10 Whats

Give me a number between 1 and 10.

No.
Come on.
No I'm busy.
OK give me a number between 12 and 17.
No! Wait… What?
What what?

A number between what and what?

What what?

Knock it off. A number between 12 and 17?
Okay, 16. 

What?

What what?

I swear to God I'm never going to talk to you again if you don't knock that crap off!

Okay

Good
Mmmm hmmmm. 

God, now what?
What what?
Seriously?
No, never, when am I ever serious? Give me a number between one and 10.
Why? And don't say "why why" or "what why" or "why what".

Why would I say that?
Seriously I'm going to ignore you if you don't knock it off.
OK.
OK OK?
You're not as good at this as I am.
Shut up.
OK, fine.
Fine.
Give me a number between 1 and 10.
I said shut up!
So what? Give me a number –.
10! 10! The number is 10!

No, it's not.
What?
It's not 10. Try again.
OK, I'm ignoring you now.
I'll keep asking.
I'm putting on my headphones.
It won't work.
I'm turning up the volume. 

You can still hear me.
No I can't.
Then why did you answer?
Shut up! Leave me alone!
Okay...I love you… Did you hear me? I love you… OK, now you can't hear me. But you can't say I never tell you that, now can you? And I won't be lying when I say I've told you that already. So, HA! In your face!!
I hate you.
Wait… What!?

The Smallness of the World

Coincidence? Or not. You be the judge.

There are these ideas of "pay it forward" and "random acts of kindness".  I try to participate in these when I can.  But this isn't about tooting my own horn. This isn't about me at all. It's about the how it all happened. So in that spirit....

I try to make it a habit that when I donate to someone I know on Go Fund Me, I find a stranger to donate to also. I don't chose someone haphazardly, usually I look through the creative category or the "near me" filter. I scan the funds and find something that resonates with me. A dancer with a scholarship to the Alvin Ailey school. An independent film maker invited to show at a film festival in Europe. A woman with health issues living in my city fixing an old car as therapy (same model car as the first car I bought).
This time I start with the "near me" filter and scan through several pages, click on a handful of "read more" buttons, looking for one that just "feels right".  The only thing that makes me click on this particular one is their first name...Kitten.  Not strictly local, it's in SF...but close enough to check out anyway.   A story of starting over, in a safe place, away from an unsafe situation. It stirs enough in me to check out any links to get a further feel of "rightness". There is a link to a Facebook account, so I click and read about his story, snooping through the public posts. There is a lot of love and support being offered and appreciated, so far so good, but I'm still not convinced this is the "right" one. I see a comment, a rather blunt one, in a tough-love kind of way. It's from a person with a very common last name, but a little unusual of a first name. It is also the name of someone I was acquainted with (but not FB friends with), funny that there might be two of them. I don't for a second think it might actually be the same person.  But then I glance at the "Friends" list and see that Kitten and I do have a mutual friend. And because of how small the world is, and because our mutual friend once did a cancer run event in my honor, and because our mutual friend passed away much too young, and because I went to a memorial service this past weekend for another woman who passed away much too young because of cancer, I give a small donation to help Kitten with his new life.






Life is not a Disney ride

X's and O's

 Stream of consciousness writing January 2004 (edited and formatted)

Begin. Be gentle, go slow. Baby steps, tip toe, tip toe. TicTacToe.  #  X's and O's  Hugs and kisses from an absent mother. Always a note, so I will always know.

"Don't be afraid, I will be back soon XXX OOO." 

One for each of us.  I didn't know, thought they were all for me (or if you were reading all for you.)  

X's are kisses, this is the love, the exuberant, messy "I don't care who knows".  But kisses can leave me cold. There are just too many ways to mess them up. Too slobbery, too hard, like a peck from a chicken, chapped lips, bad breath, have good aim or you'll kiss someone's nostril. The intimacy of allowing someone's lips to touch yours. Your breath, your words come out from your lips. Sustainance, food, drink pass through them. Such a symbolic area. Reserved for VIPS. Unless I have bad breath.
But the O's, the O's were for hugs, the quiet, the strong, wrapping around and holding me up. O's  can be anytime, happy, sad, anytime, long, short, soft, hard, half, whole, A frame, patting the back, side by side, heart to heart.  So versatile, those O's.  I liked them better, I knew I was loved with those.





Love, 
     Mom
     XXX
     OOO

High School English 1977

Word list:
recollect, compelled, retort, restraint, irrelevant, aspiration, seasonable, refiner, dispelled, pertinent, insinuating, concur, initiative, imparting, facilitate.

Assignment:
Use all of the words in a story.

My freshman attempt at being clever:
 I recollect a long time ago, when I was compelled to stay after school. My teacher told me to sit down, I answered with a retort. I should have restraint myself because sitting down is irrelevant. After school I had to write a composition on what I wanted to be. I wrote that my aspiration was to become a seasonable fruit refiner. Later that night I broke into school and dispelled her pertinent papers down the hall. Next morning when I went to school my teacher kept insinuating  that I broke in the school, but of course I didn't concur with her. Finally I took initiative and told her she was not  imparting good knowledge to the students. When I got home I got some ice to facilitate the black eye I got when she threw a book at me.

Really?:
Restraint does not equal Restrained
Dispelled papers...not so much.
Ice does not facilitate black eyes, but I think you see what I was going for there.

I could go on, but I think I'll just sit in the corner for a while.





A for effort?

Condensed Milk

So maybe not condensed milk but here is my thought process:  over on FB I indulge in my fascination with words by periodically posting archaic/obscure/long/fun to say out loud words.  Since I haven't posted here recently, here is a condensed list of those words.  Feel free to use them in a sentence if you'd like:


ennui
soporific
trifecta
tympanometry
portmanteau
pinguecula
speculoos




This is my egress for today.

As If One Isn't Enough

I'm not sure how many (IF any) people read this blog.  If I am to judge on the comments, there are two (Hi WomanToBlame, Hi Wendy!).  So in case you two, or anyone else who stumbles on this blog, NEED to read more junkandstuff, I just wanted to let you know......I've got another blog.  Yep, as if one isn't enough.  I'm trying my hand at a different kind of blog, it goes along with my etsy/ebay selling and is called Her Maj.  If you have any interest in vintage, antique, odd, old stuff come on over.  I do a lot of research on my item because I'm kind of a slave to that kind of thing.  I only use a portion of what I find out, and sometimes I learn cool stuff that I thought it would be nice to share...and it makes me feel like all that research didn't go to waste.  So, this blog will still be the same random rant and letterbox love and silly soliloquy  kitty box it has always been.  
Soooooooooo, that's about it.  Yeah, that's all I have to say right now....yup.  Uh, now what....   Sooooooooooooooooo, how was your Christmas?






Mine sucked, as usual.

It's a Win-Win Situation

Got a new car, real live new car, the first NEW new car I've ever had.  I am now a moss covered hamster.  Can you figure out what car it is by that hint?  If you get it right, maybe I'll send you something...like a stamp I carved but never planted.





vrooom, putt, putt, putt

Ex Animo

I used to write in a journal all the time.  I started in high school and continued to do so until about 13 years ago.  I can't explain why I stopped.  I know when I did, it was a very momentous time in my life.  It was a turning point, my whole life changed within a matter of days, hours even.  And for some unknown reason, I couldn't write in my journal about it.  I know because I tried.
And I never went back to writing in a journal like that again.  I have looked through some of my old ones and was shocked (and embarrassed?) to see I wrote about the SAME things over and over and over again.  I remember thinking, all that writing and nothing changed, so what's the point.  Fast forward many years and here I sit...writing.  But this is a "Blog" not a journal or a diary, right?  I don't write the deep dark obsessive crazy thoughts that occasionally surface in my head.  Because now I know I am not unique in having these kinds of thoughts.  Everyone does at some point or another with varying degrees of frequency.  I do write about personal things...kind of.  Most often I allude to them or make them into stories or metaphors (or fives).   So what is the difference?  Here, I write for a pretend audience.  Originally I did that because this is the Internet after all, one of THE most public places in the universe.  I would be uncomfortable, embarrassed to put myself out there like that.  But what is the point of writing if not for some personal benefit?  So, I don't write about what I did on my summer vacation.  I don't write about the food I eat, the clothes I wear, who I saw or talked to......unless I see something larger in it, some connection to something else.  I don't know why I started writing like this, but it has been so much more satisfying than all of the journals I filled for sooooooo many years about how unhappy I was with my life or what boy I was pining after or wondering what should I be doing with my life.  Because ultimately none of that mattered all due to that one point of time in my life that changed everything forever.  
So, let's bring this puppy back around full circle, shall we?  What is the point of this bit of writing today?  The thing that changed my life forever was cancer.  non sum qualis eram: I am not what I once was.  My vision of my life, my purpose, my path was totally blown up.  It pisses me off sometimes, I feel cheated, I feel angry often, I feel sorry for my self sometimes.  I have scars, I have pain, I am missing parts of my body, I am missing parts of my memories but I am lucky to be alive, lucky to have married the best man in the world for me, lucky that my family loves me (in their own strange way....see this written just in case any of them stumble on this post, can't be too sentimental here.  wink wink)   Still haven't come to the point of this post, have I?  I am going to leave it at that, because like I said before this Blog tends towards finding that bigger connection or message in every day things.  So, if this is being read by anyone else than me, it is up to you to figure out the connection that resonates for you.  As for me, I'm going to bed.






Non Sequitur

Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming

Hmmm, should I carve some stamps and put them up on Etsy?  I think I'm a decent carver, but would anyone really want to buy them?  I guess I'm not the only one with that idea (dang it!).  The other stamps I've seen there have ranged from exceedingly simple to quite beautiful.  I dunno.  Is it worth it?  I know carving can give me migraines.  But I like doing it.  Gak.  Some days I tell myself to just put my head down and keep trudging along.  It's not enough and I need to exercise that creative outlet. 
Boxing has taken a back seat to "the business of life".  We kind of hit a plateau with planting...hit one with finding too.   Okay, now I'm rambling.   Which made me remember Steve Martin's song Ramblin' Man.  Can't find the lyrics but did come across Grandmothers Song:

Be courteous, kind and forgiving,
Be gentle and peaceful each day,
Be warm and human and grateful,
And have a good thing to say.

Be thoughtful and trustful and childlike,
Be witty and happy and wise,
Be honest and love all your neighbors,
Be obsequious, purple, and clairvoyant.

Be pompous, obese, and eat cactus,
Be dull, and boring, and omnipresent,
Criticize things you don't know about,
Be oblong and have your knees removed.

Be tasteless, rude, and offensive,
Live in a swamp and be three dimensional,
Put a live chicken in your underwear,
Get all excited and go to a yawning festival.



Welcome to my world!

Music to My Ears

I like music...who doesn't like music?  I don't like ALL music, there is a lot that I am indifferent to.  The snarky me always kind of smirked when movies (or TV shows) would show someone who went to the opera and the music made them cry (think Pretty Woman).  I thought it was a ploy or an affectation to show how cultured they were inside.  Blahditty blah blah. 
Now for the "My Bad" moment.  The song is the Hallelujah Chorus.  I've heard it many, many times before.  I've even sung quietly during a sing-a-long version.  I'm not a religious person, but it's a lovely song and I always enjoy hearing it.  The other day, a friend sends me a link to a YouTube video of a flash mob who sang the whole thing in the food court at a mall.  I like watching flash mobs when done well.  Well, I'm grinning along with the audience as person after person stands up and joins in.  I'll be damned (oops, guess I shouldn't use that phrase)...I'll be gobsmacked if when the ladies went into the high notes in the middle of the song that my eyes welled up and I had tears running down my face.  WHAT?  What was that?!  What just happened?!  Why am I crying?!  It's not like I had never heard the song before.  I wasn't even there live.  It was as if a certain note or tone had triggered the "cry over beautiful music" center of my brain.  Fortunately, I was by myself watching YouTube so I just let it flow and afterwards mopped up my tears and had a good laugh at myself.  Lesson learned, thankyouverymuch!
If you're curious:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXh7JR9oKVE




'tis the season.

Metaphors? Try Metafives.

Worry.  It's like little thin wafer cookies stacked up inside me.  Delicate, light, crispy little rounds of anxiety, dread, regret and the like.  Each cookie a separate thought, stacked in a column for each object of concern and grouped according to intensity.  I drop them carefully one on top of the other making sure to keep them balanced and ordered.  The higher I stack them the more unstable the columns become, so I make sure they are pushed close together to help stabilize each other. 
Each stacked column of crispy worry is pushed up against another one to create a sort of foundation to prevent a total collapse of my infrastructure.  But as the groups grow and columns are pushed together I have less and less room to maneuver.  Pretty soon I can't even reach the ones in the center anymore for fear of breaking the ones on the perimeter.  There is no way to reach the ones on the bottom without disturbing the ones on the top.  And I can't rearrange them because I don't think I could ever get them put back in order again.  It would be total chaos.  Overwhelming.  And what if those delicate little cookies crumbled?  Could I handle it standing there treading on the crushed remains of all those anxious thoughts I've been tending to so calmly and carefully and sanely.  Could I clean up the mess?  
So I just keep stacking and pushing and leaning and propping, when all I really want to do is pour a glass of milk and eat my way through those wafer cookies of worry.





Kind of makes you hungry, doesn't it?

Where's The Dog?

    When we were first married and living here, I would drive down the street which took me to my street on my way home from work, doing errands and what not.  Driving through a fairly boring but pleasant suburban area with older tract homes I began to notice one particular house with a yard on a corner.  Nothing special about the house and there was an ugly chain link fence around the front yard.  Not a big one, a short one and I began to take note of the happy black lab that was often in the yard. 
     He was happiest when his boys were out there playing with him, racing around and around as happy labs do.  I also began to notice two boys in the front yard, most often they were playing catch with a baseball.  There was a significant age difference, the older one looked like he was in high school, the younger one looked under 10y.o.  I would think, "What a cool older brother!"  Really, I saw them out there so often I began to look for them.  I began to look forward to catching a glimpse of the little scene that played out so often. 
      Just as often, I would see the happy lab not running around but waiting on the front steps waiting for his boys to come home.  And often the yard was just empty.  After a time, I realized that the yard was more empty than not.  And when the happy lab was there, he was usually alone, lounging around or sniffing or sleeping.  
    Suddenly, I began to see boys playing catch in the front yard again.  I was a little disappointed because they were two teenage boys and I thought "Well, I guess the older brother does need to interact with friends his own age.  I hope the younger brother doesn't feel left out."  The other thought was "Dang, the dog is looking old!"  I could see the white on it's muzzle as I drove by.   Then it dawned on me!  I am such a dork!  That was the YOUNGER brother in the yard playing catch with a friend his own age!  About 10 years had gone by and (duh!) the boys grew up.  The younger one was about the age of the older one when I first noticed them.  Had that much time really gone by so fast? 
     Again, the yard began to be empty more often than not and at a certain point I figured the boys were off to college and the doggy had lived out it's happy life.  Then lo and behold!  I saw the lab sitting on the front steps again.  Oh, he looked so old.  So much white all over his head and moving slow and creaky.  But it made me happy to catch a glimpse of "The Dog" as he was now known.  (My husband and I realized a couple of years into this that we were noticing the same thing separately and would comment on it when driving by together.)   Then I realized I had lived here 15 years and that was one old dog and time really does fly. 
     Driving down that road yesterday I noticed I still anticipate coming around that corner to check out that yard to see if anyone is there.  It has become habit, unconscious.  This time, for whatever reason, a voice in my head said "It's been twenty years, The Dog has died by now.  The boys are adults and don't live there anymore."  Again, I can't believe how much time has gone by.  How did it happen?  Where did it go?  Where was I when it went?  Sometimes I think about leaving a note on the chain link fence letting them how much their yard has been a part of my life and that I remember their dog and boys..... but I get to that point and realize it sounds a little creepy. 


So, I will keep driving by, and by habit, look to see if The Dog is out there today.

Boom

I live about 3 miles from the gas line explosion in San Bruno.  I could see the smoke (but not the fireball) from my driveway.  I am haunted by knowing all those people went through something unimaginable.  I wonder what would I have done?  Froze?  Panicked?  Think clearer than normal?  What would I have done with (fill in the blank)?  That pipeline, that old 1948 pipeline, that pipeline that PGE knows has serious issues, makes it way north from San Bruno,  It splits off from its route along Junipera Serra to drop down Avalon, cross El Camino (around SSF HS, I believe and my most, all time favorite place to go recently...Eggettes) and runs parallel to El Camino by the Kaiser and BART....I stopped looking at the map at that point.  We are bordered on three side by this aging pipeline that PGE has sent Memo's about.  The same pipeline that erupted with sudden violence and forced a neighborhood to flee while their skin blistered and burned and their house turned in to ashy piles of memories more often than not with a red brick finger of a chimney pointing at the empty sky.  I wrote on my Facebook status "Fear = the great equalizer" and people hijacked my posting and began to wax philosophical about fear and ignorance and prejudice and I wanted to say "blahblahblahblahblah".  No disrespect intended, impatience and frustration yes.  I had to make myself clear and said... I'm not talking about that kind of fear, I'm talking about the "Ohmygod, ohmygod, what do I do?!" life and death kind of fear.  Because no matter who you are, what you own, how much you make or how much you owe, who your parents are, what your religion, race or dress size is...when it comes down to real, honest to goodness FEAR  we are all equal and speaking the same language.  It's a terrible thing, fear.  Necessary, but terrible.  And in the end we are all just living organisms fighting to survive in this dangerous world.   The crushing truth is, some of use make it and some of us don't.  And that is weighing heavy on my heart these days.





Who's name is pulled from your gut and spoken aloud when you think you are going to die?

A Thin Line Rant

There is a thin line between a positive attitude and denial.  I am seeing the difference right now in several people.  If someone has a "positive attitude", I'm all for it.  But too often the positive attitude crosses over into denial.  As in: if we just pretend everything is fine, everything will be fine.  Granted I'm not an optimist, nor am I a pessimist.  (Even though I may call myself one just for fun.)  I guess that makes me a realist?

Question:  Is the water glass half empty or half full?
My answer:  It's a glass of water, get over it already.

If you don't acknowledge the problems, how the hell are you ever going to fix them?  Especially if you are in a position of leadership and you tell people they are doing everything perfectly, you are doing them a dis-service.  How can they improve or grow or expand or learn?  You are telling them everything is perfect as is.  Sooner or later, reality is going to hit them with a bump and they will be shocked or worse embarassed.  (Okay, all this is contingent on IF the people involved want to fix/improve/grow.  If they don't then the point is moot, isn't it?)
Now here is my HUGE "but".....BUT this only applies to someone who is in that position of guideance, leadership or direction.  Nothing more annoying than someone who feels it necessary to correct everyone at liberty.  Appropriate behavior is a foreign term to them anyway.
"Cheerleaders" have their time and place (yay, go team!), but it shouldn't be a blanket approach.  And just because you say everything is fine, doesn't magically MAKE everything fine. 
(Cranky me sez:  It's no "Secret", it's not enough to imagine yourself a better person, you actually have to BE a better person.)

Rah Rah Sis Boom Bah...

123

Who Talks Like That?

Phone conversation:

"I cut my hair today, just to warn you...it's short."
"How short?"
"Short, short."
"Mia Farrow short?"
"Yeah, like Winona Ryder short."
"Cool."

I like how we used different references, but meant the same thing...with an unusual economy of words.


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