Most days I find it super hard to be me. There is the maintenance involved to deal with my ever multiplying phobias, and the knowledge that even if I think I'm coping with them I'll probably end up with some bizarre medical affliction as a result. It's really quite exhausting. One of the only people I've ever met who is as flummoxed by just being as I am is my dear friend Kelly Lynne. Of course she made her life a gazillion times more difficult by leaving the liberal hot bed of the Colorado mountains and transplanting herself into the Deep South where rules run deep and mother-in-laws are a breed crazy like no other. My daily early morning routine is to lie in bed for a few minutes and check the email on my phone, this morning the snippet from below awaited me. It made me giggle and want to go to the bathroom.
Lord, please oh please help me navigate the murky underworld of Southern Bridal Shower Etiquette. And please remind me, in the future, that sneakers are not proper foot attire for such an event. Even for one held immediately after work, by your co-workers, at a job for which you wear sneakers frequently. Especially when your MIL and her very own SIL (a woman she detests and lives in competition with) are invited. Lord, I know this is my second marriage, that I am 42, and that I have a 4 year old with the man to whom I am betrothed, and Lord, I know that totally labels me a 'tart' (but seriously: what a fun word!! worth the label, IMHO.) And, Lord, I know that my MIL dies a thousand deaths every time she is reminded of the fact that every. single. person. in. this. town. knows. we. are. not. already. married. But I beg of you that a public party (or you know, six or eight of them) dedicated to this single fact will not kill her dead until after the wedding. Because, really, a death in the immediate family within a month or two of the wedding would darken the doorstep of our marital bliss, and I have already paid for the honeymoon. And Lord, thank you so much for reminding such a high percentage of the shower attendees that we have plenty of cloth napkins, scented candles, prepackaged waffle mix and casserole dishes, and not nearly enough of (whispered desperately at the start of the shower gift opening) "don't display the bottle part of my gift!!!"s. We like those.
And God, an issue not as important as the impending nuptials and all the chaos that surrounds that, I would like to discuss a couple of minor issues in relation to the Episcopal Choir I recently joined: Look, the other Alto and I (We are Episcopalians, and therefore a single step away from HELL in this town.. so our congregation is small, as is our choir) are not cradle Episcopalians and are not even from the South. Therefore we cannot sight read music, we cannot understand the choir director when he speaks, and for the most part, we cannot sing. So really, just, I don't know, just do something. Anything. While I am not willing to sacrifice anything to this request, the other alto might be. She is from California. She has practice in the sacrifice arena.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Namaste, bitch
I like organic foods and natural fibers but I would never go so far as to classify myself as crunchy or hippie. Yes, I'm a hopeless tree hugger and would like to save all the sea mammals from nets and clubs, but it's the hippie look and smell I can't quite grasp. Plus, I have the kind of ankles that look so much better with a heel, flats just don't work for me. That said, I love yoga. Love, love, love it.
For a number of years I was singlemindedly a Bikram follower. For a number of reasons the simplicity and repetition of the classes soothed my soul. Plus, that co-dependent part of me always seeking the forever elusive perfection element struck a chord with me. Bikram's is slightly abusive in condescending way, sort of like a favorite family priest, I can fully identify with that.
Right now I don't have it in me to do Bikram's yoga. For one thing a 90 minute class requires a total of about 2 1/2 hours in terms of cleaning up from the sweat, etc and that sort of time isn't a luxury I have right now. So I've defected to a different yoga studio where the rooms are not heated to 105 degrees and the teachers are so sweet I sometimes think about giving them a lick just to see if they even taste like sugar, or in their case agave nectar. At this studio we get all sorts of accessories for every class: wooden blocks, straps, blankets, even lavender scented eye pillows. If we can't keep our balance we can use the walls for support. At the end of most classes the teacher goes around and gives us a little back rub. It's pretty much a 90 minute scoop of affirmation, not bad for those of us who incessantly seek approval.
So it's a lovely studio, beautiful environment, teachers with fabulously peaceful yoga names. But. Last night when I went to class there was a serene barefoot man on one side of the class playing some sort of funky guitar. I put my yoga mat down, got out the provided toys and sat down to get a grip when he started playing his music, it sounded something like this: Ooooooooom, numa-numa-numaaa gotta paaaarrttttttaaayyyy.... Looking around I realized I was the only one who understood this guy was saying we needed to party. What the fuck? Really? Because I was there to find some inner peace, not throw back a shot and whoop it up. But no, music fellow was over there, eyes closed, and crooning crazy yoga words. Then he would mix his voice into his electronic thing and several of his voices would sing out: Ooooooooom, numa-numa-numaaa gotta paaaarrttttttttaaaayyyy....
I stifled a few giggles but got on with class until about an hour into it. Then groovy dude started getting a bit louder and on top of his other party bit he starting randomly tossing out in a breathless Dave Mathews voice: BREATHE. Or LET GO. Or my favorite: FLOW LOKE A RIVERRRRRR. ECHO LIKE THE MISSSSSSST. Some seriously funky shit. During the final cevasana and lavender eye pillow stint I couldn't help but let a few quiet giggles escape. After class we all bowed, said our namastes and then everybody else went over to thank groovy guitar dude. In complete seriousness they were all so touched by his bizarre musical contribution and he was equally giddy over our yoga poses.
I don't get it. Maybe I'm not evolved enough. I like to think my sense of humor is such that a grown man making up yoga words to electronic music merits a chuckle or two. Hopefully the rest of the students and teacher aren't on to me.
For a number of years I was singlemindedly a Bikram follower. For a number of reasons the simplicity and repetition of the classes soothed my soul. Plus, that co-dependent part of me always seeking the forever elusive perfection element struck a chord with me. Bikram's is slightly abusive in condescending way, sort of like a favorite family priest, I can fully identify with that.
Right now I don't have it in me to do Bikram's yoga. For one thing a 90 minute class requires a total of about 2 1/2 hours in terms of cleaning up from the sweat, etc and that sort of time isn't a luxury I have right now. So I've defected to a different yoga studio where the rooms are not heated to 105 degrees and the teachers are so sweet I sometimes think about giving them a lick just to see if they even taste like sugar, or in their case agave nectar. At this studio we get all sorts of accessories for every class: wooden blocks, straps, blankets, even lavender scented eye pillows. If we can't keep our balance we can use the walls for support. At the end of most classes the teacher goes around and gives us a little back rub. It's pretty much a 90 minute scoop of affirmation, not bad for those of us who incessantly seek approval.
So it's a lovely studio, beautiful environment, teachers with fabulously peaceful yoga names. But. Last night when I went to class there was a serene barefoot man on one side of the class playing some sort of funky guitar. I put my yoga mat down, got out the provided toys and sat down to get a grip when he started playing his music, it sounded something like this: Ooooooooom, numa-numa-numaaa gotta paaaarrttttttaaayyyy.... Looking around I realized I was the only one who understood this guy was saying we needed to party. What the fuck? Really? Because I was there to find some inner peace, not throw back a shot and whoop it up. But no, music fellow was over there, eyes closed, and crooning crazy yoga words. Then he would mix his voice into his electronic thing and several of his voices would sing out: Ooooooooom, numa-numa-numaaa gotta paaaarrttttttttaaaayyyy....
I stifled a few giggles but got on with class until about an hour into it. Then groovy dude started getting a bit louder and on top of his other party bit he starting randomly tossing out in a breathless Dave Mathews voice: BREATHE. Or LET GO. Or my favorite: FLOW LOKE A RIVERRRRRR. ECHO LIKE THE MISSSSSSST. Some seriously funky shit. During the final cevasana and lavender eye pillow stint I couldn't help but let a few quiet giggles escape. After class we all bowed, said our namastes and then everybody else went over to thank groovy guitar dude. In complete seriousness they were all so touched by his bizarre musical contribution and he was equally giddy over our yoga poses.
I don't get it. Maybe I'm not evolved enough. I like to think my sense of humor is such that a grown man making up yoga words to electronic music merits a chuckle or two. Hopefully the rest of the students and teacher aren't on to me.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
These small hours
As a baby, and well into childhood, Cassidy worshiped Loren with every fiber of her being. In the beginning she would sit in her car seat or perched on a baby blanket watching his every move with her dark intense eyes. One time when she she was particularly entranced with his activities she rocked her car seat to the point of tipping it over and clawing her way out so she could have a better view. At nine months she pulled herself up and started walking, I believe, simply to keep up with him.
Loren and Cass are nearly four years apart, a difference that lent him an aura of mystique and fascination for her but gave him an edge on her overly ambitious small self. It lasted until Lo hit high school and then he was off, gone in his own world and leaving Cass behind. Loren doesn't do anything in increments, he's either totally interested in something or absolutely not at all. As he entered puberty his social life reigned supreme and his little sister was no longer even on the radar.
Last night was a rare one, Devon was at Matt's for the night and I had the older kids all to myself. It was a fabulous arrangement since Devon knows his dad will only be here for a few more days before again heading out to Utah and he wants only to be with his father right now.
Loren, Cass and I chose a dinner we knew we would all eat, picked out a movie and went home. Loren had received a bunch of new camera toys in the mail yesterday and he opened them while Cass hung out with me and I cooked dinner. The three of us then sat on the kitchen island and ate food as it came out of the oven. Later we all snuggled into my bed and watched Due Date. We laughed, joked, talked about life pre-Devon, discussed the upcoming busy weeks and just relaxed.
I love it when I have all my chicks in one nest but I also love these quiet times when I can focus on Loren and Cassidy. Lo will be graduating high school in seven weeks. At the end of June he will turn 18. He's chosen to take at least one year off before pursuing film school, but is still unsure of what next year will bring in terms of concrete plans. Right now I feel what we have is a known, the unknown will soon arrive. These small moments are beyond precious for me and I am so grateful.
Loren and Cass are nearly four years apart, a difference that lent him an aura of mystique and fascination for her but gave him an edge on her overly ambitious small self. It lasted until Lo hit high school and then he was off, gone in his own world and leaving Cass behind. Loren doesn't do anything in increments, he's either totally interested in something or absolutely not at all. As he entered puberty his social life reigned supreme and his little sister was no longer even on the radar.
Last night was a rare one, Devon was at Matt's for the night and I had the older kids all to myself. It was a fabulous arrangement since Devon knows his dad will only be here for a few more days before again heading out to Utah and he wants only to be with his father right now.
Loren, Cass and I chose a dinner we knew we would all eat, picked out a movie and went home. Loren had received a bunch of new camera toys in the mail yesterday and he opened them while Cass hung out with me and I cooked dinner. The three of us then sat on the kitchen island and ate food as it came out of the oven. Later we all snuggled into my bed and watched Due Date. We laughed, joked, talked about life pre-Devon, discussed the upcoming busy weeks and just relaxed.
I love it when I have all my chicks in one nest but I also love these quiet times when I can focus on Loren and Cassidy. Lo will be graduating high school in seven weeks. At the end of June he will turn 18. He's chosen to take at least one year off before pursuing film school, but is still unsure of what next year will bring in terms of concrete plans. Right now I feel what we have is a known, the unknown will soon arrive. These small moments are beyond precious for me and I am so grateful.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Starfish & coffee, maple syrup and jam
I remember when Matt and I first got married, people, who at the time I thought were super old but who were likely the age I am now, used to tell us how important it was to have "us" time. I didn't get it, thinking what did they know in their aged state. And so we rarely did anything on our own without the children. If we did get away it was usually one of us off with friends and the other at home. It obviously took its toll and things went the way they went.
With age comes some sort of wisdom, I like to believe, and so now we are taking that time and fostering something really quite fabulous. On Saturday we went to see Donovan Frankenreiter, and Matt Nanthanson at the Wheeler. Aside from seeing Jack Johnson there is nobody I wanted to see perform more than Frankenreiter, and Matt Nathanson turned out to be obscenely sassy and fun. It was all guitars and just plain beautiful. Matt and I sat in the balcony and soaked in the music and fun of it all.
I know I am the luckiest of fools to have this chance, a do-over of sorts, and I am so grateful to whatever sort of fates that have dropped this in my lap.
With age comes some sort of wisdom, I like to believe, and so now we are taking that time and fostering something really quite fabulous. On Saturday we went to see Donovan Frankenreiter, and Matt Nanthanson at the Wheeler. Aside from seeing Jack Johnson there is nobody I wanted to see perform more than Frankenreiter, and Matt Nathanson turned out to be obscenely sassy and fun. It was all guitars and just plain beautiful. Matt and I sat in the balcony and soaked in the music and fun of it all.
I know I am the luckiest of fools to have this chance, a do-over of sorts, and I am so grateful to whatever sort of fates that have dropped this in my lap.
Monday, April 4, 2011
His brilliance awes me
I can never get enough of Lo's work. this one was featured at the Independence Pass Foundation Film Fest at the end of March.
A little Taste.. from Loren James Creer on Vimeo.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The return of Red
Cassidy spent the last week in Las Vegas with her best friend Taylor and his mom and dad, Jennifer and Richard. I missed her. Lots. On the other hand the silence was really quite lovely. Golden if one were to be entirely honest. Yes, I know there will be no Mother of the Year for me regarding that comment. The thing about Red Sister is that she is just so encompassing. Engulfing. She's been home for two hours, an hour of that I had to lie down just to collect myself. I have to get ready for the assault that is my beautiful daughter.
Below is a poem I came across recently. It nails nearly everything about Cass. And at the end of the day, no, I simply can't imagine living without my Red.
Red is a sunset
Blazing and bright.
Red is feeling brave
With all your might.
Red is a sunburn
A spot on your nose.
Sometimes red, is a red red rose.
Red squiggles out when you cut your hand.
Red is a brick
And the sounds of a band.
Red is hotness
You get inside
When you’re embarrassed
And want to hide.
Fire-cracker, fire-engine
Fire-flicker red –
And when you’re angry
Red runs through your head.
Red is an Indian
A Valentine heart,
The trimmings on
A circus cart.
Red is a lipstick
Red is a shout
Red is a signal
That says, “Watch out!”
Red is a great big
Rubber ball.
Red is the giant-est
Colour of all.
Red is a show-off,
No doubt about it –
But can you imagine
Living without it?
Below is a poem I came across recently. It nails nearly everything about Cass. And at the end of the day, no, I simply can't imagine living without my Red.
Red is a sunset
Blazing and bright.
Red is feeling brave
With all your might.
Red is a sunburn
A spot on your nose.
Sometimes red, is a red red rose.
Red squiggles out when you cut your hand.
Red is a brick
And the sounds of a band.
Red is hotness
You get inside
When you’re embarrassed
And want to hide.
Fire-cracker, fire-engine
Fire-flicker red –
And when you’re angry
Red runs through your head.
Red is an Indian
A Valentine heart,
The trimmings on
A circus cart.
Red is a lipstick
Red is a shout
Red is a signal
That says, “Watch out!”
Red is a great big
Rubber ball.
Red is the giant-est
Colour of all.
Red is a show-off,
No doubt about it –
But can you imagine
Living without it?
Friday, April 1, 2011
The art of dating my ex-husband
My mother is inquisitive by nature, which means she's nosy but I'm being polite and phrasing it softly. Whenever there is even the teensiest strand of something secretive she is all over it like a hungry dog on a rotting carcass. This means if I have something at all personal I don't even let myself form it into words in my head lest it somehow leak out into the universe and she might smell the vulnerability of my soul.
Lately I have something of a golden nugget in terms of juiciness that she keeps trying to get her teeth into and the fun of keeping her out tickles me to no end. She very much wants to know just what it is I'm doing with my ex-husband. Her latest attempt went something like this:
Her: So, you know when I'm out and about this weekend people will likely ask questions about your D Status.
(This is because we have friends coming into town and she is seeing them all at a party Saturday night. A party I won't be attending because I'm going to a concert with the above mentioned man.)
Me: D Status? What's that? Death? I'm alive. Divorce? Been there for about 8 years now. Dusty? Well,, I'm not exactly shiny...
Her: Dating. Duh.
Me: Oh, yes. That doesn't seem like a very interesting topic. I'm practically middle aged and really not all that glamorous. By the way, is Peg still dating that one guy? I haven't seen them together lately.
Her: I'm not sure. You know he doesn't hear so well in crowded situations.
Me: Too bad. They seem like a great pair.
Her: Yes, well. But back to you. What shall I tell people?
Me: Tell them whatever you like. I just don't think there's really anything of interest there.
Her: ........
__________________________________________
Here's the thing, Matt and I have been married, divorced, had a post-divorce child, separated and now are giving it another go. Is Elizabeth Taylor the only one who gets a stab at this sort of Jerry Springer move? I think freaking not. Further more, this time around I see no reason to discuss it with anybody other than our children. I suspect there are those who might have a comment or two regarding our reunion, but frankly I just don't give a rat's ass anymore. Life is short and depending on what you believe there is but one go around at it.
Lately I have something of a golden nugget in terms of juiciness that she keeps trying to get her teeth into and the fun of keeping her out tickles me to no end. She very much wants to know just what it is I'm doing with my ex-husband. Her latest attempt went something like this:
Her: So, you know when I'm out and about this weekend people will likely ask questions about your D Status.
(This is because we have friends coming into town and she is seeing them all at a party Saturday night. A party I won't be attending because I'm going to a concert with the above mentioned man.)
Me: D Status? What's that? Death? I'm alive. Divorce? Been there for about 8 years now. Dusty? Well,, I'm not exactly shiny...
Her: Dating. Duh.
Me: Oh, yes. That doesn't seem like a very interesting topic. I'm practically middle aged and really not all that glamorous. By the way, is Peg still dating that one guy? I haven't seen them together lately.
Her: I'm not sure. You know he doesn't hear so well in crowded situations.
Me: Too bad. They seem like a great pair.
Her: Yes, well. But back to you. What shall I tell people?
Me: Tell them whatever you like. I just don't think there's really anything of interest there.
Her: ........
__________________________________________
Here's the thing, Matt and I have been married, divorced, had a post-divorce child, separated and now are giving it another go. Is Elizabeth Taylor the only one who gets a stab at this sort of Jerry Springer move? I think freaking not. Further more, this time around I see no reason to discuss it with anybody other than our children. I suspect there are those who might have a comment or two regarding our reunion, but frankly I just don't give a rat's ass anymore. Life is short and depending on what you believe there is but one go around at it.
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