In For a Penny, and For Faeries

I knew it!!!

The other day I cleaned up my front patio, finally put some flowers in the planters (mostly because I know more hummingbirds will come to the feeder if there are also pretty blooms to lick :), and had the idea to place one of the small pots by the front door, not with flowers in it, but with pennies instead. The inspiration turned out amazingly more appropriate than I imagined, but honestly, I don't know why these things still surprise me. If you believe in magic and go looking for it, you will find it. Duh.

You see, I have this bit of a tree stump to the left of my entrance. It was part of a load of firewood I bought a couple years ago. It started out in a different place on the patio as a decorative thing (I had a turtle sitting on it - fake, of course, because can you imagine trying to teach a turtle to sit and stay? I don't think even Cesar Millan could do that). The wood was further spared its flaming death when I got the idea to use it as an organic door stop; I was tired of playing Beat the Clock with my lock and key while trying to avoid the loud crash of the screen slamming into the wall. (I was winning the game, but the competition was making me tense.)

Half the top of the stump is flat so a small item is easily placed upon it, but the other half is slanted, making it difficult to satisfy my desire for symmetry. Flowers seemed a logical choice as they can hang over the slanted half, but very little light reaches that area and all the flowers I bought were for full sun. I tried several small things from around the house like garden Buddhas and lizard statues, but nothing seemed right. I was trying to think of something colorful to bring light to the area when I caught sight of one of the small, empty red pots. My mind's eye saw pennies in it.

Now don't laugh, but when I placed the penny pot on the stump, there was some remnant of memory running around my neurons that told me leaving shiny pennies by the door (and they do have to be shiny) brings the faeries around, which is associated with good luck. I searched my memory banks for why that was or where I heard that, but there were zero results. I gave up, thinking surely it was Irish folklore and perhaps I was pulling info from my genetic memory. (I am both Irish and Scottish, Land of the Wee Folk.) My logical Left Brain (which dabbles in creative thinking on the rarest of occasions, mostly preferring to leave that to the Right half of the head) barreled in saying no matter; it's got to be good modern feng shui anyhow.

I washed and dried the pot and went after my change jar looking for pennies. Imagine my surprise when I dumped all the change on the bed and out from the bottom spilled two healthy handfuls of brand new copper. I'd forgotten that the last time I rolled change, I'd kept all the shiniest pennies. I believe it's always good luck to leave some change in the jar so you continue attracting more, and just as bright, shiny things are more attractive to me, it stands to reason they would attract more energy from the Universe. True to the thought, lots of silver coins had piled on top of my saved pennies, obscuring them until the opportune moment. Luck? I think not. Quantum planning perhaps.

In feng shui, red is used to stir up movement or excited activity (which is why it's hard to sleep in a bedroom decorated in red). Wood indicates growth and creativity. Metal brings power and success in finance (especially if you're using money, duh). Therefore - regardless of the Fae - putting shiny copper money in a red pot, sitting on a big piece of wood by the entry of your home has to be a pretty powerful cocktail to increase money flow, don't you think? I didn't actually know that though until five minutes ago when I looked all that up while writing this. So, like... wow!

(By the way... apparently it's working. I've had two more people book dog sitting time all the way out in Sept/Oct, my new freelance client just gave me more work, and I was contacted by Pearson asking if I had time to do some work for them! Woohoo!)

But then... THEN... being who I am, I still had to know why I thought a Penny Pot would attract faeries. I mean, there was no evolution to this idea, it just sort of showed up in my brain. Some googling turned up that Jonathan Wright in Ann Arbor, MI actually builds tiny fairy doors for the wee folk! How cool is that?! (Don't think I won't be getting one of THOSE like yesterday!) I found another page HERE about the doors... seeing that people do leave pennies as offerings just supports my theory that this has some sort of folklore background to it. Why not dimes, which are smaller and worth more? What is it about copper pennies? Why have so many people just decided that's the thing faeries like?

Oddly, I can't find a darn bit of mythology on this in Google. This brings to mind a sign I snapped a pic of just a few days ago:

Hmm.

I will update this if I find the answer. Once again it's 3:07am, and words are robbing me of sleep.

As for the "I knew it!!!" at the beginning, I've kind of written myself out and around that... oops. Originally I said that because of finding the thing about leaving pennies at the fairy doors, but the more I delved into that, the more I realized it still didn't answer my "what IS the folklore of this pennies by the door?" question. So I guess I still have research to do.

One more thing before closing though: one of the reasons I haven't posted for so long—again (Gods!)—is because a few weeks ago I received a real live, honest-to-goodness bound and printed, dead trees and ink paperback novel written by my friend Jenn Flynn-Shon. It's titled Ripple The Twine, which always makes me think of magic (I mean c'mon, doesn't it sound like some sort of magical phrase?), but actually it's about a goal-driven chick who likes hockey and has put her relationship status on hold for far too long when she meets a hot Irish guy (hey, wait a minute, weren't we just talking about the Irish?) and shenanigans ensue. It's Jenn's first publishing endeavor and the day I got it I sat down and started writing a blog about the experience of receiving a copy of a REAL book that your friend wrote as a professional author, and how that affected me and my aspirations for a writing career. I was determined I would not make another blog post until I posted about her book. However, between reading her novel, taking on a new freelance client, and Life In General, I have not made the time to put the finishing touches on that post. Therefore, consider this pre-cursor a lame attempt to placate my guilty conscience for completing this entry before the one about her book, but truly, you should go check it out RIGHT HERE and buy a copy! I am so proud that she is truly a published author, and she's out there marketing it all by herself. Yay for the Internet and the opportunity it's created to self-publish! I'm so happy for her. More on that coming soon!

I Am Grateful For the Energy of Attraction

I have not yet written out the story (read: epic tale) of how the evil overlords (read: HOA) of our condos plan to poison my building in the (self)interest of ousting a bunch of termites at the cost of everyone's health. To them I say: In case you hadn't noticed, this is SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA ladies. Termites are a given (or so I've read/heard/experienced). You may win the battle, but you will never win the war. Best you can do is keep giving them stuff to eat outside, so live cleanly and we can all prosper.

Regardless... The Sheeple are determined to poison my home so I am packing my shit to move out for two to five days. What a colossal waste of time, but grudgingly I admit at the same time it's not a waste at all. It is an opportunity to purge and pass on the outmoded, outdated, OMG-I-didn't-realize-I-still-had-that items in my life and I should be grateful. And I would be, if there were no poison involved. Of course, if there were no poison, I would not be packing, therefore I would be playing the procrastination game just like any other day. Sometimes it sucks to be aware of your own faults.

As there are always reasons to be grateful tho, I can tell you that I am grateful to not have a job at this particular moment because it means I can pack (sort of) at my leisure. In theory, this would mean I started packing two months ago when I was first informed of this potential health hazard. In reality, it means I've once again waited until I'm up against the clock (even after getting it postponed for a month!) and I'm now going through stuff to get the most important or what will be most affected out by next weekend. Thank goodness for the last minute or nothing would ever get done around here.

Today I decided to pack my books because they're easy, which is always appealing to the eternal procrastinator. I have a few antique volumes I've gathered from various places, and this particular one that inspired me to stop and post here was Harper's Fourth Reader, copyright 1888. I've never actually read this book - received it as a gift for helping with an estate sale - but thumbing through it just now I found it is, ironically, a type of textbook published for use in a classroom back in the day when Bonsall's schoolhouse was new and shiny, and women as old as I am were spinsters with little hope of marrying before they dropped dead. I mean seriously... 42 years old and no husband? Holy crap, you must be ugly or a shrew, and aren't you even lucky to still wake up on the top side of the grass at that age?! Good luck with that.

Anyway, I thought it was amusing that after spending all that time working at Pearson putting out today's college textbooks (which contained info I learned in high school - what's up with that? Dumb it down much?), two of the volumes that snuck into my library through no effort of my own were 123-year-old textbooks themselves (I have Harper's Third Reader as well, also copyright 1888). How can people disbelieve the energy of attraction with such glaring examples?

Other things I found amusing about these books... there is a Publisher's Note in the front of each book. For one thing, I consider myself in possession of a pretty decent vocabulary, but I actually had to look up two words because I didn't know their definitions, so apparently the Readers are still good at teaching people to read a century later. They just don't make 'em like they used to.

Also, I love "antique marketing"... in an attempt to convince teachers (or so it seems) that the new Readers are the best ever, they say, "They have been prepared with special reference to the practical work of the school-room. These pages are not encumbered with useless matter." Well thank goodness for that because I'm not so sure today's textbooks can say the same. Seriously.

Another good chuckle: "...It is desirable, rather, to improve the child's intellectual capacity by giving him lessons a little in advance of his present attainments, than to stultify his understanding and insult his intelligence by a strained effort to make every exercise appear child-like and easy."

Sure wish THAT was still the policy in schools these days!

stultify |ˈstəltəˌfī|verb ( stultifies, stultifying, stultified ) [ withobj. ]1 (usu. as adj. stultifying) cause to lose enthusiasm and initiative, esp. as a result of a tedious or restrictive routine

Apparently, "lessons inculcating moral truths are of frequent occurrence. These lessons are such as will appeal at once to the child's better nature and strengthen his love for right-doing. Lessons intended to cultivate an appreciation of the wonderful and the beautiful in nature, and to introduce the pupil to a knowledge of the achievements of science and art, are given due prominence."

Would that today's learning materials inculcated more moral truths, a love for right-doing, and an appreciation for nature! Perhaps we wouldn't be destroying the planet as fast as we are.

inculcate |inˈkəlˌkāt, ˈinkəl-|verb [ with obj. ]instill (an attitude, idea, or habit) by persistent instruction
Last, the best part... the publisher actually thanks the editor, a couple instrumental people, and the teachers that contributed for pulling the book together, not the other way around.

My how times have changed.

I Am Grateful for Intelligence

The Best.Jeep.Ever. has needed some TLC lately. It was time for an oil change, a couple lightbulbs needed replacing, new tires, a nice bath… I'm never upset about spending money on the Godly Automotive Wonder that takes me everywhere I want to go exploring. I love my Jeep even with its big 'ole feet. You know what they say about a large carbon footprint... oh wait...

I admit I've never changed my own oil or a flat tire though. Some things are better left to the boys to get dirty with, or the experts that have all the right tools to keep an easy 10-minute job from being a 5-hour headache. However, I'm not one of those girls that's completely helpless in the garage either. I own REAL tools. They are not pink or sparkly - they are SnapOn silver, Dewalt yellow, Home Depot orange, Makita blue, or Ryobi green with black dirt accents. (And none of them are diminutive! ;) I've replaced my own headlights, battery, wipers, and tail lights in the past. I've installed iPod adapters (which required taking apart the dash to get to the back of the stereo head unit) in both the Camaro and the Jeep all by myself. Once I even changed my own idle air control (IAC) valve after a brilliant mechanic broke it (and zip-tied it as a fix! WTF?!), then wanted to charge me $183 for a replacement! I did it myself for less than $70. Go me!

Obviously, I am not afraid or ignorant of my vehicles.

So I found myself at the local auto parts store the other day. It happened to be a day when I chose to wear nicer clothes because the boyfriend was with me and I like to look my best when we present ourselves together in public. We are each other's arm candy. :) My outfit that day included a beautiful cotton sweater, designer jeans, high heeled boots, appropriate jewelry, and my expensive (not!) sunglasses (THOSE have sparkles on the sides!) pushed to the top of my head. My flashiest name-brand purse (under $100 people, so hush up) hung from my shoulder. To be fair, I suppose this look does give off a certain impression, especially to men found under a car more often than in it.

Looks can be so deceiving tho, can't they? This is why I don't judge books by their cover (except for the new teen novel Tiger's Curse by Colleen Houck - I totally bought that solely because the cover was cool and it turned out to be an awesome story! SCORE! Her next book, Tiger's Quest, is coming out in June. Preorder now!).

I was looking for the lightbulb that goes over the license plate, assumably so my next victim of Texting While Driving can see who ran them over in the dark and report me to the police.

(I'm KIDDING.)

(Ok, not completely.)

Having never replaced this particular bulb before, and knowing there are usually several to choose from, I walked up to the register to ask the I-Just-Graduated-College-And-This-Is-My-Chosen-Career clerk to retrieve the correct part number.

"Hello, I need the lightbulb that goes over the license plate of my 2005 Jeep Liberty."

"Lightbulbs are in Aisle 5."

"Thank you, but do you mind looking up the number for me? It's much faster than going through the book." (You'd think the fact that I KNOW there is a number - or a book over there to look in for that matter - would be his first clue, but it went right over his head.)

"Oh sure… you said it's an Oh Five Jeep Liberty?"

I nod.

Not that he looked up to confirm.

(Tap tap tap.) "Okaaaayy… number 168…"

"Thank you." I turned to walk away.

A dirty, plump finger shoots out rather close to my ear. "It's down Aisle 5 there… on the right… here, I'll just get it for you."

I'm sorry, did the back of my head look confused? Even tho I'm already walking in the proper direction, Mr. Helpful whips past me like Dale Earnhardt Junior at Talladega.

"Thanks but really, I can find… umm, ok," I say pointlessly into the backdraft. Thanks for providing great customer service?

The clerk was already scanning the rows so I had no choice but to shut up and follow him. I'm sure he's looked at these things many times more than I, so a nanosecond after I arrive he dives for the correct item and starts heading back to the register. Again, I follow. About halfway there he turns around, shakes the package in my direction, and says as if speaking to a child:

"Now make sure you tell whoever is installing this not to touch the bulb…"

Wait... what? Whoever is installing this? What am I? Chopped liver? Why would the person installing it not be me, the same one asking for the part?

The boyfriend comes up behind me just then, at which point I apparently disappear in a chauvinistic puff of smoke. Relieved there is a penis in the vicinity, Mr. Helpful redirects his comment to my appropriately-gendered partner: "Hey, make sure you use a rag to hold the bulb when you put this in…"

Make sure you use a rag to hold what's left of your ego, pal, cuz mine is rearing up to its entire righteous five-foot-three height.

"I will be the one installing this, thank you," I say as I take the package from his outstretched hand. "And I know not to touch the bulbs because they are halogen and the oils on your fingers will ruin them," I add as I stalk to the register with an unladylike semi-snort of laughter while the two men stand there looking at each other, one with embarrassment and the other with a smirk.

Hello Auto Zone? The 50s called… they'd like their counter boy back.

"Ummm…" Mr. Helpful says, gesturing toward Automotive Genius No. 2, "… he'll ring you up." He wouldn't even look at me as he slunk behind the checkout and disappeared between the stacks of thingamabobs* and whoseywhatsits. I notice the other cashiers trying not to crack up. Whether it's at me or him I have no idea since my nose is so far up in the air at this point, I would drown if it started to rain.


So what have we learned today, kids?

For those of you who are curious, as I was, having never taken the time (until now) to actually find out WHY you shouldn't touch halogen bulbs, The Straight Dope (fighting ignorance since 1973!) has the answer here. If you don't have time to read all the technical explanations offered, the short version is "because it's baaad...m'kay?" Ok, not really. :) It's because your oily fingerprints leave enough residue to impede the infrared component of a halogen's light spectrum from exiting the glass, thereby collecting heat and creating a weak spot, which eventually can cause the glass to explode from stress (much like the heads of chauvinistic males when coming into contact with my ego), shortening the life of the bulb. (In which case I'd say the lifespan of the bulb is the least of your problems.)

Whew... good thing Mr. Helpful mentioned that rag! I thought they were only for dusting!

Ladies (and gentlemen), you now know how to completely disassemble a snarky cashier the next time they condescend to you about halogens. Word.

Happy Jeep having a day at the spa. :)

*You know how I know Macs are the smarter machines? Because they know how to spell thingamabobs!

Life Reflections

I'm watching a free video series from Oprah that's available on iTunes. She calls it her Soul Series and one of the people she interviews is Eckhart Tolle. (Another one totally worth listening to is Byron Katie. I'd never heard of her before the Leadershift 2010 conference, but darnit, here is another person that has already put into a book exactly what I've been thinking for years! I've GOT to get on this author thing!) I loved Eckhart's book, A New Earth, and I highly recommend it.

In Part 2 of Oprah's interview with Tolle, she opens the phone lines so callers can ask him questions. The first caller asks him, "How do you embody what you talk about—you being free of the domination of ego? Can you please share your experience of being in the here and now."

He gives some explanation to lay out how he lives in the present moment and clarifies that he also lives with awareness of chronological time. He says the primary focus is always on the present moment. It makes life very simple (I'm paraphrasing) and can also be described as a state of surrender to life. He goes on to say if you live a life full of trouble, a very important question to ask yourself is, "What is my relationship to this moment? Am I making this moment into an enemy? Am I treating this moment as an obstacle that I need to overcome?"

Eckhart says he, personally, has a very friendly relationship with the present moment as he doesn't put the present in a negative light, as if it's something he has to endure or get through (again, paraphrasing) to get on to something happier. I can totally identify with that. I know I USED to be that way, and perhaps sometimes I fall back into it. However, for the most part since I've been in San Diego I've had plenty of challenging moments, but I've also found surrendering to them makes life easier, and friendlier (I like that description :).

Remaining present, and choosing what is happening *now* has kept my monkey mind from focusing too much on the past or future, thereby creating a problem where none exists. Problems can only exist in the future and past. There may be challenges in the present moment, but there are no problems because problems require time to build, and the present moment holds no time as we understand it, especially not enough time to build an entire problem.

So he says if you're living a stressful life, a tool to use for change is to stop and ask yourself several times a day, "'How am I relating to the present moment?' Because when you do that what you're really asking is 'What is my relationship with life?' because the present moment is essentially your life. You can only encounter your life in the present moment. So it's a vital question to ask yourself 'what is your relationship with life?' because if your life is one of hostility, which is when you make the present moment into an obstacle or an enemy, then life always reflects back to you your predominant state of consciousness."

I love how he put this particular thought - that life always reflects back to you your predominant state of consciousness. I wanted to make note of it for myself as well as share it with whoever might be reading here because I feel this is a really great way to get the idea across that YOU are creating your life. Not some guy behind a curtain or an angry old man on a throne in the sky - it's all YOU baby.

What are you reflecting today? Right now?

And what are you reflecting NOW?

How 'bout now?

How 'bout now?

Yeah, I know, I could go on with that forever. If you have trouble remembering to stop and ask yourself this question throughout the day, set a series of alarms on your phone's calendar (or something you refer to frequently to keep track of your day) to bring your focus to the present for at least those few seconds each day. Eventually you will find yourself anticipating the reminder, therefore it is already being brought to the front of your consciousness, and it will become a *good* habit. (The word "habit" has definitely earned an undeserved reputation as something negative.)

The best time to ask that question tho is *every* time you encounter change, which for most humans, is A LOT during a 24 hour period. Change can encompass something as common as a car moving into your lane on the freeway, or as large as news that changes your life. Good or bad, change creates a lot of stress for us meat suits because we are forced to adapt and evolve to fit the new situation, sometimes very quickly. It is a survival instinct to be able to do so. If your automatic reaction to change is resistance, hostility, anger, sadness or anything less than acceptance, imagine the percentage of the day you spend feeling yukky! Are you sure you want to live that way? Wouldn't you rather be happy NOW?


I hadn't really thought about how I reached the state of peace I currently enjoy 90% of the time, but looking back I suppose I just kept asking myself, "What am I feeling in this moment? Do I want to be this or happy?" I kept choosing happy until the answer was "I'm already happy and it don't get better than that!" a good majority of the time. It's a matter of continuing to bring your focus back to RIGHT NOW.

That picture of the outdoor banner over on the right side of this very blog that says,"You are here, but are you present?" That is the wallpaper on the front of my phone. Even when I'm looking at it without really seeing it, I think it taps my subconscious and says, "Pssst. Are you really present to this moment?" Like I said... it's become a habit.

I think since we're all human there will always be some times when we're less than happy, so for those perfectionists out there (me included) I have also come to realize that acceptance also means life will not be perfect 100% of the time. How boring would that be anyway? I would be surprised if even Eckhart said he's in a state of bliss 100% of the time.

I've said many times that I have gratitude for the lows because without them, how would we define and enjoy the highs? So even in sadness or anger or whatever, I realize somewhere deep down it's ok to have that too. The word AND is so much more powerful than that word OR.

Well, my thoughts are starting to fly all over and no doubt it has something to do with it being 5am. Just wanted to put that out there tho because the reflection is beautiful. :)

Winter Stories: Get Your Mug O' Hot Chocolate & Cozy Up

Story #1
I don't know who the architect was of the condo I live in, or if it was even that person that made this decision, but somewhere someone in the early 80s thought it would be a good idea to use radiant heat in my place instead of a conventional furnace. Normally I would be thrilled - who wouldn't love walking on warm floors in bare feet in the colder months? Except this genius decided to put the radiant heat in the CEILING, not the floor, even though the floor is tile and therefore would definitely benefit from some heat. Newsflash in Thermodynamics Einstein: Heat rises.
Needless to say, I do not use the provided heating system in my house. The downstairs unit may take care of upstairs, but upstairs would definitely only be keeping the spiders warm in the attic, and those little bastards don't pay rent.
Last year I purchased a couple space heaters from craigslist.com and they worked out pretty well. Even with three of them cranking they're not too bad on my power bill and they keep the areas I occupy warm enough.
One of the heaters did a great job heating the room, but the thermostat never seemed to work properly so it just kept heating and heating unless you were there to turn it on and off yourself. This was only annoying when I needed to leave the house for long periods; then I would have to choose whether I wanted to return to a freezer, or South America with Spunky (the iguana) sprawled out on his shelf sporting zinc on his nose and a margarita in hand.
This year, being unemployed, I decided I cannot afford to have a faulty thermostat helping SDG&E raid my bank account, so I kept watch for the same type of heater on craigslist. I finally found one for only $25 (I spent $40 on the first one; retail was like $80+ USD) and went to grab it. It looks exactly like the old one with a few extra scuffs. At home tonight I plugged it in and set the thermostat just as the gorgeous surfer dude showed me (amazing I even remembered how, I was so entranced by his steel blue eyes). It heated up past what I had set it at, then the temp number started blinking. I felt above the heater - still very hot. Hmmm. I waited a bit. I felt again. Still felt like heat coming out. I'm thinking darnit, this one doesn't work either! Maybe this is some faulty thing with all of these Honeywell models.
I sat playing with it awhile longer. Eventually I figured out that when the temp blinks, it has turned itself off to cool down, however, it doesn't feel like it because the metal grate above the heating element takes a long time to really cool off. Oh. Ok, my bad. So it IS working properly. Well yay for that.
I watched it do its thing for about 10 minutes, then I got to thinking. I wonder if I made a mistake with the old one and just didn't set it properly? Only one way to find out. I drag the old one upstairs and repeat the test process. Turns out it works perfectly! Now who's the dumbass about heating? ::sigh::
So anyone need an extra space heater? I mean seriously - when it gets down to 63°F, down blankets and wool socks just aren't enough!
~*~
Story #2
Last Saturday I attended a class on Brain State & Consciousness offered by Teri Mahaney at a new age store in Oceanside. It was a great class, but that was the third time I'd forgotten to bring something to write notes in. The Jeep hauls around enough "just in case" items to make any Girl Scout leader fall over with pride (no, I was never one of them), but paper is not among these items unless you count the deposit envelopes in the console, or the Starbucks contraband napkins in the glove compartment.
After the class I was determined to remedy this oversight, so I decided to stop by Barnes & Noble to buy a really cool notebook I'd seen that was on clearance (yes it was $7 - hell no, a $3 spiral bound from the drug store will not satisfy a Mac-toting, Starbucks-drinking, Whole Foods-shopping Snob Like Me).
Have I mentioned how DANGEROUS it is to let me loose in Barnes & Noble?
As I headed to the car consoling my wallet, I noticed Santa Claus sitting in the cafe reading a book. No, seriously, it was him. Round cheeks, big belly, white hair/beard, glasses, Reebok sneakers. If it wasn't him, I'll bet the dude never wears red lest he be accosted by small children everywhere he goes.
I made it to the car to leave, but my silly child-brain was poking me and giggling the entire way about how cool would it be to sit in B&N and read next to Santa Claus? (How old am I?) Even tho I had no intention whatsoever of speaking to him or saying anything about what I was thinking, the idea was just too much to resist. So I went back in with my books and sat down to read there. He even had THE PLATE WITH COOKIE CRUMBS NEXT TO HIM. C'mon! It was HIM!
I tried to sneak a peek at what he was reading but I couldn't see the title without looking like an idiot. I must've read for about an hour, or as long as it took to finish my latte anyhow. He eventually put down his book, took a snooze (I'm serious) for about 10 minutes, then got up and left in his sleigh. Ok, maybe it wasn't a sleigh, but I'll bet he had reindeer stuffed in the trunk. No, really.
I had such a nice time reading the other day tho that I went back tonight after picking up the heater just to be out of the house for awhile. I was looking for Augusten Burroughs' new book, You Better Not Cry. I thought it would be just like his previous publications - a regular size memoir - but it turns out these were just Christmas stories in a smaller, more compact read.
And read I did. In fact, I sat there and read the ENTIRE book in three hours. Straight through with one break for coffee. Which is good because then I didn't spend money buying the book (sorry Augusten!) but it was very funny in his normal morbid kind of way - MUCH better than his last full-length book, A Wolf At The Table. That one just made me cringe the entire way through and I hope never to read something that depressing again. You Better Not Cry was good though. It made me laugh out loud several times, to the point I was trying to suppress it so people didn't stare.
Lovely - there was a point to tell you that story, but I've been interrupted in writing it so many times I forget the point now. So I guess you'll just have to take it for what it's worth.
Ok, I remembered. Sort of. While in B&N, I also decided to pick up two classic children's stories for my Godnephew for Christmas. One was Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree, and the other was Maurice Sendak's Where The Wild Things Are. I remembered having read these stories maybe once or twice as a kid, but I did not remember what each story was about. I only knew they were classics, and certainly every kid should have the classics in his library, even if he's only 2 years old. I was being a good Godmother, right?
I get home with these books and decide I should read them to refresh my memory. I wish I had done this in the store now. First I open The Giving Tree. In my adult life I've heard over and over what a great spiritual message it sends, or perhaps it was supposed to have a really good moral to the story. I can't really remember, so I dive in.
It's about this tree that loves a little boy. And the little boy asks for things from the tree constantly - all through his growing up years. And the tree always gives him what he wants... all the way to the end when the boy is an old man and just wants a place to sit and the tree can only offer the stump the boy has turned it into as a place to rest.
And then the book ended.
Wait, WHAT?
Where is the awesome moral? The spiritual message? Isn't there at least some GRATITUDE? The tree gives and gives and gives, and the kid takes and takes and takes - even chops it down to build a boat for his own selfish purposes - and never gives ANYTHING back to the tree? Doesn't even plant a new one? What is he, the CEO of a logging company? WTF??!! HE CHOPPED DOWN A TREE and was completely selfish and THIS is a great book that has become a classic? Ok, well it says he loved the tree, but I have a hard time believing asking more and more of something and never giving anything back is a good example of love. Or perhaps that's the exact message. But I don't see how a kid would get that message out of the book. It was hard for ME to salvage that from the story!
To me, this book says he only loved the tree for what it could give him. That is not Love in my world. Love is shared. Love is a two way street. A mutual thing. You take, but you also GIVE. The tree was the only one doing any giving here. I've read Silverstein's other books - A Light In The Attic was one of my favorites as a kid and I had several of his other works. He's probably the only poetry besides Dr. Suess that I've ever enjoyed, but THIS... maybe I'm missing the point, but this is a SUCKY story. Chopping down trees is sacrilege in my book (all puns intended) to begin with. Besides, the picture of Shel on the back cover would give a kid nightmares. What editor picked THAT photo? Dumbass. This book is SOOO going back.
Ok, so that one wasn't what I thought it would be. Surely Sendak's work - which is now a major motion picture - is better. I crack this one open.
Max, the main character, backtalks his mother and gets sent to his room without supper. But instead of being remorseful and thinking about how crappy he treated his elder, or the story supporting respect for your parents, the kid grows a forest in his imagination, travels to "where the wild things are," becomes their king, treats them shitty the same way he felt he was treated, finally gets bored, goes home, and finds that his mother (presumably) has left his dinner in his room for him.
Wait, WHAT?! WHAT??!!
The kid acts like a total brat and gets punished for it, then spreads the negativity to imaginary creatures, and comes home to be REWARDED??! Are you KIDDING me?
Ok, MAYBE forgiveness is the message here? But that would mean it's forgiveness on his parent's part, and what of his being a brat in the first place? Shouldn't the lesson be NOT to be a 'tard to begin with? Forgiveness is such a stretch, and again, how is a CHILD supposed to get that out of this story? My ADULT brain had to really dig around for that one.
What is WRONG with these authors? And HOW - pray tell - have THESE particular books become such "classics?" I can only think that they are popular because people my age who had them as kids saw nothing wrong with how the characters acted because they were a bunch of spoiled brats themselves, and to a worm in horseradish, the world IS horseradish (as quoted recently in a MUCH better book for bigger, more intelligent kids: What The Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell - I HEART HIM!!).
And THAT, my friends, is exactly what's wrong with the world today. Nothing but brats born in the 60s turning into bigger, older brats and seeing nothing wrong with their bratty behavior because they have NO respect for their elders. At the risk of sounding just like my grandparents, what is this world coming to?!
Both of these books are going back. No wonder I don't remember them from when I was a kid. Their messages suck. If anyone has a better explanation of what I'm missing that others must be getting from these stories, PLEASE PLEASE enlighten me.
~*~
Story #3
Today was trash day in our neighborhood. I'm always grateful for the G-man on Wednesdays because I never want to take for granted the fact that I don't have to deal with the trash I create beyond getting it out of my house to the curb. What a blessing! I think too many of us don't often think about where it goes after that, or the people it takes to get it there. Or that we should really be making a much bigger effort to send less of it wherever it ends up. But that's another blog...
I personally have it down to less than one kitchen-size bag of trash per week, except for when I clean the chinchilla cages and I have a second bag full of their nasty peed-on cage substrate, which is all biodegradable anyway. The roommate has added a bit more to my weekly refuse, but mostly we are less trashy than most of my neighbors. And I mean that literally when I talk about the asshole with the two always-screaming children and mufflerless Harley under my bedroom window.
When I moved in and realized I had to buy my own rubbish bin, I bought a 42-gallon wheeled thing that I knew I would never fill in a week, but figured bigger is always better for those few occasions when not everything fits, right?
The first time I left it on the curb on trash day I got it back with a terse note that they would not empty anything larger than a 32-gallon can. Oops. Sorry guys. I took the 42-gallon back to Home Depot and got the smaller can. Everyone was happy.
Today though, the garbage man not only took stuff, he left us all a present. Apparently Waste Management got a new contract, or new truck, or something because everyone in my little condo complex received a brand new GIGANTIC plastic city-owned trash bin. This thing is the size of Kansas. Even bigger than the original 42-gallon one they were so upset about. I guess the trucks have stronger back muscles than The Man.
Unfortunately fitting this monster in my garage has been a challenge. It's only a one-car garage and with all my daughter's stuff packed up in boxes in there, there's not much room left for things besides the washer/dryer and the Jeep.
Now that it's 3am and my brain is getting fuzzy, I don't know why this is news, but it did make me laugh earlier trying to fit it in the garage. I swear the Jeep actually glared at it because the only place for it is right in front of its nose. I tried along the side but squeezing the car between that and the other wall was just too much maneuvering. The Condo Association won't let us keep cans outside where anyone can see them - not even on the back patio (not that I would want it there anyway), but seriously, where do they think we have room for these things? Why wasn't I consulted? Oh yeah, maybe if I'd go to the Condo Assoc. meetings I would know. :)
Okay, time for bed. I just discovered I have other blog entries I haven't even finished from awhile back, but there's no way I'm staying awake for that. I'm not even going to proofread this. Ooooo - living dangerously!

My Weekend on Space Mountain

First, I just have to note the date: 4.20 ::snicker, giggle:: Okay, moving on...

Over the weekend I've inhaled a book called The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. It's a short but amazingly powerful read. Dr. Pausch is dying of pancreatic cancer (weirdly, I just mistyped that as "pancreative"... hmmm...) at the very young age of 47. He gave a "last lecture" in September 2007 at Carnegie Mellon University that has been somewhat of a phenomenon thanks to the communicative powers of karma and the Internet.

Truly, Dr. Pausch's words are mostly common sense, but common sense is not that common these days. His main goal in giving the lecture, and the subsequent publishing of his book, may have been to leave a legacy for his children to remember him by, but I think he has given every reader the opportunity to receive his incredible gift of wisdom, and to learn something about good parenting, which is often missing these days. His book is a concise listing of many values and morals I was taught (and hold dear to my heart), and that I believe all children should learn. I've certainly tried to teach them to Katy and still have hope that they took root and just need the chance to grow.

I may not have been Dr. Pausch's student at the universities he taught at, but I would certainly count myself among those who have learned and benefited from his lessons. (And damn, I only paid $16 for all this! I'll bet none of the students in his classes can say that!)

Do yourself a favor and read this book. Even if you don't learn anything new, it brings all that positive thinking up to the front and that's worth whatever you might pay at the bookstore.

~*~

The last few days I've intended to write about the two Mraz concerts from last weekend, but the hours slipped by without a chance to download thoughts to the keyboard. Today I'm not sure those thoughts will escape my brain anytime soon because it would seem the Universe, like water, seeks its own level, even in matters of happiness. Balance in general is a good thing, but it will bitchslap you in the oddest ways when you're not ready for it.

The highs I felt from Jason's concerts were abruptly cut short Friday morning by a phone call I received from my mother. My cousin's five-week-old baby, Eian, died of heart failure. Although Eian had a rough time coming into this world, he seemed to be doing fine the last few weeks so his passing was quite a shock to everyone.

A line from The Last Lecture that I love: Experience is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted.

I have faith that everything happens for a reason. I also believe Eian is fine, happy and whole, back in the arms of the Universe, but how is that supposed to comfort a new parent who shared their baby's life so briefly? How can anyone expect my cousin to remain sane in the face of that kind of trauma? I haven't been able to think of anything to say that isn't completely stupid, so I haven't said much at all.

I feel detached out here in New Jersey, having never met Eian and only being able to offer support over the phone. I've been somewhat detached from my father's family for as long as I can remember, but this is a new feeling to me where my mother's family is concerned. I don't like it. It is SO time to get off the East coast.

I haven't had much experience with death in general either, but if how I felt after Joey, Katy's father, killed himself is any indication (and I wasn't on speaking terms with him when he left) then I'm a little familiar with the level of grief they're dealing with and it's not a place I would choose for anyone to be. If you're reading this, please send some positive thought to my cousin Amanda, and her husband Benny. I'm sure they can use it.

~*~

Here is the most stupidest thing ever: I was looking at a map of San Diego today and actually had a small panic attack thinking about how I've never been there, I don't know the streets or the neighborhoods or anyone who lives there - nothing about the place except it has great weather, awesome music, and possible earthquakes. I've never even visited. Don't get me wrong, I still want to be there and I will get there. The What Ifs just took over today tho. I guess adventure doesn't come without doubts. What kind of shitty pirate am I? I'm picturing my higher self holding a gun to my ego and making it walk the plank.

I'm trying to be cool and casual about the whole thing but at the same time I'm terrified I'll fuck it up somehow. I've probably said that a bazillion times already. Then I think about how we'd never learn anything without failure, and "be the first penguin" (also from The Last Lecture) and a dozen other things I know to be true, but I just couldn't quite stuff the panic back into Pandora's box looking at that map. I know it will turn out great in the end and it's not like I haven't done this before, but this leap of faith thing is tougher than it looks when you're standing on the edge with too much time to observe every angle of it except hindsight. In some cases, I think it's best to stop thinking. Now I get why they say "just do it."

(Maybe all this BS will make conquering my fear of the ocean a breeze. Because I will learn to surf.)

It's been quite the emotional roller coaster this weekend and I'd like to get off now before I throw up.