Join the Club

One of my summer musts is carving out extra reading time. I recently finished Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner. I highly recommend the work to any of my adult readers. I suspect, though, that I am one of the last fiction aficionados to read the work. Hosseini's next book is out now, and I am anxious to peruse that as well. I would love to get a book clubbish thing going here, where we can discuss literary devices, plot twits, and the like.

I began my sign language class last evening, which I suspect will mean that I will need to be using my fingers in a slightly different exercise in the next few weeks. I will do my best to remain faithful to this exercise, too.

A most sincere thanks to Mr. Thunder for his insightful comment to my last post. I will reflect upon your advice.

Happy Mid-Year

Today is Mid-Way Day - the fulcrum of the year - the middle day of the middle month. It is a good day to ponder, perhaps to dust off those shelved New Year's Resolutions.

I find myself at this moment in the exact same position as I was on New Year's Eve: my "spot" on the couch. On this point I must dwell, because I have brought up something important here, and you may have missed it. On New Year's Eve, party night of the year, I was on my spot on the couch. Now, you might be thinking, "Oh, poor dear, she must have been ill." or "Was there a snow storm?" or even, "She must have been writing the last chapter on her new bestseller!" (If you framed that last thought, I must welcome you as a new reader, for regulars here know that I do not belong to any literary guilds.) No, it was not just an off year. I have a long tradition of very sad December 31sts.

So I'm on the same couch, but I am not the same. (This, too, is an important point, because I have nearly despaired at times that I am unable to change.) Six months can alter one's philosophies and ideals.

As I recall, one of my resolutions at the dawn of '07 was to reinvent myself as a relaxed person. To achieve this lofty goal, I decided to inflict multiple stressors on myself. The logic, if one deign call it such, was that I would have no choice but to be flexible in the midst of such chaos.

I now change my long held belief in "better to try and fail then never to have tried at all" to something far more moderate like " ". (OK, I haven't gotten that far yet, I simply know it must be modified.)

The question that will dominate the remainder of the year, and probably the next several, is this: What flaws in my character (not moral fiber, mind you, just personality glitches) do I seek to amend, and which do I simply accept as being uniquely "me"?

Gotta go - my travel agent is calling with late December cruise options...

Wow, it is pouring

It's a good thing that I'm not a writer. This many days without a new post would have put me in a slump if I was. I may even be diagnosed with writer's blogk. (Sorry, really sad, I know.)

The thing is, there is just not much to say. Well, I guess there is, but it's all kind of foreboding and dreary.

In keeping with all metaphoric meanings, the bear is back. It apparently strolled right through the front yard last night. Thankfully, I was not home to witness the event. I knew something was up as soon as I pulled into the driveway and my very alert husband came running out on the porch, waving me into the garage like a traffic cop with one hand while scanning the landscape with the other hand over his brow. My sanctuary has been compromised.

In another example of metaphoric realms mirroring real happenings, there is a tremendous storm brewing. All non-writers best get off electrical equipment...

If glasses can be found, so can I

Sometimes a day is so disappointing that you just don't have the heart to document it. Who wants a lousy day memorialized?

I learned some things about myself today while getting my knocks that may make it redeemable. If there is one thing I love, it's redemption.

First, I learned that I don't like life off the pedestal.
I also learned that ideals are not gained by force.
This afternoon I learned that a son's love heals a lot more than criticism harms.

This evening I learned that when the sky turns the color of a ripe strawberry, I can almost believe that life is still sweet.

Summer and Links - sounds like sausage

Ahh, nothing like a shot in the arm from running with letters to pump up the blogging motivation! Thanks RWL!

Actually, I've been too busy running with children to witticize. I had this crazy idea that perhaps once the kids were on vacation, I'd be able to save gas, and maybe even lower my blood pressure. HA! Now I'm harried trying to find acceptable places for the kids to go while I'm at work three days a week, which looks like it will involve driving great distances to drop off and retrieve them from hither and yon.

Education is definately the only career choice that makes any sense for moms.

Anyway - I think it is important to note that WAA is committed to the causes of nieces and nephews everywhere. I noticed today that I had failed to add a link to my dear nephew's new blog. I now remedy that oversight and invite you to delve into the twelve-year-old male mind, if you dare.

Tribute

Sixteen years ago today, I was frustrated. My niece - my own sister's child - had been born, and I was not allowed to see her. I was told that there were Grandparent visiting hours, and sibling visiting hours, but nothing for aunts.

So June 4, 1991 was also the birth date of my activist foundation: What About Aunts (WAA). Despite the effectiveness of the organization (I saw my niece whether the nurses liked it or not!), membership is still pretty sparse.

Sixteen years later, I'm still a frustrated aunt. I have a beautiful, intelligent and talented niece whom I know so well, and don't know at all. It's hard for WAA to lobby against miles.

Happy Birthday, Allison. I love you.

Belly-Up to the Bear

My sister-in-law --the one who says I'm "predictably unpredictable"--left a message on the machine the other day: "Hey, just thought I'd let you know that a bear is in the neighborhood."

She probably predicted my reaction to that tidbit of information.

The dog has been woefully under-exercised ever since.

Rationally, I understand that a black bear poses little threat to me and my family. I know it probably doesn't want to make my acquaintance, either. But it's presence introduces a variable into my world that I can't control, and I don't like it.

My niece and nephew, children of aforementioned sister-in-law, have a similar issue with my aforementioned dog. Now Lilly is just a big, fun-loving teddy bear. She goes belly-up in submissive acceptance of just about anything. The children have absolutely nothing to fear. Their mother thinks, though, that it is the unexpected - the unpredictable - about animals that they find frightful.

Problem for all of us is that life is full of animals we weren't expecting. The "bears" of bad tidings can come at any time, unpredictably. The wisest among us greet the unforeseen beasts which come our way as potential friends, and go belly-up.

Limbo anyone?

From a mower's perspective, lawns would be much safer without trees. They present so many issues, so many dangers, to the landscape specialist. A bare branch is a hazardous protuberance (I referred to said branch as a projectile this morning, and the linguist in my home kindly informed me that it would have to be fired from the tree and in motion in order to be a projectile...) which requires expert evasive maneuvers to avoid eye injury. I have also determined that the word "limbo" actually comes from the contortions necessary when approaching hanging limbs in third gear.

The largest challenge, especially for those with a healthy dose of OCD, is getting the blades of grass which grow closest to the tree trunk. Now if you think something like, "couldn't you just trim around the trees with a weed wacker?" then you don't have OCD. Guaranteed.

So I have developed a system for mowing around trees. Concentric circles. I simply turn that wheel as hard as possible, lay off the brake and spin round the tree, widening a little each time. Within three passes, it's all cut.

Others who have witnessed this system find it inefficient, as I end up mowing some of the area around the tree multiple times.

I probably developed this style from the way I mow through life in general. A casual observer may think I'm blindly navigating over the same territory, repeating the same mistakes again and again. I wonder about that myself at times. But I think I'm really just a slow learner. It takes me a few passes before I cut through all of the obstacles to my progress. The OCD kicks in here as well, because I'm just not satisfied with getting through a crisis, I want to conquer it, handling it perfectly. I've even been known to set myself up for disaster to see if I've learned anything from the last attempt.

It's a risky way to live; racing ahead bent double and waiting for the next protuberance (or projectile) of circumstance to fly in my face. But lawns, and life, would be pretty bland with only straight lines.