenly have the funds necessary to travel. That isn't happening, but the plan is still there. There are people around the world who I love and miss dearly, especially that man on the river who thought I was flirting with him when I said 'oi' [wink].
13. The Creativity and Madness conference beckons me.
14. I went to a visual and performing arts school in Southern California (magnet school), and I was a member of the first class, so we created walls of ceramic tiles with our personal artwork on them. They're displayed on the wall of the cafeteria.

Peace out mofos. You're awesome.

My writing career

I just finished reading a memoir by Jennifer Lehr, Ill-equipped for a Life of Sex, and am stuck in a moment wondering if I'll ever have a book in me. I desperately want to write a memoir, but I don't know what I'd write about (i.e. which topic, among many, I would even choose), and I don't have the motivation to write one. I write a lot, but it's mostly just messy complaining combined with trying to figure out the crazy mixed-up mind that I have. There are no stories in me save the stories of my own life. There are no vibrant characters I'm longing to bring out, just me.

But where do I begin to tell stories that involve other people? Where do I begin to tell stories that are, and always will be, unfinished? And how do I do those things, and keep doing my job(s), and paying the bills which I always seem to be behind on? And who will read it?

Rilke

Frye Boots - Women's Size 11 - A rare find!

Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and border and salute each other.

Rainer Maria Rilke (Letters to a Young Poet)

The truth hurts.

1974 Vintage (Tattered) Holly Hobbie Doll

So I'm listening to Taylor Swift on repeat. It's a beautiful thing. I don't know why I get hooked on stuff, but she is definitely my current fave. I'm also hooked on having lots of thinking time. 108 degrees will do that to a person. Don't you wish that thinking actually helped a person? That somehow we could think our way out of problems? But no. It doesn't work that way. We have to talk, communicate with others. We have to be in relationships with other people, and that's where it gets tricky.

Yesterday, I received a lovely email from a relative telling me what a terrible person/daughter I am, etc, etc. Now, unless you begin to fret, I'll let you in on a secret: I've received at least a hundred of these things in my lifetime, and do not intend to have a freak-out on account of other people's misplaced anxiety. That being said, 100 of these nasty things can make a girl tired, and in 108 degrees, just done. So, even though I usually throw them away and move on with my day, this one stuck with me, as they tend to do every so often. And in a rare moment of clarity and temperance, I responded.

Nasty emails should not always be responded to. I find that filtering my email (along with various other accounts), allows me to completely avoid the nastiness that other people like to send my way. But sometimes the truth is necessary, and needs to be said. And you know what? Oftentimes the truth hurts, because the truth often just sucks. And that's just the truth.

But use with discretion, like alcohol.

Money is nothing.

Vintage Tupperware measuring cups

If we have chosen the position in life in which we can most of all work for mankind, no burdens can bow us down, because they are sacrifices for the benefit of all; then we shall experience no petty, limited, selfish joy, but our happiness will belong to millions, our deeds will live on quietly but perpetually at work, and over our ashes will be shed the hot tears of noble people.

~ Karl Marx

Grad Plans #2

I am having so much anxiety about the overarching theme of graduation. Sure, the ceremony will be great, and the banquet, and the time with family and friends. But this burning in my chest is more than indigestion; it's total fear.

People in my cohort have jobs. People in my cohort are going to get paid, and soon. And I am going to continue to do the things I've been doing all along, because change would be too much for me. Is that sad? Pathetic? I'm not sure that it isn't. There are student loans to pay, and health insurance options to find. And somehow I'm stuck. My brain is stuck. I can't move. I've panicked into stillness.

The beginning of this year, for various reasons (i.e. moving), was horrific. So I'm gradually shifting into the next phase, and that has to be okay for me. I have to accept myself and all of my limitations. I have to accept that I need time and space, and piles of books from the library to ease the transition. I need to order my Slovenia: 1945 book and start to dream again about writing. I need space to move around in. I need rest, and silence, and lots and lots of hugs.

And then, eventually, when I least expect it, I can move on.

If wishes were fishes...

I really wish that I could honor Sugar's coming-out party with some kind of awesome essay. I wish a lot of things. For instance, I wish that my senior paper would be as awesome as I want it to be. I wish...okay, those are really my only wishes at the moment, and they're both writing-related. How funny is that?

Be well my friends :)

Ah, melancholy...

During the past couple days, I got a lot of writing done. From my current estimation, I have about nineteen pages. There are whole sections which have not yet been addressed, so I'm not close to done. I am, however, starting to have a melancholy feeling about the end of an era. This is no-man's land. I have never been anywhere that looks remotely like this place, and I want to run far, far away.

So now, I'm going to eat a piece of cake.

My pending memoir :)

Retreats are awesome! Every once in a while, I should find a place and just go. Of course, this time, I'm working the entire time and I'm physically and mentally exhausted, but someday, I will not be a student, and maybe I can write a novel or my ever-pending memoir. Imagine the possibilities! Blue sky outside the window, maybe a beach, or some other wonderful view. It's lovely to be with someone you love too. It makes the whole thing enjoyable, even if it's work.

Also, the television show that I'm newly hooked on at this particular moment-watching it at the end of a long day is all the sweeter after so much mind-numbing paper-writing.

A writers retreat :)

So, a friend and I have decided to create a DIY writers retreat this weekend. I have a tendency to commit a day or two to something, but then sit in my apartment the whole time and get nothing done. Well, my senior paper, my final paper of graduate school is on the line, and from my general reticence over the past couple months, I think we can all agree that some serious writing needs to be done, and it needs to be done soon.

Today was a long day. It was full by itself, but it was also the first day I'd been out of bed since being sick. My caloric intake still needs to be increased for a couple days to make up for the under-load, as it were. I'm going to take a couple days now to write, and eat, and not worry about money, or the future, or anything else. I hope it works.

Until we are called to rise...

We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies--

The heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
For fear to be a king--

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Ah, the good old days...

Genuine politics -- even politics worthy of the name -- the only politics I am willing to devote myself to -- is simply a matter of serving those around us: serving the community and serving those who will come after us. Its deepest roots are moral because it is a responsibility expressed through action, to and for the whole. - Vaclav Havel