I'm so skeptical. But here goes: TEST.
Thank you for your attention.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Friday, September 18, 2009
Home is where....
I must take some pics and somehow say goodbye to my childhood home.
I know there's a good story/storybook in here someplace, but how often do you take pictures of the outside of your house?
If you didn't have the ideal childhood, how do you contain the simultaneous desire to stock up on explosives...with the desire to chain yourself in "your room," throw a tantrum, and not let them take it away.
How do you separate a house from a home, and again from a home-town? What happens to all the memories of place...?
I know there's a good story/storybook in here someplace, but how often do you take pictures of the outside of your house?
If you didn't have the ideal childhood, how do you contain the simultaneous desire to stock up on explosives...with the desire to chain yourself in "your room," throw a tantrum, and not let them take it away.
How do you separate a house from a home, and again from a home-town? What happens to all the memories of place...?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
How far...How Fast?
10:58 PM
A friend's (new) husband is writing an SF novel, and she announced proudly today that he wrote 1800 words yesterday (about 600 words an hour, he modestly, but factually, stated). Which made me think: Okay, so I like to write, and I often write about strange things, but how many words do I write - and how fast?
Forgoing any concerns about spelling, accuracy and the fact that I am not writing ABOUT anything - not telling a story or actively working on our novel (though I certainly could, and perhaps shall in a moment or so), I was curious: how many words do I write? How fast do I write them?
So I have my start time at the top of the page, and I am just going to work for about 15 minutes, or however long it takes to say a little bit about today's fun, and see how many words it ends up being.
Today was fun, probably mostly because of a lot of Diet Coke: Caffeine, fake sugar, and a fun project with lots of folks around.
"I can't remember the last time you were this punchy, " A. said. Hmm...it didn't feel that strange to me. Yes, maybe I was a bit manic, but I was working with a big group of folks on a silly costume idea...and I liked the folks I was in close quarters with, and I thought the silly costume idea was brilliant and fun.
What idea, you ask? Well, I'm glad you did! You should see my friend K's LJ page for the full story, but my part is just this: I really like groups of silly people, and since this project was entirely silly...if anyone was going to participate, they were by definition, pretty much self-selecting.
Anyway, we were measuring, cutting, edging and ironing a lot of tabards with symbols on them so that we could all be the knights of the Log Table at the opening night of Spamalot in San Jose. The tabards all have mathematical symbols on the fronts, and on the backs have the symbols for K's 49th Birthday - similar to the Jersey's on a sports team.
(taking a moment to do the math to see how long 15 minutes is - 3 minutes to go)
It was fun to think through the problem of making them; Fun to take care of a big group - order pizza, etc. and fun to just be sewing in a big group too. The day was quite mild - overcast, warm, and a little humid. Occasional flashes of sunlight that make it too hot to stand in the sun, but perfectly comfy in the shade. I enjoyed cutting with the rotary, and sewing teenie, quarter inch bias tape in along the sides of the tabards. I very much like the smell of hot plastic adhesive from the iron on symbols. They take 5, long seconds, and at about 4 you can actually smell when they are sufficiently melting and fusing with the fabric.
Ha, ha! Done!
11:15 PM - 510 words in 17 minutes. So I am okay on quantity, if not quality....
Lights on at My Neighbor's house
Every evening the lights twinkle at Pixie's house. Every time I use the toilet, I see through the open bathroom window, and I'm drawn to the constant, sparkling lights through the trees.
The pragmatic me says that she must not have to worry about her electric bill, since she leaves pretty, sparkly lights on all night.
The romantic part wonders what is making that particular quality of light: lanterns? mini christmas lights? are they reflecting through the windows of her house? I want to know....
Pixie's lights are the mythological creatures that lured travelers into the bogs where they drowned...what are they called? Grrrr. They're in a Piers anthony book, but I can't remember right now.
Anyway, I think about my neighbor's lights a lot. Every time I have to pee. They are just over the back fence, between the big oak trees, and they are always friendly, welcoming and jovial - like Pixie herself.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Cannon Fodder
As I was biking to work today I saw something that disturbed me, because I make up stories in my head so quickly. What I saw:
A few hundred yards from the entrance of the high school, pulled over on the side of the road, half in the bike lane, half on the dirt shoulder, a common tan colored minivan. No distinguishing marks excpet the blue and white government license plates.
Approaching the van with a swinging gait, a low-slung jeans, hoodie wearing "teen". Black backpack, white stripes, white shoes - hands in pockets.
Pacing the teen, a few steps ahead and to the right, but looking back to talk, a white man also approaches the van. Brown, casual, zip-front jacket, pulled down over his hips. From beneath the jacket, navy slacks with a wide red stripe down the side. Polished black shoes. Tidy, but not severe haircut.
As I rode by on my bike, I heard the tone of the white man - clearly asking questions.
Here is the "story" my mind made up in a fraction of a second:
Marine recruiter, staking out the high school. Sees a likely candidate in his morning drive-by, pulls over, gets out and walks a little way to meet the young man, show an interest - plant a seed. The kid is early, not late. Walking, not driving to school. Obviously going TO the school, not away from it. Excellent candidate. It is April, and graduation is probably just months away. Prime time to find "cannon fodder" for the military.
I wanted to stop my bike and shout, "Get away from him!"
But I didn't.
Here is the next "story" my mind made up:
Who knows - maybe the kid is a meth dealer; un-prosecuted date rapist. No job prospects. No plans. Get him off the street. Give him someplace to go - some way to contribute...even if it is with his life. Who am I to say that the military isn't a necessary evil. Why shouldn't I agree to send him to keep "me" safe. At least ask him if he is willing to give his life for mine, subvert his anger and youthful violence against whatever enemy the government dictates. I am American, part of the country, a contributing member of the society. He isn't....yet, so why shouldn't he die for both of us?
Both of these stories are extreme - both are deeply disturbing. The reality is completely unknown. It might lie somewhere within my tangled observations. The acknowledged predjudices and beliefs I project onto the situation could be Sherlockian deduction or pure pessimistic, hyperactive imagination.
What is disturbing is to realize that the creativity of the brain is trained, for optimism or pessimism early and often. Imagine the threats, know the enemy so that "they" can be evaded. In that moment I could not stop myself from thinking and feeling all sorts of "the worst". Realizing it, and trying to be truthful about it, is the only way I know to resist being ashamed about those thoughts and feelings.
A few hundred yards from the entrance of the high school, pulled over on the side of the road, half in the bike lane, half on the dirt shoulder, a common tan colored minivan. No distinguishing marks excpet the blue and white government license plates.
Approaching the van with a swinging gait, a low-slung jeans, hoodie wearing "teen". Black backpack, white stripes, white shoes - hands in pockets.
Pacing the teen, a few steps ahead and to the right, but looking back to talk, a white man also approaches the van. Brown, casual, zip-front jacket, pulled down over his hips. From beneath the jacket, navy slacks with a wide red stripe down the side. Polished black shoes. Tidy, but not severe haircut.
As I rode by on my bike, I heard the tone of the white man - clearly asking questions.
Here is the "story" my mind made up in a fraction of a second:
Marine recruiter, staking out the high school. Sees a likely candidate in his morning drive-by, pulls over, gets out and walks a little way to meet the young man, show an interest - plant a seed. The kid is early, not late. Walking, not driving to school. Obviously going TO the school, not away from it. Excellent candidate. It is April, and graduation is probably just months away. Prime time to find "cannon fodder" for the military.
I wanted to stop my bike and shout, "Get away from him!"
But I didn't.
Here is the next "story" my mind made up:
Who knows - maybe the kid is a meth dealer; un-prosecuted date rapist. No job prospects. No plans. Get him off the street. Give him someplace to go - some way to contribute...even if it is with his life. Who am I to say that the military isn't a necessary evil. Why shouldn't I agree to send him to keep "me" safe. At least ask him if he is willing to give his life for mine, subvert his anger and youthful violence against whatever enemy the government dictates. I am American, part of the country, a contributing member of the society. He isn't....yet, so why shouldn't he die for both of us?
Both of these stories are extreme - both are deeply disturbing. The reality is completely unknown. It might lie somewhere within my tangled observations. The acknowledged predjudices and beliefs I project onto the situation could be Sherlockian deduction or pure pessimistic, hyperactive imagination.
What is disturbing is to realize that the creativity of the brain is trained, for optimism or pessimism early and often. Imagine the threats, know the enemy so that "they" can be evaded. In that moment I could not stop myself from thinking and feeling all sorts of "the worst". Realizing it, and trying to be truthful about it, is the only way I know to resist being ashamed about those thoughts and feelings.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A Morning Poem (of a sort. Possibly the bad sort)
Commute
PedalPedalPedal.
Three feline gargoyles
tails over chill cat toes
on rock at the water's edge
watch, and guard.
PedalPedalLook.
Four shore birds wading
on the mud flat,
tide low, rapid legs blur
until a lapping wave washes two away.
PedalLookLook.
One flash
through black boulder
of a reflected shining -
shard of the Emerald City, bottle green light in my eyes.
LookLookLook.
Here at last,
pedal slow. No more
quivering clumps of bay grass
crowned with long, soft, pink ears.
A better person at work today.
PedalPedalPedal.
Three feline gargoyles
tails over chill cat toes
on rock at the water's edge
watch, and guard.
PedalPedalLook.
Four shore birds wading
on the mud flat,
tide low, rapid legs blur
until a lapping wave washes two away.
PedalLookLook.
One flash
through black boulder
of a reflected shining -
shard of the Emerald City, bottle green light in my eyes.
LookLookLook.
Here at last,
pedal slow. No more
quivering clumps of bay grass
crowned with long, soft, pink ears.
A better person at work today.
Friday, January 23, 2009
y: Have a very funny story to relate.
hubby: Chinese food good. How'd you know that's what I was eating?
y: you'll see:
y: in addition to the company luncheon, and new messaging, Marketing opened up a contest yesterday. Because our product name is going from Product ACRONYM to just Product, the contest was to guess how many times Product ACRONYM occurred in all of our marketing materials.
y: My first reaction was "I hate those "pennies in a jar" guessing games."
y: Then when I saw the e-mail I thought: Well, we probably say it 5 times in a page / document, and we probably have 500 pages of stuff...so 2500 and a bit more....and then I just cleared my mind and let the first numbers that floated into it be my guess.
y: Then I vented that evening about all the really awful stuff that has been going on at work, including the really problematic new messaging. I really felt mad! Today, I re-read the edits I had made to the marketing info they handed out, and asked the VP of Mktng for a meeting.
y: He accepted, so I was feeling better about being able to vent constructively.
y: This e-mail arrived just now:
y: I think the universe does NOT like it when I am mad....
hubby: You're AWESOME!
hubby: Why is it that you don't play the lottery?
hubby: Chinese food good. How'd you know that's what I was eating?
y: you'll see:
y: in addition to the company luncheon, and new messaging, Marketing opened up a contest yesterday. Because our product name is going from Product ACRONYM to just Product, the contest was to guess how many times Product ACRONYM occurred in all of our marketing materials.
y: My first reaction was "I hate those "pennies in a jar" guessing games."
y: Then when I saw the e-mail I thought: Well, we probably say it 5 times in a page / document, and we probably have 500 pages of stuff...so 2500 and a bit more....and then I just cleared my mind and let the first numbers that floated into it be my guess.
y: Then I vented that evening about all the really awful stuff that has been going on at work, including the really problematic new messaging. I really felt mad! Today, I re-read the edits I had made to the marketing info they handed out, and asked the VP of Mktng for a meeting.
y: He accepted, so I was feeling better about being able to vent constructively.
y: This e-mail arrived just now:
Subject: Product ACRONYM guessing game - And the winner is...y: 15 people guessed. Convenient that I already have a lunch date planned, eh?
…Y! She guessed 3214.
The actual number of pages is 3643. Only off by 429!
Congrats Y! You win lunch on the VP of Mktng and your picture in the break room.
Thanks for playing.
y: I think the universe does NOT like it when I am mad....
hubby: You're AWESOME!
hubby: Why is it that you don't play the lottery?
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Define "Friend"
My husband doesn't like the word "Love" in English. Too many meanings.
I don't like the word "Friend."
Some people I know announced that they were pregnant.
Has nothing to do with me.
Except that the announcement implies some things that make my gut wrench, make me want to cry and make me coldly angry. (An unusual reaction, yes, I know.)
First, to me it means that they are not friends. Some shift has happened in their lives, so great that they have gone from "We're on the No Kid Plan" to "We're Having A Baby!" A change so common that the phrase is trite: Biological Clock Ticking.
That shift is no doubt personal. And of course, this is America after all. It is their choice to share or keep the inner working of their minds, relationship, lives, to themselves...keep them from their "friends." To be as private with their lives as they choose.
But they are acquaintances - not my friends. My friends share. My friends "catch-up" after years of separation, and our intimacy is re-born - fresh, and immediate. My friends care enough about me to level with me. Not let me "worry" about them when they are sick for months. My friends let me offer to help in times of crisis, even if they do not accept. My friends grow and evolve with me. My friends are brave with their emotions, reasons, wisdom. My friends trust.
Losing friends...giving up on the idea that someone you care about and would like to spend more time with is not compatible, or that the sensation is not mutual...that is Pain. And for me, for some reason, that is pain overandoverandover.
Second, it is also implied or imagined that I am deficient. Unworthy. Nosy. Demanding. For a subset of persons, personality types, individuals...I am, because of my beliefs, my needs, my core emotionality...A Bad Friend. I have managed to find many of those people in my life, and yet each time it is a fresh, stinging. and soul-bruising blow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Out the third story window, a pair of Brown Pelicans hover, lifted in the mild northeasterly(?) wind off SF Bay. They are together in formation, knowing what they need to know and doing what they need to do. Mated, and happy, as I am with my husband, or simply flock-mates...still they know what they need to do to stay safe and cohesive as a pair, or in a larger flock.
I feel that I lack that knowledge.
I feel I stand outside it.
I am lonely, betrayed by my "group" and angry for feeling this way.
I should be beyond this sensation - don't young humans grow out of this - get past teenage angst?
And yet it remains.
In the face of happy information, I am reminded that to care is to be hurt. To have rock solid beliefs is to have them shattered by mere diversity.
I don't like the word "Friend."
Some people I know announced that they were pregnant.
Has nothing to do with me.
Except that the announcement implies some things that make my gut wrench, make me want to cry and make me coldly angry. (An unusual reaction, yes, I know.)
First, to me it means that they are not friends. Some shift has happened in their lives, so great that they have gone from "We're on the No Kid Plan" to "We're Having A Baby!" A change so common that the phrase is trite: Biological Clock Ticking.
That shift is no doubt personal. And of course, this is America after all. It is their choice to share or keep the inner working of their minds, relationship, lives, to themselves...keep them from their "friends." To be as private with their lives as they choose.
But they are acquaintances - not my friends. My friends share. My friends "catch-up" after years of separation, and our intimacy is re-born - fresh, and immediate. My friends care enough about me to level with me. Not let me "worry" about them when they are sick for months. My friends let me offer to help in times of crisis, even if they do not accept. My friends grow and evolve with me. My friends are brave with their emotions, reasons, wisdom. My friends trust.
Losing friends...giving up on the idea that someone you care about and would like to spend more time with is not compatible, or that the sensation is not mutual...that is Pain. And for me, for some reason, that is pain overandoverandover.
Second, it is also implied or imagined that I am deficient. Unworthy. Nosy. Demanding. For a subset of persons, personality types, individuals...I am, because of my beliefs, my needs, my core emotionality...A Bad Friend. I have managed to find many of those people in my life, and yet each time it is a fresh, stinging. and soul-bruising blow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Out the third story window, a pair of Brown Pelicans hover, lifted in the mild northeasterly(?) wind off SF Bay. They are together in formation, knowing what they need to know and doing what they need to do. Mated, and happy, as I am with my husband, or simply flock-mates...still they know what they need to do to stay safe and cohesive as a pair, or in a larger flock.
I feel that I lack that knowledge.
I feel I stand outside it.
I am lonely, betrayed by my "group" and angry for feeling this way.
I should be beyond this sensation - don't young humans grow out of this - get past teenage angst?
And yet it remains.
In the face of happy information, I am reminded that to care is to be hurt. To have rock solid beliefs is to have them shattered by mere diversity.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Fashion, Far Too Forward
IM with my Boss Friday morning:
yk: Dude, your jeans have contrast-colored, detail stitching on your crotch, in vaguely obscene shapes! Where did you get those jeans?! I'm not offended, or touchy, or sexual harassment or anything - but I wondered if you knew you were wearing club-wear to work
boss: did you see the black light under my desk???
boss: did = didn't
yk: Riiiight. So GLOWING, vaguely obscene contrast-colored detail stitching. WAaay better. Just keep you knees together / legs crossed in any meetings with women today.
boss: thanks for making me extremely self conscious
yk: All in a days work.
yk: Jeans USED to be so uncomplicated....
boss: and they used to cost $19.95
yk: I just wanted you to know that if you caught me snickering, it wasn't anything personal.
boss: ok, no worries, snickering away
yk: Dude, your jeans have contrast-colored, detail stitching on your crotch, in vaguely obscene shapes! Where did you get those jeans?! I'm not offended, or touchy, or sexual harassment or anything - but I wondered if you knew you were wearing club-wear to work
boss: did you see the black light under my desk???
boss: did = didn't
yk: Riiiight. So GLOWING, vaguely obscene contrast-colored detail stitching. WAaay better. Just keep you knees together / legs crossed in any meetings with women today.
boss: thanks for making me extremely self conscious
yk: All in a days work.
yk: Jeans USED to be so uncomplicated....
boss: and they used to cost $19.95
yk: I just wanted you to know that if you caught me snickering, it wasn't anything personal.
boss: ok, no worries, snickering away
Monday, September 01, 2008
Charisma
I woke up deeply startled a few days ago to this thought, "I will never again get to rescue the Boy."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was in fourth or fifth grade I met a New Boy. You know...or, well, you might not...But it is important that it NOT be the boys you've been going to private, Catholic school with since kindergarten. The ones who try to get you to swing across the monkeybars so they can look up your plaid skirt. The ones you played Lego Pirate Ship with.
No this has to be a New Boy...one who doesn't know you're an uncool Tomboy. One who doesn't go to your school. One that is blonde and handsome. One who likes to use his imagination to read and play D&D. And hopefully one who thinks you're cool...or at least not TOO annoying... because you like those things too.
This Boy was my Ideal of Manhood from the day I met him until I fell in love with my husband. Quite a few boyfriends got short shrift because of this boy. I wrote dozens of letters and bad poetry for this Boy (I still have them all). Mostly because he had "charisma."
I would watch him, when allowed to tagalong with that slightly older crowd. Everyone laughed around him. Everyone looked at him. Everyone seemed - like me - to want to touch him, all the time.
And he was so different. Unlike the other boys, who would slap your hand away, or sling an insult, this boy was comfortable in a puddle of friends. Yes...Puddle. After hours on a D&D adventure, a mystery adventure...I honestly don't remember what we played at all the time...this Boy, and a few others would allow me into their "puddle" of all curling up, singing or laughing or just watching the stars young people. Such a warm, kind Boy.
He is still an amazing Boy. Well, okay Man (but in my head, he's that Boy).
In fact, realizing that this Boy would never be My Boy was instrumental in the realization that my husband was, in fact, perfectly suited to be My Boy. But that's another story...
This story has a happy ending, because the New Boy, who never was My Boy, found and wooed His Girl...and this June they got married.
I know. You're thinking "He's not Blonde...?" The east coast ate his blonde hair. He laughs and says one reason he is my friend after all these years is because I'm the only person who still always remembers him as blonde. I don't think of him as just blonde. In my heart he is in every way golden.
Actually he's my friend because I like to keep things. I try to treat the cherished trinkets of my life as I want to be treated - I want them to know they are loved, and I won't loose interest. Won't be blinded by new shinier baubles. I keep memories, and that helps me keep people. Memories like these:
If all of that sounds innocent and pathetic, I have to say it was. And when I was a bit older, I regretted that. Regretted for years not trying harder to have more of the Boy or make him mine.
Of course I know now, with a greater experience of love and sex that the Boy and I were never traveling in the same direction, at the same time. Even if I was his type (and yes, after seeing a few girlfriends, I have to say that he does have a type, and I am not it), we would never have been in love. Even if I had somehow managed to convince him to have sex with me in between the more accessible people I was "in love" with, he was unattainable, because of him, because of geography, and because of me. Who wants to destroy their golden idol by actually touching it?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"He has a wife. Soon he will have children, a new career, a new family. He will never again need to be rescued, by me or anyone else. He won't find himself alone, or lonely, and needing a friend. He is beloved, and supported, and cared for...just like I am by my husband, my best friend.
I am so happy for him.
And it huuuuurts!!! Letting go of that imaginary responsibility - the thrilling possibility of being called upon to save someone - even from loneliness, even from boredom...free of the calling...oh, deep inside it huuurtsss......"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was in fourth or fifth grade I met a New Boy. You know...or, well, you might not...But it is important that it NOT be the boys you've been going to private, Catholic school with since kindergarten. The ones who try to get you to swing across the monkeybars so they can look up your plaid skirt. The ones you played Lego Pirate Ship with.
No this has to be a New Boy...one who doesn't know you're an uncool Tomboy. One who doesn't go to your school. One that is blonde and handsome. One who likes to use his imagination to read and play D&D. And hopefully one who thinks you're cool...or at least not TOO annoying... because you like those things too.
This Boy was my Ideal of Manhood from the day I met him until I fell in love with my husband. Quite a few boyfriends got short shrift because of this boy. I wrote dozens of letters and bad poetry for this Boy (I still have them all). Mostly because he had "charisma."
I would watch him, when allowed to tagalong with that slightly older crowd. Everyone laughed around him. Everyone looked at him. Everyone seemed - like me - to want to touch him, all the time.
And he was so different. Unlike the other boys, who would slap your hand away, or sling an insult, this boy was comfortable in a puddle of friends. Yes...Puddle. After hours on a D&D adventure, a mystery adventure...I honestly don't remember what we played at all the time...this Boy, and a few others would allow me into their "puddle" of all curling up, singing or laughing or just watching the stars young people. Such a warm, kind Boy.
He is still an amazing Boy. Well, okay Man (but in my head, he's that Boy).
In fact, realizing that this Boy would never be My Boy was instrumental in the realization that my husband was, in fact, perfectly suited to be My Boy. But that's another story...
This story has a happy ending, because the New Boy, who never was My Boy, found and wooed His Girl...and this June they got married.
I know. You're thinking "He's not Blonde...?" The east coast ate his blonde hair. He laughs and says one reason he is my friend after all these years is because I'm the only person who still always remembers him as blonde. I don't think of him as just blonde. In my heart he is in every way golden.
Actually he's my friend because I like to keep things. I try to treat the cherished trinkets of my life as I want to be treated - I want them to know they are loved, and I won't loose interest. Won't be blinded by new shinier baubles. I keep memories, and that helps me keep people. Memories like these:
The old greenhouse on D's property down the street. High shelves originally for plants, now a fort for us kids: D, the Boy, me...there may have been others, but I wouldn't remember them. Couldn't remember anyone when the Boy was there. Singing. The Boy would just sing, sweet and beautiful songs at any old time, but especially at night, even with no campfire. Just because singing is beautiful...and his voice...so beautiful it makes me cry...OR
There is hair growing under my right armpit, but not my left. At thirteen I know I'm probably one of the last girls in my Jr. High class to get my period, but I don't care, and I don't want to think about it. I'm too embarassed to even think about it, especially after a conversation my mother has tried to have with me in the car about something her OBGYN has said when they were talking about me and being tall for my age: My mother talks about me to her Doctor! Mortifying.OR
P.E. is over and I hate, hate, hate Mr. Messineo for making us run all up and down the hilly campus. I'm so sweaty in my crotch I feel like I've peed my pants...and when I finally get one of the two coveted dark, close stalls go to pee...there is blood on my white underpants. And I start to shake. And they are cold when I pull them up against my skin again, which feels disgusting. It never occurs to me to tell any of the other girls. To ask any girls in my class for help.
I have an audition downtown for a play, and I'm supposed to change into "free clothes," not my private school uniform. I know my mint green "Thriller" buckled pants are going to show the blood...what can I do? What can I do? I know what I have to do, but I don't even know how I know.
I go to the office. I'm hoping Tina is there - I've known her since I was in Kindergarten, I'm comfortable with her, but no, it is Mrs. Dalmark - Jill's mom, and now everyone in the whole school will know I've gotten my period. I say I've gotten my period - how I blurted it out I have no idea - and I ask for a pad. She tries to be kindly and asks if I know how to use it. I say I do...but when I go into the clean, bright little bathroom off the office, both sides seem sticky. I have no idea what to do. Oh well. At least it will keep more blood from getting onto my pants, and I can go to my audition. I don't even remember how I got there - my mom must have taken me, but I didn't tell her anything. Too terribly, horribly embarrassed by my secret.
And there is the Boy, and for one moment that day I am so excited. Thrilled with adrenaline surprise and relief. Someone safe who I can tell my horrible secret to. Someone kind and warm who I trust after all these years and...There he is, surrounded by a group of pretty girls and boys, all older than me. In the hall of the Unitarian Church, where we are all gathering for Peace Child Auditions. I hear him sing and I see him surrounded by friends and I am now again shaking with fear that he will see the bloodstains, and I will be disgusting and embarassing to him. I do not even say hi. I watch him the whole time, wanting be near him, and hear him sing...sing to me, but going nowhere near him on the first day of my first period.
Left turn onto Carillo in J's beatup, silver Datsun. Just J and me having lunch together before going back to the another class of work on the high school newspaper. Going for Pizza, with his blonde hair and my brown hair being sucked out the open windows. After the turn, I see a figure in black, bright gold hair, sitting on a low sandstone wall, reading.OR
Suddenly I am screaming, "Pull over! Pull over!" and hanging half out of my window crying the Boy's name. The unexpected sight of him supercharges me with a brand of excitement reserved for him alone. After a bewildered J pulls the car to a stop, I burst from it, running madly down the street and SURPRISE! He didn't hear me call as we drove - too engrossed in his book. I got to surprise him, and make him smile at me...that smile...and a promise to see him later...before running back to my lunch date, and trying to explain the Boy to J. Unpleased J, though it never ocurred to me at the time why...
After I could drive, I got to "rescue" the boy. That's how I always thought of it. His parents lived up in the hills, and he was forever without transportation, sometimes without companionship. He would call my house to see if I wanted to hang out with him and give him a ride home. Did I ever! I'd pick him up from the bookstore he haunted and drive with him up into winding Santa Ynez mountains.
Mountainsides of chaparral and sandstone boulders passed, glowing in moonlight, until we plunged into a close, dark hairpin turn edged on all sides by a stand of live oak trees. So high above the town, it was often hot and windy with Santa Ana's at his house, and I loved to be there, caressed by the hot wind.
He slept in a small wedge of loft off his step dad's office. My mom was so cool: She trusted me completely, and I got to sleep there with him a few times, all curled up in that space that smelled so good to me, and was so full of Him.
If all of that sounds innocent and pathetic, I have to say it was. And when I was a bit older, I regretted that. Regretted for years not trying harder to have more of the Boy or make him mine.
Of course I know now, with a greater experience of love and sex that the Boy and I were never traveling in the same direction, at the same time. Even if I was his type (and yes, after seeing a few girlfriends, I have to say that he does have a type, and I am not it), we would never have been in love. Even if I had somehow managed to convince him to have sex with me in between the more accessible people I was "in love" with, he was unattainable, because of him, because of geography, and because of me. Who wants to destroy their golden idol by actually touching it?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"He has a wife. Soon he will have children, a new career, a new family. He will never again need to be rescued, by me or anyone else. He won't find himself alone, or lonely, and needing a friend. He is beloved, and supported, and cared for...just like I am by my husband, my best friend.
I am so happy for him.
And it huuuuurts!!! Letting go of that imaginary responsibility - the thrilling possibility of being called upon to save someone - even from loneliness, even from boredom...free of the calling...oh, deep inside it huuurtsss......"
Friday, July 11, 2008
PICTEMS PRESS RELEASE
Pictems: Pictures + Items = FUN!
Starchy Tuber proudly presents Pictems, a way to exercise your creativity on the go. Pictems is both a toy and a social networking tool to keep friends in touch and laughing.
Open a favorite photo and add in ready-to-use items like hats, mustaches, and accesories. Re-size, Move, and Flip items right in the app, then save and send!
Pictems are so easy to create, you'll love Pictemizing your friends! All future features and software upgrades are FREE, and new item packs will be issued regularly.
Are you ready to Pictemize your friends and family?
"Cave-Mom and Son!"
At only $2.99, it's easy to get started now!
Download your copy from the iTunes App Store (Categories:Photography, Entertainment) or at www.starchytuber.com.
Don't yet have an iPhone? Forward to your friends and tell them to check it out!
Let us know what platform you want to use for making Pictems at suggestions@starchytuber.com
Thank you for supporting creativity and FUN at StarchyTuber.com! info@StarchyTuber.com
Starchy Tuber proudly presents Pictems, a way to exercise your creativity on the go. Pictems is both a toy and a social networking tool to keep friends in touch and laughing.
Open a favorite photo and add in ready-to-use items like hats, mustaches, and accesories. Re-size, Move, and Flip items right in the app, then save and send!
Pictems are so easy to create, you'll love Pictemizing your friends! All future features and software upgrades are FREE, and new item packs will be issued regularly.
Are you ready to Pictemize your friends and family?
At only $2.99, it's easy to get started now!
Download your copy from the iTunes App Store (Categories:Photography, Entertainment) or at www.starchytuber.com.
Don't yet have an iPhone? Forward to your friends and tell them to check it out!
Let us know what platform you want to use for making Pictems at suggestions@starchytuber.com
Thank you for supporting creativity and FUN at StarchyTuber.com! info@StarchyTuber.com
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Not Ready To Leave...
...my hotel room. After a few days here, I'm nice and safe; I found a radio station I can deal with, I have lots of clean towels, and the bed finally holds the impression of my frame enough that I slept the whole night through.
But it is almost time to go, and really I'm just stalling because if I'm not sitting here, then I'm sitting in the airport. Much less interesting. Although there are people there, and I'd be doing the same things (well, not blogging, as there's no guarantee of internet access).
But I *would* in fact be reading (most of what I've been doing this morning). Enjoying another great new book, Wit's End, by Karen Joy Fowler, whose Jane Austen Book Club I enjoyed so much. Wit's is also great...so compelling, that I had to tear myself away to get my teeth brushed and the last few little things packed. I'm quite grateful I didn't start it until the end of my trip - I would certainly not have been as on-my-game for work if I was constantly sneaking out for a 5 minute read-break...
Should I admit I do that sometimes? When the book is truly as well-written and engrossing as this one is? Well, this book is also conducive to that: Lots of short segments, so it is easy to set down and pick up. But I don't want to.
Really the reason I wanted to blog today was that I had other confessions to make. I did a truly, consciously anti-social thing: I put a half hamburger bun in the toaster at my hotel kitchenette...and it already had ketchup and mustard on it. There's no chance the condiment-side wouldn't touch the coils. Anyone staying in this room in the future is going to get just a little spice to their toast.
I thought about this before I did it, and I TOLD myself it was anti-social, unfair to the next person...but for all I know, someone has done the same thing before me, and I was getting a little bit of who-knows-what on the top side of my bun. In my head it is the same conversation I have when deciding whether or not to report the fairly serious trickle from the bathtub to the hotel owners. Well, I haven't done that yet, but I WILL let them know as I leave - a decidedly unnecessary waste of water. I didn't shower each day I was here, so maybe that makes up for it.
Nearly everything is packed, the suitcases are MUCH lighter, because I was good, and I ate most of the food I brought with me, and stuck primarily to my diet. I have been awake for hours because unfortunately, I awoke to one of those you-want-to-be-completely-organized-but-you-know-that-you're-not
mini-panic moments, and I thought that maybe I had my flight time wrong - YIKES!
But no, I got up and double checked; And double-checked...and couldn't really go back to sleep. It is going to make being on CA time especially hard, I know, but oh well. Time to post, close up the computer and go. And who knows - maybe there WILL be wireless at the airport...?
But it is almost time to go, and really I'm just stalling because if I'm not sitting here, then I'm sitting in the airport. Much less interesting. Although there are people there, and I'd be doing the same things (well, not blogging, as there's no guarantee of internet access).
But I *would* in fact be reading (most of what I've been doing this morning). Enjoying another great new book, Wit's End, by Karen Joy Fowler, whose Jane Austen Book Club I enjoyed so much. Wit's is also great...so compelling, that I had to tear myself away to get my teeth brushed and the last few little things packed. I'm quite grateful I didn't start it until the end of my trip - I would certainly not have been as on-my-game for work if I was constantly sneaking out for a 5 minute read-break...
Should I admit I do that sometimes? When the book is truly as well-written and engrossing as this one is? Well, this book is also conducive to that: Lots of short segments, so it is easy to set down and pick up. But I don't want to.
Really the reason I wanted to blog today was that I had other confessions to make. I did a truly, consciously anti-social thing: I put a half hamburger bun in the toaster at my hotel kitchenette...and it already had ketchup and mustard on it. There's no chance the condiment-side wouldn't touch the coils. Anyone staying in this room in the future is going to get just a little spice to their toast.
I thought about this before I did it, and I TOLD myself it was anti-social, unfair to the next person...but for all I know, someone has done the same thing before me, and I was getting a little bit of who-knows-what on the top side of my bun. In my head it is the same conversation I have when deciding whether or not to report the fairly serious trickle from the bathtub to the hotel owners. Well, I haven't done that yet, but I WILL let them know as I leave - a decidedly unnecessary waste of water. I didn't shower each day I was here, so maybe that makes up for it.
Nearly everything is packed, the suitcases are MUCH lighter, because I was good, and I ate most of the food I brought with me, and stuck primarily to my diet. I have been awake for hours because unfortunately, I awoke to one of those you-want-to-be-completely-organized-but-you-know-that-you're-not
mini-panic moments, and I thought that maybe I had my flight time wrong - YIKES!
But no, I got up and double checked; And double-checked...and couldn't really go back to sleep. It is going to make being on CA time especially hard, I know, but oh well. Time to post, close up the computer and go. And who knows - maybe there WILL be wireless at the airport...?
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Reader / Writer?
I feel like I've heard it said before, but I'm NOT going to waste any of my 12 writing minutes, and 3 editing minutes (trying to be regimented about this) looking up who and how many and when they might have said something like: Readers are Writers. I think that is true.
If you don't love words, why pick up a book, let alone spend time instead of earning money, doing something that is highly unlikely to contribute to anything except personal fulfillment (can you tell I'm feeling unemployed right now?).
I HAD to write today, my "unemployed" goal is to write for 15-30 minutes, minimum each day...but I wasn't "good" about it. I didn't get up and make time and space for my writing. Instead, I "wasted" several hours this morning the way I wasted several last night: Getting through and amazing, wonderful new book: Ysabel by Guy Gavriel Kay (I'm not wasting time making this a link now, but might later...see this is REAL stream of conscious, wordvomit).
I won't say why exactly it was so amazingly wonderful to me, except to say K.M. will know, because he was there. How very Kaylike of me. The fact remains that there is truly NOTHING...No Thing...in the universe similar in any way to a good book. Today (and it may be different tomorrow), that is because books can include all the best, the worst, the darkest and the brightest things in the whole world, wrapped into words, and they are real to those with imagination...and you get to close the cover. You can get distance or deep intimacy as you like, wholly under your control. Man, I love books.
Books are filled with people to love and hate and, when the writer is incredible, like this one, those people can seem more real than the corporeal folks occupying the seats on either side of you.
Juxtapose my deep elation with another piece of data: There are LOTS of people out there who read the end of books first. SACRILIDGE! (in my humble opinion, of course) NPR was just doing a whole hour talking to a writer and these people who can't take the suspense of working through the whole book to allow the ending to be as big, incredible and deeply affecting as it can be...I guess they aren't reading for the emotional thrills...wonder why they bother?
And a third thing: I know my husband, and other friends who skip the "flowery" language. My husband says he can flip to anyplace in book and tell fairly quickly if it is "literary" or not by the ratio of words and description to the action. I don't need action at all. I need depth, images, and words, words, word...Anne Rice is on my team - which team are you on...?
If you don't love words, why pick up a book, let alone spend time instead of earning money, doing something that is highly unlikely to contribute to anything except personal fulfillment (can you tell I'm feeling unemployed right now?).
I HAD to write today, my "unemployed" goal is to write for 15-30 minutes, minimum each day...but I wasn't "good" about it. I didn't get up and make time and space for my writing. Instead, I "wasted" several hours this morning the way I wasted several last night: Getting through and amazing, wonderful new book: Ysabel by Guy Gavriel Kay (I'm not wasting time making this a link now, but might later...see this is REAL stream of conscious, wordvomit).
I won't say why exactly it was so amazingly wonderful to me, except to say K.M. will know, because he was there. How very Kaylike of me. The fact remains that there is truly NOTHING...No Thing...in the universe similar in any way to a good book. Today (and it may be different tomorrow), that is because books can include all the best, the worst, the darkest and the brightest things in the whole world, wrapped into words, and they are real to those with imagination...and you get to close the cover. You can get distance or deep intimacy as you like, wholly under your control. Man, I love books.
Books are filled with people to love and hate and, when the writer is incredible, like this one, those people can seem more real than the corporeal folks occupying the seats on either side of you.
Juxtapose my deep elation with another piece of data: There are LOTS of people out there who read the end of books first. SACRILIDGE! (in my humble opinion, of course) NPR was just doing a whole hour talking to a writer and these people who can't take the suspense of working through the whole book to allow the ending to be as big, incredible and deeply affecting as it can be...I guess they aren't reading for the emotional thrills...wonder why they bother?
And a third thing: I know my husband, and other friends who skip the "flowery" language. My husband says he can flip to anyplace in book and tell fairly quickly if it is "literary" or not by the ratio of words and description to the action. I don't need action at all. I need depth, images, and words, words, word...Anne Rice is on my team - which team are you on...?
Monday, June 18, 2007
Saying Goodbye is Hard to Do...
For later, when I am truly depressed and tired from the sheer volume of work it will take to be a contractor...it will be important to remember these words:
Thank you for all you did to make the Internal Audit Training easier for the auditors to understand and follow. I greatly appreciate your support and assistance in the ISO 9001:2000 Quality System during your stay at Westcor!!!!
Best of luck to you on your new ENDEAVORS!!!!
MW
Yo Yvette, sorry I didn’t make it to your going away luncheon. I had left early yesterday and came in late today due to what I think was a stomach virus or something of that nature. And Mexican food would had been the last thing I’d want to eat today. NO, make that Indian food. Anyway, so I guess I’ll say goodbye to you on Friday. It was nice working with you. And you are a very pleasant person to work with. Good luck to you and your next beginning. Ciao bella -MT
I will truly miss you Yvette, You are definitely A cut above the average!! -DF
Best to you Yvette...Thanks for all your support, input and encouragement over the years. -DA
and
Yvette’s done some great things for WC and many of us individually. For anyone who’d like to share his/her gratitude and goodwill, there will be a going-away lunch on Tuesday, 6/26 at noon.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Goodbye...Goodbye!
From: Keller, Yvette
Sent: Tuesday, June 12, 2007 2:50 PM
To: #WC
Subject: Yvette Keller - Last Day, 6/29
Dear Coworkers,
My last day at WC will be Friday June 29th. Thank you all for your kindness and humor over the past six years.
I am leaving in order to go back to what I love to do: Training!
I will be continuing to pursue my Creative Memories business, so please stop by my cubicle and get a business card if you would like to stay in contact. I welcome all of you into my network of wonderful friends and customers, if you choose to join me.
I will be working as a contract trainer for several companies, including Work With Ease, International Dialogue Education Association, and Learn It! It will be very easy to find me, as I will be teaching desktop and professional courses, doing individual coaching, team communication skills, and in general helping individuals and companies get the information they need to be successful – and then helping them practice it until it becomes habitual.
I look forward to any job-related requests or feedback you have for me in my last few weeks at Westcor. Once again, thank you for all the trust you have placed in me over the years, and all the fun we have had learning things together!
Yvette E. Keller
Training & Human Resource Development
Sent: Tuesday, June 12, 2007 2:50 PM
To: #WC
Subject: Yvette Keller - Last Day, 6/29
Dear Coworkers,
My last day at WC will be Friday June 29th. Thank you all for your kindness and humor over the past six years.
I am leaving in order to go back to what I love to do: Training!
I will be continuing to pursue my Creative Memories business, so please stop by my cubicle and get a business card if you would like to stay in contact. I welcome all of you into my network of wonderful friends and customers, if you choose to join me.
I will be working as a contract trainer for several companies, including Work With Ease, International Dialogue Education Association, and Learn It! It will be very easy to find me, as I will be teaching desktop and professional courses, doing individual coaching, team communication skills, and in general helping individuals and companies get the information they need to be successful – and then helping them practice it until it becomes habitual.
I look forward to any job-related requests or feedback you have for me in my last few weeks at Westcor. Once again, thank you for all the trust you have placed in me over the years, and all the fun we have had learning things together!
Yvette E. Keller
Training & Human Resource Development
Friday, June 08, 2007
CourAHGE....?
I feel so supported and loved. Thank you to all the amazing people who have supported me LEAVING MY CRAPTACULAR JOB!!
Wow! Resigned! Good for you!
I can understand your fears, but you just did a courageous thing in pursuit of your true self and happiness and I hope you can settle in that at least a little.
True courage is not the absence of fear—but the willingness to proceed in spite of it. --Unknown
Yvette,
I don't have 50 stories only one.
When I retired from coaching when I was 38 years old and entered law school I was making six figures and the majority of the people I knew thought it was a unwise decision ( they thought I was crazy). I decide to pursue my dreams. I have not regretted one single second of that decision. Congratulations for pursuing your dreams. You are going to soar.
Y,
[Leaving your Job]...that is an exciting change....many congratulations!!!!
taking a step up within ourselves is both exhillerating and a bit fearie hair-raising
the universe parts for those who crown themselves and take steps up to their own
glory!!!
Monday, April 30, 2007
Psycho Patrol for Baby Chain Gang
Several weeks ago I was trying to find parking near SFMOMA for a job interview and I saw a Baby Chain-Gang. Seriously.
Identical High Security Orange Oversized T-shirts on a squad of 9 five year olds.
It took four adults with prison guard face smeared across their features and a handcuff-like rope contraption to keep these tiny persons in a tight line for crossing the busy San Francisco Street.
Each little kid (boys nearly indistinguishable from girls) had a hand or two thrust into the looped rope cuff, attached to the main tow line at one foot intervals.
The only individuality of the gang was their attitudes toward the rope: One brown haired boy had one wrist in his loop, and the other hand, arm, shoulder were thrust backward as if he was being dragged against a strong wind. A little blond girl was obviously riding a horse: She had both hands on her loop, and was cracking the reigns, while she cloppity-clopped on the pavement. A third baby had the loop in his palm, a forward bend in his back, and the rope across his shoulder, as if he was Gulliver, dragging in the Lilliputian ships. A couple of children on opposing sides of the rope were obviously using it lumberjack style to chop down an enormous tree.
They all made it across the street - not so much because the light stayed green, but mostly because the drivers waiting were laughing so hard they couldn't reach their gas pedals...
As I was driving home tonight, I saw another thing that make me laugh out loud. Especially after the recent horrific shootings on college campuses and in malls; Friends, and the I-80 interchange having bad car wrecks, and various happy couples splitting up, getting back together and resulting in nasty custody battles...I am so glad that this is out on the road: Psycho Patrol
We need a lot more....
Identical High Security Orange Oversized T-shirts on a squad of 9 five year olds.
It took four adults with prison guard face smeared across their features and a handcuff-like rope contraption to keep these tiny persons in a tight line for crossing the busy San Francisco Street.
Each little kid (boys nearly indistinguishable from girls) had a hand or two thrust into the looped rope cuff, attached to the main tow line at one foot intervals.
The only individuality of the gang was their attitudes toward the rope: One brown haired boy had one wrist in his loop, and the other hand, arm, shoulder were thrust backward as if he was being dragged against a strong wind. A little blond girl was obviously riding a horse: She had both hands on her loop, and was cracking the reigns, while she cloppity-clopped on the pavement. A third baby had the loop in his palm, a forward bend in his back, and the rope across his shoulder, as if he was Gulliver, dragging in the Lilliputian ships. A couple of children on opposing sides of the rope were obviously using it lumberjack style to chop down an enormous tree.
They all made it across the street - not so much because the light stayed green, but mostly because the drivers waiting were laughing so hard they couldn't reach their gas pedals...
As I was driving home tonight, I saw another thing that make me laugh out loud. Especially after the recent horrific shootings on college campuses and in malls; Friends, and the I-80 interchange having bad car wrecks, and various happy couples splitting up, getting back together and resulting in nasty custody battles...I am so glad that this is out on the road: Psycho Patrol
We need a lot more....
Friday, April 20, 2007
Feathers, Feathers, Everywhere...
Last set of pictures for today: FEATHERS! My friend has offered me an opportunity to sell off parts of my wonderful feather "collection" by turning them into jewelry components.
First, I wanted to sort and clean the feathers. Uh. Yeah. I never got any further.
Here are some pictures of sorting the feathers. They have to be sorted by right and left in order to make components that are symmetrical. Birds do not lose all of their feathers at once. That would make flying HARD.
Instead, each molt they lose a feather from either the right or left. During the next seasonal change, they lose an opposing feather. This keeps the birds from ever having too few feathers to fly, or from having to just fly in a circle all the time.
These feathers are primarily from Jeremy and Cookie (My mom's bird). There are a few extras from Macaws I have known, and from some pheasants that had the unfortunate luck to meet up with CB during hunting season.
I also have some before and after photos of Experiment #1: Wash in Woolite, in a bag, on gentle cycle. Back to the drawing board...
Turns out the best way to clean feathers is with steam. Experiment #2 coming up!
Beautiful Wine Bags
2007 is the year of "Move it Out!"I want to move out all the extra fabrics, beads, wire, mask making supplies, hats in progress, bath salt making herbs,
and feathers. Here is my first attempt at starting the process: Wine bags for my friend W.
He does wine tastings and needed nice bags for covering up bottles for blind taste tests. I bought this incredible fabric over five years ago to make Bellydance costume pieces (which never came to fruition). The SuperHubby and I, with lots of help from my friend R., spent much of a day deciding the best way to go about making the bags, getting them stable, putting in drawstrings, and picking the standard sizes.
Now that we have a pattern ready to go, I am going to start selling them through friends who do Art & Wine Festivals. If you'd like to buy one to keep dust off your wine, give as a gift, or use at a historical event to "hide" your anachronistic bottle of water...drop me a line!
Winter Wonderland Pictures
I'm still trying to figure out this whole "insert a photo" thing. I'm working out how to intersperse within text, instead of them all going to the top, automatically. Argh.Here is a group of fun, winter-related pictures, starting with, Me, very cold, worshipping at the altar of the outdoor heaters.
Next, a couple of pics of Jeremy the Bird, making California snow.
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