to tula

- and her missed presence, her web-spun perfection. The made-up but delightful word "carcai." To lost things and spring, may they one day be found again.

Is blogging, then, where the details live? I wonder. And it's a strong argument for returning full-fledged (me, you, us, everyone, the whole world even), though in the socially-networked, smartphoned-out world we've built up, we've managed to create a series of daylong energy zappers, or diverters, as the case may be. And so maybe it's quality, not quantity we should strive for, hence smaller lists of the close friends or whatever we choose to label them. But I find myself creeping back to the bigger list, the wider circle, for whatever reason. And then quickly becoming aggravated by the clutter, or bored with the excess of details I never wanted or asked for within this wider circle, and left wanting more and/or wondering when and if to give more to and from the smaller circle.

Blogging is better, I think it can be solidly concluded. But then Facebook is where everyone now lives. Ooo - sidenote - is personal blogging now effectively counter-cultural? Almost. Oh, how quickly this world, the vocabulary and the constructs, evolves!

It does present a conundrum of creative energy and social energy and how and where and when to spend it. Or is it not a conundrum and it's really a simple thing.

I do hate, as I mentioned to a friend (camping buddy) on our recent adventure, how everything is scattered across so many different platforms. Pictures, words, thoughts, memories, explanations. Tula would not approve of this way-tangled web. Our online lives' content is sprinkled and scattered and inconsistent and I wish there were a way to scrape it all together and keep it in one spot, at very minimum. At best, shape into something coherent, cohesive and tangible.

We spent New Year's in the woods, the sky super-clear and way more expressive even than what I see here, from our own front yard. This cabin camping trip was a good 'un and I think it will be replicated in the future. Good company, good food, good locale and good scotchy scotch scotch. One excruciating detail is the sole of my shoe, which I rested on the metal fire ring and effectively melted, shredded. I felt it happening but ignored it until we came home. And m, I can't even. Those shoes. My favorite, favorite shoes (Docs), which I wore everysingleday in the colder months. I buried them in the closet and won't even reexamine or document the damage in picture form. Literally it makes me shudder just thinking about their being wrecked.

The shoe repair place here is closed for whatever reason, and there's this online place that I called today for resoling estimate: $79. Plus $12 shipping. That's nearly the cost of a new pair! Which I could, but can't. I really can't justify that. So I've been looking around on ebay but then I accidentally bid on the wrong size and had to ask for bid retraction and consequently cut myself off from ebay for the rest of the night.

There's a few days left of break for myself and the children. Somehow every night I dream of work, either mundane events with the children - maybe my subconscious is worried about a few because FB tells me they've been sick? or sometimes it's weird events that make little sense. Last night on the other hand, a preschool dream evolved into one where J.Lo insisted that, given perfect sky conditions, he could and would fly me in a plane to closely observe the moon.

I'm resolving - no, readying - to conquer or at least surpass the winter's doldrums. I do love that about a school year, the predictable, traditional, month-by-month way it unfolds. And in teaching, how you become responsible for that unfolding, creating and carrying each month's meaning. It's kind of a beautiful anchor. January for my group is all about hibernating. Bear-hunting and such. (EEJ, your birthday party of yore is inspiring an entire classroom setup!)

There is always something to look forward to. Even in this natural time of loss-and-sorrow. (Man, I hate that Param died, right then.) This coming-down from the excitement and glory of Christmas.

There are children to teach, a K.Lo party to plan, walls to paint! And countless other good things.

My resolutions, if they exist, are as such: to create more. What, it does not matter - words, foods, crafts. Now that AA must have received her ninja(?), I can freely blog about how this Christmas season, my absolute favorite thing in the day-by-day madness was hand-making these felty bookmarks and ornaments. With stitching and all. The end results were quirky, personalized and from the penelope-heart. I feel like next year I could start even sooner, but this brings me to my second resolution which is -

to reconnect with serendipity. It's something I feel like the highly sophisticated and awesomely accessible intrawebs has somewhat destroyed, but no - it has simply evolved. Serendipity through FB allowed us in a single random thread to reconnect with old friends and set up that great camping trip. Serendipity through Pinterest landed me on those felty creations, however late in the season. Serendipity still exists, and I want to embrace it.

Also, not a resolution but a conclusion for 2013. Something I almost posted on the FBs and then retracted five thousand times in my mind, but will place here as A Detail: There is no "getting better." I'm done waiting for that, after nearly a year of having suspected LD, journeying to figure out WTF it was and attempting to treat it and then still having symptoms, everysingleday. Every single day, I will probably feel something wrong with me, the weak arm or the achy joints or the not remembering shit moment to moment. Mixing up word context and being only vaguely aware of it after the sentence has been spoken. And other weird or disconcerting randoms. But I can't let the excuse of it overwhelm me into lump-dom, into putting xyz off indefinitely. There is rest and self-caring, yes. But also continuing to live a life, and attempting to make it a good life.

I suppose this a stopping point for now. TBB (to be blogged) is a list of my random pet peeves, to which I couldn't manage to naturally segue here, including the recent trendy word and related phrase, "gut" and "gut health." And I look forward to the Hallmark Channel post.

love to you across the miles,
pen

8 by pen

Even though we weren't tagged by Megs to do our Weird 8, mendacious and I, after sobbing a little, have decided to tag ourselves. Because the lists of weirdnesses between us are, I'm quite sure, endless.


1. I get really annoyed at J.Lo for picking at his nails instead of using a clipper, but then I do the same thing. And what's worse is, I will be the one to pick off a nail badly, causing pain, bleeding, and (one horrible time), infection. The infection, by the way, hurt worse than labor.


2. I'm going through a phase where I just want to paint one wall of a given room. Okay, so I've only done that once so far, in the den, but I really feel like an accent wall can transform the whole room without the time, effort, or expense of a complete repaint. Plus, you can pick bolder colors than you would for all 4 walls. Someday I'm also going to do the living room, and for K.Lo's room, I plan on keeping the top half the way it is (purple with polka dots) and painting the bottom green. That just sounded like a circus when I wrote it down. But it's going to be fabulous.


3. My cravings this pregnancy are: fruit, esp strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, peaches, apples, kiwi and watermelon. Sometimes I wonder if I really crave the fruit, or if I'm just thirsty? I still have a hard time drinking enough water. I also crave eggs, hard-boiled especially. All the other things I've mentioned eating excessively in recent history, i.e. hot dogs, pasta, pizza, and cheese, I eat all the time, even when not pregnant, so I don't feel like they count.


4. I am not a hobnobber. And name-dropping is such a huge pet peeve. I'm really not interested in who you know (unless they're like, a TV star, heh), where you or they went to school, what exactly is on your or their resume(s), and what kinds of things you or they own. I mean, I care, because it's you, and these things make up who you are, including who you spend time with. But if that's all you care about? I clam up. I back off. I find better things to do. Because clearly I am not interesting enough to be your friend. And that I am anti-networking, anti-status, anti-ass-kissing, and anti-materialism? That is exactly what will keep me from being successful in the money-earning world, in my so-called writing career, sure. I'm aware. I wish sometimes that I were more charismatic and inherently charming as a person, and that none of this hobnob deficiency or disdain would matter, but I am who I am, it is what it is, and so. I am okay with that.


5. I don't get invited many places, and not just because I don't hobnob. (Or maybe it is. Perhaps it's the lack of charisma.) I used to get really upset about this fact, like until a few years ago? Then I realized that, duh, I don't invite anyone else anywhere, either. Even though I am continually trying to be better about this particular social retardation, I still depend on others too much to do the inviting. On the other hand, I am a homebody, and don't really desire to go too many places, as it sucks the energy right out of me. I need lots of downtime, time spent watering the plants and watching the fish. Which is yet another thing that makes me boring, I think, but again, yeah, I'm all right with that.


6. I'm a sl o o o w reader. I always have been, and then the problem became worse with classes in English and creative writing. It took me nearly 2 1/2 years out of school (and it's only been 3, total) to not think so much about the story's elements and to just enjoy the ride, but I'm still slow. I just need to soak up every word and understand exactly what is happening and how and why. It takes time. This habit or quality frustrates me, though, and I so wish I could just breeze through book after book like so many of my friends do.


7. I love horseradish. I'm not so much a fan of typically "spicy" or "hot" food, at least once it's to the point of obscuring taste and/or inducing tears. But the heat of horseradish, wasabi and the like? It's thrilling, the way it kind of creeps up behind your sinuses to set your mind on fire. I could eat horseradish plain out of the jar, I think. When I stayed in England, most days I would go to this local sandwich shop for lunch and order a turkey sandwich with mustard, and this mustard, as is apparently standard in England, was laced with horseradish. It was so fantastic, and I've spent the past 8 years, with no success, trying to find mustard that will compare.


8. I don't like red radishes. Don't they have a similar bite? Can't really stand them, never could, despite that they're much prettier than horseradish. Radishes are one of the few foods that I avoided as a kid, but didn't pass on the Second Chance Test as an adult. Potato salad, coleslaw, asparagus, and pierogies all made it into the edible category, but radishes, not so much.

I tag Ashley and Johann.