I think the weekend garage cleaning nudged some hidden recessive and long-forgotten nesting and cleaning gene in me, because I'm like a woman possessed. 
Surely this will pass -- likely by tomorrow -- but until it does, I'm putting it to good use... and encouraging 
(pleading... demanding?!) others around me to d
o the same!
My blogger friend Richard recently asked his readers to pop in and say hello. I thought that was a great idea, especially since I have some very faithful readers who I know only as places -- Mr./Ms. Sacramento, Mr./Ms. San Leandro, Mr./Ms. Noblesville, Mr./Ms. Ottawa, Mr./Ms. Baunatal, Mr./Ms. Krottorf, even a Mr./Ms. Harbin! And you Washingtonians... I know many of you are my personal friends, checking in on me (keeping me in line?!)... but the rest of you? Introduce yourselves! Have we met?
And to my California friends... are any of you dear old (by now!) friends from my childhood or youth? Well dang, at least say HI and perhaps share a memory!
I never understood bloggers' desires to "market themselves" to drive up traffic (OK, maybe that's not true; I'm understanding -- and relating to it -- more and more... short of putting ads on my site!), but my career is based on "knowing thy user" or in this case, "thy reader." So consider this... um, market research?!
Yes, in fact that IS bullshit; I want to know who you are out of sheer personal curiosity!
So hey, don't be shy! Drop on in and say hello and tell me a bit about yourself! It's only fair, ya know... since you know an awful lot about me! I promise I won't bite. In fact, I'd be every so grateful! It's easy as clicking that "comment" button right under your nose.
I absolutely hate cleaning the garage. Hate it. Each year, there's more junk and more to clean, and I hate cleaning it that much more. I've been putting it off for months this year, and I always had a good excuse for procrastinating. I've been working too hard and deserve relaxing weekends. It's raining. It's cold. NetFlix arrived in the mail. And my personal favorite: how can I clean the garage if so much crap is blocking the door that I can't even get INTO said garage?!
We took just about everything out of the garage and tossed what we could -- or rather I tossed what I was allowed. Tom's and I are very different in just about every way, but way #724 is our very different thresholds for "stuff-keeping." I want it outta here if it either hasn't been used in 6 months and holds no sentimental value. Tom, on the other hand, is sure that someday -- possibly tomorrow, even -- we'll have a use for it. In fact, chances are that we'll NEED it in the near future, so it'd be best to hold onto it. It's amazing that we could clean the garage together today. I'm sure that what saved us was that he cleaned half of it and I cleaned the other half, no (OK, few) questions asked.
And now I'm off to bed. Every muscle hurts! Time for another massage!
I made the call soon after everyone had left for the day and the house was quiet. I knew the number by heart and dialed it with anticipation.
"Hello?" said the deep voice on the other end, almost a whisper. I got right to the point, knowing that our call could be cut short at any moment. "Can we meet for lunch?" I asked.
"Yes, that would be nice," said the voice. "But I can't be gone long. I'll meet you in the back parking lot. What time?"
"1:15," I suggested. And so it was arranged. I showered, dressed in black slacks and a casual green sweater, and applied just a touch of make-up and an ever-so-slight mist of Hawaii perfume. His favorite, of course.
At 1:15, I pulled into the back parking lot with just enough time to freshen up my Desert Rose lipstick before I saw him walking toward the car. "Damn, he looks good!' I thought to myself, but when he opened the door I only said "Hi," and gave him a quick kiss.
The hostess at the restaurant greeted us with a smile. "Two?" she asked. We nodded. As she gathered the menus, I felt her eyes glancing almost imperceptibly at our hands. I knew what she was thinking. This has been going on long enough that I've figured it out by now. She's thinking that the wedding rings don't match. As in, she's wearing one and he isn't. "
Right this way," she said as she led us to a small table for two in the darkest corner of the restaurant.
We'd been discovered. She saw it, she noticed it, and she knew. And somehow there was a slight thrill in knowing that she knew.
He spoke first. "I've been thinking. I think we should just do it. We've waited so long. I think it's time."
He's right. We had waited too long. Spring had come, somehow making it feel more urgent, and there could be no more waiting. "OK," I agreed. "When?"
"Soon. Before I change my mind."
He was teasing me now.
"When?" I implored again.
"We need to consider the electricity. There's no denying that..."
"Go on," I pleaded with anticipation.
And then, once he began, I knew he'd spill his thoughts and plans quickly. I knew there'd be no holding back from this man without a wedding ring.
"First I'll run electricity to where the current garden shed is, so we can have a light in the new shed, and so we can plug in things like the leaf blower. After I dismantle the old shed, I'll use some of those 4x8 sheets of plywood in the garage for the floor of the new shed..."
So add this to the upside of unemployment: lunch with my non-wedding-ring-wearing husband!
But geeeeeze! And growl and roar! And grrrrrrrrr! We'd bought a gorgeous ring together back in 1983 -- a gold band with a channel of gold nuggets. Very 1983, you're thinking. And you're right. But if he'd been wearing the ring for the past 24 years, it'd now be a beautifully smooth gold band with just hint of mystery where the nuggets had been. It'd be different now, changed over time, with the kind of personality that takes years to develop -- well-weathered, well-loved and well-worn. Like its owner. Like the marriage it signifies.
Instead, it's still new and angular, with no earned personality, no softening edges, no signs of the weathering and mellowing and deepening of the relationship it represents. Even the inscription, "love, Carol," is still perfectly legible.
It doesn't even feel like our ring anymore. Instead, it feels like a ring that belongs to that young couple who purchased it at the Santa Monica Mall so many years ago. That couple is only slightly familiar now, like an old acquaintance whose name remains in the address book, but with whom no real connection still exists. We went through so many changes and experiences while the ring sat motionless in the dark box, cradled in velvet and undisturbed, lest it be nicked or scraped or weathered. The ring wasn't there for children's births, or for up-rootings and re-rootings, or for fights and silences and re-connections. It never had to be re-sized, it never got lost and welcomed back, it was never cleaned -- or dirtied.
It's the exact same ring that was purchased by a two young people in love in 1983, but it's their ring, not ours. Because we are very different people than we were then, this is a different relationship than it was then, and any ring that is a symbol of this 24-year marriage would need to show some age, some mellowing, some weathering, a few scrapes and scars, and a whole lot of changes from what it looked like in the beginning.
If we met for lunch tomorrow and my husband wore his shiny, angular wedding ring, the waitress wouldn't give it a second thought, but I'd definitely wonder what was up!
OK, this is just really scary: THREE stories in the local news today about school violence issues near Seattle! This, this and this. I don't even know what to think. This just makes me sick to my stomach. I've always regarded Seattle as such a safe place... but maybe there is no such thing anymore.
Blacksburg, Virginia was considered a safe place too.
I spent some time exploring a bunch of blogs yesterday and when I came back "home" to mine, I just wanted to torch the thing! Not the content (that is what it is), but the template. Boooooring! And completely devoid of personality.
So I guess this is where I should be technical. But really, are all those beautiful, spunky, well-designed blogs out there created by techies?! What am I not getting?
I want to take this photo (yes, I flipped it... so far, so good -- yes?), put the ladybug on the left top of the gray surface, add some ferns and other NW foliage, and top it off with a really nice font for my name and blog description. Oh, and then I want to do what it takes to replace what I have with the new graphic, columns and all, and have it work seamlessly.
Am I asking too much? Should I be able to do this myself or is this something for a professional? (Can you suggest anyone?) And if I can't do this, should I really be working in media at all?!
This hopeful little project of mine is really very badly timed and no good at all for the self-esteem!
My dear blogging friend Dixie was interviewed by her dear blogging friend, Shiela. Dixie's answers were thoughtful, honest and revealing -- and when she offered to throw out some questions to her faithful readers, I took her up on it, having no idea what she might ask me. Leave it to Dixie to ask some pretty thought-provoking questions... at a pretty thought-provoking time in my life!
Now, shall we? (I'm so nervous!) Here's what Dixie asked me:
1. You have the opportunity to spend the day with a relative who has passed on and who you've never met. With whom will you pick to spend that day?
This one's easy. My aunt Ulli spent the past few years translating letters written by her mother, Irmgard (my grandmother) to her grandmother, Adele (my great-grandmother) between 1905 and 1944. The 600-page collection, called Letters from Chemnitz, chronicles the life of a German family before and during World War II. What made my father's family somewhat unique was the fact that his father was Jewish (though not religiously; he was brought up as a Christian) and his mother wasn't, making the children, my father and his siblings, "mischlings" -- the Nazi era equivalent of a "half-breed." Between the early-30's and the early-40's my father's family went from living the lives of an an upper-middle class banker's family with servants, cooks and chauffeurs, to a family that was struggling, starving and fearful of every passing moment, wondering when my grandfather would be taken... and what would happen to the rest of the family. Irmgard was, in a very real sense, the family's "protector," since her non-Jewish status gave the family the status of "privileged mixed marriage" which apparently meant that my Jewish grandfather and his mischling children couldn't be taken by the SS. When Irmgard died suddenly of a brain tumor in 1944, the family was left unprotected.
It sounds like my father's family's experiences should be chronicled in a book, doesn't it? Well, my dad is in the process of writing that book, and as a first step he began a blog to find out if people were interested in reading such a proposed book. (In fact Dixie was one of his interested readers!)
So, to get back to Dixie's question... I wish I had met my grandmother Irmgard and my great grandmother, Adele and I'd love to spend a day -- or a week or a year -- with them! Irmgard's letters were always full of deep love for her family, absolute adoration of her children, and a generosity of spirit that must have warmed those around her even in the bleakest of times. She was kind, funny and caring, never angry or vengeful in any way, no matter what. I remember reading her loving words for and about her children and marveling at how she was never angry or frustrated with them. My father was only 16 when he was orphaned (yes, his father died in an American air raid less than a year after his mother died) and my aunt was only 12. But I believe that it is because of Irmgard's and Carl's (I think I was named after him; I hope I was! Dad?) loving parenting that my father and his siblings grew up to be such kind, optimistic and loving people -- and such wonderful parents -- themselves.
2. When things get tough, what characteristic that you possess can you rely on best to help you through it?
You mean like... now? :-/
I think my tenacity gets me through a lot. I'm pretty focused and driven and when I set my mind on something, very little can stop me. I'm a list-maker and a methodical organizer and once I start a project I'll be up at dawn and work until midnight on it -- as long as I see purpose in it and as long as I feel an emotional attachment to it. If I don't, it's busy work and I lose interest quickly.
That said, I've felt kind of lost since being laid off last week. I'm questioning my talents and skills, second-guessing my goals, and wondering whether I've been trying to fit a square peg in a round hole lately. Normally I'd have re-written, re-purposed resumes ready to go and distributed by now, I'd have some interviews scheduled, and I'd be forging ahead with great... well, with great tenacity. But that's not happening at all. I'm questioning everything. Do I want to work for any boss -- even for any company or organization -- again, or do I want to work for myself this time, and be my own boss? Do I want to focus on educational technology... or just on education? (I admit it -- I'm not a fan of technology UNLESS it's integral to the product, and then I do fully embrace it... but there's something to be said for just a damn good tabletop game!) Do I want to work for kids... or with them? I feel paralyzed and insecure and gun-shy right now.
But that's another post, isn't it?
3. You've got 24 hours at home alone with no kids and no husband around. What are you going to do with your day?
There was a time when I had four kidlets under the age of five, and during that time and the ensuing 10 years or so, I'd have had a long dreamy, oh-if-this-would-only-happen-just-once sort of answer to this question. But these days it's quite a regular occurrence that all four kids are off working or in school or with friends and I don't see them for a day or two, and then I'm alone all day (well, lately anyway!) and Tom and I are alone in the evenings.
This question reminds me of the promise I made to my kids waaaaay back when we had little or no break (who in their right mind is going to offer to babysit for two babies, a toddler and a preschooler?!). I promised myself -- and made a silent promise to them -- that when they have kids we'll just TELL them and their spouses to take off for a weekend and leave the kids with us. They won't have to ask; we'll just offer. I soooooooo wished someone would do that for us during those crazy years!
But I digress.
If I had 24 hours of total solitude, and no other worries of any sort, like (ahem) unemployment, I'd travel alone to a cottage in the woods somewhere near a beach and immerse myself in two activities: I'd start scrapbooking Alek's and Kat's high school graduation and Peter's college graduation scrapbooks (see, I even feel pressured to do the fun stuff!) and I'd start writing the novel I've been meaning to write and just can't seem to get started. And I'd listen to lots of good music, sip some good wine, and take a few long walks in the forest and on the beach.
4. Is there anyone from your past to whom you wish you could extend an apology? Tell who and why if you wish.
I've really wracked my brain on this one and I have to say that, as far as I know, I don't think I've ever hurt someone really badly or done something awful that begs forgiveness. I have tried to live by the Golden Rule, sappy as that sounds, and I hope that I've done a fairly good job of it.
5. Is there a film that's a little cheesy/trashy/raunchy/dumb/sappy or any combination thereof that you secretly like and will watch at any opportunity? And tell us which on it is!
OK, this is embarrassing. But I am a hopeless romantic. I will watch Under the Tuscan Sun, Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and The Bridges of Madison County (stop snickering!) any time I have the chance. Yeah, I know -- there is a thread that runs through all of them... and yes, there's a part of me and a part of my life in all of those movies. Now if I could just start that damn novel!
How's that, Dix? Did I do OK?
And just so I play this game correctly, I'll quote Dixie with further instructions: "Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.” I will respond by asking you five questions in the comments here on this post so check back here. I get to pick the questions. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions."
Ok, who's next?
