New year and new day

You'd think I would learn.

After all of the new planners, new purses, new notebooks, new organizers, new lists, new plans, new projects, new "leaves", you think I would learn, a leopard doesn't change its spots...

Does it?

A very wise friend of mine once said, "We reinvent ourselves every day." I like the optimism in that; I like the possibilities that are inherent in that statement. To that end, one should embrace not "New Years resolutions" but "New Day Resolutions."

But still, New Year's IS all about the hope, the changes, the possibilities. So while I'm not going to say "I resolve to do these things", I am going to say "This is what I'd like to make happen in the year ahead." And then maybe, day by day, I will reinvent myself.

(Although, I have to say, I do rather like myself and my life. I'd like to think I don't suck too much.)

And so, let's crack open a bottle of champagne and contemplate our navels, our lives, our new days, our new years!
______________________________________________________________

Health and Beauty:

• "Get skinnier than Jim" (in other words, my eldest sister and I have to see our biological father this summer. The man is a scrawny--and boringly healthy-- little...fellow...and both of us weigh more than he does. He already views himself as superior; we don't wish to give him any more ammo.)
• Establish a solid, consistent beauty routine.
• Vitamins, medications, and water. 'Nuff said.
• Look into getting serious work done on my sinuses. It might be time for surgery.

Creativity

• Do the Artist's Way, goddammit
• Blog at least three times a week
• Finish "Home Front"
• Write a piece on Indiana
• Finish the Indiana and wedding scrapbooks
• Take an acrylics class
  

Finances

• Stick to the budget
  
• Pay off that (thankfully wee) bit of credit card debt
• Have enough money set aside to pay off the car in March 2o12
• Do the "envelope system" for indulgent purchases
  

Family and Friends

• Say less, more
• Cultivate friendship with Missi
• Call grandparents at least twice a week
• Solidify Indiana relationships
• Be mindful of my position as a wife to Himself (basically, he's becoming much more of a public figure, which means I am along for the ride. And it's a very small town.)
  
• Be more supportive and patient with Himself

Professional

• Again, say less, more
• Keep the desk nice and tidy
• Cultivate more patience and tact
• Seize moments of leadership as they arise

_______________________________________________________________

Well, I'm about to be on to my second glass of champagne e. And I lift it up to all of us--may 2011 be the year of re-invention!

Thankful Thursdays, Part 2

There are some moments that you just want to be seared onto your brain, to be stowed away, safely, in your memory, untouched by time or forgetting. Tonight offered me one of those moments.

Through my entire worklife, I have been blessed with a number of jobs that I enjoyed, that provided me with a swarm of caring colleagues, tolerant supervisors, and helpful mentors. Time and time again, I've landed on my feet and gone to work happy, looking forward to the day. My current job has followed the same pattern. I jokingly call one of my bosses "mom" from time to time, the guy that sits across from my cubicle is my "little brother" (he's a week younger than me), and my team of reference librarians (all of whom are at least 30 years older than me) I view as a host of amused, kind aunts and uncles. They've nurtured me, taught me, encouraged me, held me in check, I daresay from time to time protected me. We're a team.

Once a month, we have a meeting at work, and go out for dinner afterward. Tonight, we went to a local Mexican restaurant, where we knocked back some margaritas, swapped gossip about libraries in the region, ate, and listened to a rather loud mariachi band. The music and singing were a little annoying at first (especially when you're trying to hear your former boss tell your current boss who just got a major position elsewhere in the county), but once the margaritas cast their spell, the music brought in its own magic.

At one point, the band moved over to us and began leading a bawdy song with a chorus that
went :

Guacamole!
Guacamole!
We were making guac-a-mole all night long!

I looked around at my "mom" and my aunties, all of them smiling, singing, warm in the low light of the restaurant, their faces so beloved and familiar to me, and I thought my heart would break of happiness. The moment was priceless, beautiful--fleeting.

But it's imprinted here, and in my brain, and it will be one that I shall not let go.

Thankful Thursdays

This Thursday, I am tickled pink by:

1. Working on Saturdays, so that I can have the following Friday off...which means that Thursday is my end of the week. Cheers for long weekends!

2. A husband who doesn't mind my sinus-induced, horrifically nasty morning breath. Seriously, folks, it's foul. I taste it. My cat Maggie waddles up to me and tries to stick her head in my mouth. And Himself simply chuckles and compares it to either a dead starfish or the Salton Sea. (Go to the Salton Sea and you'll know what I mean.)

3. Friends. That's right, you read it correctly. You know, that 10-season show that defined my generation, symbolized the hope and prosperity of the 1990s, and brought us lots of cheesy pop culture goodness. I LOVE that show. Four years ago, back when I first moved to California, I was a very green librarian and constantly questioning the wisdom of moving and feeling frustrated by my job and terribly homesick. I'd go to my boyfriend the Cyborg's house, and obtuse though he was about my feelings and needs (he was called The Cyborg for a reason) he knew enough to plunk me down in front of the television, pour me a glass of wine, pop in Friends, and two hours later I'd be as right as rain. These days, I just watch it in front of the exercise bike as I am huffing and puffing away, but it still helps get the job done!

4. Not giving a toss that most people find my love for Friends to be incredibly bourgeois.

5. Finally...Adirondack Alcohol inks. I haven't figured out what else to do with them, but I tell you what, couple 'em up with Martha Stewart glitter and you can craft some really freaking lovely ornaments!

The Words that Go Unsaid

Well, I feel like a tool. I recently just fell for the oldest blogging trick in the book.

I still read blogs avidly--the blogs of people I know, and homemaking and crafting and scrapbooking blogs, mostly. And I read all about these ladies' lives, and I think "My god, how lucky they are! How happy they are! Look at their beautifully cooked meals/cute kids/orderly homes/lovely craft projects!"

You see where this is going. Hello, inferiority complex!

I think it gets worse when it's someone I know. For example, a friend of mine from the Indiana days is a newlywed, and an avid (and skilled) cook/blogger/crafter. She writes beautiful and uplifting things about her life, right down to her faith, and I simultaneously admire and envy her. AND she lives back East, where there are four seasons.

Purely by accident, I imed her today on google chat. And we got to talking and catching up--and that's when I realized I had fallen for it. I remarked on her blog, and how charmed her life seemed, and her response?

"Well I only write things that are happy."

D'oh! Of course! It's a blog! My sister, who has been blogging since 2001, has a cardinal rule: "Only post the good stuff." Funny that, I thought this was a trait unique to my sister. Apparently not! And if my sister and my friend only blog the good stuff, well, I bet the same is true for a lot of other ladies out there.

I suppose I could do that (I suppose I will do that). The ugly fact about it is, I have a tendency to focus on my blue devils and ignore the awesome stuff in my life--so nothing ever gets posted these days. I'm going to try to get back into the groove with blogging, even if it's only to talk about the awesome stuff in my life and focus on that and make all you readers (at this point, just my afore-mentioned friend, sister, and the omnipresent Indiana stalker) embrace your inner inferiority complex!

Ha. Maybe not so much. At least not intentionally.

But talking with my friend was immensely reassuring--she copped to the 9.5 million fights a week she and her husband have (they are still happy, incredibly so), and unintentionally reminded me that that is fairly normal. And that's the lesson of the day...

There's a lot that people don't tell you about being married.

And there's a lot that I still don't know about being married.

But I'm learning.

Not sure that that's what I'll be posting, but expect some good content in the near future!

Maybe I Should be Posting Here, Once a Season

The only thing I have to say in defense for my absence on the blogosphere...if I can't even keep a cactus alive in the DESERT (refer to Exhibit A below), how on earth am I supposed to keep this thing going?



















So, right around the first of October, a really remarkable thing happened.

The weather turned.

I know that's not big news to those of you who live in a place where there are four distinct seasons (as opposed to greater and lesser rings of Hell), but to us, this is actually amazing--the weather actually noticed what season it was and obliged!

What ensued was this: several days of high temperatures being in the high seventies, a gentle cool breeze, and...wait for it...rain.

Like, the wet stuff that falls from the skies. There was even thunder!

Of course, this freakish phenomenon passed soon enough; currently, on this 10th day of October, it's forecasted to hit a toasty 97 degrees. So there's no crisp, cool autumn days, no need for a fire on the hearth, no desire for mulled wine or toasted punkin seeds...and of course, no expectation of it. And even though our bout with autumn has passed, I have gotten into the mood. This is, after all, my favorite time of the year...even now, when I am currently being burnt into a crispy pile of dust. I still love this time of year, even now.

This has manifested itself in two different ways: I've tried to decorate a little for the autumn...

Yes, a few plastic punkins and fake leaves clear means AUTUMN in Chez Desert. (And no, that round orange thing on the couch is not a punkin. That's one of our kitties, Miss Magdalene.)

The other thing that has happened as a result of this brief season is that I am starting to think beyond fall and focus on my absolute very best most favorite holiday--Christmas! In addition to it being my very first married Christmas, my eldest sister will be visiting. So it's going to be a lovely holiday, and I'm already plotting away.

(Whether or not any of these plots or plans come to fruition is completely beside the point!)

So here's to punkins, and cooler weather, and surviving another Palm Springs summer, and to producing a Christmas that will go down in memory...in a good way!

A Lesson on Learning to Love My "Forever Life"

I am just wrapping up my fifth summer in California.

Well, wrapping up isn't quite the word for it, as it's about 11 days from the beginning of fall, and we're forecasted for the low-100s all next week. But hey! That's 'way down from the 116 degree + humidity temps we had at the end of August/beginning of this month. You learn to take what you can get and be happy with it.

But anyway, summer is, in theory, ending; the kids are back in school; the orange/red/yellow decorations are out in the stores; people on my blogroll are talking about crisp air and autumn projects and quite frankly, I want to punch them in the face. Really, really hard.

This is not a healthy response. I know this.

So...a few weeks back, I was thinking on this unhappy state of affairs. And then that night I went home and read Single Infertile Female' s blog, and she was talking about her "Forever Life" and how she was afraid that it was going to be defined by fear and loneliness and bitterness and disappointment. What stuck in my head was the term "forever life". I didn't realize why until the next day, at work, when it occurred to me that we all, eventually, commence our forever life.

And I had just commenced mine this summer (of all times!) I cast my lot in with Himself, committed myself to a life with him, for better or for worse. I'm so happy that I did. But. Himself loves the desert; he grew up here, he loves the mountain and the trails and the deadly black widows and velvet ants and rattlesnakes and the roadrunners and the bighorns. He loves it here.

And me, not so much. I dislike being so far from my family; I miss rain and seasons and cold weather; I miss old houses and barns and fields and the color green...well, you get my picture.

But this is my Forever Life. This is it. Himself and I both have great jobs, and coupled with the fact that he loves it so much, it's looking more and more like we won't be leaving here any time soon.

If ever.

It finally sunk in that day at work. In the course of a few hours, I grew up and faced facts: my circumstances won't be changing, so what do I do? Continue bitching and whining and making disparaging remarks about California? That would only strain and perhaps kill my marriage. Quietly resign myself to it and act all passive-aggressively like the long-suffering wife? Unlikely; the act would be too difficult to sustain. So, the third option: Adapt. Like it or lump it or make yourself love it--and do so genuinely. And until you get to that point, celebrate the great parts and learn to cope with graciousness.

I think we can guess which route that I am taking.

It's simple enough--I simply try, day to day, to find the funky, funny, quirky, delightful, gratifying things about living here. I throw myself more into my job than ever. I make a genuine effort to cultivate lasting friendships.

But just now, I learned another thing that I have to do.

A lot of unhappiness comes from comparing yourself and your circumstances to others; seeing what they have and being envious of them. Now we come back to where I want to commit aggravated Internets assault against innocent homemakers on my blog. No so much with the healthy, there.

Just prior to composing this post, I happened upon this:











A real estate listing re-blogged on Hooked on Houses. I am a total sucker for these types of houses, and so I followed the link...

Only to find out that this house is in the town from whence I originally spawned, Milford, Ohio.

It's selling for $189,000.

Of course, I began perusing the link, ogled over the compact little rooms, the hardwood floors, the pleasing reds and neutrals. And then I caught it--that little kernel of unhappiness, starting to swell and explode--and I knew what I had to do.

I closed the tab.

If part of graciously coping and eventually building a genuinely happy life out here depends on me turning away from pictures of My Ideal Life, then that's what needs to be done. Is it sticking my head into the sand?

Well, yes. But whatever works, right? And I live in the desert, so at least there's plenty of sand to go around!L

Sick Abed

I love and hate it when I am sick.

Hate it because physically, I am miserable, and emotionally, I feel so goshdarned guilty for not being at work, where I belong.

Love it because it's a damned near irreproachable reason to do nothing.

Yesterday, I felt just plain punk. Freezing cold, all day, and several times, I felt like I was going to pass out. Went home at the usual time, got eight hours of sleep, and woke up exhausted.

With a sore throat.

Yeah, nothing good can come of this. But I showered, dressed, took my sorry self into work, and made it all of one hour before I drove home to my bed, my cats, and my zicam.

So now I lie, here in bed, feeling very miserable and wondering what the heck is wrong with me. It's not the usual m.o. for my notorious head-colds-turned-sinus-infections-or-bronchitis-or-pneumonia. We'll have to see if I get better or worse.
____________________________________________________________________

In other news, it's August.

Thank the frigging lord.

Don't get my wrong--here in the deserts of the Armpit Empire, July and August are the worst months. And sometimes, September can be nasty, too.

But it's August, and it means that we're on the downward slope. We're one month closer to my favorite time of the year. If I lived in a place where there were actual seasons, and a genuine rhythm to life, I would rejoice, weep with joy, and begin to listen with a tiny bit of sorrow as the summer dies away and gives in to the gentle death that autumn brings. If I lived in such a place, I would perhaps feel more connected with this life that seems to be speeding past without my full attention.

But then again, maybe I wouldn't.

Anyway, I don't live in a place where there are real seasons, and let's face it, most of my life has been this way. Familiarity might not be the most joyful option, but it is the most realistic...and at least it breeds a certain grim, passive will to get through it.

And since I don't live in a place with seasons, I simply have to smile as we get through the second half of the awful time of year, and thank god that we're one day closer to a little less misery. And mark the days until I can celebrate Fake Autumn and Imaginary Winter.

As Himself says, "we do have seasons: the leaves are on the trees, the leaves are off the trees."

Heh. But what he fails to mention is that here in the deserts of SoCal, we have very few trees, and even less that have the kind of leaves that change color.

But one day, in a couple of months, it's only going to get up to 85 degrees. And when the sun goes down, a breeze will come up and it will actually be a cool breeze, and everything, from us to the cats to the cactus, will be slightly revived and energized.

And if we're really lucky, this might happen before Halloween.

Thank god it's August.

A Slice of Life

Pop quiz!

What do Crazy Aunt Purl, Single Infertile Female, and Pioneer Woman all have in common?

They're all successful bloggers.

In other words, they're not me.

Common sense dictates that in order for a blog to actually be worth its salt, posts have to be both regular and engaging. Apparently I have that common sense, and yet lack the follow-through to make it a reality. Go figure.

Maybe it's because my one faithful reader (sisters and stalkers don't count) is on hiatus as she packs up to move from England to Indiana. Without her reading, who is there left to blog for? And if any of you wise guys out there say "blog for yourself!" I think I shall have to reach across the cyber divide and thump you.

Among the unremarkable quotidian adventures of the past few weeks, there have been:

-Numerous crickets making their way into our home. I felt like an awful housekeeper until someone assured me that they are everywhere in the summertime. Poor things, they're probably just trying to find respite from the 115-degree heat. Unfortunately, around here they get in from the heat only to walk straight into the jaws of our cats.

-In less than two weeks, I get to fly home to Florida for an extended weekend with the family. Since I won't be able to make it out for Thanksgiving this year, this is as good as it gets.

-We snorkeled with sea lions earlier this month.

-We're thinking about getting a Siamese kitten.

-We've planned a trip to Sequoia National Park in September. As Himself was booking the cabin, he exclaimed, "Hey, pets are allowed?"

"You want to take Austen and Maggie?" I asked in disbelief.

"Actually, I was thinking about taking the fish."

There you have it, folks. What you've been missing. Maybe more interesting content coming soon?

A Promise of Things to Come. Theoretically, at least.

It was 112 today. I think it's going to be the same tomorrow.

But, even with that, I discovered the bestest thing in the whole wide world.

JoAnn's is starting to bring in their fall merchandise.

I know, I know, it's 112 degrees outside, and here I am blathering on about fall. And the sad thing is, when fall rolls around, it will still be well into the 90s.

But I love autumn, in theory and in practice, even if we don't really have it out here. And with JoAnn's help, at least I can make it autumn inside my home!!!!

Thinking on Thursday: It's the Little Things

Currently, I'm reading The Happiness Project for my book group. It's making me think a lot--not that this is a hugely challenging book, but it does bring up some relevant points--and consider the things in my life that make me happy or unhappy. I'm not ready to say just yet if I am willing to commit to a Happiness Project (okay, who am I kidding? I am a sucker for this stuff), but I am certainly willing to celebrate the little things that bring joy into my life.

So. Something that makes me happy? Leftovers--really really yummy leftovers--for lunch at work.

It's crazy and more than a little stressful most mornings at my job. The days that I have a good lunch of leftovers waiting in the staff room fridge are days when there's just a little bit of extra sparkle in the air. I eagerly anticipate lunch; it's a pleasurable time, in which I get to savor some yummy goodness and also be reminded of the original dinner, which is usually an event enjoyed with Himself.

Last night we had friends over and Himself fixed a delicious pesto pasta with shrimp. There was just enough left of it for me to take to work today, and anticipate, and finally snarf down at lunch, and enjoy every little morsel of it. That makes me happy!

















It also...almost...makes me want to cook all the time so I always have yummy leftovers for lunch!

Which leads to the ultimate thought on Thursday: is the pleasure in savoring something so slight and minimal decreased upon repetition of it?

Work on Wednesday: One Day Late Due to Earthquake Action

Okay, now is as good a time as any to use the "earthquake excuse." I'm sorry I didn't post yesterday; I was too busy surviving an earthquake!

A few things to note here:

1. We're, like, a bunch of years overdue for the next Big One. We're pretty much on top of the San Andreas Fault, which erupts every so often in geological history. It hasn't erupted in a while. On top of that, there are oodles of other quite active faults in SoCal as well.

2. I work for a city that takes disaster preparedness VERY seriously. I have an emergency worker ID, a number to call when Armgaeddon happens, and a lot of expectations about what will be required. Not only that, but about twice a month all city staff are reminded of what to do in an earthquake: Drop, Cover, and Hold On.

3. I laughingly tell my Director that my codename is "Jigsaw" because I expect myself to go to pieces when catastrophe strikes.

Well, each time in the past, I have not been at work when the earthquakes hit. I've been at home, and each time, I have frozen in terror and didn't do the Drop Cover Hold On bit. Epic fail.
And then...yesterday it all changed.

Thank god it was not bigger, or closer, than it was. It could have been a very bad scenario: later afternoon; dozens of children still in the building for the Kids's Program; the middle of summer and therefore brutally hot and sunny. I was talking with one of my bosses in the doorway of her office when we felt the first tremble. I paused to see if that was it.

It wasn't.

It was loud. The next tremble hit, and I dove under my boss's desk. I felt like a fool, staring at my boss's feet (she had not yet taken cover) and I actually apologized. Then the next rumble, worse than the first two, hit and then my boss was right there beside me, taking cover under her desk.

Thankfully, her desk is big.

As the rumbling and trembling was still happening, I turned to her and said, "When this is over, we'll need to check on the patrons." I said it almost conversationally.

It took a while for the trembling to end. It tapered off, until it was just giving these occasional, convulsive shudders, in a twisted parody of an extremely prolonged orgasm. When the floor was finally done twitching, we emerged and joined the sea of city employees surging out of the workroom and into the Library proper. Our g

oal was clear and didn't need to be spoken: check on the patrons. See if they are okay.

Thankfully, everyone was.

I learned a few things during this event: 1. That I chose to die with my boss (that actually went through my head as I dove under her desk "I'd rather die in here with ---- than over there, alone, under a workbench). Didn't matter that I didn't die. I could have. And I thought I might. 2. I didn't actually go to pieces. In fact, I kept my head enough to Drop Cover and Hold On (I suspect I was worried that if I didn't, I would have points deducted on my annual evaluation). Ad 3. My library rocks.

Quite literally, actually!

Manic Monday in Marriage

Today has been an interesting day in the marriage of Sassy and Himself.

And the day's barely half over.

It started innocuously enough. We both had a day off. I slept in. He went out for a massage. I woke up. Eventually he came home.

Maybe that's where we went wrong: me waking up and him coming home.

Because when that happened, the shit hit the fan.

What we argued about is certainly not relevant here, and possibly not relevant within the context of the our marriage. To be terribly reductive, we'll just say that it came down to chore division. For now, we'll assume that there are not underlying issues. What is relevant is how we handled the quickly-escalating situation.

It had the potential to be not pretty. In fact, it was fairly unpretty. It seems unkind and petty to say "he started it," and not even that is particularly relevant. What IS relevant is this: I think we both did something right in how we handled the situation. I didn't rise to the bait, and ultimately, he didn't pursue it.

What did happen was this: he went off to the spare bedroom, and I began to clean. The entire time I was cleaning, I was thinking angry, frustrated thoughts. I was hurt, I was boiling mad, and at least in my head, I was on a warpath.

And then he came out of the guest room. I threw him one dark, deeply foul look before continuing on with my current task of vaccuuming. After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings."

You know when in a disagreement, someone offers an olive branch, at least ostensibly? And sometimes you take the olive branch, and you begin to communicate and hopefully make up and forgive each other, but it degenerates into a continuation of the anger and miscommunication of before?

That could have happened.

But it didn't.

I looked up at him with tears brimming in my eyes, and I said, "I can't talk about this right now. Because I want what is best for us and our marriage, and talking right now won't be helpful."

He went away again. I continued cleaning. He took a nap, I filed some things...do you see where this is going? I took the time to cool off; I deliberately avoided a situation of saying angry things; he respected that, he took the time to cool off.

After about ninety minutes, I went into the guest room and laid down on the bed with him. I threw my arms around him. He woke up. We cuddled. We looked into each others' eyes, and we soothed each others' hurt feelings. We still haven't discussed the issues; we will when the time is right.

The main thing is this: in marriage, in ANY romantic and committed relationship...bite your tongue. Give your anger time to cool off. With time comes perspective, and with perspective comes the awareness that really, what does it matter, in the great scheme of things? It doesn't matter who's right and who's wrong, at least not at this point. It matters how you can fix things together, and avoid them getting broken in the first place.

Sassy and Himself earned major marriage points today, I think.

What I'm Not Doing this Independence Day

Well, Himself and I are well into Month 2 of Married Life. Month 1 consisted of a little bit of homemaking, a lot more alcoholic consumption, a beach trip, a trip up the mountain, and one film festival, also known as a Test of Our Marriage. When Himself is dealing with that sometimes unpleasant aspect of his job, I find myself dealing with that sometimes unpleasant aspect of my husband.

He and I are thinking maybe I need to go out of town for the next Film Festival.

And now it's Month 2, and so far, it has not folded very auspiciously. I've been ridonkulously exhausted, and therefore have neglected housework and my person is equal measures. Yesterday I woke up with a wee bit of a scratchy throat, and I immediately seized upon the possibility of the Death Headcold of Doom as a potential source of my exhaustion. So, instead of making new traditions on our first Married Holiday, Himself is at the water park with our friend Brain, and I am at home, dallying about online and trying to rest and simultaneously restore our home--and therefore my life--into some semblance of order.

Who knows? Maybe that is the new tradition.

Later on, after the sun sets, we will make our way to one of the rooftops of a two-story building, and from that ideal perch, we will watch the fireworks, well-removed from the crowds of folks doing the same. Hopefully I'll get some pictures, and that will at least be photographic evidence that we made an attempt at Married Holiday the First.

Happy Fourth! Hope you're having fun on this summer day of traditions old and new.

Top 5 Friday: Etsy Lust

Five Things I Covet on Etsy Right now:





























3 Bare Chipboard Rectangle Frames, sold by StudioCeeCee

I love journaling! It's my favorite part of scrapbooking, the whole "writing about the experience." The only think I love more is finding fancy and creative ways to journal. And what's better than decorate-and-embellish-yourself journaling frames?
Okay, this was supposed to be just a post about what I want from Etsy, but it might become a post about what I bought from Etsy...













Floral Kitchen Tea Tin, sold by Kitchenlily

This is a bit of a nonsequetur...When I was growing up back in Florida, my mom had this cookie jar...it was absolutely hideous. I think it was ceramic (I suspect she or my grandmother actually may have made it in a ceramics class) and the majority of it was this speckled taupe pseudo-stone-looking color. It had a brown lid, and an interesting little scene painted on the front of it. It looked like a farm in the middle of winter, with some bare trees in the background, and some men leading some horses and a bobsled, maybe, out of a barn. Have I mentioned how hideous it was?

God, I miss that cookie jar. Mum kept oreos in there, and an occasional chocolate chip cookie. I always loved looking at that jar, because it reminded me of what I believed farm life must have been like a bunch of years ago, in a place where there actually were seasons.

I was as weird as a child as I am as an adult. I don't know what happened to that hideous jar, but lord, I want it. I want the feelings and imaginings it evoked in my mind.

I think I want the oreos, too.













Rainbow Prism Suncatcher, Sold by Razzle Bedazzle

Okay, so I don't actually want this...but I want to MAKE it. And I think I can--how cool is that???













Stack of old books hand painted necklace, sold by HeatherKent.

Okay, I can't make this one; I concede defeat. Which makes me lust for it all the more!


















Scrabble tile pendant, batman symbol, sold by Thetrendyturtle.

It's official. WANT. Where's my wallet?


Aurgh. This is NOT a Top 5 Friday I will be repeating! Excuse me while I purchase stock in Etsy.

Definitely More Poo than Wife

Today is definitely one of those days where I'm more poo than wife.

I have zero energy. Actually, more like negative amounts of energy. Nothing; all of my reserves are tapped. I'm exhausted, and all I want to do is sleep. When I get like this, everything goes out the window--chores, creativity, exercising, socializing. What energy I have is concentrated on: being up on time, bathing, getting to work, doing a good job, being nice to Himself, scooping kitty litter. Really. That's all I'm good for right now.

And this depresses me.

It's just that this nasty, insidious thought lurks at the back of my head: what's the point?

Why bother to exercise every day? You have to keep doing it, you don't really enjoy it. Why bother to clean the house? It just gets dirty again and you're usually the one who has to clean it and that takes away from the time you could be spending doing crafting or writing. But what's the point in that, either? Nothing you make is original. And what's the point in getting up, going to work, running errands? There's always more work, more errands, always in this infernal heat and sunshine.

No one likes whining in the blogosphere. It's so...well, bourgeois. This is all I have to fuss about, the dissipated ennui that comes along with a solid middle class existence where the worst problems I encounter are not forging for nuts and berries and game, or avoiding marauding bands of rapists and pillagers, or worrying about religious persecution, but rather, high cholesterol, budget cuts, the desert weather, and my painful cracked toenail. No, no one likes whining. And I try not to do a whole bunch of it, especially here. But there's no point in being anything other than authentic, and right now, I feel authentically crappy.

But at least I'm present.

And tomorrow's another day.

Creatin' Ain't Easy

Here's another dirty little secret of mine:

I don't like to try new things.

My sisters Thing One and Li'l Odie have this same problem. We've discussed this at some length and have come to the determination that if we want to learn some new task, we don't want to actually go through the learning process. We want to be GOOD at it as soon as we try our hand at it. We don't like to fail; we don't like the practice runs and the messy screw-ups. We're scared of the crap that will get produced in the learning period.

_______________________________________________________________

On a side note, about 6 weeks ago I went to my first cropping meet-up. The hostess was lovely and gracious and all things awesome, and when she showed us her scrapping space, she apologized for the mess, but added, "But you know...creativity isn't clean."

______________________________________________________________

Then, right after Himself and I got back from the weddingmoon, I cleaned the kitchen. And then proceeded to cook in the kitchen. As I was cooking, I was talking on the phone with Thing One (talking on the phone when making dinner? this might be why my cooking sucks. Note to self: investigate this hypothesis) and quietly bitching about how the kitchen was getting dirty all over again. Thing One, an experienced and talented cook, simply said in the half-amused, half-exasperated tone she has perfected after 30 years of dealing with her neurotic baby sister, "Well, Sassy, if you use the kitchen...it's going to get dirty."

______________________________________________________________

Now, to tie those two little stories back into my silly little revelation...I like to create. I am getting a total charge from all these ideas percolating in my little Gemini brain. I haven't got a bloody clue what I'm doing, but I like to create, dammit. And creating means learning, trying, failing, making messes (often the latter two are one and the same)...I'm not going to sustain this creative bliss if I'm not willing to get past the fear of sucking. Maybe I'll always suck at whatever I try my hand at...but at least I'll have a creative high while I'm sucking!

I guess one has to be bad at something, or at least unskilled, before one can get good at something, especially if there is not an innate talent or originality in the creator. But I am willing to make messes, I am willing to try, I am willing to fail, and even fail publicly: I am willing to blog about this process.

Here's one of the projects I've tried my hand at; it's my first piece of jewelry.
















It's just a dinky pair of earrings, but I will give them to my friend Gail with the little Mexican flower twisted around them. It just may be a thank-you for her taking care of a friend (NOT me, oh no, why would you think that? *cough cough*) who may have had too much to drink last night.

Anyway. Moving along. I think I've had all the creativity I can take for one evening. Happy Sunday!

Making on Mondays, A Little Late: My First Craft Project!

It is time.

Enough living in shame. Enough denial. It's time I admit something.

I have...a sickness. Perhaps affliction is a better word. And I thought I was the only one who had it. I thought I was all alone.

And then, by sheer happenstance, I discovered that others have this problem, too. These women were brave enough to admit it, and they gave me the courage to bring it out into the light. No more hiding. No more silence.

I...I have Craft ADD.

Char, over at Crap I've Made, came out of the craft closet about this sickness. Being all new to this crafty shit and all, I didn't realize that I would become so swamped, so quickly, by so many great exciting creative ideas. And not just about crafts, but art and writing, too. What's worse, I'm a Gemini, and so even if I were not predisposed to being fickle and inattentive, years of people saying "Oh! You fickle Geminis!" certainly rendered me thus. So for the past six weeks, my attention, time, and bank account have been pulled into about 35 different crafty creative directions. I felt frustrated and overwhelmed as much as I felt charged and excited. I thought, "Geez, how am I ever going to get any one project done? I'm an EPIC FAIL before I ever got started."

But Char acknowledges it--the inability to finish a project, the multiple projects she has going at once, and of course, the overwhelming compulsion to swing by the local craft store.

Thank god I'm not alone.

But I am going to make a concerted effort to nip this affliction in the bud. Which is why I present to you, Dear Reader, my first project, The Gimpy Crafter's Goal Board:




























(And my messy craft desk)

The idea is simple. The current creative projects are written down and clipped to the board. Evert time I finish a project, a space will become available. I will reach into my stash of ideas that I've written down, blindly grab an idea, and add it to the board. Every time I find a creative idea (or come up with one) that I want to try, I will write it down on a piece of paper and throw it into the stash. Until I pull it out, I will not allow myself to think about it again. I will only focus on the ones that are on the board.

This little project was essentially a small spin-off from the Menu Planning board project that I found on the All Things Beautiful blog. I basically zoomed out to the Dollar Store, picked up a whole bunch of their cheap corkboards, took some Modge Podge, acrylic paint, ribbon, scrapbook paper, decorative punches, and a couple of pretty stickers and went to town.

I used jewel tones (teal, purple, fuschia) because I absolutely love them and I don't care if they are a hideous combination because it's my durned goal board, kthxbye!















So, that's my first project! It got the creative juices flowing, and hopefully will help me curb my...compulsion...too!

Computer is Ill, I am keeping vigil...

...Since the little laptop decided to stop working, I will be on hiatus for a few days, as I don't like posting at work. But in the meantime, please console yourselves by entering

THE BEST BEAD GIVEAWAY EVER!!!

















Check out this lovely giveaway here at Denise Yezbak Moore's blog!

See you in a few days!

Acorns and Trees

Tonight, while buzzed on a gin gimlet (okay, two) I was scrolling through my Google Reader. It's the night before Father's Day, and in my collection of Mommy/Homemaker Blogs, that's a BIG DEAL (who knew?). A lot of ladies are blogging about Father's Day crafty gift ideas, and more power to them. I should, in fact, do something for my husband Himself. He's a dad, twice over. And I will call my grandfather, and email my ex-stepfather, and call my ex-partner, the beloved Mr. Indiana, who is a fairly new father.

But that's all.

You might notice the factor missing from this equation: my biological father.

In recent years, when referring to him, I've taken to referring to him by his Christian name.

Jim.

Not Dad.

He and my mother divorced when I was very young, like 6 months old or so. He was not consistently present when I was growing up, and from years 9-14, he was not present at all. That he became a presence in my life from that point on, I owe to his father, my fraternal grandfather. He engineered a reunion, and for years, my father and I stayed in touch. He became involved, more or less. Certainly emotionally, more or less financially. I have to give credit where it's due: he helped fund my summer in England when I was 19, and he made my first year of grad school a little bit easier. But he also gave my maternal grandparents a lot of grief when they asked if he would be helping out with my college tuition, as they were. I still remember how upset they were--Mawga and Boppa never repeated whatever he said to them, but the look in their eyes was enough.

The time came, almost four years ago, when my father decided he no longer approved of me. He thought I was immature, selfish, disrespectful, ungrateful, insolent...and who knows? Maybe I was. Maybe I am. Probably I am. But it's worth noting that he "cancelled his subscription" (his words, not mine), and since he did that (and also, before) no one else has laid those accusations at my doorstep. He sent me a very curt card, cutting off communication, and his wife my stepmother did as well. And I've not heard from him since.

And I must say, life is a little bit easier.

He doesn't like me, Jim doesn't. He doesn't approve of the person that I've become. And you know what? That's okay. I'm the one who has to live inside my own head and wake up and go to sleep with myself every day, and you know what? I like the person I have become. More or less.

Anyway, I've been reading all these "Yay! Father's Day" posts, and it's a little foreign to me. And then I encountered one where the author made the remark about the how the "apple doesn't fall far from the tree"--all of us are a product of our parents.

And I began to ruminate.

If that was the case, that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, considering my parents, I'm screwed. If that's the case, I have my father's assholish, selfish mannerisms, his belligerence and skill at brow-beating, his coldness. If that's the case, I have my mother's hoarding tendencies, her slightly vindictive streak, her foul mouth, her particular brand of illogic, her self-survival instincts which trumps everything, even filial and maternal duty.

But then I stopped with the negative and asked myself--why do I only have to have inherited the bad? If the apple stayed close to the tree, couldn't it also have been an apple which had the flavorful juices of my father's artistic talent and creativity, his sense of adventure, his sometimes-spot-on logic? Couldn't it also have been an apple which had the nutrition of my mother'sunfailingly unconditional love, her sharp but true sense of humor, her stringent honesty with her own failings?

We are the sum of our parents, and so much more. We have their failings and their strengths, and remarkable qualities and weaknesses that are unique to us. And in the absence of a loving and supportive biological father, that is what I will celebrate this Father's Day.

Satisfied on Saturday: Happiness Is...

On this Saturday evening, happiness is composed of several things:

1. Not once, during this entire day, did I have to set out in the wicked desert heat.

2. (So far) Making good on my promise to use the exercise bike every day

3. Cleaning and organizing the craft studio














(Sadly, these pictures were taken AFTER I organized the Crap--er, Craft Studio)





















(The base of operations, kinda. That sounds much better than "where I d-ck around on the computer.")
















(My sister, Thing One, will recognize some of the books in the bookcase. Lordy knows she helped me pack up enough of them throughout the years. Sadly, they've only spawned and multiplied since she last saw them.)

And the fourth and final definition of happiness on a Saturday night is...

4.) A lovely, strong gin gimlet in one of my martini glasses after I am done organizing the Craft Studio
















(Maybe I should have made it PRIOR to the organization project!)


Tomorrow we're escaping the desert heat and caravaning down to the beaches of San Diego. There, despite my girly-girl ways, you will find me boogie-boarding in the surprisingly chilly 70-degree waters. And then...a big ol' International Film Fest is going to take up all of the time and energy of Himself this week, so this is his last period of fun and relaxation before all the movie industry divas and diva-wannabes descend upon the desert.

Makes my line of work seem downright stress-free in comparison! Maybe I'll be more wife than poo this week and cook some dinner and bring it to his work.

Happy Saturday!

Five on Friday: The Freaky Fabulous Life of an Un-California girl (Along With Thoughts on Thursday: Living the Life of Someone Else's Dreams)

A little bit of photography detailing the freaky and fabulous things that can be found in the deserts of Southern California.

The tram that takes you from the 100-degree desert to the 65-degree mountaintop in 15 minutes:














The odd things people think it's acceptable do to their undersized dogs:














(This poor little guy does not belong to me, by the way)



The view where I work:

















The sun-drenched beach trips:




















The patriotic Drag Queen Shows:















So, early Thursday morning (like, early early) I had one of my occasional epiphanies.

Himself and I have this dream...not too long ago, we hatched this plan to someday (like, NO TIME soon) move to Asheville, NC. And it's a thought that's been taking root ever since, gaining nourishment from our bad days, our stressful days, my homesickness, Himself's desire for change. We're going to start looking at property there next year.

Already, I am trying to mentally prepare myself for the very far-off day in which we can make that transition. The latest preparations took the form of me doing a blogger search by location, looking for interesting bloggers who live in Asheville.

In my typical Gemini manner, I got fairly distracted very quickly. The blogs that I found weren't what I was looking for; didn't quite capture the fabulousness that must be felt when living in a place like Asheville, NC. Holy crap! I thought. These people live in Asheville, North Carolina, one of the most awesome places on Earth, and they can't even really depict their fabulous life in their blog. I could cheerfully strangle them right now.

And then it hit me--brutally, suddenly, and deservedly, as it usually does. I somehow had a moment of insight beyond my own little life and briefly wondered if somewhere in this country, some young girl is sitting here, daydreaming about a future fabulous life in Palm Springs, searching for blogs which really capture the life that she wants to have some day.

And here I am, epically failing to fulfill her desire.

So, can't promise anything, but Sassy's going to try to inject a little bit of Palm Springs funk into her blogging style. Can't hurt, right?

Oh! Bonus Shot:

The Liberal Pet Policies in Public Buildings:

Work on Wednesday: When the Political Becomes Personal

A rather lengthy disclaimer:

When trying to figure out the nature and feel of this here bloggy thing, I was really overwhelmed with what it could be. So many options...crafty, self-helpy, booky, worky, research-y...the one thing that I was sure about was what I DIDN'T want it to be...I didn't want it to be a politically-charged blog. It's not that I don't follow politics, or don't vote; rather, it's the opposite. I have very decided political and social opinions, and while I'm all about the free speech, I figured in this arena, for me, discretion was the better part of valor. I don't want any potential readers to feel uncomfortable or provoke their disapprobation. (Yes, I am guilty of the mortal sin of wanting to be liked.) As well, on the off chance that anyone figures out where I work, I never want this blog or its content to be interpreted or seen as a reflection of the views of my employers.

But, as I began ruminating over today's blog entry, one thing became painfully clear to me: in my profession, things get political very quickly. So there's going to be some politics here, from time to time. Like it or lump it, I say. Personal, professional, and political tend to blend together.

So, on that note...

Last week, as I was perusing my various professional publications, an interesting article caught my eye. I'll include excerpts from the article in bold; my initial thoughts in italics and quotes.

Indiana-East Chicago Public Library Director Manny Montalvo and his wife were arrested by transit police Thursday at the Millenium Park Metra Station, where police said the couple were heavily intoxicated, tried to board an empty South Shore train, and shoved and verbally abused officers who told them to leave the platform.Montalvo on Friday said he would fight charges of disorderly conduct, criminal trespass and battery of a police officer, and denied that he or his wife were intoxicated.

"We were at the Cubs game and we were running late, trying to get on the train and the cop is yelling at us and berating us," said Montalvo. "We needed to get on that train and get home to our kids."

"This could really be a misunderstanding. After all, cops aren't exactly known for giving the most accurate version of events."

The Montalvos became abusive, shouting obscenities at the officers who pointed out signs posted at the platform stating loud and disruptive behavior is not allowed on NICTD trains.

"Whoa, the newspaper's really screwing this up, not specifying that this is ALLEGED behavior. What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

"How come they didn't do no Breathalyzer? They didn't try to charge me with any alcohol charges because they knew they wouldn't stick," said Montalvo.

"Oh, HELL no. Oh no he didn't!"

Yeah, from that point on, "innocent until proven guilty" went out the window for me. It's not a particularly great reflection on me, I think, but I'll be the first to admit that I do a little bit of judging of a person based on their grammar and ability to articulate. It's not the sole basis for my opinions, but it weighs in, especially if the only thing I know about you is what you write. And when I read Montalvo's words, that was it. The end. Game over. What sort of Library Director talks like that?

Here's the uncomfortable truth: Public Library employees are government workers. They serve cities, counties, states, or special districts, and they are public servants. Not only do we serve the public, but we represent our government entity. I'm a bit of an unconventional patriot, but a patriot nonetheless, and I feel that there should be a great deal of honor and pride invested in being a government employee. It's an opportunity to serve the country, serve humanity, and do a part in forming "a more perfect union" and a better humanity.

And instead, government employees are loathed. We're laughed at, mocked, disrespected, thought ill of, regarded as corrupt, indifferent, incompetent, overpaid, and a bureaucratic sack of flesh and air. We should be proud to be government employees, and we should be doing all we can to bring approbation to our employers and success to our constituents. We should be worthy of the tax dollars spent on us, we should leave people thinking "Hey! They really DO deserve those pensions!" (Because let's face it, folks, cops and teachers and librarians and prosecuting attorneys don't go into our respective lines of work for the fame, glory, and riches. It's hard enough keeping body and soul together on our salaries; forget about making substantial investments to retirement. Is a decent pension really so unreasonable a reward for those who choose to dedicate their lives to serving a demanding public?)

In this economic climate, when libraries and schools are fighting tooth and nail for every cent they can come across, it's more important than ever for government employees to present a positive image to the country. We hold our presidents and politicians to a very high standard of behavior, and perhaps we, as government employees, should think about adopting those similar standards.

And learn how to talk correctly, too.

All Together on Tuesday: Redemption!

It's absolutely amazing, what productive results an antisocial evening in can yield. After lamenting away on my lunch break about how hopelessly sucky I am with regards to organization and productivity, I managed to pull myself together, come home, and:

• Washed my bathing suit
• Used the exercise bike for 20 minutes
• Washed and dried (but did not fold) a load of whites
• Gave myself a manicure
• Blogged
• Wrote a little
• Ordered scrapbooking supplies
• Ordered prints from the wedding
• Spent time with Himself via dinner and a movie
  
• Switched vacation wallet over to other, real-life wallet
  
• Passed on insurance paperwork to Himself
• Watered succulents
• Made bed (okay, I did that this morning)
  
• Laid out medications/supplements for the next four days
• Scooped kitty litter
• Plotted what outfit to wear to work on the morrow
  
• I even...located the thank you cards that went missing when I cleaned up and organized the craft studio (I know, pathetic. I get organized...and things get lost.) The downside to this is that now I have no excuses to keep on writing the thank-you cards, and the to-do list just got longer.

I must embrace the fact that the to-do list will never be done. But just because failure's inevitable, doesn't mean we can relinquish the honor of trying.

Over and out.

Together on Tuesday: Yeah, Right.

Here's a secret for you: I'm not so together, this Tuesday.

I've been back at work for all of a week, now, and already life is in its normal state of jumbled-up busyness and organization. Thank god for Himself--not only did he make me a margarita which surpassed the size of my largely-useless reproductive system, he cleaned the condo yesterday. If it weren't for him, I'd probably be a quivering stressball right now.

It's weird, it's totally psychological, but if my home is disordered, I feel so restless, so ill-at-ease, so not-together. I feel like I can't do anything until the home is in order.

So I get it in order.

It just doesn't stay that way.

All of my high-minded goals--planning meals for the week, planning my work outfits, setting up a chore chart--all of them fall by the wayside as I find myself struggling just to hold the line. Doing the laundry, getting enough sleep, feeding the cats, the kind of quotidian stuff that needs to happen every day, or almost--that's the stuff that absorbs my energy and attention. The extra projects, and the planning of a more sane life, that's all stuff I barely have time to think about, let alone tackle.

Wah, wah, wah. Woe is me.

In her blog, Organizing Solutions's Marcia Francois Joburg advises adding only 6 things a day to your to-do list when life gets hectic. I thought that was a great idea, but misunderstood it as adding as many items as you want, but committing to doing only 6 items a day. That actually works for me better than her original idea, because if I didn't add everything, I'd forget!

So, that's how I'm keeping it together this Tuesday. I'm gonna do 6 things, and call it a good day.


















Photo ganked from http://seamripper.wordpress.com/

This is not my life. But sweet fancy Moses willing, one day it will be!

Breaking News

...I have the world's best husband.















After a long and draining Monday, what better thing to come home to than a husband who has made you a margarita as big as your head?

On the minus side, this might complicate tonight's crafty endeavor. Oh dear.

Making on Mondays: Myself

Yesterday, at the end of a hellaciously busy weekend which may or may not have included a pomeranian, a burrow, a tempramental chef, and a little-too-gropey politician, I was ready to have a break from my weekend. I put on my jammies, ordered a pizza, wearily folded some laundry, and eagerly anticipated an episode of lost with Himself.

And then my phone rang.

It was my sister, Thing One, and one of three people in the world that I would delight in talking to. So of course I picked up, only to be greeted with her anxious voice asking, "Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah, Thing One. Why?"

"Because you haven't blogged in two days. I thought you might be dead."

And there you go. I had every intention of going through the blogging process on both Saturday and Sunday, but the schedule was literally packed from Friday night to Sunday night. Thing One says that blogging should be done for pleasure, not to be regarded as something I have to do, because therein lies the way of resentment. She's wise, Thing One is, so I'll try to take it to heart. So here's a promise: don't resent me for not posting, and I won't resent you for...well, anything.

Anyway, what am I making this Monday? Myself. But first, a little vignette to extrapolate:

It had been a fun, exciting day so far. Himself and Sassy Kitten weren't normally the guided tour type, but they made an exception for the Cancun Jungle Tour. And they were glad they did--they were in the vehicle with the guide, with one other car behind them, and that was it. They had made their way through the ruins, fed a dozen skittish iguanas, and had proceeded deep into the heart of the jungle. The small group of people finally got out of their vehicles, stretched, and reluctantly crept towards the edge of the cliff. Far, far below, glittering in the intense Yucatan heat and humidity, a cenote beckoned.

They were all sweating profusely, and it looked so tantalizing. One of the tourists asked, "How far below is it?"

"Thirty feet." The guide glanced around, a mischevious smile on his face. "Who wants to be the first Mayan sacrifice?"

Unyielding silence from the group. And then, Himself spoke up, in some confusion. "Where's Sassy?"

Everyone looked at each other, alarmed. And then, from far below, they heard a faint splash.

That's right. I jumped off a cliff, falling thirty feet (it was a lot farther down than it sounded) into a pool of cool, 120-feet-deep water. It hurt like the dickens. I did it because I wanted to, I did it because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. And I could do it, and I did do it--not very well, I have to add. I bruised my tailbone pretty badly.

And then I went and did it again, for good measure.

The moral of this story? I've proven to myself, time and again, that I am perfectly capable of doing things that end up being bad for me. So let's turn this around on its head, shall we? I am going to now prove to myself that I am capable of doing things that are good for me. I am going to make myself. Whatever that means. Each month, I will set a goal and try to meet that goal once a day, to prove to myself that I can, and to see how I benefit from it.

So! The first month (or, I should say, 30-day-stretch) will begin tomorrow and go until July 15. And the first month's goal is to use my exercise bike every day. It can be for five minutes, or fifteen minutes, or fifty. Any of it is good for me. So! As of tomorrow, I jump off the cliff of bad decisions and hopefully plummet into the waters of Better Things.

In the meantime, I leave you with this image:

I won't be cliff-jumping again any time soon!

Five on Friday: A Book Maven's List of Summer Reads

This week I can't really say "tgif" because it's my turn to work the Saturday shift. But that's okay, because I'm not stuck in a job where I'm counting down the minutes until the weekend.

And at least I have weekends, usually. In my last job--which was also my first official librarian gig--I didn't have weekends. I had days off: Sundays and Wednesdays. Absolutely brutal, and not exactly inducement for exploring the Southern California region.

But I digress.

It's been a fairly busy and productive week, all things considered, except in one very important area: reading. I didn't finish any books this week, nor did I make too much headway in Life Would Be Perfect if I Lived in This House or The Dead Travel Fast. A cardinal offense for a librarian! So, to begin atonement, I present this week's Five on Friday: A Librarian's Summer Reading List

The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin
It's non-fiction, which is a weak point of mine. I feel compelled to pause every 30 seconds and take notes, a most disturbing and lingering habit from college. But this has a certain memoir-feel to it; combine with that the distinct flavor of self-help and the fact that there's a rather intense blog about it and it's very orderly, and oh yes, the cover is a lovely shade of blue (librarians' collection development secret revealed!) and I give up, it's going to be the first book in the book group that I will establish this summer!
(Note to self: Establish book group this summer).

The Artist's Way, by Julia Cameron
My eldest sister Thing One and I will both be reading this book and the accompanying workbook this summer. She's a frustrated artist, and I am a deeply intimidated artist-wannabe, and again, the self-help nature, combined with the planned lesson format (and did I mention there's a workbook?) make this a deeply appealing read for a very Gemini person.
We'll be starting it on the Summer Solstice.


Sarah's Key, by Tatiana de Rosnay.
Okay, so this one actually is assigned reading. The Library's book group invited me to lead a discussion on Atonement last year, and I didn't suck! I didn't suck so much that they invited me back this year to lead the discussion group on this WWII historical. Um, yes, please? Book group is in August, so I've got a wee bit of time to read this and work up another not-sucking discussion.


The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger
Confession time: I never read this. Come on, High School English could only cover so many books! And anyway, how many of you have read Bleak House AND enjoyed it? So there. I kind of intensely dislike Salinger and suspect that he was a very wily sexual predator. But what the heck, I'll read his stinkin' book. I'm a librarian, after all. I'll rise above. And possibly grumble a little as I'm rising.


The Last Lecture, by Randy Pausch
We're all about the positive around this here blog, so this is a good one to hitch on to. Randy Pausch wrote this little gem--based on his final lecture, "Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams", delivered at Carnegie Mellon University as he was dying of pancreatic cancer. We're also all about the tear-jerking around this here blog, too, apparently. I've heard a lot about this book, and figure it's a nice way to round off the reading list.



Of course, I'll read other stuff, but these five are the primary goals for the summer.

What's on your list?

Random Thoughts on Thursday: What's in A Name?

There are many many blessings in my life, of this I am aware. But few are as fabulous, as envied, as rare as that coveted real estate phenomenon known as...

The Bonus Room.

Here at Eden (which is what I have decided to call this home), we actually have a Bonus Room. It opens up into the living area (thus making it delightfully central), and it separates the guest wing from the master bedroom. It's a den, really--instead of a closet, there's a little nook with shelves in it. It's not HUGE by any stretch, but it's certainly large enough to accommodate a variety of objects.

At first, we called it the office. Or, more specifically, "The room we never go iIN to." And sometimes "The Clutter Room." Then I got into scrapbooking, and all of my recently-acquired supplies were piled into the room, with no organization. I began to call it the Scrap Room.

Himself began to call it the Crap Room.

In short order, however, I fell down the rabbit hole of crafts that scrapbooking had opened up. More supplies began to trickle into the condo. I began to daydream about painting terra cotta, making beautiful necklaces, generating mixed-media collages, conducting research into my novel, planning meals for the week ahead, assembling a dollhouse...And then, "(s)craproom" was no longer really the right word for it.

After taking the whole room through a major cleaning (not a purge; I'm not that enlightened), the room has been broken down into areas: the desk and shelves where the bills are paid and the homemaking/crafting books and supplies are stored; the "work area" where projects, laptop, and more supplies are stored; the "library" consisting of two 6 foot bookshelves crammed with more books, the kitty's litter box, and then, tucked away in a corner, my "spirituality area." There's a lot going on in this room!

At present, I try to refer to it as "The Craft Room." But every now and then, I feel compelled to call it "the studio." Something--perhaps that nasty Fear Voice that still screams loud and true after all these years, or else that still, small voice of cold, literal logic--tells me that that's pretentious and misleading. After all, studios are for artists, and no artist am I. Sure, I dream big, but at present, all I have are two scrapbook page spreads, one 70% finished fanfic epic, and one heck of a lot of big dreams. This does not an artist make, nor does it make a "studio."

Or does it?

Work on Wednesday: An Explanation

I will go through my life a childless woman.

Please don't think "Oh, no! How awful!" It's by my own choice that my life has taken that path. I've never been fond of children...or at least children that I do not know. (Which is most children). As I so delicately phrased it once, "Someone forgot to wind up my biological clock." I wasn't going to let children be the "deal-breaker" of a relationship; if my life partner wanted one, fine, I'd pop out a couple and probably make a dang fine parent. Strict, no doubt, but affectionate and involved. However, if left to my own devices, if I had my druthers, I would choose not to bear children. Apart from the not-really-wanting them, there's the whole issue of rearing them. Rearing children is a brave act in the current world, and I admire every parent who turns out a good kid. I believe that a child benefits from a stay-at-home parent (not necessarily mother) and I would have liked to be that parent, at least until they started elementary school. Anything else would be not cool, as far as I'm concerned, but still--how do parents manage to make a single-income household happen? It boggles.

One of the many points of compatibility between me and Himself is our mutual goals with regards to children: not having them. Or, in his case, not having any more. He has two sons already, one fully-grown (Himself is ten years older than me, and got started with the baby-making very early, which means I was still playing with my Barbie dolls while he was...well...playing with his Barbie doll), and that's quite enough.

So, no children. I have an unofficial godchild in Wesley the Hoosier Dude, and a more handsome bairn there never was. And I have my stepsons. And that's it. And everyone is more than happy with this. I have other things, other interests, other desires; and more than that, I have my career.

A career and a child are not mutually exclusive. Nor are they particularly comparable (apples and oranges, actually). But my career is where a HUGE portion of my energy is focused, and so it only seems fair that my blog focuses on it, at least a little, in the same way that some of the blogs that I read focus at least some on their children. My career is not the only thing that defines me, but it is one of the things. And it's a major point within this blog to explore how I can successfully combine the identities of "career girl" and "home manager."

So, there's that.

Fortunately, I love my career. I'm an adult services librarian, which sounds much naughty than it is. Essentially, I'm an information mistress, a book maven, and a ditch-digging data dude. I work with the public, I get paid to be curious and research, I have a wide variety of duties, and I am constantly exposed to more, more, more information. I get to learn new stuff all the time. I love my bosses (and there are quite a few of them), and I love my colleagues.

In short, in choosing to be a librarian, I chose to spend a good deal of my life in Heaven on Earth--which should hopefully make for some interesting reading when it comes to Work on Wednesdays!