I am sort of at a loss for words - again. I've been trying to
compile a list of New Year's Resolutions and it's beginning to feel sort of out
of control and forced. I'll leave you, rather, with some end of the year
thoughts - some things I feel it might be good to reflect on:
You have the time you make.
I often hear people say "I don't have
time forx. I wish I did,
it's really important to me." Obviously not. Ifxwere
important to you, you would make time for it. What is eating up all of your
time, I wonder? Pointless conversations? Television you don't really want to
watch? Things you do out of habit rather than necessity? We make time for so
many unimportant things in our lives and yet we fail to see how we could
squeeze in things that are important. I, for instance, often bemoan the fact
that I don't read more. For some reason, it doesn't occur to me that I could
read a book in a few days if I were to work at it. Instead, I waste all my free
time goofing off on the internet. If we all collected the time we wasted and
pooled it together, we could probably cure cancer and have time for a cruise
before Easter. In the coming year, I hope to be more mindful of this.
You are what you do.
I may have mentioned that I was once a
Baptist G.A. In G.A.s, we learned about missionaries, both foreign and
domestic, and in Christian and non-Christian countries. In the early 90s, when
G.A.s was a big part of my life, we learned a whole lot about Lebanon, where
you could be killed for being a Christian. We were told that the missionaries
there could only witness through their actions. By living good Christian lives,
they shared the mission of the church and thereby spread their message.
Eventually, the locals would wonder what made these people act the way they
did, and when they started to ask questions, the missionaries could then share
the Bible with them. I am old and jaded and I'm not so sure that I think this
approach would work so well in missions, but I believe in the idea behind it -
that is, I think you should live your beliefs, whatever they are. While this
might be a slippery slope (Well, I believe in bigotry, so . . .), but I'm
willing to take that risk because I think if all the people who talk about
love, acceptance, social justice, equality, and helping the less fortunate did
more than talk about it, we would come home to a better world after our
"Yay! We Cured Cancer!" Cruise. And just in time for Easter, too. You
can talk about community all you want, but how often do you reach out to people
in your day to day life? Facebook is not an acceptable answer. This involves
being vulnerable.
Courage is a precious commodity.
I have lots of things to say about the
growing population of hipsters in this world, and none of them are good. The
hipster is defined by its love of irony which it uses like a shield. This is
because they are afraid to be authentic. I used to think that I was the coward
of the county because I have an aversion to anything that might prematurely end
my life. Furthermore, I run from conflict like the plague and I would rather
have a root canal than be criticized. I hate to fight and I only like other
people's drama, yet somehow I have managed to (mostly) stay squarely out of
hipsterdom. To me, authenticity, sincerity, and personal honesty are worth more
than money or gold. I truly appreciate a person who can be open and vulnerable
with me, and I try to be open and vulnerable with people as much as I can. I
think it's important to be honest and true to oneself. Maybe that's why I find
it so difficult to connect with people in my peer/age group. Being real is
scary. It takes courage - so they cloak themselves in irony. How did it happen
that I am really the courageous one? I'm not sure, but I know that I want to
keep pushing myself to be more courageous every day. I encourage you all to do
the same. The real you is so much more interesting than disingenuous irony.We'll crucify the insincere tonight
- We'll make things right - We'll feel it all tonight. Tonight so bright -
Tonight.
And now, for another
FPNEPAC selection: The Counting Crows -Long
December
In that last post, I did not share a video. Part of me was thinking it pointless as I dipped out on the FPNEPAC for a whole week, but hey, you know what? I can go back and add videos if I want. I can also carry on. So, for the day after Christmas, I give you Ben Folds Five with "Brick".
So, I blew it. I did not keep my
promise. I've been absent for a whole week. I think that's alright though. I've
been on the go - driving to Florida and back in less than 24 hours, making
Christmas happen, and mostly staying sane. Mostly. Today, I am going to
debrief you all about Christmas, which was sort of a roller coaster - but a
baby one, kind of like Space Mountain as opposed to Kraken or something.
I had a well outlined
plan for getting everything done before Christmas. I was going to go to the
ballet, do some random acts of kindness, clean the whole house, wrap the gifts,
make 15 different kinds of things for gifts (both edible and non-edible), and
be done with it all by the morning of December 24, so that all I had to do was
bake cookies and make Christmas dinner.
Somewhere along the way,
my plan fell flat. I was exhausted after going to Florida and I lost a lot of
time in recovery. I was already behind because the Army wanted more of j^C's time
than we had originally planned for, so I had a lot less help with That Sprout
than I had anticipated. It also doesn't help that my attention span for any
given task is about two hours.
What they don't tell you is that years of family holidays wore Edward Nigma's psyche to a frazzle. Source
So, we found ourselves
on Christmas Eve with a dirty house, fewer homemade gifts than needed, no
Christmas Cookies, and no way to even begin with the Random Acts of Kindness
thing. Still, I persevered, right up to the point where the brownies stuck to
the *&%#@*?$! pan.
Then came the tears,
followed by what should have been a nice car ride to see Christmas lights but
turned out to be a discussion on why j^C hates Christmas. He hates the
conspicuous consumption aspect, and the fact that we are always struggling and
yet still expected to cough up more money than we have. Maybe this is not the
reality, but this is how it is perceived. He's also not fond of how stressed I
get around the holidays. This conversation was most unpleasant, but thankfully
we came to the conclusion that we need to identify what is most important about
each holiday and focus on that in order to minimize stress all around.
When we got home, I took
some time to calm down and relax. Then I got up, cleaned the kitchen, arranged
the gifts under the tree - mostly in brown paper bags - popped a Xanax, and
went to bed.
Christmas morning
started off well, That Sprout played with some of her new toys while I made
breakfast and baked cookies. Throughout the day j^C and I worked on cleaning
the house, which in reality wasn't that bad to begin with. The main issue was
the excessive amounts of dog hair and dirt.
Despite the fact that I
had really wanted most of these things to have been done already and the
pervasive feeling of failure and disappointment about not doing
"ALL THE THINGS", I was in a fairly good
mood. By 2pm, I had reached a point where I could take a little break, and upon
reflection I was pleased at what had been a mostly stress free day. I decided
that I would assemble the last dish for dinner at 3:30, so that it could be
done by 4:30.
This turned out to be my
undoing.
j^C's family was set to
arrive at 4 pm which was the exact time I planned to pop that last pan in the
oven. I should have begun 10 minutes sooner because they showed up in the
middle of the assembly.
j^C's family are really
nice people, and his mother had good intentions. She really wants to be
helpful. The problem is that there are some things that I believe to be
solitary tasks. Cooking is one of them. It is a highly meditative activity for
me, and as I am not very good at being assertive, my non-acceptance of
help in the kitchen usually results in me looking like a hostile
bitch. I'm not - but the most helpful thing anyone can do for me in the kitchen
is to leave. I don't like being interrupted I don't like being asked
17 million questions, and I really, honestly, don't need any help. I have a
plan, and I promise, if I need your help, I will ask. It's just hard to convey
that nicely, firmly, and in less than 10 seconds.
So, I look like a harpy.
This is indicative of a
larger problem, and perhaps the entire problem with holidays in general: I
don't know how to be assertive. I am so afraid of looking like a bitch that I
wind up buckling until I can't take it anymore. Then, when I'm at my breaking
point, I lash out like a caged lion. This is not a good and it does not make
for a pleasant domestic situation, as you can well imagine. I feel like I'm the
Riddler:
When I try to assert
myself, I just wind up breaking my hand. Not good. Not good at all.
So too, with the holiday
debacle of 2012. While I do not need help in the kitchen, I did need help in
other areas and I did not solicit that help effectively and wound up completely
drained. That, and I expected too much of myself in the first place because I
wasn't brave enough, assertive enough, to just have the conversation about what
was expected of me by others. I was trying to live up to my own astronomically
high standards, as well as the standards that I imagined others had for me. All
that shit is exhausting.
With regard to the
kitchen thing, rather than being the total bitch I was, I should have said
something like: "Thank you so much for your offer to help! The most
helpful thing for me would be to keep That Sprout occupied and out of my way. I
have everything in here under control." It's hard to come up with that
under duress though, and when the family blows in like a tornado, it's hard not
to be under duress. Of course, that's not really under my control though is it?
The best I can do is cope. If only I had had a larger family as a child I
should no doubt be used to the chaos that family interaction brings. Alas, I
had not, and now I pay the price.
As for expectations, I
will be thinking about this long and hard. Zen teaches us to let go of our
attachments, but I think in the name of tradition, you should hold some things
sacred. I just need to identify what those things are. Clearly, real food is of
no interest to me on Christmas. Cookies, candy, and fruitcakes though - totally
different story. I like gifts, but only really well thought out ones, which
I received in abundance and am very grateful for. Humility and
gratitude, by the way, are far better feelings than obligation and resentment.
The goal then, is to cultivate more of these good feelings through better, more
effective use of assertiveness. I can't keep breaking my hand. It's starting to
hurt.
I'm ready for the world to end already. Let's just get it over with. I have been a trooper about posting, in keeping my promise to myself, but I feel that I am now running the risk of saying the wrong thing in the interest of personal integrity. I can say that I am very proud of myself for trying to keep my promise, and while I am more or less over the holiday debacle for 2012, I have, for the most part, kept the majority of my sanity. There was one toy/money/life related meltdown that I really wish could have been avoided, but we'll call that a learning experience.
And we will call this pointless post the fulfillment of my obligation to myself for today. National tragedy aside, this has been a very difficult week. I have a lot to say, and I'm not really sure how to go about saying it. I have about 7 million things to get done before Friday morning and nowhere near enough time or energy to make it happen. Le sigh.
Enjoy the FPNEPAC selection below, although I am still not sure if music videos and holiday cheer are the right thing to do at this time. We all must go on though, mustn't we? Today's song is not a Christmas tune in the traditional sense, but when I saw Duran Duran in 2000, they said it was the closest thing they had to one in their repertoire, as it mentions snow. Thematically, it might be the most appropriate thing to post at a time like this. Who do you need, who do you love, when you come undone? Think about that honestly. I bet you'll be shocked by your own answer.
I promised myself that I would post every day this month. That was the point of the FPNEPAC - I love music, and even if I had nothing to say, I could put a video up every day. Then Friday happened, and Christmas and joyfulness seemed entirely inappropriate. For two days I said that I didn't want to talk about guns and politics. Then I posted a Christmas song in the interest of moving on. That didn't feel right either. Today I feel like I might have the clarity of thought to discuss guns and politics, but it is my hope that I do it in such a way as to not detract from the reality of what has happened in Connecticut, and to not use this to forward some sort of political agenda. I just have some observations based on my own life experience. I don’t have a political agenda - I have a social one. So, here we go.
As I said before, I am usually the kind of person who is stone cold about tragedies. I try to empathize with the perpetrators and show compassion where everyone else wants to point fingers and blame. Right now, the families of the victims are doing a much better job at that than I am. When I read that Robbie Parker, whose daughter was killed, had nothing but empathy for the shooter’s family, I cried. I've cried a lot about this. The fact that he’s carrying grief and devastation, but not anger or rage is just incredible. I’m not there.
While I know it's beyond wrong, I can understand why a person might go ballistic and kill a slew of adults for no reason. But this person intentionally sought out and murdered children. I have had many conversations wherein I said that I did not believe in evil. I have played devil's advocate for serial killers and genocidal maniacs. I now stand corrected. This act was nothing short of evil, and I'm not to the point where I can be compassionate about him or his motives. I'm mad. I hurt. I want a justice that can never be.
I am still uninterested in the politicizing of this matter, though I recently learned that the killer was trained to shoot by his mother, an avid gun collector and his first victim. The firearms used to commit this carnage came from Mrs. Lanza’s personal arsenal. The internet seems to be pointing the finger of blame at her. “She was a gun nut! It’s her fault!” We need someone to blame after all. Blame isn't going to erase it though. It's not going to be any easier to digest once if we decide that this woman created the monster that eventually killed her. Blame is not going to make us feel any better. I don't know that anything can. The blaming only serves to make us look like a mob of scared villagers wielding pitchforks and torches.
Personally, I do not like guns. They scare the hell out of me. When I was a child, we had a shotgun, or a rifle - something that was long and skinny with big bullets in it - and I was told in no uncertain terms to never ever touch it, as it could kill me. Later we were taught about gun safety in school by Eddie Eagle. "If you see a gun, Stop! Don't touch! Leave the area! Tell an Adult!" I am now an adult myself, and I still want to do exactly as Eddie Eagle instructed whenever I should find myself near a firearm.
A few weekends ago I was at a party with some people my husband works with in the Army. I joked that if I am part of the Army (as a military spouse) then I deserved to carry a weapon. Being cheeky, the host brought out an unloaded handgun and gave it to me. I really wanted to cry, but I tried as politely as possible to give it back to him without throwing it across the room. I held it gingerly with my fingertips and insisted he take it away NOW. I feel like even touching one is dangerous. You should never, ever touch guns. Thanks, Eddie.
My fear of guns is absolute. I fired one - once - and cried. My husband, being in the military, and also of the mind that firearms are needed to protect the home, feels that I should become comfortable with guns in case I ever need to defend myself from an intruder. I think this is silly. The reality of that situation is that if I were ever faced with a home invasion, I'm already as good as dead. I would panic. I would freeze. I would forget to take the safety off. I would forget that there ever was a gun. My first instinct would be to get my child and run away. I would climb out a window or lock myself in a closet before I ever considered using a gun. If I were made comfortable with firearms all it could do is hurt me.
I suffer from bouts of depression. I've been told that I am bi-polar, but I have my doubts. At any rate, there are days when I feel suicidal. Thankfully, my fear of guns keeps me from taking the family one out of the top drawer and doing myself in. What if I were comfortable touching it? What if I actually knew how to use it? I am terrified that in a low moment I would use it one myself.
This is not to say that I think all guns should be done away with. Far from it. I am from an agrarian community in a red state. People love their guns. They hunt for food and shoot at targets for recreation. I don't want to do that, but if that's your thing, that's fine. They argue that in some hunting, you need a semi-automatic weapon. Suppose you were shooting a bear and missed. Alright, fair enough. But there's no reason to have an AK 47, pretty much ever, which is what my best friends little brother went and bought the day he turned 18. Not a 9mm, not a rifle, not a shotgun, an AK. Just because. I don't think he's ever going to go off the deep end and use it for nefarious reasons, but it's kind of appalling that people just have those.
As to the hunting - yes, you need more than one shot if you are trying to kill a bear. You do not need a magazine with 30 rounds if you are trying to kill a bear. A Ruger 44, a semi-automatic hunting rifle has a 4 shot non detachable magazine, more than enough to get the job done if you know what you’re doing. A standard magazine for an AK 47 is 30 rounds. You can buy a magazine with up to 100 rounds for this gun. I’m sorry, do bear travel in a heard like buffalo? If you are trying to kill a bear and your aim is so lousy that you need at least 30 rounds to inhume the beast, then maybe you ought not be hunting.
I’m not against gun ownership. I’m never going to own one though, and I think that this culture of “OMG! WE MUST KEEP OUR HOME ARSENALS!” is kind of ridiculous. The voices I hear the loudest advocating for gun ownership, in my personal life, are people who have no business and no reason to own a gun in the first place. My husband cries out for gun rights. He’s gone hunting once. He missed, and the deer got away. He’s been to the shooting range 3 times in as many years. My mother has not fired her revolver in at least a decade. My brother in law hasn’t had the money to go hunting in as long. Yet they all cling to their guns as though they were the very breath of life itself, and I have no earthly idea why. Just in case, I guess. Just in case someone wants to do something appalling.
This is about so much more than guns though. Even though I am more or less anti-gun, I’m not sure that I believe that guns are the root of the problem. We need to get off our phones, MP3 players, tablets, and laptops and back to rebuilding our communities. The news keeps telling me what a tight knit community Newtown, Connecticut is. That's one thing that we can all be grateful for - they will rally together and get through this. How many of us can say the same about our own communities?
Do you know your neighbors? How many people do you make small talk with in the grocery store? Are you engaged when you are at social events or are you too busy playing Angry Birds on your phone? Do you help people? Do you know the needs of your community? What's your mayor's name? How about your aldermen/women? What about your mailman? Your postmaster? Your bank teller? Your librarian? If you don't think these things, these people, are important, think again. Personal relationships build a strong community. Everybody wants one, yet no one wants to work to build one. We're too busy managing our virtual lives. We've become like real life Sims characters.
I have so much compassion and empathy for all the families, the children, and the community involved in this horror. These people need all the love and support that we can muster as a nation. We need to spread loving kindness, compassion, and understanding everywhere that we can. In the interest of trying to find compassion for Adam Lanza, I have to wonder if he ever felt like part of the community. The internet also tells me that he was a "loner", "weird", "gamer", "quiet", and all the other negatively charged words that come up about a person when these things happen. Someone had the nerve to write "Adam Lanza has been a weird kid since we were 5 years old. As horrible as this was, I can't say I am surprised . . . Burn in hell, Adam." Pleasant, huh? I wonder, if everyone was of the mind that the young man was a basket case, why did no one reach out to him? Why did no one offer him some help?
There's a lot of talk about the state and availability of mental health care in this country in the wake of these horrors, but I say talk is cheap. It would seem that people are advocating something akin to involuntary sterilization to these people. Mentally ill adults have the right to decline and/or refuse treatment. This is not as easy as "Well, if he would have been on the right meds and seeing a shrink." There are some very good reasons why people choose not to medicate. I am one of them. Pills and Psychotherapy are not always the solution.
People need to feel like they are a part of something, which brings me back to the community thing. There are tons of people who say they "knew" him, and yet very few people claiming to have been his "friend". This is a very important distinction. Another person was quoted as saying Adam was "socially awkward". You know how you get over being socially awkward? By socializing with people. I would venture to guess that at least half of the friends I ever had in high school, in college, and ever after, could have been classified as "socially awkward". Those of you who have known me for 100 years may recall certain boyfriends? And you know what, those "socially awkward" people I was friends with found a place and flourished once they found a place where they belonged. Being nice to someone is never a bad idea, but shunning someone for being different almost always is.
What's my point? Am I blaming Adam Lanza's peers for what happened? No. I'm just saying that being nice and reaching out to people is important. That's how you build a community. Ever notice how it's never people with a solid social group who go off and do these things? It's always "he was quiet, kept to himself". What have any of us got to lose by being nice and reaching out to a loner? Nothing. It's free. All it takes is a little bit of character and personal courage. Sadly, I think these are two traits that are noticeably lacking in our society right now. We need to sow the seeds of change. Talk to a stranger. Go on. I dare you.
I'm beginning to think
Ebenezer Scrooge had
the right idea. Source
After the events on Friday and the subsequent silence on the FPN airwaves, I'm now trying to get back into a jolly kind of mood. It's hard. My momentum had already been waning and frankly I don't feel like Christmas right now. I've been hard at work making cookies and confections, decorating, cleaning, and generally being a one woman holiday factory, and I'm tired. There's not enough money and more than that, there's not enough support. No one wants Christmas to happen around here except for me and I really feel like I'm going it alone. I wonder why I even bother. I guess because I have a child, and I want to make it special for her. I want to create memories and family traditions. It just sucks feeling like I'm the only one . . . Still, there is some Christmas spirit left in me. I find myself singing along to "Feed The World" every time I hear it on the radio. Because it seems to be my saving grace at this point in time, it's also our song selection for the 16th day of the FPNEPAC.
Tomorrow, I hope to be back with a renewed Christmas spirit and something compelling to say.
I still can't say anything. I don't have the right to say anything. I am so upset right now - I can't even - There's nothing to say, and yet everyone is saying something. Stop politicizing this tragedy. Stop making it about personal agendas. Can't we all just come together as a nation - as a human family - and support the community of Newton, Connecticut? You know what, while we're at it, can we support our own communities as well? This isn't about gun laws, health insurance, or religion. This is about people and what connects them.
Go Hence, and Talk More of These Sad Things;
Some Shall Be Pardon'd, and Some Punished:
For now, the FPNEPAC is still on hiatus. I feel that posting videos and being jolly is in bad taste.
Usually I have a heart of stone when these American tragedies occur. This one is different though, and I am very sad. I don't want to talk about the politics of it. I don't want to think about gun laws right now. I think everyone needs to shut up and listen to the voices that are coming out of Newtown, Connecticut tonight. As for me, I'm going to keep things quiet here. There will be no song today. It just doesn't seem appropriate.
You know, it's been a long week, and I forgot about the blog today. Here's your video kids. I'm going to bed. I give you New Kids on the Block with "Funky, Funky Christmas".
Attempted to make some Christmas candy. This was a fail.
Took that Sprout for a walk. She ran. A lot. I was proud.
Made salt dough ornaments. Now I have to find some paint . . .
Cleaned one side of the kitchen.
Made dinner.
It feels like I did more, but I can't think of anything else at the moment. It is after 10 pm, and j^C has yet to arrive home from work. I am tired. Toward the end of the day, when That Sprout found a Sharpie and colored herself from head to toe (after coloring the comforted, the couch, a pillow, and the floor) I began to lose my patience. I had hoped to do some more house cleaning and Christmas preparations, but it didn't happen. Lame.
Thankfully, my Christmas spirit was revived a little this morning though, courtesy of Snoop Dogg. I had some other song in mind for today's FPNEPAC, but that's not important anymore. All we need trouble ourselves with today is Santa and Moses. Enjoy!
I am in a strange mood today. Maybe I have been going full tilt for too long. All I want to do is lay in bed, watch David Lynch movies, listen to Chris Isaak, and daydream about LA while eating Wheat Thins. I don't even like David Lynch. Maybe I just really miss Florida, I don't know. I want to be somewhere sunny - like Santa Monica or Saint Augustine. Maybe I need a spiritual moment, what with all the saints. I'm going to go light a St. Jude candle now, and daydream about palm trees.
That Sprout is napping which means that when I am finished with this blog post I have a decision to make; Do I lay about or do I clean my kitchen, wash my sheets, and mop? We all know what the responsible answer is . . .
At some point this afternoon I will be adding the finishing touches to the first ever FishForest Family News and sending it out into the ether. I was very excited about it last week, but today I feel all my enthusiasm has left me. Maybe it's the weather. It's daunting to think we are 2 weeks out from Christmas and I have so much left to do. I feel more on top of things than I have in the past, but still less prepared than I would like to be. Alas. That's always the way, isn't it?
I dusted off my trumpet last night and played for a while. My embouchure was kind of pathetic, but I am proud to say that I remembered most of the fingerings. I was playing "We Three Kings" fairly well. Since Deep ended yesterday, I was looking for something new to take up my time. I would love to join an adult band, but they appear to be non-existent in my area. I suppose I will just work on improving for now, but it would be nice to be part of something like a band again.
I feel like I have something compelling to add, something pithy to say, but it's just not coming. I am going to leave you with Chris Isaak singing "Christmas on TV", a song that is very much how I feel today.
Apparently, Hanukkah started a few days ago - and no one sent me the memo. This is too bad, as I have several Hanukkah songs to share on the FPNEPAC. Yeah, figure that one out.
Before we get to the epic amount of Hebrew singing, I'll let you know that the last day of Deep went fairly well. There was cake and ice cream, pizza and brownies. We read, we danced, and most everyone went home happy. Those who did not were probably not happy people in the first place. It was a long day, but a good one. Now I can finally give my full, undivided attention to the holiday season.
Which brings us back to Hanukkah . . . I love Adam Sandler. I want to have his babies. Seriously. Happy Hanukkah everyone!
I would like to add that while I don't have any Hebrew in me, I would like to, and I am taking applications from the following:
Adam Sandler: See Above Source
Jack Black. Rock Star? Comedian? Yes, Please! Source
John Stewart: I love it when you talk politics. Source
Today was a strange day. I spent most of it typing up the revisions the Deep kids did on Monday. It was tedious work. I can't help feeling that I may have failed them a little. Did I not push them hard enough? I feel like I could have gotten so much more out of them, and yet I didn't. I hope this is just paranoia related to my unusually high standards. This was my first go round, so I'm sure there's a lot of room for improvement. I have high hopes for next semester, at any rate.
One of the things I tend to struggle with myself as a writer is my overuse of commas. I have a gun that I fill with comma buckshot. I then stand 20 feet away from my work and fire, letting the commas pepper the piece as the hit. It's not a good habit, and now I find myself adding commas to the kids work where none are needed. I need to go to comma rehab and detox.
I took a break from revisions to go to the grocery store this evening. I thought I did great by staying within my budget, only to find that I overspent in spite of myself. I am so very tired of there never being enough money. I picked up an application for a local deli yesterday. They need someone for 17.5 hours a week, and I'm certain that it would be a minimum wage job - so basically I would be working just to pay for my childcare. I am going to apply anyway though. Having childcare will allow me to do more with my free time to make money - like selling Mary Kay and making things for the Etsy store I have never used. I'm trying so hard not to be bitter, but it's hard.
On my way to the store I saw one of the neighborhood ducks dead on the curb. There was another duck a few feet away, presumably mourning. The people in my subdivision really hate the ducks, but I see no reason to just run them down. It's kind of senseless. I felt really bad for the other duck. I know that they mate for life - I wonder if the survivor will die of sadness or if they move on like people. Maybe it varies from duck to duck.
On a brighter note, I received a Christmas card from Captain Tesla and her boyfriend. It kind of made my day. They were in the obligatory holiday pose, sitting in front of a Christmas tree, roaring fire in the background, wearing tacky Christmas sweaters and full death metal makeup. It was pretty much awesome.
I have nothing else right now, dear readers. I am exhausted. I've finished my revision submission, I've created 11 awards for my students, and I've still got a million things to do tomorrow. I will see you after it's all over. Until then, enjoy today's FPN Extended Play Advent Calendar Selection: "Christmas" from Tommy by The Who.
Today was very full. j^C, That Sprout, and I got up bright and early and headed to Pembroke (the only other city of note in Bryan County, GA) for the annual Christmas Parade and festival. I had not been to Pembroke in quite some time, so I was agog at all the old houses and the general small town atmosphere. It felt sort of like stepping into Mayberry and I love that kind of thing. The festival was modest with mostly handmade crafts and food vendors. One thing I had never seen before that blew my mind entirely were the church booths that were giving away free baked goods and hot cocoa. There were tables chock full of every kind of tasty Christmas treat and confection, and they were just giving them away. I had a chocolate covered peanut butter Ritz sandwich and a cup of cocoa at the first booth and a chocolate covered cherry cupcake at the second. That Sprout and j^C each had a chocolate dipped marshmallow, then later That Sprout had a star shaped gingerbread cookie. We perused the crafts for a while, then we settled into a spot on the curb to watch the parade.
I love parades. I love the old timey cars, the horses, the marching bands, and the floats. My favorite thing EVER though, are the Shriners. If you are some sort of soulless heathen and have never watched the Shriners in a parade, then I suggest you re-exmine your life and get thee to a parade ASAP. Shriners are usually retired men looking for something worthwhile to do with their time, so they play dress up and drive these little go-kart cars all in the name of raising money for children's burn units. I love this. The sheer joy that these men have while they are driving their little cars, or playing their instruments, or maybe just walking around dressed like a Keystone Kop or a Hillbilly is amazing. I have always known about Shriners and enjoyed watching their parade antics, but today as I was sitting on the curb with my child in my lap, I began to really "get it". These men are having fun, enjoying life, and making the lives of others betting in the process. They give back so much to their local communities in the form of joy and happiness while raising money for a truly worthy cause. One of their cars had a decal that read: "No man stands so tall as when he stoops to help a child". When I saw that, I started to tear up. Shriners are just good people, and I am honored to have known a few of them in my time (Homer Baron of Crescent City being one). I am so glad that they exist and that they do what they do. I really hope that future generations of men find this organization as wonderful and as worth as I do. It makes me sad to think that they might eventually meet extinction from lack of interest. Men: Go Be a Shriner!
j^C does not tend to be as moved by parades, Shriners, cars, horses, or marching bands, so while That Sprout and I were reveling in the glory of small town America, he went to get some funnel cake. I don't understand funnel cake and I'm not really that fond of it. I am a savage, I know. That Sprout was also unmoved; she was more interested in collecting candy from the street. After the parade, we went to the "midway" area of the festival. Like the rest of the event, it was modest, which I felt was a good thing. We paid $4 for a pony ride, which That Sprout LOVED! She kept saying afterward "I ride the pony!" with a great big smile on her face. We made quick work of the car show as by that time someone was getting very sleepy. I got to look at this great Caprice Classic, a Model A, and a Ford Galaxie. I was happy. One day I'll have a car in a car show. Probably the day after I go ice skating in hell . . . On our way out of the festival we bought a gallon of honey for all of my cooking and concocting needs. I'll be interested to see how quickly it disappears.
The drive back to Richmond Hill was long and that Sprout had a little nap. Once we were back in our end of the county we had lunch and then headed over to The Ice Cream Stop for a little dessert and a visit with Santa Claus. This is another aspect of small town America that I am kind of in love with. Every year Mr. Bill and Miss Gayle invite Santa to their ice cream shop. The area children are invited to come and visit Santa and have their pictures taken - for free. The pictures are always great, it's low stress for parents, and everyone involved has a really great time. It can be a little chaotic, but as one of the kids working the shop said today "It's controlled chaos". Mr. Bill also has story time every Tuesday which concludes with a free cone for the kids who come. Free is good, but the community building that goes on in his shop is even better. To my mind, The Ice Cream Stop is like the Drug Stores and Malt Shops you see in 50s sitcoms. People come there to eat, but they wind up making new friends, networking, and generally feeling better than they did when they came in. It's awesome.
I'm going to stop waxing nostalgic about a past that's only partly mine now. I have to get ready. In the midst of all the day's excitement j^C and I were invited to a Christmas party, so I have to get myself and that Sprout ready. Another thing I loved about my own small town was that willing teenage babysitters were in ready supply. Here, not so much, much to my chagrin.
I hope you all enjoy todays FPN Extended Play Advent Calendar song: Bing Crosby: "White Christmas". What can I say, I'm feeling old fashioned and classic.
I am sad to say that I didn't go anywhere today. I didn't do anything. I gave That Sprout a bath at some point, ate some food, and mainly half heartedly watched The Mighty Boosh on YouTube. . It was one of those days. A little cold, a little overcast, and a little "bleh". It wasn't until this afternoon, when a friend posted something about it on Facebook that I even realized that it was Pearly Harbor Day. If I had thought about it, I should have liked to have gone out into the world, on the off chance that I would run into a WWII veteran so as I could thank him for his or her service. Since I didn't, consider this my "thank you" to all the living WWII veterans of the world. I appreciate your service, your valor, and your sacrifice.
There are several things in this world that I am a little bit funny about. WWII veterans are one of them. My dad and several other important figures from my childhood were all WWII veterans. Sadly, I don't remember much of what my dad said about his time in the army and all I remember is that he was a crew chief working on planes in England. He may or may not have been in the Mighty Eighth. After over an hour of searching the Internet for any information regarding his time in the service all I could find were his enlistment records. I did find some information about the other veterans I remember from childhood: George Kepics and Colonel Sauls, both of whom were great men. Mr. Kepics was a turret gunner - probably the most intense job you could have had at that time, and he was damn good at it.
Emblem of the 613th
Bombardment Squadron
I decided to call my mother and she told me that my dad was in the 613th Bombardment Squadron. Knowing what I do about internet research and the Mighty Eighth, I was about to find the web site for his unit, the 401st Bomb Group. I now know that he was stationed at RAF Deenethorpe and that his unit, the 401st Bomb Group had both the best bombing accuracy and the second lowest loss ratio in the Eighth Air Force. My dad may have just been a mechanic, but somebody's got to keep the planes in the air, yes? Where internet research fails, a simple question succeeds. Now I feel like I didn't waste my Pearl Harbor Day and I did something good for myself, my family, and my dad's memory by making myself a little bit more informed.
Since today is the seventh day of the FPN Extended Play Advent Calendar, I will leave you with yet another of my top 3 favorite Christmas songs, John Lennon and Yoko Ono's "War is Over". It's appropriate, don't you think?
Today's post is all about gifts, giving, joy, and several combinations of those concepts. If you are looking for a worthy cause to give a gift to, I would like to encourage you to sponsor a Deep Kid. Click here to learn more.
This morning, I came to the conclusion that despite my efforts to call off gift giving in the family, other than for the children, that the gift giving will continue with or without my participation. I was accosted more than once since 8 PM Thanksgiving evening as I sat drinking coffee and eating pie. After ignoring several of these requests, I realized Sunday night that I had to reply with my wish list. I began by requesting "Peace on Earth and Good Will Toward Men - and Women", but that cannot be wrapped. Finally, I decided that I really did need a copy of The Cure for IDK by Catherine Killingsworth, the esteemed founder of the non profit I volunteer with. When asked what else I might like, I said that Itunes cards are always appreciated.
No sooner had I capitulated than I began to feel like scum. We had mentioned on several occasions that we neither wanted nor needed anything, because we really don't, and we don't currently have the finances to reciprocate every gift we may receive Someone will be left out or short changed, and the more people we have to buy for, the less money we will have for out own family celebration and all the trimmings. I don't know if you realize this, but food ain't cheap, people. Neither are toys. I don't want to go overboard for That Sprout, but it's kind of ridiculous how expensive kids toys are. 2 items that I know we could all enjoy as a family come to a grand total of $60. I was planning of getting the same thing for the nephews - which is $120 bucks gone and we've only just begun. It's a financial nightmare.
Let me be clear. We have a little bit of debt, but we are able to pay our bills every month. Things are not spiraling out of control. There is just very little in the way of "fun money". Christmas is "fun", so you see where the problem lies. There is also the issue of obligation. Pictures of the Sprout work well for grandparents, but then you are expected to give to the rest of the family. Pictures don't cut it for everyone. Not to mention, pictures are expensive, which brings us back to the money we don't have. It's a hassle. It's stressful. It causes fights. I don't like it. I tried to escape it.
Yet, I found that escape was not to be mine this holiday season. After I came to the stark conclusion this morning that I would have to give a gift to everyone from whom we usually receive one, I put my nose to the grindstone trying to think of some useful, non garbage, homemade gifts that I could make for very little bread. I compiled a list and headed out.
My first stop was Dollar General, which had exactly zero of the items on my list. I was about to leave, when I wound up chatting with two women who were looking for a dog leash. I mentioned that Christmas was about to send me into a panic because I had to give gifts to all these people and I didn't have the money. They suggested I make cookies, and then offered to buy me the things I needed to get the job done. I politely declined the offer, so they asked if they couldn't get a little something for the Sprout. I had been meaning to get her a new smiley face balloon, as hers gave up the ghost this week. It was only a dollar, so I said that's what That Sprout would like. They paid for their things, and handed That Sprout two balloons, and me a bag full of cookie mixes. I tried to protest, but they said that it made their Christmas, as they had no one to buy for. I thanked them sincerely and after they left, I stood in that Dollar General and cried, feeling both grateful and unworthy.
This is what Christmas is supposed to be about. Helping people, and loving kindness, and the JOY of giving. Before you think that I am some kind of Scrooge, let me say this: I LOVE giving gifts. I take great pride and pleasure in finding the perfect thing for each and every person on my list. I don't care for wish lists as I like being surprised as well as surprising other people when it comes to gifts. Sadly, in these lean times, that joy has been taken from me as a result of financial straights. If I had a dedicated discretionary account for family Christmas gifts, you could call me Ms. Kringle. But I don't, and it gets really disheartening giving things that you know are unwanted or not that great because you can't afford anything else.
However, after the events at Dollar General, I went to Goodwill and Dollar Tree with a new perspective. I realized that it really is the thought that matters. So what if we are the poorest monsters on Sesame Street? I am making those cookies, and a lot more cookies to boot. I've got 20 pounds of flour and sugar sitting in my pantry, and frankly, I could use the space. I am either making something useful for everyone on my list, or I am giving a used item. I found some great books and DVDs at the Goodwill for super cheap, and I found the perfect thing for my sister at Dollar Tree. In all, I spent less than $60. I will likely spend a little more on butter, eggs, and some other small things, but I am not going to break the bank.
I refuse to be stressed out about the gift giving anymore. I refuse to let myself feel unworthy because we can't give the same as everyone else. Maybe one day, when I have a paying job, I will spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on Christmas. This year, we don't have it, and I refuse to be ashamed of that. We are doing the best we can, and in a lot of ways, we are doing better than most. It would be nice if everyone could get on board with a non-consumer Christmas so I don't feel so Pollyanna, but that is most likely too much to ask. I am tired of feeling like I have to keep up with the Joneses. I am going to enjoy making the gifts this year, I am going to enjoy baking cookies and making candy, and I am going to give the fruits of my labor joyfully. Whether or not my efforts are appreciated remains to be seen, and I don't own that problem anyway.
I realize now, that the biggest mistake I made in all of this was capitulating by offering a wish list. In the future, I hope to be able to request a donation to a worthy cause instead. The money that will be spent on me could have funded a Deep Kid next semester. I am kind of ashamed that I didn't tell them that. There's always next year though. Meanwhile, I am going to try to keep the focus on That Sprout, The Beans, j^C., and our family celebration. We tried to call of Christmas. Maybe if we keep trying, eventually it will work. Until then, all we can do is cooperate, but we're doing it on our terms.
Today's FPN Extended Play Advent Calendar selection is New Kids on the Block's 1989 Christmas single "This One's For the Children". Isn't that what this time of year is really supposed to be about?
I am sorry for not updating earlier today. I have been busy, and as a result, I had a full and meaningful day. I am hope to have more days like this. I am happy. I cleaned my house. I made a tasty and nutritious dinner. I spent time with almost all of my local friends. My child willingly took a nap and went to bed with no complaints. The Gator only escaped once. I played trivia. I spoke to Mojo Jojo. I feel good. I am tired. I am going to take a shower, wash my face, brush my teeth, and go to bed. I leave you all with David Bowie and Bing Crosby on the fifth day of The FPN Extended Play Advent Calendar.
The post would have been longer, but I promised j^C I would be done in 10 minutes. Sometimes brevity is a good thing though.
There are about 17 million things that I would like to be doing during That Sprout's nap time today, not the least of which is reading a George Carlin book while watching SVU and masturbating. Yes, all three at once. That's how I roll.
However, since I am trying to be more responsible and "structured", and I updating my blog, and then I hope to clear out a space for the FishForest Family Christmas Tree, as I will be erecting it this evening. December 4 is the traditional Tree Trimming date in my family, as it was my dad's birthday. He would have turned 92 today, if he were still alive. The thought occurs to me that I should head over to the Kroger a little later and see about buying a Butter Pecan cake mix. I'm not sure if that was actually his favorite, but that's what we always made for him. I will not be lighting 92 symbolic candles. One big one will suffice. After dinner, we will trim the tree, eat cake, and have a beautiful family moment. I promise to share pictures tomorrow, providing that I can find one of my three cameras.
I suppose you are all wondering what became of my students during their revision time . . . and even if you aren't, I'm going to share anyway. By the time 3:30 rolled around, I was a bundle of nerves with a tick in my upper lip to prove it. I had no reading for the lesson, and the activity was middling at best, and two of the boys in the workshop were not there. One left because I was running a little later than normal, but still on time, and the other I later learned, had been injured playing basketball.
Despite these set backs though, it all seemed to work out. After one of the kids had a breakdown upon being informed that she had to submit 1000 words or less, and another seemed to completely freeze up when we told her that she had to clarify her metaphor, things went rather smoothly.
There was a group of girls who got done early and insisted on talking and singing gospel music, which had there not been another group struggling to finish would have been totally cool. I would love to sing "God's Trying to Tell You Something" with a group of middle school girls! But, I had to try and keep their antics to a dull roar while the others pushed to the very end of editing time. I have not read the final pieces, but I am confident that they will be great. I'll type them up and submit them for publication, and then the work of the semester will be over, leaving only the party to plan. Can we say "ice cream cake and pizza"? Yes we can, and we will, and it will be divine.
What I shall now refer to as "The Deep Revision Debacle of 2012" began Sunday afternoon after I attended a lecture on revision presented by the founder of our NPO, Catherine. The lecture was invaluable, although it highlighted the glaring flaws in my lesson plan less than 24 hours before I had to teach said lesson. Hence the debacle and the tick and the nerves.
We all know that revision sucks. A lot. No one likes to do it, so really, getting a group of headstrong middle schoolers to rise to the challenge is a point of pride for me. Aside from all that though, I learned some neat things about writing that I hope to apply to my own work. Did you know that Vladimir Nabokov (one of my all time, end all, be all, favorite writers) wrote his novels by hand . . . on notecards . . . one paragraph at a time? You just think about that for a minute. I'll wait.
Everyone who has read Nabokov knows that the man had a command of the English language that most of us could only aspire to. All this time, I just thought it kind of came out of his brain that way. Nay, nay. He revised the hell out of everything he wrote, and he constructed his drafts in such a way as to make revision less daunting. Revising a book is intimidating. Hell, revising a chapter is intimidating. But a paragraph? That's not so bad. And the notecard bit is pure genius Before computers, how was a writer supposed to rearrange the placement of paragraphs and chapters? Without notecards, you would have been doing a whole lot of copying and rewriting. It would have been tedious.
The other thing that I've been considering with regard to writing is something I learned in Deep training back in September, but promptly pushed to the back of my mind and forgot about. If a student does not feel safe, they are not going to produce their best work. Writing must feel safe and writing has not felt like a safe endeavor for me in a really long time. I have allowed myself to become far too concerned with what people think, and it has done nothing but stunt my development in this area.
I blame social media. LiveJournal, then MySpace and Facebook. Even though no one much seems to comment on my writing, it's still nerve wracking to think that "the wrong people" might see it. How am I supposed to be honest if I am afraid to tell the truth? Being a hoarder, I don't throw anything away, and I've been looking at my work over the years. Things really began to taper off when I started using LiveJournal. Logic would dictate that's because what I would have written on paper is now archived online. Logic would be wrong in that assumption.
So, what's the solution? I'm not entirely sure. I don't do a whole lot with FB, LJ, or MySpace these days, but I do blog here with varying degrees of frequency. Do I commit to honesty in my online life? Censorship has gotten me nowhere. Someone suggested that I get a journal, and I rather like that notion. I have not had a paper journal in a long time. I have more legal pads than Johnny Cochran did, but nothing that I have committed to writing in on a regular basis. I need to reclaim the safety and the sanctity. Perhaps most importantly, I need to exchange approval for self satisfaction. Growing as a writer has to be infinitely more gratifying than getting comments on my blog, and while publication is a form of approval, it's a pithy one, and worth more than a hundred thousand "like"s.
Enough of this for now, though. I've got some Christmas joy to spread, and then chores to do. Today being my dad's birthday, I'd like to share a song that is kind of in remembrance of him, but I don't know what Christmas songs he might have liked. Instead, I am going to share a little recipe and a short anecdote:
My dad always went to bed fairly early, usually around 8 pm in the winter, but sometimes he wouldn't be able to sleep. He would get up and have a glass of milk and some sleeping pills, or maybe fix himself a little snack. I often regret not having the wherewithal to have taken notes when my dad was cooking or fixing one of his concoctions. I remember him making a lot of things that tasted good, but I have no idea what they were, or how to recreate them. One of this concoctions had something to do with butter and syrup. I seem to remember him mixing butter (or margarine, rather) on a plate with pancake syrup, and then eating it on a cracker as one of his midnight snacks. I even remember eating it with him. What I don't remember is whether or not that was all there was to it. Surely butter and syrup don't make a suitable cracker spread, do they? There must have been some peanut butter in it. Peanut butter and crackers go together, after all. Or, was it honey and butter on the cracker? Honey butter is a thing. I have pored over this in my mind for years. What was his cracker spread? I've finally decided that it must have been as I originally thought: butter and syrup. I think the idea was to replicate the flavor of a pancake without having to fire up the griddle. The pancake is, after all, nothing more than a vessel for the butter and the syrup. This way, you just cut out all the work. I remember eating this syrup butter on both Ritz and Saltine crackers, so, I don't suppose it matters which one you use. We was po', we used what we had.
So, if you are at all interested in trying this (I just did), go grab some butter or margarine, your syrup, and a fork. Cream the butter and syrup together until it is blended, then spread it on a cracker. You can enjoy your little snack as you watch today's FPN Extended Play Advent Calendar Song Selection: "Silent Night Medley" by Hanson. I remember watching the Hanson Christmas Special with my dad the last Christmas he was alive, so I suppose this song is as close as I can come right now to a Dad-centric Holiday Favorite. I should have liked to have found the actual footage of them singing this on the Christmas Special, but alas, it was not to be. I hope you all enjoy this anyway. It might just be my favorite Christmas song, by anyone, ever. It's in the top 3, for sure.
P.S. When Taylor breaks it down at the end, I tear up. I'm crying now. If you don't think this is beautiful and perfect, then you might not have a soul.
Today is the last day for revisions in the creative writing workshop I co-teach. We are being observed, and I've just become keenly aware that some of our writers are in need of more than 45 minutes revision time. I have been typing up their work since 6 AM. I am tired, I am hungry, and I am pretty sure I don't have any clean pants. I am in a panic, but I made you, my readers, a promise that you would get a Christmas song, every day, so here I am and here you are:
All I can say right now is that I wish I lived in South Park. If I lived in South Park, there would be a totally unrealistic and over the top solution to my problem. As it stands, I just have to hope that my kids are going to pull it out today and blow my mind with their awesome revisions. Hope is a thing with feathers . . .
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