New Year's Eve

Another New Year's Eve.  I made homemade pizza and brownies, and I'm watching movies as I'm waiting to bring in the new year.  There are assorted dogs passed out in the floor and assorted cats passed out on the back of the couch.  It's a pretty good evening.  I could wish for some company, but that's not a part of my current reality (unless somebody just shows up in my yard...well, that might be fun, too), and I'm content.

I de-Christmased the house, and as nice as it was to have all my doodads out and around, it's also good to have everything back to normal and all cleaned up again.  I like to have all the order restored.

The mild weather today allowed me to go out and hang up the hammock for awhile this afternoon.  It felt strange today to be out in short sleeves in the back yard on New Year's Eve.  Only in Mississippi....

I didn't get around to my computer stuff.  I might try to install the memory tonight, but I suspect I will wait until tomorrow.  It just wasn't a priority for me today.  All the other things mattered more even though my mind was clear enough to do the work today.

Well, I think I'm going to finish up this movie, fight off the temptation to eat another brownie, and then maybe read and listen to some music as 2012 comes into my neck of the woods.  I hope that as it finds you, wherever you are, you are happy, healthy, and at peace.  Happy New Year, everyone.

Midnight in Paris

Oh, it's lovely.  Lovely, funny, smart, and wonderful.  It's what movies so rarely are.  I laughed.  I clapped my hands in delight.  I loved it thoroughly.  In one viewing, and not even all the way through that first viewing, Midnight in Paris made it onto the list of my favorite films.

I already know that I will be getting the DVD version from amazon next month as a part of my birthday indulgences.  I might watch it again while I've still got it as a 24-hr. streaming rental.  I'm sure I missed things while I watched it that first time.

I loved the way they drew the characterizations of the famous artists and writers.  Some of it was caricature.   Hemingway talked exactly the way he wrote.  I freaking loved that, though.  I wanted to hug him for being wonderful.  Some of it was sort of dead on.  I loved the whole thing with Scott and Zelda, Hemingway and the bullfighter whose name I can never remember.  All I could think about was THE SUN ALSO RISES!!!

I also loved that they kept bringing people in.  I felt like Gil did when he saw Josephine Baker, sort of gobsmacked and then sort of giddy and willing to go with it.  It was glorious.

I wasn't quite sure where they were going to go with it, and I won't spoil that here, but I thought it was perfect. The bit with the detective was one of my favorite parts.  If you watch it, let me know what you think about that.

All in all, it made a couple of very good points, but not necessarily the points I've heard other people say about it.  This isn't a movie condemning dreamers at all.  It's a movie that shows that there is magic in the world after all, but that one needs to be cautious about where one's eyes are focused.  That is something I can totally agree with.

Thinking (Badly)

I've a bit of a migraine, so this may not flow well.  All day long, I've been trying to fight it off, and the world has been fuzzy.  As I was going to Jackson to see my best friend, I heard Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" on the radio and I laughed.  Yeah.  Appropriate song was appropriate today.

Anyway.  I'll be keeping this short.  Besides, Shaun of the Dead is on, and that's about where my brain is at right now.

I decided (quite wisely, I think) not to try to install my new internal memory although it came today or perform the transition of the external hard drives.  I shudder to think what sort of crapped up mess that would have resulted in.  Hopefully tomorrow, this little ache and all the fog will be gone.  Maybe this won't be a three-day headache.  That will give me some New Year's Eve plans anyway, since I never have any.

I found something the rest of the universe has probably known about forever tonight (IFTTT) and got it set up. I only need about four recipes from it, but I like the concept.  It's a nice way to tailor the e-universe and connect all the separate services one uses together.  I like things that do that.

I also installed the new FB Messenger standalone today.  This means that I will be "on" FB Messenger all the time whenever I have it running but I don't have to dedicate an open tab to FB unless I just want to.  Since it seems that I use FB Messenger more than email to talk to my friends and family, this solution works for me.  If I don't actually happen to be at the computer, it will just archive the convo as usual, and I'll get to it.  I've already used the interface, and it's okay.  It's a no-frills sort of thing, exactly what it says on the tin.

When I got back home from Jackson, I watched MSU play football, and it went surprisingly well for them.  They managed not to choke.  I was rather astonished.  They did try.  They threw the ball to the other team and made shocking fouls.  However, they got far enough ahead to win it.  Plus, they weren't playing another SEC team.

Well, it occurs to me that it's 10:30 and I never ate anything tonight.  (This is bad.  The Topamax will wreck me, not that I'll be able to tell much right now...  It might be AWESOME.  Maybe I should try it?)  I think I'll go microwave a Hot Pocket or something and enjoy the zombies for a little while.  Oh WOW, my exciting life.....

For What It's Worth

I've never been one to cut out pictures of gowns or plan floral arrangements.  I only ever looked at rings once.  That was a TOTALLY screwed-up trip to a jewelers with D.  I won't get into it.  It was a nightmare. I had taken a ring of my own in to be repaired, and he went with me since we sort of went lots of strange places together.  Somehow we wound up at the ring case looking and the lady behind the counter made assumptions.  You've never seen two people get away from each other so fast.  Probably it was comedic from a safe distance.

Anyway.

If it should ever come down to it.   If a little box should ever come out of a pocket or be presented to me creatively.   If there should ever happen to be some poor brave fool wonderful man out there who decides I am the one (and I just can't see this ever happening but I'm going to say this anyway), this is the ring.  I've never seen any other diamond ring I liked at all.  I suppose there may be vintage pieces out there I'd like, but this one has...something different to it.

It's a raw diamond, like my earrings, and I have already talked about why I like them so I won't belabour that point here.  It's also white gold.  I prefer the white metals, silver, white gold, or platinum, to the yellow.  The style is also to my tastes, simple and elegant.  I would feel ridiculous with something ostentatious on my hand.  I am not a fancy jewelry person unless it is old jewelry, and then not all of it.  Somehow, this just sort of seems like me.

Anyway, you can take this for what it's worth.  If you like it too, you can find this and other lovely things made by the Etsy maker masaoms by clicking through the link.

Hats

I have a thing about hats.  I sort of love them, especially when they are ridiculously fancy and ornate.  I don't know when this obsession started exactly.  Maybe back in high school when my friend and I began to wear "Easter bonnets" every year on Easter Sunday.

In reality, though, it might go back further than that.  I have, somewhere, a Goofy hat with floppy ears from DisneyWorld, a giant Mad Hatter's hat from Six Flags.  Maybe this addiction to ridiculous headgear has been a lifelong thing, then.

I started finding old hats in antique malls, and their styles, colors, fabrics seemed to demand that I put them on.  They were like little windows into other ages.  Some are classy and elegant.  Some of them were utterly dramatic.  Some of them were completely over the top.  I suppose it's a little like playing dress-up.  When I see them, I always wonder if the women who wore them originally wore them in times of joy, if those hats went to social functions or parties where the ladies felt happy.  I like to think so.

It also makes me feel sad to see them cast-off in the shops, especially the ultra-dramatic ones.  To me, they almost seem to cry out for someone to love them.  I can't resist them.  I have only a few of these; it's not like I buy every one I see, but the ones I do get have definite personality.

I don't know where I'll ever wear these.  I would like sometime to get all my friends together and for all of us to wear an odd hat and go out to eat.  My friend who went shopping with me today when I found my latest "rescue" suggested that I wear it to Winn-Dixie on a Tuesday just for the hell of it.  That made me laugh and laugh.  Some horrid Tuesday, I just might.  For the time being, it's enough to have them, take a silly picture in them that I might use for my FaceBook or Twitter profile photo, and then hang them up on my wall.  It's a harmless enough thing all the way around, I think, and a way of reclaiming something old and giving it new life.

Tech Crap

It's been a day of fixing technology on the fly.

Chewie started it by biting partially through the power adapter for my laptop.  Unlike the other electronics and cords he's destroyed, this one had current running through it.  Aww.  How sad I am!  He yelped and ran away, looking at me with those big sad eyes.  I just said, "GOOD.  Now maybe you'll leave my stuff alone."  He only got shocked, not hurt.  I have no real hope that he will really learn from this.  I've already had to throw out a sync cable for my iPhone, a non-plugged-extension cord, TWO USB connection cables for my wireless music system, and he has torn up countless non-electronics things.  He doesn't get a lot of sympathy from me.  I got the damage mended.  Black electrical tape is a wonder.

My parents called next.  I bought them a Roku for Christmas, and they'd gotten it connected as far as plugging it in and getting the RCA cables attached.  Past that, they needed me.  I went up, fought with their wireless router which had never been set up for things to connect to it since nothing they have is wireless, added their Amazon account to the Roku and reactivated a defunct Netflix account and generally got the thing up and running for them.

I tried to use their computer at first, but something was using all the memory on it.  I took a few minutes to take care of that problem, cleaned off some old programs they didn't use, purged their startup folder, and tried to help speed up their machine a little.   I couldn't find what was eating all that memory even though I looked, closed some programs through Task Manager.

I'd brought my little netbook up to take care of the Roku setup since I knew from previous experience it's easier to have a computer in front of the screen to put in codes and so forth when setting one up.  My netbook, though, has serious issues because the hard drive is almost completely full of music, etc., and the memory is insufficient.  It started acting up and then it just began to shut down.  I guess it ran its batteries out and didn't warn me.  I was so afraid it was just dead from some kind of hardware failure, but once I got it home and back on the charger, it did finally load again.

I've been wanting to upgrade my external portable hard drive for a long time since the one I have currently is almost full, and I take pictures all the time and need space to put those fairly large files.  I have a plan to make my old 500 GB external my iTunes library for my netbook and take the load off its internal HD.  Friday, the 2 TB external and some new memory for the netbook will arrive, and we'll see if I can figure out how to make all that happen.

I'm not much by way of tech support.  I am hoping that I don't have to do much more of it in the near future. I can only do the most basic of things.  With any luck, I will be able to get my netbook working like it should before I have to start travelling with it, though.  In its current state, it's a real pain.  Maybe I have enough geek in me to manage this, at least.

Empty Hearts

So save all of your light
For those who can't sleep at night
And who can't even sing to their shadows

Oh they ride into town
And they throw the shots down
And they save the last round for the windows

(CHORUS)
Singing don't let me into this year with an empty heart
With an empty heart
Don't let me into this year with an empty heart

I'm inside with my friends
We build fires and pretend
That the night could just bend on forever

While outside in the frost
Are the wolves and the lost
And we sing to the dogs or whoever

Chorus

There's a friend that I have
And for her I'll go back
You see all of these empties that I'm holding

They're too much for a man
Empty arms, empty hands
And she'll know me by the sound of my hoping

"Empty Hearts" - Josh Ritter

_____________________________________

More musical meditation on the new year ahead.  This song made me think more about the situation again after the last blog went up.  Having an empty heart means so many things.

Of course there is the romantic implication.  Who wants to be alone? I would certainly love to have someone in the year ahead. The thought of having to spend another year by myself is discouraging. Just the thought just of not having someone to kiss on New Year's Eve....AGAIN...is discouraging.  (I mean, come ON.  Is this really too much to ask?)  

To be honest, though, if all the ones who show up to fill that space are as self-consumed or as willing to put me dead last as the ones who have been around in the past year, then maybe what I need to fill up that space is a contentment with being alone.  I am tired of being something less than an afterthought or a part of a collection.  I deserve better than that.  Maybe being happy with being alone is a safer thing to ask for.

I don't want to go into the new year with an empty heart, though.  I want it to be full again of enthusiasm and excitement.  I want it to be full of love and joy.  I want to believe in the positive not as a dim miracle that breaks through sometimes despite all odds but as the thing that is there all the time if one will only look for it. I used to be that person.  I want that person back.

I want to let go of the "empties that I'm holding."   I want to let go of the things and the people that I lavish time and care on that only turn around and hurt me, either intentionally or through neglect and indifference.  These empty things break me, empty me in turn.  I think they do nobody any good.  I want to replace them with things that mean something, are worthy.  I want full arms, filled not necessarily with romance but rather with the people that I love, family, true friends.  I want busy hands, engaged fully with things that are meaningful and not just idly twisting together waiting for the next disaster to fall down.  I want to be able to hear the sound of my own hoping again.  I love that line in this song.  I think that's beautiful.  

Nobody, no mortal man, can fill up an empty heart, can mend a broken one.  I've known that for a long time.  This song does remind me, though, of how important it is to refocus priorities and assess the condition of my heart, to take care of the internal house cleaning, as it were, as the old year fades away.

What He Said

And it would take a miracle
For her to break my fall
Cause she don’t care at all anymore
And I don’t know why I still do
and why I’m telling you
~ "Stay Away" - Chris Thile
______________________

Thile always says it best, doesn't he?  Reverse the genders, and you have the situation exactly.  The End.   Oh well.  It was not enough.  Maybe I wasn't.  Maybe he wasn't.  I am curiously indifferent now.  It was never more than something pleasant, anyway, and now it isn't even that.  

This is the end of a year, a particularly long and bad one for me.  I think it's time to let several things end with it,  either just let them fade away of their own volition or take up arms, and by opposing, end them.  (And yes, for those of you paying attention, that was a Hamlet allusion...)    I am determined that next year, by hook or by crook, is going to be better. 

 Yes.  Better.  Even if I have to pin it down and rip the goodness out of it with my teeth.  

Found

Awhile back, I very cleverly hid some things from myself.  Actually, I wasn't hiding them from myself at all.  There were thieves in the area, and since my parents' house had gotten broken into fairly recently, when I heard about them, I took some of my favorite pieces of jewelry and put them in places where they'd be "safe."

Then I promptly forgot where I put them.

Skip forward several months.  I started to want those pieces to wear.  It was always early in the morning as I was getting ready to go to school, and I would always be frantically pawing through the place where I keep my accessories looking for this or that.  The desired item was never there.  I would go to see if I'd perhaps removed it in my bedroom and left it on the small secretary in that room.  Nope.  No dice.  One morning, I even took out the luggage I took to Louisville to see if I'd accidentally left it packed from my trip to the AP reading.  I simply could not remember where I'd put the items I wanted.

Today, as I was getting dressed to go somewhere, there was a particular item that I really wanted.  It had been a gift, and it bothered me that it was now gone.  When I got home, I decided I would systematically tear the house up until I either found the missing things or finally convinced myself that I had left them somewhere and they were gone for good.

I looked for about twenty minutes, pulled things out of cabinets and drawers, emptied all the places I thought I might possibly have placed them, and finally everything I had been so frustrated over was back in my hands again.  It took pulling things out of dark corners and making a huge mess, but it's done.

I thought about the whole process as I gently sorted through the little box that held all the pieces I'd been looking for for so long.  Fear had made me look for what I'd thought of as safety.  I'd taken something precious, something I treasured and enjoyed the use of and had hidden it away because I was afraid that it would be taken by those who were cruel, those who only sought to destroy.  In that quest to protect it, I'd come very close to losing it.  I certainly had gotten no pleasure from it, no use of it, nothing good from a good thing during the time it was supposedly "safe."  It simply sat idle and worthless even though it was filled with things of value, things capable of bringing joy.

I know I'm an English teacher and we're terribly, almost chronically, prone to seeing symbolism under every rock and shrub, but I don't think it is really much of a stretch here to see the bigger trend.  How often do I shut other parts of me away, hide them to keep them from harm, so worried about them getting broken or misused?  How much of me is sitting like that silver in the dark, well-protected but of no use to anybody?  As I ran the thin chains of a necklace with a quote by Emily Dickinson with words about hope on it, I couldn't help but think about these things.  I suppose finding a couple of pieces of lost jewelry might not seem like much of an impetus for soul searching, but it's odd the things that will bring on a moment of introspection.

What I Want for Christmas

(a slightly mixed list)

I haven't felt much like blogging in the past couple of days.  I have been on Tumblr and Twitter instead much more than usual, but I sort of feel like I need to put something up here, so....  Needless to say, you probably should not expect deep ruminations.

• All my favorite authors to come out with new books next year.  Even the ones who just came out with something last year.  Especially you, Jim Butcher.  Now would be good.
• To find out a certain situation has been magically reversed and wiped away when I go back to school.  I have no hope that it will be, but if this is my list, I can ask Santa for it, right?
• A version of the Kindle Fire with 3G.  
• If I'm wishing for impossible things, then....well...  (Okay, so no, not really.  First, Santa is probably not going to stuff him in a sack, right?  There are laws and things.  He also seems like he would probably put up a fairly decent fight.  Also, I don't really know him.  I enjoy the character he plays on the show, but I have no idea what he's like in real life. Based on the few things I've seen about him here and there, he seems like a decent person, but who really wants a perfect stranger stuffed under their tree for real?  I know that joke comes around every Christmas, but come on.... That little shallow, jesting Santa list item was based on one criteria only.  He may be one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen in my whole life.  I'll go back and feel really terrible about myself as a human being in a few minutes.)  *I love how he's so amused in this gif by this entire blog. I wish there was one where he walked off at the end, maybe even sort of shaking his head.

• In reality, if Santa is bringing me men, then he and I need to have a serious confab.  I have a couple of definite ideas on the subject and a slew of DO NOT WANTS.  But you know what they say about beggars and choosing.  And I DEFINITELY fall into that beggar camp, darlin'.  (sigh)
• Stability with my students.  There are one or two issues that I left school with them still up in the air.  I don't want to walk back into those same things in the new year.  
• A way to see/talk to my friends more.  Maybe I need one of those time turner things from Harry Potter.  Maybe we all do.  Maybe he's got a set of those he can just pass out.  We'll all be good.  Promise.
• A way to go live in Europe for about two years.  I'm thinking Germany, but Italy or England are also fine with me.  

Maybe there's more, but I'd hate to be greedy.  You know.  I'd hate to burden the good old man by asking for more than my fair share. (ha)  I think I'll just let the incredulous gentleman above say it for everybody and go do some reading or something.

If I Asked It...

I'm about to have to go do something exceptionally uncomfortable for me.  I won't get into it a lot.  There are reasons.  (Heh.  That's almost a meme.)  I have to go alone, as always.  If I had somebody I could take, it would be better.  I wish I had somebody I could call up and say, "Hey.  I have to go to another one of these  things.  If you're not in the middle of something, can you go?"  Then at least I wouldn't have to feel like I'm going to be feeling for the next little while.  Just the thought of it has a migraine brewing.  

It's probably wrong to use another person that way, though, as a human shield.  It's more than a little selfish.  I don't know.  I suppose situations like this are what God made iPhones for.  I will get through it with what dignity and grace I can muster.

Punch Brothers AND Josh Ritter?

WARNING:  Total fangirl squee in progress

Just found out that Punch Brothers will be releasing their third album on Feb. 14th and that Josh Ritter co-wrote two of the songs on it. TOTAL FREAKING SCORE.  This makes me utterly happy.  I have long wanted something they both worked on.  And.  AND.  This release date is one day after my birthday.  How supremely thoughtful of everyone involved to give me such a nice birthday present.  I mean, gentlemen, I did NOT know you cared.  (and yeah.  I know Thile's birthday is also creeping around somewhere in there, too, if I am not badly mistaken....we will not recognize or reference the red and white frilly devil holiday of the blind bow and arrow boy as any sort of influencing factor...)  Now I just need to get tickets for the January concert in Birmingham so I can go see some of them (oh how grand it would be if Josh Ritter were there, too!) live.

Riveting Statistics

I just opened up my Last.FM page and looked at some of the statistics there. I never remember to go to the page with all that stuff they keep track of.  I don't know why.  I suppose I could take advantage of it somehow, but well, I just never think about it.  They track my "top songs" and "top artists" by week, month, year, of all time, etc.  That's kind of interesting, I guess, to see how my listening trends change over the course of time.  The "scrobbler" doesn't work all the time since frequently it's blocked by a firewall at school when I'm working in my room and listening, so I'm not sure these are entirely accurate, but I suppose proportionally, they are representative.  According to their record-keeping, my top ten artists of all-time are:

1) Josh Ritter
2) The Black Keys
3) The White Stripes
4) Maroon5
5) Calexico
6) Wilco
7) The Tallest Man on Earth
8) Bob Dylan
9) Pink Floyd
10) The Rolling Stones

This, of course, is based on number of plays.  I am profoundly surprised not to see Ella Fitzgerald or Chris Thile/Punch Brothers in my Top Ten.  (I just clicked "more" to see who else made the big list, and Thile is 11.  Fitzgerald is 20.  Who knew?  If Punch Brothers and Thile were combined, they'd be at number 4....)  I guess I listen differently than I think I do.  For some reason, I didn't perceive the White Stripes to be that high up my list.  Either that, or they are in EVERY SINGLE PLAYLIST I've ever made.  Heh.  Jack would be so proud.

Looking at this list, another thing strikes me.  F, if you're reading this, you probably have noticed that your little fingers are all over this.  I would imagine that you are especially amused by number eight.  Yeahwell.  So be it.  Nobody has managed to convert me to James Taylor yet.  On that point I hold resolute.

I never think about having true "favorites," so it's a bit odd to see these as a top ten list.  It depends entirely on my mood and current kick or obsession as to what I listen to.  I could just as easily swing into a country kick tomorrow and listen to nothing but Patsy Cline and George Strait for the next six months.  I wonder what my top ten list would look like then.  Hmm.

And now, I have to get back to listening to more stuff.    Maybe I'll look at Last.FM in another six months or so and see if anybody else has edged out these.  If I think about it again.  Maybe.  Because I know you'll be on the edge of your seat waiting.

The Need to Dream Better

Okay.  Those of you who know me and know what's been going on will get some of the symbolism involved in some of these things.  Other parts of this stuff, I won't pretend to tell you from where my mind dragged it.  Last night, I dreamed:

1)  That I went back for my PhD and got chased by a psychotic killer.  He was also apparently a magician or monster or something.  He decided that I was a good recruit for his cause, whatever it was, I don't remember, and also, oh yeah, that he was in love with me.  There was a lot of running away.  I got chased through dorms, libraries, and campus streets.  It would have made a good movie, maybe.  Clip, you were there, too.  Sorry.  I guess if I go back, you do, too, honey.

2) Just before I woke up, I was running away from and fighting a giant crocodile.  Maybe it was an alligator.  Does it really matter?  It was not good.  It kept coming again and again.  There were other people with me, but who is vague.  We kept trying to hit it and shoot it, but it kept coming back.  Weapons we had that should have killed it failed us or just plain did not work on it.  We finally had it pinned down (don't ask me how) with a stick, and it was supposed to be dead, but it got loose, and it came after me.  I had a gigantic wooden cutting board of all things, and I kept bludgeoning the thing with it, and almost beat it to death (again, no reality here), but then the cutting board fell apart in my hands FOR NO REASON, and it started coming back to life again. When my 5:00 alarm went off, I was backing away from it with an even more ridiculous weapon in my hand, a slotted wooden cooking spoon with a handle as long as a sword.  (WONDER WHAT THE CROCODILE REPRESENTS)

3) I keep dreaming about the same house over and over again.  I have never been to this house.  I have never seen this house on TV.  What is this place?   Last night there was a garage and all these guys I do not know working on crap.  I don't even know what to make of that.  Is my brain randomly channeling satellite feeds now?

There was more, but blessedly, I can't pull out more than fragments.  I think I almost miss the Topamax blocking my dreams out entirely if this is what my brain manages to come up with.

All the Foolish Little Things

Then her face starts to set and her hands start to fold
And one day the dried fig of her heart stops its beating

"The Curse" - Josh Ritter

________________________________________

Today, all my usual little frivolities are gone.  It is true that I am wearing a Doctor Who shirt composed of owls dressed as the various regenerations of the Doctor, but I have no levity to accompany the attire.  In fact, I don't know when or if my general supply of levity is going to return.  I feel completely levity-free.  It's been quite a little run I've had here lately.

I have enough vicious battle wounds from this situation and that one, quite a few deep ones in my back, to account for this emptiness that resonates through me.  I want to (and probably will in a few minutes) go fold into a small still ball in the middle of my bed under all the covers and just let the warmth and comfort of it wrap around me until I am no longer conscious.  I may opt for a stupid movie and mindless hours of Tumblr instead.

I don't know how to explain what has happened because the feeling is so new.  I'm not surprised by any of it.  My capacity to be surprised went away a long, long time ago.  But there is this new feeling, not a particularly good one.

Increasingly, I become aware of my lack of worth.  (And no, this is not where I want, expect, or need you to jump in with a pep talk or a chastisement.  I would just like to express honestly how I feel.)  Everything I do is of nothing.  So many of my students barely seem to pay attention or blatantly throw away what I offer.  Therefore, my profession, that which matters most to me, is of nothing.  Recently, it seems every human and institution imaginable is reminding me that "at my age" I am making choices that will condemn me to be alone and childless for the rest of my life, and therefore in the eyes of society, apparently, of nothing.  (And if you don't believe that's true, you try being a single woman my age for just a few days.  Just a few.  Then you come talk to me again about it.)  All the situations and battles I try to resolve come unraveled almost as soon as I remove my hands from them.  All my care and effort, then, is of nothing.

Maybe I'm just tired.  I suspect this goes somewhat deeper, though.  This feels like a more permanent alteration.  I do not want it.  I do not like it.  It feels like something is dying inside me.

A Day of Music

Today has been all about music.

I woke up and started listening to my new Josh Ritter album, Live at the Iveagh Gardens.  I like it more every time I hear it.  This sort of surprises me because I am not usually a big fan of live albums.  It's incredible to me that almost every song on the entire thing is a beautiful reinterpretation of something I already love.  Somehow, some way I must find a way to see Josh Ritter live.  Just based on the recording, he must be fantastic.  There's a new version of "Long Shadows" with Celtic drums in it that whets my appetite for Ireland (that trip CANNOT get here fast enough) and reconfirms that song as one of my very favorites by him.  The previously mentioned "Moon River" gets sweeter with every playing.  I could just keep going on and on, but I'll stop because either you don't care and wish I'd shut up or you love him, too, and you already have the album and you know what I'm talking about for yourself.

Wednesday night, I got "drafted" to sing the special music this morning.  I don't do that very often, but the song is one that I love, "What Child Is This?" so I agreed.  I am not a strong singer, but when I love a song, I do okay.  I love this one, and I think it came off alright this morning.

We thought the organ had died for a little while, but we managed to find the problem (something got unplugged behind it when things were getting moved around).  I felt such relief.  Last time the organ needed major repairs, it was out for about three months.  It was terrible to be without it for so long.  I played Christmas hymns tonight, and enjoyed the sound of them, the feel of them.  There is always something special about it.

And then there was the "special music" that our music director put together.  He basically just drafted a bunch of people and put instruments in their hands tonight.  It was hilarious.  Some of them could play them, some of them could SORT of play them, some of them just strummed along.  We had a mandolin, a banjo, a violin, a bass guitar, a dobro, and a guitar, and then he randomly started pulling singers up to the front.  It was a glorious mess.  We did two songs that way.  It came off really well and we all had a good time.  He does stuff like that, and it always magically resolves itself in the end.  I love it.

Now, I'm relaxing and watching some TV, but I know tonight will end with music, too.  I'm going to return to Josh Ritter probably before I go to bed.  Maybe I'll have "Moon River" dreams that way.  All in all, I'd say it's been a good way to spend a day.

Interesting Invitation

“I’ll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours.”
~ Bob Dylan

And Now My Life Is Complete....

....because I just downloaded Live at the Iveagh Gardens by Josh Ritter from amazon, and it has him doing "Moon River" on it.  Yes.  That is indeed all it took.  I love that song.  I love that man.  I love the notion of it being played live in Ireland.  I am now going to wear a hole in that portion of my hard drive.  What are you doing with your Saturday night?

The Act of Cleaning

The trouble with living alone is that it's always your turn to do the dishes. ~Author Unknown

If the shelves are dusty and the pots don't shine,
it's because I have better things to do with my time.
~Author Unknown

Don't cook. Don't clean. No man will ever make love to a woman because she waxed the linoleum - "My God, the floor's immaculate. Lie down, you hot bitch." ~Joan Rivers
________________________________

Many parts of my life right now are up in the air or broken.  Since I can't control them, I am falling back on an old standby, imposing Type-A-ism where I can.  I cleaned out my classroom thoroughly yesterday afternoon, throwing out three trashcans full of old papers and projects, putting away misplaced objects, and generally neatening the accumulated mess of a semester.

Today, I turned my attention to the house. I washed all the bedding, sunned the feather mattress.  I washed all the dogs' blankets and sunned their beds, too.  I did regular laundry, vacuumed, did fixtures, emptied the dishwasher, cleaned up the kitchen, put out the trash, mowed the yard to shred the old pecan leaves and the last of the dead grass, and started working on the endless piles of things inside.  I put away about a million coats and sweaters, countless books, and migrated all my shoes back to my closet.  I threw out tons of junk mail, but I am not done.  I feel better, though.  It does not embarrass me to live here now.  

I wish I could keep my house like this all the time.  It gets sacrificed, though, to other things.  When I come home in the afternoons, I usually am in survival mode with stuff like daily chores.  It's patch and feed and wash what has to be done right then.  I don't like it so much, though.  I wish I could have a more gracious home sometimes. 

Then I look at some of the other things I get to do instead, and I sort of don't worry about it so much.  I think that I really need to clean out some things on a permanent basis over this holiday, though, do a big purge of things I don't use at all.  Simplifying will help me keep everything neater and less stressful.  The more of that I can do in every area of my life right now, the better.

When Did It All Become War?

All I do these days is put out fires and wage war.  This is not what it was supposed to be.  This is never what I imagined doing with my life.  It makes me physically ill, this running from emergency to emergency.  There are these deceptive periods of peace when the klaxons are silent, and I think, "Wow.  Finally.  I can put away these weapons at last.  The last of the enemies has been vanquished.  It's done.  It was hard, but maybe it was worth it now that we can just move on and all the stupidity is over."  That's when the bottom always drops out.

I get lied to directly.  This makes me unable to trust...well, anybody really.  I keep looking for the hand that will come with a slap behind the complement.  Because let me assure you, friends and neighbors, in my experience, it's always, always coming.  Everybody hurts you eventually.  They just do it for different reasons at different times.  It never gets any easier.  Some of it is forgivable; some of it is not.  The decision to pick up the pieces and go on or throw out what's left is just another kind of fight.

There are other battles, too, ones I probably created for myself, others caused by misunderstanding, pride, and a lack of communication, but I am too tired to untangle the Gordian knot of it all.  Then there are the fights I can't win at all, the ones where everybody involved just loses and loses and loses....  It hurts.  It all hurts unbearably.

I would like a storyline where when the thing is defeated it stays dead.  I am tired of reoccurring villains.

I would like a storyline where I have some sidekicks or a co-hero.  I am tired of fighting it all always alone.

Screw it.  If I'm wishing, just give me a happy ending already.  Much more of this, and all you're going to get out of me is pure Shakespearean drama, no kisses or crowns, just that pile of corpses left at the end....

Red Ink Burnout

I need to be grading, but this would make about the fifth straight class day of nothing but that, and I'm starting to hate the sight of red ink.  It's starting to make the think of battlefields, corpses on operating tables, and other horrible things.  I need more than a weekend away from this.

Or even getting back to the joy of delivering information and facilitating discovery would be good, the part of teaching I actually love.  This holding pattern I'm in right now waiting to be able to give exams is a little slice of Purgatory.  The kids are understandably bored (the ones who are bothering to come), and I am just trying to stay productive.

However.

There are only so many papers one can grade before even the sight of a pile of them starts to make my skin crawl.  But it's not going away, is it?  Therefore....

Discipline!  Hand to sword!  Another repetition!  Again!

(somebodybreakmeoutofhere,K? iwillgiveyouacookieorsomething...)

Patience, Please

I close my eyes for a while
And force from the world a patient smile...

"I Gave You All" ~ Mumford & Sons

___________________________________

I'm afraid I must call on your patience and your gentleness tonight.  If you were here with me, I might even go so far as to sit down beside you, take your hands in mine, lean on your shoulder, invite closeness instead of sitting across the room, instead of keeping the space that I'm more comfortable with between us.  

It's been one of those weeks, one of those times when I hurt.  When I'm tired.  When the spring inside me is at low-ebb.

My precious students have been trying to make me laugh today, and I love them for it, but that's not really what I need.  What I need is stillness and that uncanny understanding that you have of me that lets me take off all my masks and lay down all my swords for just a few essential moments. 

Starting the Day

Nightmares all last night.  It's not hard to know where they're from.  They were filled with endless bits of the situation from yesterday that I could not resolve.  I woke up several times, something I do not usually do, and this morning, I don't feel especially rested.   I'll manage.  At least the heat, which was being coy last night at one point, stayed working well all night.

Today, though, is a new day.  I want it to be a good one.  I'm going to put on my Great Gatsby shirt, have a pineapple and yogurt smoothie, hook my iPhone to my car stereo, and go face whatever the day brings me.  I don't have a better way to armor my soul these days.  It will have to be sufficient to the demands of the day.

Broken Feathers

What do you do when you can't save them?  When what you are by your nature is a builder of nests and a strengthener of wings and you have to stand by and watch them plummet instead?

Is this what Daedalus felt like when he saw Icarus falling?  I feel like am reaching out and grabbing nothing but handfuls of  feathers when I need to be pulling a body to safety somehow.

Yet the choice to fly to safety is not mine to make.  Though it breaks my heart, I know some not only have to singe the tips of their wings but also to lose them altogether before understanding comes.

It's just that I've seen this happen too often, and I know that not everybody survives the fall.  The ocean that waits down there is not soft when the crash landing happens.  It just wants to swallow down, cover over.  It is relentless.  As that old painting by Bruegel shows, all too few bystanders will turn away from their own little pursuits to extend a hand, either.

I don't want them to fall at all.  I want them to turn away from this madness, this futile and destructive insanity, this pretend command of things that are as destructive and unstoppable as hurricane winds, that will rip through their fragile, beautiful wings like a typhoon through a paper kite and start learning how to soar again.

My heart is broken.

Moooooon

Have you seen it?  That moon is insanely beautiful out there tonight, like something you could reach up and pluck from the sky with your hands.  It's the thing that has been making my kids nuts the past few days, I guess.  Right now, it's doing the same to me.  I totally understand the dogs running around in the yard at top speed and barking at things and the cats staring out into the dark with bright shimmer-saucer eyes.  It all seems like a good idea to me.

Crazy moonlight somehow increases my need to go, to get out and move.  I went to Jackson yesterday for no good reason, just because I couldn't stand to be in the house and that was the grand plan I devised.  I literally went, bought some Christmas ornaments at Pier 1 (my excuse for going...and I did need them for this and that, ornament exchanges I am involved in, etc.), ate at Kismet's, and drove home.  I felt better for the travel somewhat, less like I wanted to shred things with my invisible claws.  Right now, though, that feeling is back....  I would get out and just go drive around and see what there is to get into, but in this neck of the woods...well...that's probably not a good idea.  And.  I don't feel like having to shoot rednecks by the light of the silvery moon.

I wish I knew somebody else who had this same lunar weirdness.  I need a playmate.

After a Lot of Sleep...

There is such a thing as counting chickens before they hatch.  Or before the eggs have even been laid.  Or before you even buy the setting hens.

There is such a thing as building fortresses so strong and protective that you forget to put in doors to let yourself out.  It's true you're very safe that way, I guess, but you also starve to death very slowly, comfortable in the righteousness of your safety....

This is not D. again.  No matter whatever else it ever does or does not come to be, no situation will ever be exactly that again.  The person in question is not him.  Once the panic has passed, I can see that.  The similarities are there, but they are superficial.   I can't keep judging everybody by that yardstick, assuming everybody plays by his rules..  If I do, then...well...I suppose the past always wins.

The other side of the equation is not the me that I was in those days, either.  I don't know that this is a good thing all the way through, but I think for the most part it is.  I know myself more thoroughly than ever I did then, what I want, what I will and will not endure, what I need and what I can offer.  I regret some of what is gone, some of the sweetness I think I probably used to have, some of the trust that is never coming back.

In any case, I have to start allowing whatever amount I have left to be the thing with which I lead.  I have to stop looking for demons in the dark before I have seen positive signs of the cloven hoof.  While everything inside me is screaming that this is going to get me slammed through the floor, is begging to run back inside and brick up all the remaining doors and windows, I'm tired of living this way, and the air in there is stale and dead.

So.

(God help me.)

Maybe I will try to choose to start to trust somebody after all.

Maybe.

(did I leave enough wiggle room in that? ...yeah...)

Cyclical

The worst fault you have is to be in love. ~ William Shakespeare

You're an angel, and I'm gonna cry

'cause I can't have you

and I'm not gonna try.

"You're an Angel and I'm Gonna Cry" ~ Chris Thile

And I'll throw you in the current that I stand upon so still
Love is all, from what I've heard, but my heart's learned to kill
Oh, mine has learned to kill
"Love Is All" ~ The Tallest Man on Earth

______________________________________________

I have suddenly awakened and found myself in the middle of an unexpected nightmare.  It's like a rerun of something from years ago, from the old bad days of D.  When the realization hit me, I almost literally couldn't breathe. I felt the walls all closing in on me.  It had come on so gradually, you see, that I had not felt it closing its grasp around me until it was nearly too late to do anything about it.  

Oh, it's not love, not yet. That takes a long, long time and much more.  However, that doesn't stop me from knowing it's full of danger.  All the signs are there.  All the archetypes are on the stage and costumed appropriately.  Everybody is mouthing the right lines, me included.  I can see that idiot with the wings and the bow trying to sneak around in the rigging.

Right straight to hell with that.

I made a promise to myself a long time ago, and even if it means ripping my heart right out of my chest and stomping it into shattered shards on the floor, I will not walk down that road again.  Not to worry, though; my heart has learned all too well how to kill.  It was taught that lesson at the hands of the master.  

What completely flummoxes me is that it crept up on me.  Was I just so stupid, just having so much fun that I closed my eyes, or God help me, am I just that much of a fool?   It does not end happily for me.  Ever.  Do I forget my history?  Do I forget my scars?  I need to put myself in a convent somewhere high in the hills where I will not be tempted by these things.  The cycle spins, and apparently I learn nothing.  Yeah.  I am a fool.  The Queen of them all......

Favorites

I am taking a bit of a break to drink some tea and try to wake up a little.  A case of weariness has wrapped itself around me like a big blanket, and I am fighting to stay awake.  Even my desk looks like a good place for a nap.  In an effort to get my brain doing something, ANYTHING, here are a few of my favorite things.  (And I deeply apologize if you now have Julie Andrews twirling around in your head.  Unless, of course, you know, that makes you happy....)

• Flowers:  Gerbera daisies and yellow roses .  
• Beverage:  Unsweetened green tea and Diet Mt. Dew (although at present, I also love an eggnog smoothie....)
• Types of cuisine:  Mexican, Thai, Japanese, and Italian
• Places on Earth:  Nara, Japan; my family's pasture and country shack; the high-ceilinged library at Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland
• Hymns:  "It Is Well With My Soul," "In the Garden," and "Angel Band"
• Items (as in, I have them with me all the time):  Fountain pen, iPhone, handkerchief
• Word:  luscious  (most of the time)
• Sound:  rain on a metal roof

I suppose there are more categories, but some things that seem obvious to include would be impossible for me to select.  I could no more select favorite authors or musicians than the man in the moon.  I have similar problems with movies.  I can select a broad range of what I like, but I don't like to try to pin it down to one.  It feels wrong somehow.  Maybe that seems strange.  I don't know.  

I guess if there was anything somebody wanted to know in particular, that person could use that little feature down at the bottom and ask me.  Trying to fight off the tired with this isn't working.  I think I'm going to fold up shop and go home for the afternoon.  Maybe that's what I need.

It's Official....

 I got my notification from TGC today.  My travel country is BRAZIL.  I read the email on my iPhone after school, and I literally squealed, jumped up, ran to the door of my room, remembered that everybody was gone, and had a little moment of panic.  There was nobody to tell!  Thank God for social media...  (ha)  Then I called home.

I have wanted to see Brazil for years and years.  I have had several wonderful friends from there, been fascinated and enchanted by Portuguese forever (it's just the most gorgeous language...now I have a reason to make myself learn it - YAY), and getting placed there is almost too good to be believed.

This is just fantastic.  I don't know all the details, but I am definitely in Snoopy dance mode.  Now to the fun part leading up to every trip....the research and the PLANNING.  Boo.  Yah.

Uh-huh, Okay. Alright, Then.

It's been an odd pair of days.  I didn't feel much like writing yesterday.  You're getting a list now.  It's the end of the semester, so I'm pressed for time, and I'm running low on sleep.  I still feel good, but there's been no shortage of contenders trying to take that away from me.  Well.  To paraphrase my sage grandfather, "Never, never, never let the b-------s get you."

In the past two days:

• I had a student suddenly and unexpectedly opt to do a front roll through my classroom door instead of entering it the normal, upright way.  No.  There was no reason why.  Yes.  He did a beautiful roll....
• I have been told that I look like a porcelain doll.  No.  I don't know why.  I assume it's because I am so very pale.  Apparently it has been much discussed....  (Is this a good thing?)
• I was mistaken BY STUDENTS for a student when I went through the lunch line today in an attempt to get a pimento cheese sandwich.  (Oh, and the lunch line thing?  NEVER AGAIN.  I will totally cut up the middle next time.  WTF was I thinking?)
• My dog Chewie flung his green squeaky duck in a fit of exuberance.  I don't know where it is.  I am terribly, terribly afraid it is IN the Christmas tree.  Sigh.  Finding it is this afternoon's project.  He looks so sad now that it is missing.
• The first person figured out what my pendant is today.  I didn't even have to tell her.  She just knew.  She laughed and laughed.
• I have just about worn a hole in the new Black Keys album.  God, they're good.  They're keeping me awake when I drive, bless them.  They're almost better than caffeine.  (Well, realistically not, but you know.)  I love that the last song on the album keeps saying, "Oh....don't let it be over...."  They kill me.
• I have come to love my new iPhone even more than my old one.  I am trying not to feel like I'm cheating on an ex by saying that.  How do we come to have the attachment issues to electronics?  It's ridiculous.  (But I'm whisper-typing this and tilting the screen so Minerva never knows she's Minerva the Second....)
• The hat I bought at Chimneyville has paid for itself already.  It's purple and gorgeous, and every time I put it on, I feel gorgeous (if not purple), and I don't hate getting in the car at whatever ridiculous hour it is or going out to stand bus duty.  Definitely money well spent.

That's it.  I have a little left to do here, and then I'm getting out.  I am going to SLEEP tonight.  I am just so tired, and it's so cold and horrid outside.  This would be a wonderful night to curl up with somebody I love and pretend there's no world outside.  Shame that's not an option, really....

Putting a Foot Through

         In this world
 we walk on the roof of hell,
        gazing at flowers.
- Issa
_______________________

I've been working on student papers this morning, but I had to stop just a minute and write. This haiku by Issa has been a favorite of mine for a long time because I think it says a lot about what life really is. We have no idea about what is going on under the surface. We walk around on a thin crust of what we assume is safety until we accidentally fall in a crack or put a foot through.

One of my students' writings just broke my heart. I so want to just wrap my arms around that person and hug that one. It happens here so often and not on purpose. It is never a deliberate thing. It was just a matter-of-fact revelation that made me come back to Issa again, made me both appreciate the flowers, the fact that we get the moments of beauty, and also made me grieve for all the pain everyone has to endure that creates that gaping cauldron that constantly seethes just beneath them.

Those Who Walk Alone

“The woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before.”
― Albert Einstein

Christmasy

I finally decided to force myself into some Christmas spirit.  Last year, I had none.  Double none.  I barely got a tree up, and I put out none of my Christmas collections.  This year, I decided to try to trick myself into some cheer by decorating the house.  I thought if I surrounded myself with the accouterments of Christmas, maybe I would start to feel a little of the spark of it inside, too.

With that philosophy in mind, I went to get my tree this afternoon.  I am a hard-core girl power advocate.  I can do it ALL ALL BY MYSELF.  I can change my own flat tires, jump my own dead batteries, and all that, but by all that is holy, next year, I am taking some hapless man with me to deal with this Christmas tree thing.  I don't care if I have to guilt him, con him, marry him, feed him, pay him, or what. I HATE trying to cut down my own tree.  HATE it.  This is the second time I've done it, the first being the year Dad had his heart attack, and it wasn't any better this year.  In theory, there are guys with power saws on the tree lot, but they are never within five hundred miles of me and the tree I pick.  It took me about fifteen minutes of hacking at the poor cedar I picked (I always get cedar; I like the smell) to fell it, and then I had to haul it to the "sleigh" because Billy and Bubba were still power sawing somebody else.  I was not in a "merry mood."

I have been going to this place literally since I was a child, though.  My parents have known them forever, and I have run over those hills for things that have nothing to do with Christmas trees, so I wasn't in a bad mood long.  I got a Diet Mountain Dew in their new cafe and looked over their gift shop.  They had a Santa hat shaped like a jester's hat.  Well, you just know that I was going to have to have that...  I paid for my tree, had it tied to the top of the Cruiser, and came on home.

I took the time to make a playlist on iTunes that I called "Chrimma" and set it spinning and then I started fighting the tree for the second time today.  (Going to find a man next year.  Oh yes.  Going to find a man.  Not for anything romantic necessarily.  Just for the freaking TREE.  Although, I suppose I could promise him something romantic in exchange if needed if that's what it takes.  You can see what I've been reduced to here....)  I finally got it in the stand, brought it in the house, and it started wobbling.  I lay down on the floor to adjust it, and it wobbled even more.  This is after about fifteen minutes of wobbling in the stand outside after I made the required "second cut" with my little saw at home.  Then the thing I had been trying to prevent happened.  It fell.  I shoved it hard when it started going over, so I did not actually wind up with cedar on top of me, but it was a near thing.  Again, this is not a situation designed to raise "Christmas cheer."

I finally cursed/coaxed it into a stable position after taking the stand completely off and putting it back on again (easy to do now that it was horizontal).  Then I broke out the new big colorful LED lights I bought on sale after Christmas last year.  It's just chock-full of lights now, just the way I like my tree.  They don't do fancy flashy things, but I found last year that my migraines don't really like the flashy ones anymore.  I haven't put ornaments on it yet, but I may get to that later on tonight.  To me, the lights are the nice part, anyway.  They make the tree.  I like to have all the lights off and music on and just look at the tree with the lights sometimes and unwind when I'm tired.

I moved from the tree debacle to putting out the Santa and nativity collections.  This year, I didn't put out all the pieces I have.  I chose my favorites instead.  Many of them are special because either I made them, got them on a trip somewhere (like my Waterford nativity from Ireland), or somebody I love gave them to me.  I don't know why I forget how much of a pleasure there is in just the unwrapping and remembering that goes along with these collections.  That is probably actually the greatest joy of them to me, looking at them and thinking, "That one came from Mrs. Ruth.  I made that one when I still worked at Fleur de Terre...."

I'm going to go now and get my Santa plates out of the cabinet for the first time in two years, put some leftover eggplant parmigiana on one, pop it into the microwave.  Then, I'm going to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation like I do every year the night I put up my tree.  I'm going to take my Christmas back from the things that try to pull me out of it, try to destroy it.  It is totally my choice if they get to do that.  I think I choose, in spite of falling trees and all other difficulties, Christmasiness.

Chimneyville Again

Every year, I look forward to Chimneyville.  Almost from the time I'm stepping out the door and headed back to the car with my arms loaded with my loot, I am anticipating going back, in fact.  It is one of the highlights of my year as far as seeing wonderful and unusual handmade things.  This year was no exception.

I got up a little late, left my house a little later, and wound up having to fly to meet my friend on time.  Once again, I was struck by the fact that frequently it's not how many horses one has under the hood but what one is willing to do with them.  I was only about ten minutes late in the end.

My best friend and I ate lunch at a Mexican restaurant we both like and headed over to the Trade Mart.  I knew there were three artists I particularly wanted to see if they were exhibiting.  They are the ones I go to every year, moon over, and most years, buy from.  I also love to look at all the others, though.  There is such unbelievable diversity in the crafts presented.  New artists come in every year, too, so one never knows just what you will see.  It's always a nice mix of new and old.   It makes me feel humbled and happy just to know that there are people in the world who can do these things, who can take their hands, apply them to raw materials, and produce wonder.  When I come away from a really great crafts exhibition, I always feel just a little more hopeful about the world.

My friend and I are profoundly creatures of habit.  We always go the same route through the booths.  Today we took our turn to the right, and we started looking.  It wasn't long before we came to the first of the three I had hoped to see there, Sam Clark.  Sam Clark makes, among other things, these fantastic dragons.  They do different things.  The most wonderful ones read books.  I LOVE them.  They always look so clever, amused, and knowing, everything you'd expect from a dragon.  I have a small red one I bought two years ago, and a "micro" one I got last year that I keep at school.  This year, because of the state of my finances, I knew I probably was going to be in that hellish situation of having to look but not touch with his stuff.  It's not that his prices are extreme; quite the contrary for the level of detail on each piece.  It's that I'm so obscenely poor right now.

Imagine my delight when he had a new line of pieces that he has added that are functional, bowls and containers, teapots and vessels of all kinds.  They have his gorgeous line drawings on engraved into the surface of the clay.  And...I could afford one that had a dragon on it.  I got my dragon after all!  I was grinning from ear-to-ear.  It was like fate took pity on me today.

A few aisles over, we found my best friend's friend, the maker of mouth-blown glass beads and pendants.  His stuff is fantastic.  I already had two of his pieces, but I wanted something blue (school colors and all that).  As I looked at the selection, I saw some that looked remarkably like eyes.  That looked awfully familiar, and sure enough, when I asked, my suspicion was confirmed.  They were a reinterpretation of the charm worn to protect against the evil eye.  I love jewelry with meaning; symbolism is sort of my life as an English teacher.  I bought one that looks for all the world like a gorgeous blue iris  with a black pupil in the center because, well, you know the thing I have with blue eyes... (ha)

The third artist I love, Peter Rose, was further over.  I have three of his crows (I call them ravens), already.  They make me happy every time I look at them.  His pottery is all wood-fired in the traditional Japanese fashion.  I love to talk to him every year when I go to see his stuff.  It's a little piece of contact with the world of Japanese pottery that I miss so much.  I was all ready to get one of his owls this year since I finished out my trio of ravens last year.  I even had picked out the owl I wanted to get.  Then I turned my head and saw that he has started making "mini ravens."  That was the end of that.  I had to have it.  I will take that one to school.  It's just fantastic.  Again, since it was a small piece, I was also able to afford it without going broke.  It was just a wonderful gift from the craft gods.

As I went through the other booths, I stumbled across another thing I loved:  fountain pens.  They were all from exotic woods.  My best friend laughed at me because I just started making little squeaking sounds as I stroked my fingertips over first one and then another of the lovely polished surfaces.  They were exquisite.  I could have bought at least five that I saw, but one caught my eye more than any of the others:  a "miniature" pen made of a wood called purple heart.  I haven't seen purple heart in large qualities since I was in Costa Rica, but I love it.  Without being dyed or tinkered with at all, it has a gorgeous dark reddish color.  It is going to be my "pocket pen."  I've wanted a small one like this for a long time, and it is everything one could ask for.

Chimneyville is just a joy.  The quality of everything you see, the friendliness of all the craftspeople, there's really just nowhere else I know like it.  I was struck again this year by that personal element.  Because I buy from those same artists every year, they have come to recognize me.  I was a little amazed by that (you know, old forgettable me), but it was really nice.  That's what keeps me buying handmade whenever I can, too.  Whether it is from my favorite folks in Jackson every year or the makers I can connect with on Etsy, I just believe that there is something special about this sort of connection that enriches the item itself.

Take It How You Wish

You're very, very lucky.  I don't think you even know it.

I have a Cuchulain-type of temper sometimes, you see, red haze before the eyes, battle rage slipping sandpaper fingers up the spine and all the Morrigan's magic calling for the end of the offender inside me with the rough, harsh cough of a black raven.

And you, you are redlining it.

It's taken me years, painful years of work to get a leash on this thing.  I have broken bones in one of my hands from the lessons I had to learn to do it.  I view them as both a badge of shame and a medal of honor.  They remind me of where I've been and who I am now.

I won't let this thing in me slip its collar for you.  Not even when it grins its big game pit grin because you keep stabbing it with a pointed stick.  Not even because you won't let it have a minute's rest to recover.

I believe what goes around comes around.  It won't be me who dishes it, though.  I love myself too much for that.

You can take this how you will.

Briefly

I haven't had much to say the past couple of days.  Old battles renewed and much busy-ness, I suppose.  Been elsewhere doing other.  I should be at that now, in fact.  There's just something driving me here to make this brief contact, and I will follow this urging even if it makes me have to run even MORE than I already am this morning in just a moment.

In the past few days I've been away, then, I have:

• Come to value copy paper more highly than gold bullion
• Been told that what I love more than anything is worthless
• Seen the happiness that can come from mini cupcakes
• Been grateful once again that I know how to jumpstart a damn car
• Felt the maternal urge ambush me quite out of the blue looking a friend's baby in a frog hat
• Been berated and belittled
• Actually been able to eat a little
• Had moments of pure joy
• Kept my temper despite all odds and expectations and refused to give in to the urge to put my fist through someone
• Had no migraines
• Had songs stuck in my head
• Pondered getting ticket for the Punch Brothers concert in Birmingham in January
• Graded papers
• Missed people

Yeah.  So how have you been?