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?

What's Your "Thing"?

I know people who think going on Facebook is stupid; and Renaissance Faires are ridiculous; and Letterboxing is childish; and dancing is a waste of time; and anything Science Fiction should be dumped in the trash; and no one looks good in orange; and short hair on women is unattractive; and computer games are for idiots; and art is boring. In other words, they look down on me because I enjoy those things. 

I have my own list of "those are stupid (or pointless or boring)" things that other people like to do. And for the most part, I keep my lip zipped on my judgemental opinion around them BECAUSE I know they enjoy it and BECAUSE I know what feels like to be sneered at for liking something. 

So before you get all self righteous about a new craze and share snarky memes, ask yourself....what is YOUR Pokeman GO?







We all have a "thing", even if it isn't Pikachu.

Yoda Was Kinda Mean

"Do or do not.  There is no try."  -Yoda

I've seen this around for years and years and years and years.  It has been paraphrased all over the place, interpreted as having different meanings, depending on the context.
Here are some i.e.'s I see:

If you're going to fail, don't waste my time.

You either can or you can't, don't waste my time.

It's up to you, don't waste my time.

Trying is for losers, don't waste my time.

If you are unsure of your abilities, don't waste my time.

The learning curve is for sissies, don't waste my time.

Now, if Yoda, the Jedi Master of all masters, teaches this way...fine (because he's YODA and because he's muppet), but in real life, with real people, with real consequences, with real reality.... this is not cool.  Shaming, discouraging, and negative reinforcement are the teaching tools of bullies, the lazy and the incompetent.  Teaching is not a by-product of knowledge.  Just because someone is an expert in their field it is no guarantee they know how to teach it.
To teach is a skill (or talent) in and of itself.  Some people are naturals, some people learn it, some people are not good at it; just like singing, drawing, mechanics, languages, math, etc.  Teaching something based on your knowledge is an action performed.  It is what you say in answer to "Whacha doing?"  The two things are not mutually inclusive.  (i.e. just because you CAN do something does not mean you are good at it)
Is this all semantics?  Not in my world.  Not in the world where people's lives are altered because of that one teacher.  Not in the world where acceptance speeches are given and a TEACHER is most often thanked.  Not in my world, where my mother was a kindergarten teacher.  And who's former students, when realizing who I am, tell me how much they remember and loved her.  She died 27 years ago, so these are people who are long out of school.  So if a teacher can make a difference in a 6 year olds life, just think what a good teacher can do in an adult's life and what a bad teacher can do in a teenager's life.
So Mr. Yoda, big cultural icon master of all philosophy, I sure hope you didn't mean any of those things I listed above when you left your indelible stamp on the world. "Do or do not.  There is no try."   Because how will we know if we don't at least try?






i.e. id est, that is to say or in other words

You Don't Have To Wear Pink

You don't have wear pink to be aware of breast cancer. You don't have to participate in any activity to be aware of breast cancer. You don't have to give money to be aware of breast cancer. All you have to do is know what to look for and keep checking yourself. And if ANYTHING seems odd, have it checked out. Want to spread awareness? Tell everyone you know to do the same. Doesn't cost a you thing and you may have helped someone out. 

Be aware with education.

Insert Appropriate Post Title Here

I guess it's been a rough year.  Didn't realize it's been that long since I posted anything.  We haven't done much letterboxing (we haven't done much of anything really), and I don't know if that is going to change anytime soon.  I still check Atlas Quest everyday, I still compile lists of boxes to find when we take a trip and we eek out a find once in a while.  But isn't that the way life goes?  Ups and downs.  Roller coasters.  Mountains.  Bottomless pits.  Whatevers.  I'm making changes in my life.  I hope letterboxing doesn't become something that I once did.  That would make me sad.





This is my sad face  :'-(

Nice People

I have become a rather cynical (dare I say bitter) old bitch as I have gotten older. Pain, disappointment and betrayal will do that to you.  I see myself going down this unhappy, but most of the time amusing, road.  Then along comes a Nice Person.  Well dadgummit, you just ruined it, didn't you?  

I planted a letterbox in Hawaii a couple of years ago, in a very urban, busy, indoor location.  I didn't expect it to last long.  I had such a wonderful time that trip, I got to see my brother and his family for the first time in 10 years (they live in Germany)  I got to meet my very first great-niece and see my niece (her husband was stationed there) being a fantastic mother.  I went with my sister who I hadn't gone on a trip with in a million years, and we got along the WHOLE time.  Plus.... I was in Hawaii!  So, this box has a little bit of a special meaning to me.  I didn't expect it to be visited so much, to the point I was getting notes saying the log book was getting full.  My niece has since moved on to Georgia, so I couldn't ask her to help out.  I figured why not just ask a fellow boxer who lives in the city and who has found the box already.  I contacted Morgan Family Hunters introducing myself and asking if they would send me the box, then replace it when I send it back.  SMACK!   I ran right into a Nice Person.  Not only was she happy to help out, she told me what that box means to them.  Oh, the warm fuzzies peeked out of my bitter heart.  Quick as a flash she sent it to me with a lovely, lovely note and a package of chocolate covered macadamia nuts.  Don't get me wrong, the candy was a sweet touch, but the note was better.  It reminded me that Yes, Virginia, There is Such a Thing as Nice People.  Lookee, warm fuzzies exploding all over!  I'm almost finished with the box and I will send it back to her and it will once again be in place.  But no sweet treat I send back to her can compete with the gentle uplift she has given me...simply by being nice.

There are even fuzzies in my navel.

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.

Cheers!

I created a cocktail out of the leftover alcohol  I found stashed in the house.  Its been so long since I've mixed a drink I have no sense of proportion.  So, it's written in my own vernacular, alter to suit your taste.


Gotelli Hammer*
¾ glass tangerine juice from Trader Joe's
1 huge splash of Absolut Citron
1 small drizzle of Orange Curacao
1 smaller drizzle of Kirschwasser


Raise a toast to absent neighbors.  Add more tangerine juice.   Ahhhhhh!








*You know... instead of a Screwdriver.

He Always Called Me "Doll"

On or about 1950, Mr. and Mrs. Gotelli decided to settle down and raise a family.  They picked a house in a new subdivision south of The City.  They ran their business, worked hard, raised a family and retired.  Life shuffled along as it does, neighbors moved in, moved out, passed away, had kids etc.  Mr. Gotelli was a bossy, nosy guy.  He had no problem telling anyone what's what, and he did so frequently.  Everyone knew him, he knew everyone.  He watched out for all the neighbors, told them when kids were throwing rocks at their cars, questioned the friends who would come by and feed pets while the neighbors were on vacation, alerted them when their back yard was on fire, wheeled in their garbage cans when they were too overwhelmed with caring for their wife who had cancer, yelled at them when they would park their to-many-cars so that driveways were blocked.  When Mrs. Gotelli died he told his neighbor that every morning he would go to the cemetery to visit her grave and yell at her for leaving him.  He doesn't have to do that anymore.  On Tuesday he will finally get to settle in next to her and neither one will be alone anymore.  The Mr. Gotelli shaped hole in the neighborhood is pretty big, about the same size as the one that's in my heart, but not as big as the one that is in my husband's. No more morning updates on the way out to work.  No more anything.  The S of GremLandS wants me to make a letterbox in his honor and plant it in the cemetery.  I will do it.  I can't think of anything at the moment that will do justice to the unofficial Mayor of our street.  But I will do it.

:-(

Hallelujah?

You know how when you are dreaming just before you wake up?  And the dream is SO significant, or insightful, or symbolic?  Almost a little too so?  Here is my story of this morning.  


:Start Dream State thinking:
All the activity associated with normal life are your standard notes of music and most people hear them as they are, the true sound of the note.  Some people are tone deaf and go through life completely out of sync and not knowing why things always seem to go wrong.  Somewhere in between are the people who, instead of hearing the true note, hear the harmony and these can range from hearing a third or fifth or an octave above, these are the lucky ones who are positive and motivated and uplifting.  Another type hears a full chord instead of just a single note.  Major chord being equated with a manic state, minor chord with a depressed one.  Now imagine that everyone's life wasn't like a book to read but a sheet of music to be played instead.  Now imagine a room full of people, everyone with a different instrument and playing their own sheet music.  At the same time.  Now, how in the world could we even stand to be there?  How soon before we'd run from the room with our ears ringing and eyes watering?  But also imagine how amazing it would be to find someone playing something that complemented yours.  
:End Dream State thinking:


I wake up thinking, ohmygosh, I'm BRILLIANT!  That is an amazing metaphor for life in general!  Where do these things come from?!?!  I'm a genius!  I also notice my alarm/radio is going off and I think, I better get up I've already hit the snooze button once.   Wait... hit the snooze button once...  Then I realize I have part of a song stuck in my head from when the alarm went off the first time.  The lyrics are rolling over and over and I can hear Jeff Buckley singing Hallelujah! perfectly in my head and it goes like this:


Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah 


Oh, I'm NOT brilliant.  I just incorporated the song on the radio into a light dream state.  Sigh.  Well, it was fun while it lasted.












If you hum a few bars, I can fake it.

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

The Grem Of GremLandS

We are sad... Our cat Gremlin, the Grem of GremLandS is missing. :-(

The L and S want their Grem back!

Do Your Thing

Usually I hate commercials, but sometimes they nail it. Case in point, an ad running recently for Kaiser. Disclaimer here: I don't work for, with, patronize or utilize Kaiser. I just like the commercial, because it's...well... so ME, down to the expression on her face. And it does actually motivate me to "find my thing". It makes me smile every time I see it.





What's your thing?

hint, hint

What to do on Oct. 1st







44

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

Don't Quote Me On This

When I was a young, angsty teenager, I read in a book by Hugh Prather this quote, "If the desire to write is not accompanied by actual writing, then the desire is not to write".  I was rather taken by that book, Notes to Myself.  In retrospect, I wish I wasn't such an impressionable teenager looking for guidance from someone "older and wiser".      Hmmm, let me re-wind a bit.

I have been cleaning out a lifetime of accumulated stuff.  I've always been good at regular "spring cleanings" and getting rid of the excess, but not as fast as I have been stacking stuff in corners and putting in boxes to stow on shelves and in closets.   I have been unearthing a lot of past life residue.  I have found things I still can't bear to part with (a plastic plate my mother made for me that says "Laurie the Star") , things I am making myself part with because it is not healthy to hang onto them (old diaries) and things I can't believe I've kept for all these years. 

Which leads us to the above mentioned book.  I found it buried somewhere and it brought back a rush of memories.   I remember pouring over this book, highlighting passages I thought were profound and meaningful. (Yes, highlighting...shut up.)  I remember thinking people like the author must know how things really are and I need to learn from their words.  Sheesh, I'm lucky I wasn't targeted by a cult, I bet I would have fallen for it hook, line and sinker.  Back to the book and the rush of memories.  I started leafing through the book and reading the "thoughts".  The more I read, the more my nose wrinkled. I seriously fell for this self-indulgent psychobabble?  I started to feel bad for the younger me and wished I hadn't been so hard on myself for not living up to impossible ideals.  For whatever reason, the quote "If the desire to write is not accompanied by actual writing, then the desire is not to write" stuck with me, because I have often felt that desire to write, without anything happening.  Then I must not REALLY want to write, I would think with my conditioned mind.  Well, the adult me says, "Poo on you, Hugh!"  Sometimes I write, sometimes I don't, sometimes I want to and sometimes I don't.  But it doesn't fit into a nice little bowl of chicken soup.  So this is me writing, this is me writing about nothing in particular, this is me writing my thoughts at this moment that are subject to change at any moment.  I symbolically toss all those old self-recrimination out with that dog eared, highlighted copy of one of the early "self-help" books.  Unfortunately, our younger years are formative, hence the term formative years.  It's not as easy as it sounds and I am still very susceptible to the written words of others.  I have since replaced Hugh Prather and Richard Bach with the likes of Jenny Holzer and Steven Wright, because I have discovered I like to mix relevance and absurdity.  To me, that is a reflection of how life REALLY is...the relevance/absurdity thing... not the actual quotes.  As brilliant and clever are they are they are still someone else's and I need to find my own.

I still like to use quotes though....

And Yet More Proof

What is happening here?  Have I crossed over into the twilight zone?  Do I resemble foie gras?  Here was the scenario:


1. Pre-existing drama in group A.
2. Poor parenting guidance in group A.
3. Repeat of bad behavior of a minor in group A.
4. Request from group B to correct this.
5. Group A's dysfunctional communication cause misinformation.
6. Clash occurs between members of group A and group B.
7. Apparently, I am the only voice of reason on the whole block, but no one will stfu long enough to listen.


I stood between someone who's position was to keep asking a loaded question and someone who position was of the excluded middle.  I mean that literally, I physically stood between them as they repeated the same arguments at each other.  My repeated phrase was "stop", "STOP", "STOP!".  But no one listened.  I knew which direction to go in to solve this thing and it was as if I were invisible.  When I was finally able to get a word in, I pulled out the facts.  The series of events that took place.  The ultimate goal was to stop the kid from throwing rocks.  In the end, its was resolved peacefully between the two arguing adults.  All's well that ends well?  


Not quite.  


The fall out was that  an 8 year old boy was reduced to tears and I was left with the disturbing feeling that I am inconsequential.  





:-x

Apparently I *AM* Chopped Liver

So, I'm not always the most social person.  A lot of time if I have nothing interesting to say, I just stay quiet and this is a trait that has bothered people all my life.  Because, as we know, people like to comment.  As a kid, I never knew what to say to these personal observances.   As an adult, I still don't know what to say.


"You sure are quiet!"  (what do I say to that? okay?)
"You sure don't say much."  (I could agree conditionally, because sometime I yammer on and on.  All depends on the person, the subject, the situation, etc.)
"Well, no one can complain that you talk too much."  (said by an older boy when I was a pre-teen.  Was that a criticism or a compliment?)


We arrive at today.  I have been trying to reconnect through FB with some family members that I stopped having regular contact with.  I invited them to play some fun word games that we could take our turns at leisure and there is a chat window to...well, chat.  All is well and good I thought.  sigh.  Predictably, since it's summer people have been out and about on vacations and so there are longer waits between turns.  No big deal.  But this is the little zinger I get this morning:


Relative One:  sorry to take so long, hopefully (Relative Two)  told you I was camping and out of service
Me:   no, I didn't know
Relative Two:     Hi there! Nice to have you back (Relative Two)! I didn't really think to chat while you were gone. Sorry


Wait, what?  "Didn't think to chat while you were gone."  Seriously?  Seriously??  Wow.  Okay.  What do I say to that?  


Sarcasm:  Sorry I'm not worthy of your conversation.
Guilt-trip:  I'm not so good with chatting lately, things have been kind of rough.  I'm a little down I guess.
Deflect with humor:  Is this thing on?  taptaptap
Passive Aggressive:  Welcome back, chatting just isn't fun without you.
Martyr:  I know I'm boring.
Honesty:  ouch...

Okay, Here is the wrap up and the ultimate question.  You can't control what other people say or do.  I get that, I accept that.  You can only control what you do.  Yep, got it, accept it.  But how do you make yourself not care?  I can let it roll off my shoulders, I can control the impulse to lash out.  I can't control the feelings that come up.  I can't make it not sting.  I can't make myself not care what my family members say or do.  In the end, I can only kick myself for thinking things will be different this time.  Ultimately, I know better...no matter how much hope springs eternal. 








I am pâté, thankyouverymuch.