Crashing Into Life

Well, I feel loved. Best thing to feel at this particular time of year, and I feel it. As a good old friend of my family would say, "Shight-Howdy, it's enough to make your big toes wiggle!"

And then we'd all laugh, and she'd look at us and say, "Haven't y'all heard that expression before??" As if WE are the weirdos. This year, my immediate family (me and the 'rents) decided to do JUST STOCKINGS, and look at our traditions to figure out which ones are actually special so we can pay more attention when we do them. And it was really one of the best Christmases we've had-- even Papa thought so.

We made Welsh Pasties (HEAVEN IS WAITING IN MY FREEZER!!!), and Ottonian Sour Cream Cookies (They aren't waiting because I already ate them. All of them.), and eggs on toast. I ran into another one of those situations (I run into these a lot) where two different phrases mean the exact same thing, but I didn't know that, and worked really hard to remember the ONE phrase, so when somebody used the OTHER PHRASE, I had no fugging clue what they were talking about. And how silly is that-- because it was the phrase, "fried eggs."

I mean, I've seen it. I always figured I wouldn't like it because I didn't know what it was. Tells you a lot about my relationship to food, doesn't it. My mom didn't cook those, she made me over-hard eggs in a frying pan, and scrambled eggs. But we don't fry ANYTHING in my family, so I KNEW I'd never had "fried eggs." I was actually shocked that my mom would offer me one-- and on Christmas morning, too!! ... And then she gave me that look. That "you've been drinking out of the stupid jar again, haven't you" look. The one that says she thinks I'm intentionally tormenting her by playing dumb, and she is really not happy with me about it.

I guess the good news is she thinks I'm smart enough to know that "fried eggs" are the eggs you cook in a frying pan-- you know, like over-hard eggs, for example. The bad news is, I really didn't know. You have to understand. When I was little, we didn't eat like everybody else, and mom cooked just about everything from scratch. I thought everybody had vegetarian tomato pasta sauce with beans in it. So she knew what I liked, and I knew what she cooked, and if she asked if I wanted eggs, I knew they'd be scrambled. Or she'd let me cut off the whites and just eat those, since I didn't like the yolks. Even when they weren't the consistency of weird yellow-orange mucus.

So then we'd go to a restaurant, and mom would have to translate everything on the menu for me. What sort of eggs are "over easy" eggs? Do I like those? What is French Toast? You mean it's that weird dry bread you coat with egg and then put syrup on? Eww! (FYI, my food repertoire of "likes" has grossly expanded since the time of which I write. I like food now.)

When, as a child, I got tired of trying to figure out egg-cooking-styles and trying to explain to the waitress what I wanted, I finally memorized two easy kinds of egg-cooking-styles that I KNEW I LIKED, and I KNEW THEY COULD COOK. And always since then, if we eat breakfast out, I ask for one of those. Eggs over-hard, or hard-scrambled. Because I'd learned that this is the most easily-understood restaurant term for the kind of eggs my mom cooked for me at home. And that is literally the extent of my egg-preparation-term repertoire. Oh, plus hardboiled. I know those from Easter. Then mom tells me --right there on Christmas morning-- that she's making "boiled eggs" for her and papa.

WTF?! Does she mean HARD boiled?? Is there any OTHER kind of boiled egg? I mean-- parents always yell at their kids for eating cookie dough with UNCOOKED EGGS in it, so... Is this another trick like the "fried eggs" situation?? sigh... I guess I must have ROLLED in stupid-juice without even noticing last night, because apparently I reek of it. Just look at her scrunched up face when I ask for clarification on THAT one!!

See, fancy literature and books about dragons rarely describe cooked eggs in both visual and restaurantees terms enough to picture what is what-- so eggs are not among the information and vocabulary and phrases that I gleaned from said "literature." I may have told my dad as a pre-pubescent teen that "my cup runeth over" when he gave me too much milk once-- and known both the literal and the poetic meanings of the phrase used... but what has THAT got to do with the price of EGGS?!

Ahem-- so anyway, I felt loved this holiday season. And I was able to hi-jack my friend's car with the walnut-studded tires and the cold weather engine starter and the eco-diesel green gas juice and all, and drive IT through the frozen and bumpy wasteland of insane Christmas-Eve highway drivers to my parents' house so I COULD bake cookies and pasties and eggs with them. It was wonderful.

I also got phone calls from several friends to make sure I arrived there safely, or was doing okay with all the insane snow we received. Can you believe we had a WHITE CHRISTMAS on the west coast? When has THAT happened before?! Even weirder than fried eggs, I tell you! And I'm about to head over to check my mail. There may be Christmas Cards I don't know about. It's been almost two weeks since I could get close enough to the post office to park my car and go in.

And then on Sunday, my extended West Coast Family all mustered together and celebrated, and shared "extended family love" with the little kids. It was the start of another great Christmas tradition that we all want to remember for next year, too. Not quite as grand as the ones we used to have back east (50 people, lots of excellent insanity), but still... And that reminds me-- I've got cheese in my backpack, and it really ought to be put in the fridge here soon.

Merry Everything, and many happy returns of it all to you and yours.
Or, as my family probably will say after they read about the eggs,
"Here's egg in your face!" Which I know is a quote, but have NO idea where it came from. And I'm actually okay with that. Really.

PT for Writers

Every Wednesday night, I attend a writing group. I look forward all week to this event, excited to read my pages and hear the feedback from my peers and advisers. Every week, I am nearly late, frantically pulling together my pages, my final edits, my nerve-- and heading off to work.

And it is work. I am writing down some difficult memories, to be picked over as a stranger might do a cold plate of french fries after lunch. It is hard for me to visualize some past events with enough clarity to write them down so others can vicariously experience those events, too. Hard because I don't want to relive those times. Hard because old wounds heal slowly, and my flesh is still tender. The critiques are always helpful-- but sometimes they still hurt.

Driving home tonight, I realized I was shaking with the after-effects of fight-or-flight adrenaline. That primed response of our bodies in a state of sudden fear. It is scary to remember a time we never want to repeat. It is exhausting, and emotionally draining, too.

Why do I do this? Why do I keep writing, editing, returning every Wednesday night for another dose of dread? Well... I thought about that on my way home. I realized that the truth I share with my clients also applies to me. If I want to find the lessons that will help me move beyond a bad memory or experience, I have to work through the experience. I have to be willing to go piece-by-piece through my past, and throw out what isn't useful. Claim the lessons. Claim my inner strength, my integrity, my changes and the personal growth that I've experienced since those events occurred.

I am lucky. Writing is, for me, cleansing. Putting down on a page all the things I didn't want to forget, but hate to remember-- It lets me rest from the burden of remembering. It lets me put down the memory without fear of losing or repeating the lesson-- I can re-read it any time I feel a need. I am literally lightening my load at each Wednesday night Writer's Group. Freeing up mental and emotional space one jaw-clenching page at a time. Making room for something new.

Just after a car accident, we are in trauma. When the danger has past, and the person stabilized, there is often a long and painful period of physical therapy. A time when we re-learn how to inhabit our bodies, and work through the pain of healing. And so I look forward to these sessions, knowing I'll be exhausted and in pain at the end. Knowing that it's a good kind of pain, and not a punishment. Knowing that I am re-learning how to inhabit my emotional landscape, learning how best to lean forward into my life.

I have seen friends in crisis who were so scared of the pain they might feel if they acknowledged the hurtful situation they were in-- that they simply refused to get therapy. The fear of the healing process was bigger than the ugly situation they were actually living in. We seem, intuitively, to know just how painful it will be to work through our injuries and our traumas. And yet, so often, we turn a blind eye to the trauma or the situation that we live through every day instead.

Getting help, asking for someone to hold your hand and help you move through the pain toward a healthier life, it's a big deal. I have great respect for anyone who can battle their fear enough to ask for help-- to keep asking for help until they are well. Who uses that extra bit of energy that allows us to learn from old hurts, and old patterns, so that we don't repeat them. So that we understand our own personal process of healing, and are able to fully embrace our individual presence in the world.

Driving home from my Writer's Group tonight, I appreciated all over again the courage and the energy my clients put into their own healing process. I honor their victory and their commitment to becoming fully themselves. Their willingness to come back to the table every couple of weeks, ready for more hard work. And then I sit at my computer, and write another chapter in my own story, getting ready for next week's healing critique.

WeManiac

So... have I told you that I actually have something like EIGHT FRIGGIN BLOGS attached to me? Plus the one on that one website for professional librarians? EIGHT.

And... well... actually, I only maintain about three of them-- plus that one that isn't REALLY mine, but I still have to write intelligent things for it at least once or twice a week. (And by the way, I've been reading Crazy Aunt Purl again lately, and got all inspired-y... which can actually be a bit dangerous, if you have even the slightest clue what exactly it is that I'm being inspired by!)

Even more exciting, I finally was able to attach my blog (no, the other one) to my website-- AND the website is itself somewhat updated. It took me two days of hard work to get it there, but I now feel that it can go be all by itself on the web again. YAY!!! And-- I've printed out two more versions of what may eventually be my final business card design. This whole "start your own business" thing takes a lot of trial and error, it seems! Maybe "flexibility" is the term I'm searching for here...

Even better, I have an OFFICE to see CLIENTS in-- on Tuesdays through Thursdays, that is. And once I get myself up to at least 8 clients a week, I can start looking for that perfect apartment with a front room that might be PERFECT for seeing clients from THERE! Or renegotiate for different office hours or spaces or something. And when I hit 15 clients a week, I'm raising my rates in the hope that soon I can buy an actual piece of land and start making plans to build a house/studio on it. I may also begin to revise my work/business strategy when I get to that point. Although, really, it's part of the strategy to keep revising it as I learn what works better for both myself and my clients (and my self-promotion efforts).

So I'm keeping up on the blog for library world (I am now free, they gave me my last paycheck for that in July and asked me to keep writing anyway), the blog for my business, this blog, and maybe one or two others that I write in from time to time... That's a lot of writing. No. Actually, that's a lot of PROOF READING!!

In the meantime, I just wanted to let you know that if I personally gave you the web address for this blog (ie: you are a close friend or family)... and you know what my new business is, you get special reduced rates for my professional services should you ever wish to request them. Just thought you'd like to know. =)

Tagged for Life: A Memoire

So... There's this new form of the "get lucky" email going around. It's a blog challenge based on a mythological bet that Hemingway once made. His autobiographical words were purported to be, “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.”

And here are the rules:

1. Write your own six word memoir.
2. Post it to your blog including a visual illustration if you would like
3. Link to the person who tagged you in your post and to this original post (http://herebaby.blogspot.com/2008/06/six-word-memior.html) if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogsphere
4. Tag 5 more blogs with links
5. Don’t forget to leave a comment in the tagged blogs with an invitation to play

So... Can you sum up your whole life in six words?

Ahem: "wise others curious boundaries open self"

Wise
Others
Curious
Boundaries
Open
Self
Wise
Others
Curious
Boundaries
Open
Self
Wise...

It may change as my life continues. First, there were the wise others who watched me. There were may wise others, curiously. Then there were others, curious about me or about whom I was curious. I spent a lot of time focused on others. Isn't that curious? I also spent a lot of time being curious about HOW this was so... and I discovered that it had a lot to do with boundaries. My boundaries, and those that others had toward me were rather curious for much of my life, really. Curious boundaries, had we. Very open, they were. Yoda, I was not.

And then the curious boundaries opened, and in many ways my life transformed because I gave myself permission to pass them. And then I became curious about life. I decided I wanted to live it. So I started creating boundaries between myself and those who threatened my life. Boundaries. Curiously, my life opened before me as my boundaries became healthy and real. I myself became open. Open to life, open to health, open to change, open to possibility and hope and reality and new beginnings. I opened to myself, and got to know her in a new and intelligent way. Wisdom, they call it.

I opened to Self, and became wise. I became myself more fully and more joyfully than I have ever been before. And here I am. Open, and in relationship with my Self. Learning new ways of being. Making friends with others. Disseminating wisdom to others. Wise. Curiously wise in working with others, really. Especially for my age. I'm about to become 30. I have a lot of life left. And I'm curious about what it will bring...

My six-word autobiography might need some editing and modification and change as I go along.

....TAG! You're it.

Crazy Aunt Purl Lives!!!

Okay, so this is post 104... Life happened again, what can I say?

Here, finally, are some photos and a short clip (don't worry, Laurie-- no incriminating evidence here!) from Laurie's recent book signing. Can I just tell you that I felt SO WRONG at this event because I didn't bring anything creative to do with yarn while we waited for things to get going?! Everybody knitted. Everybody. See those empty chairs? One of them is mine, and the others were soon filled with more women. Knitting.

Here is Laurie, answering a question about her back yard Zucchini Monster. We all laughed WAY more than you're imagining we did. She is even funnier in person than on her blog. Probably because there is no edit button in a public speaking event. Whoopsy! On the up side, it is amazing how at-home you can feel in such a public place, when you know that everyone there likes yarn and cats, too, and hey-- they're probably also divorced-- just like you.

I even took a very short video of her toward the beginning of the reading, when she was still settling in. SLM, this is for you. Thank you for forcing me to go in your place. THANK YOU!!

Moment of the Day

No shigt, there I was. (That's how all good Army stories start. Makes you want to hear what's going to happen next, doesn't it?) Sitting behind the Reference Desk at the Unnamed Public Library, observing Reference Services in action.

On one side, young guy, quiet voice, girlfriend hiding around the corner:
"Do you guys have the Kamga Sugtra?"
On the other side, mature mother with 8-year-old daughter peering anxiously around Mom's elbow:
"Where do you keep the Frog and Toad stories?"
The juxtaposition of those two requests (and the stages in life of the people making them) was priceless.

I just love the Reference Desk. I really do. Today, among our other requests, we also had one for the history of bread making, one for books about Thunder and Lightning for toddlers (somebody got scared), and a woman who hadn't used her library card in over five years, but really really wanted to check out Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. We also discovered that we have NO books about spiders in stock, and only one children's fact book on mosquitos. It was a sad day for somebody. Also, I discovered that ALL the copies of The Princess Diaries, vol. 1, are checked out until doom's day, or the day after. I have to read it before our next Teen Council meeting, by popular choice, no less. That's going to be fun. Oh, and apparently the third book in some Violent Fantasy series for pre-teens is due out soon, and nobody quite knows when. Solution?
Ask Reference.

And lets not for get that the crazy man wanted to have a staring contest (which we've all been warned NOT TO DO with this particular crazy. Seriously. As soon as they saw him coming, the closest librarian turned to me and said, "Don't make eye contact with this one. He's bad-crazy.") so he made kissy noises at all the women behind the desk until our WONDERFUL security officer of the day came back inside, and crazy man left. Apparently, the crazy man is still smart and sane enough not to cause trouble in front of a cop. Who, by the way, had just finished dealing with another crazy person (female this time) who'd been harassing patrons on their way into the library.
Wednesday is crazy people day.

So yeah. Just another day at the office.
How was yours?

....You know... In retrospect, it occurs to me that some smart producer will eventually realize that libraries are NOT boring, and all the insane stories we librarians have amassed over the years and years and years we've been working with THE PUBLIC (all of it) will finally have an OUTLET. Can you imagine how FUNNY and yet Reality TV Bazarre a sitcom could be if it were based around all the stuff that happens around the Reference Desk at a busy library? I mean-- we've got rebellious teens trying to shock us by asking for info about occult magic (Yes, that section is HERE, and we've got some great websites to suggest as well. Have you read anything by Scott Cunningham yet?); and we've got elderly ladies learning to use computers so they can do online dating; and we've got the little angelic boy who keeps finding new and inventive ways to jam the printer... There is even a whole genre of librarian humor devoted to different terms and best locations for "doing it" in the stacks, you know. And we've found the dirty condgoms to prove it, thank you very much.

That's not even MENTIONING all the drama and hilarity of filming the librarians themselves. How about the 5foot tall ex-rugby player with her dog's footprint tattooed on her back? And the old-school reference lady who turns off her hearing aid when she doesn't feel like helping people? And the ex-Secret Service guy who left Government work and went into on-call reference services at the public library, but likes to act tough and tell war stories from Desert Storm (he wasn't ever officially there, you know) around the few male librarians we've managed to hire...

What about old what's-her-name who accidentally left behind forty-one pairs of black pumps when she retired? (We're still not sure what she wore home from work on those particular days.) Or Henry, who up until a year or two ago, was both head of a well-known Academic Library, and one of the best-loved down hill ski coaches (not to mention his hobby of white-water rafting!) ever. Oh, and that hot children's librarian from Europe, with the cute little accent and the cute little buns... Too bad he's married... And I don't think you could pay me enough to wear those two 8-foot tall cat costumes that require someone else to lead you around because you can't really see out of them... But yet those two cats are seen at every ALA conference, bumbling around after cute library geeks whenever they find one...

I tell you, a sitcom based on library world would strike PAY DIRT. Nobody could make up some of the stories we've got to tell! And believe it or not, I have personally met every one of those librarians previously mentioned. And most of the patrons, too. I have yet to find a condgom, but I know people who have, and I did once find a squatter in the library at closing time. He'd set up his tent back in the Government Documents section, correctly assuming that nobody goes there if they can help it, and was preparing a wiener dog over a propane burner for his dinner when I passed by. I still can't believe the fire alarm didn't go off.
But then... you know my opinion of fire alarms.

Heroines, A Quiz

I just took the Jane Austen Heroines Quiz. Fairly accurate. Friggen Funny.

Here's me--

Take the Quiz here!

I'm Anne Elliot. Who I totally identified with and loved when I saw the movie, and who has the last name I always wanted, and who even (in a very small way) looks like me. COOL! Of course, I'm not so big on doing things the way my family has always done it or something-- but I am big on doing things the right way, being the good girl, as it were... much the same sense of responsibility and willingness to take on other's problems-- easily persuaded if it might be the right thing to do, don't you know...
So go have fun, take the quiz (thanks, Shana, for pointing it out to me), and let me know what heroine YOU are! =) I tell you, this is better than horoscopes!

http://www.strangegirl.com/austenquiz/

:: A N N E ::

You are Anne Elliot of Persuasion! Let's face it, you're easily persuaded, especially when faced with choices that are or aren't 'the Elliot way.' But this doesn't mean that you don't have conviction. Actually, your sense of duty is overwhelming. And though you won't stick your neck out too often, you have learned to speak up when it counts. To boot, you know how to handle sticky situations. You love deeply and constantly.

School

I have three book reviews each module for my Children/YA Literature course this summermester. Page 25 of the current book is titled 3. School, with the clarification below that "If you haven't found out yet, school is not a perfect place."

The first rhyme in this section is as follows:
Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream,
Throw your teacher overboard
And you will hear her scream.

I love my Child Lit class.