Negotiating with a man - Part 2

So does this sound ideal or what?  I am a woman with an old house.  Always seem to be fixing it.  I started dating a contractor.  What's not to love?   What draws me to him is not actually his chosen career, that is how I was introduced to him, what draws me to him is laughter and brightness.  Because of that career there are times he problem solves on my house just out of habit.  I am not so comfortable with that.  It is not his baby.  It is not his gateway to freedom from a empty marriage.  It is not his calm and beauty all wrapped up in a cracked plain farmhouse. To me it is all that. 
 I left my husband with this house.  I have had no decision making help so far. It is a loud knocking at my door of (perceived, delusional) self-sufficiency I think I have going on here to let someone share in this work - in this house. There are some minor(major) bumps for me in skipping down a relationship path with a basket of cookies for grandma.  One, I may have an unhealthy co-dependent relationship with my house.  Two, I may have some boundaries that are tough to cross. 

For starters, let's say for the sake of argument, I might be a tad bit independent-  maybe even fiercely independent, although with a strange dependence streak.  I might have equity - equality issues.  And, last but not least, there might be some major trust issues left behind from my marriage.    Nothing highly unusual for a woman who has lived a life. 
So,  accepting help on something like working on a simple issue for my house is a huge quandary for me. I vowed in the beginning I was not utilizing his skillset other than as verbal assistance, and even then  only after months of seeing him. Heck, maybe years.  The focus was that he is going to be having meals with me, walking, talking, driving, dancing... not managing my home repair list.  My house is an eternal money pit.  I could be doing something on it everyday.  I still have not replaced sections of bug-chewed fir flooring.  It is not fully painted.  I haven't changed out porch supports for ones with less insect holes.  There is that upstairs bathroom that is not quite done.  On and on.   Yes, it would be "easy" to hand over my to-do list and follow his lead.  But it would be crippling.  (And bottom line is I won't do it.) That is not equitable.  In my world, there have never been things "that men do" and things "that women do".  Maybe things "that men do easier" and likewise for women, but a lot of that is cultural.  I know for many people this is crazy talk. They cannot imagine their lives not interwoven with another life where reliance, dependence, being taken care of --are strengths to a relationship, not code words to run like hell.   I get that.  They are not necessarily bad things.  We are products of our environment.  I was raised by a single mom.  A very competent intelligent educated woman.  She led a very self-directed life, with a focus on me.  It was a great environment to grow up in.  There was a large support group of friends that supported her.  Bottom line though, is she taught me to be independent.  Do it myself.  Or learn it.  And my mother being a librarian I had access to a  gateway to all knowledge - books.  Books can only do so much.  They don't drive you to a hospital, help you build stalls, drink tea and knit with you, make you laugh when you want to dive into darkness.  So I am learning balance.  Which is a great thing to learn.

There is this other thing.  The thing I am a bit out of practice about.  On how to share my life.  How to be a partner. I think there can be a bit of trading off of skills that can happen.  My inclination is to line them up on ledger paper in clean debit and credit columns.  I know this is not practical.   But taking the subjective and making it objective with maybe a bit of logic thrown in is very appealing.  But I am well aware this is my fantasy life thinking it calls the shots. 

And, lastly, for the record, I am just babbling.  I am not alone in the wilderness on this, there is actually another person involved in this relationship who verbalizes excruciatingly well.  So even if I think I get to make all these pseudo rules?  I don't.   So voila.  I get to share my life.  I get to challenge my independence issues daily.  I'll let you know if I start grinding my teeth. So far, so good, we seem to be negotiating just fine.  Although I am still a bit iffy on the electrical.... but the everlovin' cool thing is that he will talk to me for as long as it takes until my concerns and red flags about whatever I am winding up about have been allayed.  And that right there is what will keep me joyful.    
 

Negotiating with a man - Part 1 - Electrical

I think I mentioned in passing I am seeing a fella.  Great guy. GREAT guy.  The only problem is that he is involved with an "independent" woman... me.  A somewhat unconventional woman leading a somewhat conventional life. 
He has a skillset that I covet.  He has 35 years of home building and renovation under his belt.  Damn.  So, when I have say -- a light in my bedroom that flickers on and off as Wilder walks in the room directly above--obviously an electrical snafu of some sort that is high on my freak-out scale, he looks at it as an easy adventure and repair he can do. 
We are still negotiating on this sort of stuff.  I have issues with - let's see for starters - being taken care of.  Being paid for.  Being bought.  Being dependent.  I think those are adequately loaded words for starters on how I feel.  So when said fella says he wants to "look at" my electrical as I head off to an appointment I think "yeah, that is fine".  Go ahead and look and tell me what you find. 
Return a few hours later and get an email communique that he added a GFCI (ground fault circuit interrupter) to the line so that will go off if there is a short before the breaker trips. A GFCI monitors the amount of current flowing from hot to neutral. If there is any imbalance, it trips the circuit. It is able to sense a mismatch as small as 4 or 5 milliamps, and it can react as quickly as one-thirtieth of a second. It adds a level of electrical sensitivity/safety to wires that seem to be having an issue before we figure it all out and fix it.   
OK.  There is a difference between looking and doing.  He acted. 
And I am torn, since I hate electrical problems and he just took care of a portion of it. 
The GFCI tripped last night and I went down this morning to reset it.  I was gone this weekend so did not see what he had done.  He spent 30 minutes and a lot of hand motions explaining how this all works to me over the weekend, without me seeing the actual product. So that all made sense as he told it and I expected to see the addition of the GFCI downstairs that I now needed to reset.   When I went downstairs and saw this... I just laughed.  Somehow when he explained this it was all simple.  HA. This is not simple.  None of it. 

Above is the part I laughed at.  Not the actual lovely GFCI (below the white outlet to the left of the electrical convolutions) but this box of wires.  Yup. This is why I don't (yet) touch electrical.  I have the feeling I will be soon, however...

Escher inspired knitting

I have always been surrounded by friends who have multiple creative skills.  One is a master knitter and the other a prolific knitter so I have been the recipient of some stellar pieces that you can find on my feet, around my neck and on my hands.   My first meeting with the neurologist he asked if I knitted. Nope. Or played the piano. Nope. Anything that my two hands would have to do together so my left hand use would come back, that my brain would have to work to link the sides together.
After a couple months, I called up my knitter friends.  "I need to start knitting."
Them: "OK."  So we meet up once a week at a coffee shop to knit.
 My daughter Rose joined us since she was knitting in gradeschool with Geri (the master). Rose had a few requirements, being the cool teenager in the bunch.  We were not a club, but a gang. We are the K-Gang with a symbol of two crossed knitting needles as our "gang" sign.  Us adults get an enormous amount of mirth out of being corrected every time we say knitting club.  Rose said it definitely was not cool she was knitting on Sundays with a bunch of women. But secretly, I know she loves it.  These women are all her aunties... not related by blood, but I just about have a blood oath that if something happens to me they need to step in.
 Anyway, after my required scarf as a first project, Geri sent me on to do a hat.  Everyone told me DO NOT TWIST when doing to circle for the hat. Yeah, yeah, so I was careful.  See the above? It took me a while to figure out there is no magic I can do do untwist that.  The sad thing is that it took me 5 rip outs to get that far.  I would like you to take note of the lovely knitting.  I think the other club gang members were shaking their heads everytime they would find out I ripped it out yet again.  But I want to wear it, and I won't if it is a big lumpy mess with missing stitches.  Can we say p-e-r-f-e-c-t-i-o-n-i-s-m.  It does help with the retaining the brain.  Geez, in the beginning it was like reinventing the wheel, I could almost feel the sputtering and grinding in my head as I tried to get my fingers to make incremental moves between needle and yarn.  But it gets easier. I should have that hat done at the height of summer heat at this rate.

Easy Surgery

Friday I went in and out of the hospital for my tumor killin' event.  I was giddy before the procedure and giddy after, although the after was probably affected by all the drugs they were shooting in my IV.
The doctors said the after effects of my gamma ray treatment would be exhaustion, and my experience with exhaustion after a brain trauma is of course, the way I felt after the stroke.  Dang tired. Bone numbing exhaustion.  So I thought this would be like that without the body idiosyncracies, balance issues, and weakness. This is nothing like that-- I feel pretty normal with no exhaustion.  The only residual effect is a botox looking forhead from the local anaesthesia they used to attached the pins in my cranium.  The grossest part according to my friend who took me and actually watched.
I am now in a suite hotel with three tv's and a kitchen, king size bed, watching cable tv (a big deal since we don't have tv at my house, we watch everything on hulu) getting spoiled by friends.

In a year with a stroke and tumor, I feel very, very lucky.  That I seem to be coming out of these physical traumas relatively unscathed.  Sometimes you look for a explanations, reasons, a cause,  to understand.  But I am realizing sometimes there are none, this is just the way our lives can roll.  You can reach toward faith, family, religion to try to make you feel in control, like there is a reason or a master plan why funky stuff happens.  Whatever works for a person and makes them able to handle their fears and anxiety is a wonderful road to head down.  I headed down many avenues to find answers and I can't say there was any one solution for me.  But I learned a lot.

Funny during the season of family and friends I am bluntly reminded about what is important. I know this will make me a better friend, since I am seeing the best side of my loved ones.  I hope I never have to reciprocate what they have done, but at least now I know how to do it with grace and selflessness.  Maybe my blog is aptly named.

Picture sharing...

The problem with me not finding my camera for a while is that then I share a mish-mash of unrelated photos with you. But then again, I am not sure I always relate the photos to what I am jabbering about.
It was Halloween, remember? The first Halloween I have not carved a pumpkin. I still have next year. We went to a corn maze in Snohomish... acres and acres in the shape of Washington (our state) with the walkways being all the highways and byways. Here is a aerial pic of it. I did not do it this year, but sat and people watched while the kids blazed through it. This pic shows the NW corner of our "state" that funny white thing in the background is the Peace Arch connecting us to Canada. The real one is more substantial, but not necessary bigger. I have a tale from this maze here. BTW,I don't know any of these people hanging around with the scarecrow, even if they kinda look like they are posing.
Below are not my cats. But they could be....
Every year at this maze they have a petting farm. Which includes the most popular farm creature, kittens. You can sign up to adopt them at the end of their 'season of loving'. I bet they are great cats because they are soooo socialized.
Lastly, here is the reason I want to learn to knit. This is a scarf a friend gave me inspired by a book. She got a how-to book that has you knit creations that are each based on a work of fiction. A genius idea. I can't remember why it is related to the book something about there are 29 steps in the book and on the scarf -- it is amazing due to her incredibly even knitting and its gently curling shape when you wear it. I love knowing knitters, because they are always knitting and giving away their results. Socks, scarves, gloves, bags, a sweater. Love it.
I have been quiet on the stroke-front. I have had some changes and some news, but honestly want to ignore I had a stroke (HA) and just be my normal awkward responsible quirky tall kind judgemental perfectionistic cranky laid-back open-minded self. I am tired of such a heightened awareness of the possibility of loss. And the fact that part of my brain is dead and liquifying as this blog is typed. (Sorry, I get macabre)
On the bright side, (there always is one, always, always) I think my blog is even more aptly named. Because as my doctors tell me in very serious voices, I am lucky. It is a lucky day. Or at least it was on July 27th. Technically, not having a stroke on July 27th would have been luckier, but we can't pick and choose our graces. Blessed Be and God Bless.

Survived the birthday weekend

This birthday weekend was great, two days of parties, it did not rain, the grill worked, I had enough food and only one child went to the emergency room for stitches.
I guess actually that last one sucked, but keep in mind, only one child went to the hospital. It makes it sound so rough at my house. Yes, nerf guns and ping pong can get craaaaazy. He made it back in time for a burger and s'mores, so all was not lost.
My mom was here visiting from Michigan, and brought her local gal pals. She said she couldn't believe how many people showed up. I have not actually invited many people over since moving here. My house has been in various states of assembly and disassembly... so I think when I sent out the invite curious friends braved the weekend ferry and fees to visit. It was a blast but boy, today I am tired. Bonus: my flippin' house is clean!

Great and busy week!

It has been a busy week. We spent the day at Viking Fest in Poulsbo, the kids disappeared for five hours on rides, Geri came early from Seattle to watch the parade and eat ice cream, we hung with friends in on their sailboat and then walked the beach with dogs and other friends. We have been riding more, which is great for the fat horses. The second and fourth photos are an art walk we went on in the Greenwood neighborhood of Seattle with Eve and Paulo. Even though not traditionally gallery-like, the classic car restorers garage was one of my fave art pieces. Lovely, lovely cars. The window shot is a musician that had been playing in an antique store sitting on a padded toilet visible in the window. They were pretty good, not sewer like at all.
Thirdly, Rose is goofing off having a hilltop zen moment at the most amazing park on Bainbridge Island that has a planetarium, every kind of sport field imaginable, and a great big circle trail around the place. The boy bathroom had copious amounts of pee on the floor and that was not so cool, but otherwise an excellent park.

Finally, finally I got to go on the Navy destroyer Turner Joy which is parked, or anchored, as you grammatically correct people may choose to say, on the Bremerton waterfront and I have wanted to clamber all over it for ever. (It is open to the public and you can go almost everywhere on it, every deck, every level -- ROCKS.)

Baptist Church Visit

Yesterday I went to church with my great neighbors. It is a local baptist church, and reminded me of the church I went to growing up at times (Presbyterian.) I really worded that last sentence wrong, I was not growing up some of the time and not growing up the other part. You get the idea. Anyway, it was a bright clean church. And, yes, the baptists and presbyterians would say they are very different from each other, but the essence of the church was the same. The problem was what dawned on me halfway through the god talk. The pastor, a very nice man, who read well out of the bible, sounded like what I imagine George W. would from the pulpit. Literally I was sitting there one minute following along and then bam : this man kinda sounds like George W. I was not particularly fond of our previous president, so this was a hurdle.
My poor friend I saw afterwards had a trying time with me using her as a bible study sounding board. She is a bit more traditional than I, and has a hard time with me wanting to talk and question and hash things out. It is faith, it just is, you just believe, is her mantra. I had that with Santa and the tooth fairy. I need a bit more at this point in my life.
FYI - This post is a bit of a test, also, to see how google finds ads to run alongside a blog. (I am curious if the ads are tailored to topic....)

The Single Mom Next Door

I have lived in Kitsap Co. almost three years. I have several acquaintances that would step in to help during an emergency. Also, neighbors that can pick up my kids from school if something happens or take them to baseball practice when I get delayed at work. But I don't have that nearby friend to call to commiserate on shoes, grey hair, grass allergies, paranoia and motherhood (those don't all necessarily roll together....although could on a rough day.) I still have my main Seattle friends as talking buddies and that is most evident when my cell phone bill arrives. There is a life I have thrown myself into here, that I didn't fully comprehend when I left the bounds of my 25 years with the kids dad. That of an easily identifiable and non-threatening wife and mother in a house with a volvo and minivan. Oh yeah, yeah, I am so much more than that, but for simple discussion we will talk of outward appearances. There is no thought involved to understand the life I used to lead. Kids in soccer, dance, piano. Worked part-time in a non-profit, and husband worked main-line business.
Now I live without a husband in a farmhouse on property. With two children and not working. Tell me what these words mean to you: Single mother. Unemployed. Living alone.
If that was all you knew... what do you see in your minds eye? Would you want your children playing with mine? How about inviting me over for dinner? Would I hit on your husband? Hit on your wife? Do I have a constant stream of unreliable men in my life and bedroom? Are my kids being exposed to drug and alcohol abuse? Am I on welfare?

I feel I have to explain myself more now. I have to gently move conversations to guide understanding of what I am doing, who we are, why we are here. So gently I go. Not necessarily patiently, but gently. I am the same woman, sort of.

Being Married, being divorced

When I can step back mentally from my life, I see it is a giant continuum. When I am in it day-to-day, staring the grindstone right in the nose and not able to get a wider perspective, all I see is a long to-do list. Because of my inability to prioritize (or lack of desire to) divorce is just another item to cross of that big to-do list. Unfortunately, it also has much emotional crap tied up in it which makes it a bigger item to cross off. Unlike, say, putting up the bathroom mirror, which has very little emotion connected with it, other than if I smash my thumb flat with the hammer. Then there would be emotion.
Other folks around me also give perspective. I happen to have individuals who are all in various stages of partnerdom. And that lends mental assistance to what I am doing with Michael. This marriage thing is not an easy path, and when I hear tales of new marriage, of old marriage, of no marriage, there are struggles. Take two people, raised differently, plop them in the same relationship, and it can be dicey, cranky and insanely fun. How we handle it, how we cope, is a great guide (or not) on how I can navigate through these strange waters. I am just hoping I don't have a heart attack from the crazy anxiety. Fear sucks. Especially since I don't normally operate from a fear-based existence. I try to look at it as a Big Adventure that will soon be over.
Photo: The second of three big piles that were thrown out the bathroom window during the remodel. It seemed appropriate.

Thanksgiving from Don

I have a friend who is a big sender of forwarded emails. He did not have a link to where this came from... but I got a kick out of it.

Greetings All,
>
> For those of you who are coming to my place for Thanksgiving dinner,
> Martha Stewart ain't gonna be here! I'm telling you in advance, so don't
> act surprised. Since Ms. Stewart won't be coming, I've made a few small
> changes:
>
> Our sidewalk will NOT be lined with homemade, paper bag luminaries. After
> a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done, rows of
> flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.
>
> Once inside, our guests will note that the entry hall is not decorated
> with the swags of Indian corn and fall foliage I had planned to make.
> Instead, I've gotten the kids involved in decorating by having them track
> in colorful autumn leaves from the front yard. The mud was their idea.
>
> The dining table will NOT be covered with expensive linens, fancy
> china,or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match and
> everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will refrain
> from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins from last
> Christmas.
>
> Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I
> promised. Instead we will be displaying a hedgehog-like decoration
> hand-crafted from the finest construction paper. The children assure me
> it is a turkey.
>
> We will be dining fashionably late. The children will entertain you while
> you wait. I'm sure they will be happy to share every choice comment I
> have made regarding Thanksgiving, Pilgrims, and the turkey hot line.
> Please remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00 a.m. upon
> discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut diamonds.
>
> As accompaniment to the children's recital, I will play a recording of
> tribal drumming. If the children should mention that I don't own a
> recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds suspiciously
> like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They are lying.
>
> We toyed with the idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the
> start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional method.
> We'll just holler, "come and eat."
>
> We've also decided against a formal seating arrangement. When the smoke
> alarm sounds (remember - Robin is doing most of the cooking), please gather around the table and sit where you like. In
> the spirit of harmony, we will ask the children to sit at a separate
> table. .....in a separate room......next door.
>
> Now, I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey in
> front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This will not be happening at
> our dinner.
>
> For safety reasons, the turkey will be carved in a private ceremony. I
> stress "private" meaning: Do not, under any circumstances, enter the
> kitchen to laugh at me. Do not send small, unsuspecting children to check
> on my progress. I have an electric knife.
>
> The turkey is unarmed. It stands to reason that I will eventually win.
> When I do, we will eat. I would like to take this opportunity to remind
> my young diners that "passing the rolls" is not a football play. Nor is
> it a request to bean your sister in the head with warm tasty bread.
>
>
> Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice
> between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the
> traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and small
> fingerprints. You will still have a choice; take it or leave it.
>
> Martha Stewart will NOT be dining with us this year. Next year is not
> looking good either.
HAPPY [EARLY] THANKSGIVING

Crying in public over a job voluntarily given up

Since giving notice at my job, I have had a couple former board members call me asking why I am leaving. The one I answered today was while in Office Max picking up "Age of Empires" for 11 year old Wilder. This guy is an amazing advocate for history and the museum and always generous with his knowledge and skills. As I was trying to be subtle while talking on the phone in a store, I started crying. Some of the folks I have met in the last eight years have grown on me. It is not just leaving a job, it is kinda like leaving a family. Although without the drunken Thanksgiving stories or embarrassing childhood tales. I told him not to say anything at the board meeting tomorrow, since I didn't want to start crying. He told me it was good to cry, there was something wrong with people who didn't. STILL, I don't want to cry at the board meeting.
Yesterday, another gal gave me a farewell hug and started crying, and so did I.
CRAP.
One door closes, another door opens.
One door closes, another door opens.
One door closes, another door opens.

Blogging Guidelines - 2

I am beginning to get this whole blogging thing. You wanna make money at this? Don't do what I am doing here. (obviously, this is one of those navel-gazing personal journal type blogs for my mental health)
My helpful hints:
1. Keep to one subject.
2. Don't go down paths of extreme crankiness or judgementality.
3. Have a focus to your blog so people can easily identify.
4. Use pictures.
5. Write well. And be succinct. Don't wander on and on and on in a story.
6. Be perky. Always. Be exuberant. And likeable. Don't air your dirty laundry. And... crucial... link into something others may want from you (covet) whether that be money, glamour, great marriage, cute kids, knowledge of some niche market, great house, rare autos, extreme profiency with a variety of sex toys, well-read, writer-ly mannerisms, artistic tendencies, this list can (obviously) continue.
7. Regarding that link: be humble. Whether a single parent, baker extraordinaire, GLBT southerner, or D.C. insider... vanity does not really catch the big populations within blogging.
8. Look at the 'biggies' for guidance, their blogs are easy to navigate, tastefully colored, short posts, colorful photos with a consistent positive message. ("you can do what I do... we can be friends....link to me") To find them, just see what others link to. There is pioneerwoman or dooce for starters. I don't really follow big ones because they are full of stuff I can read in magazines. Unless they do house restoration hints. Then I am all over them.
9. Reminder to blog readers: for some this is a business or a vanity piece. Even though we are all equalized in this media (anyone can comment, anyone can link) that does not mean it is a real world you are reading about. I have read such cranky posts from (mostly women) who have felt disillusioned by other bloggers. The bloggers weren't in real life like their blog presence. That would be hard. In real life you get to see the real person, not a built fantasy person which is what comes out of a 2-D blog posting. This is part of the reason I became hesistant about going to author readings. When a couple of my favorite authors turned out to be DUDS personality wise, it ruined me on their writing. They did not match my built personality for them that came out of their writing.
10. Have fun. Pick something easy for you to share with a bit of a spark.
11. Get your own domain name. (lose the blogspot or wordpress link) Watch out for the skanky domain manager companies.
12. Be patient. You are one of 126,000,000 blogs.

Results from Royal.pingdom.com
* 126 million – The number of blogs on the Internet (as tracked by BlogPulse).
* 84% – Percent of social network sites with more women than men.
* 27.3 million – Number of tweets on Twitter per day (November, 2009)
* 57% – Percentage of Twitter’s user base located in the United States.
* 350 million – People on Facebook.
* 50% – Percentage of Facebook users that log in every day.
* 500,000 – The number of active Facebook applications.

Bein' a Bride

So I got to rub shoulders with the soon-to-be bride --this is her beaming with her god-daughter this past weekend. Regardless of any drugged up delirium I may have had that day, I learned a few things.
1. It is not easy being from a large family. Rose and I were talking about it and she likened it to being in a high school clique, although one that stays with you your WHOLE LIFE. The role you were assigned at a young age is the mantle you wear for the rest of your life. Ah yes, you may accomplish things, you may get married or not, you may be whatever version of success or failure they deem is success or failure, but in the end... it is easier for families to operate if you stay loosely in the role that everyone sees you in. Be that : the smart one, the pretty one, the stubborn one, the clumsy one... ever wonder why some children move as far as possible away from family? Or why the NW of the US is so dang independent? Ask people where they are from. Where their family is. We have a lot of escapees here.
2. Family is a comfort. The good side. They know your sadnesses, the reason for your happies, they know your life. There can be comfort in not always having to explain yourself, who you are, how you came to be.
3. Family can make you crazy. Innocuous simple words such as "Can you pick up that piece of cookie on the floor?" " What did you get from Aunt Mabel?" can send a daughter into fits of apoplexy that only the oh so special mother-daughter relationship can explain.

At one point Rose put her head on my shoulder and said "I am glad you are the type of mom you are... thank you."

I will try to remember these light and appreciative moments when my now 15 year old tries my patience, pushes my buttons, and rolls into her own special teenagerland in the next couple years.

Birthday story of long ago

Well, birthday story of three years ago. It is the season of birthdays in our house, Wilder on the 28th of May, Rose on the 5th of June. That makes for action packed weekends around our place. I lived through Wilder's party of boys, and one girl... plus his sister. Lots of yelling and sugar rushing.
This weekend will be at least a dozen fifteen year-olds whooping it up around the house. Yikes. But girls are easier? Or at least there are less fart and burp jokes.
I was wondering if they were all going to go out after hours to the gravel pit and get all dirty sliding around on their rears... and was reminded when we lived in Seattle next to a large park and beach. For Rose's birthday we thought we would go the park in the dark to the beach... such excitement for a bunch of 12 year-olds. My next door neighbor was walking down with us also. 12 year old girls being naturally squeally we thought they could get their hollering out of their system at the beach and through the forest before I was trapped in a house with them overnight. So halfway down the trail said friend disappears ahead of us down a trail. We head down the main road toward the beach, me and a dozen girls. It is dark. Evergreen trees leaning over the road. The gals are clustered around me as we hike down the hill to the beach. A truck drives by us heading uphill toward the exit. Then, a few minutes later, the truck is back... directly behind us a few yards. With their lights off. And shaded windows that I could not see in to who was driving. Once the girls noticed we were being followed, they began to freak out. Who out there is familiar with group psychology of girls? Not pretty, and we were about 1/2 mile from home. With no one around. And my neighbor somewhere down the trail and not able to hear me when I was calling her. Here we were out having an exciting evening of night beach visits and we are being shadowed by a truck of creepers. My inclination was to tear those truck boys a new somethingerather, I was that pissed that they thought that would be funny.
The main thing I have thought of since this is what sort of people in the truck thought it was funny to intimidate a gaggle of prepubescent girls like a scene out of a bad horror flick? They must have felt very powerless within their own lives to get a charge outta that.
The boring end of story is : called home and Dennis came and got the kids in the minivan, called neighbor on trail to go home, and I did not get to kick anyone's truck butt.
Wish me luck for this weekend. I think we will "do nails."

Friends

1. That is a very wacked opinion, Ms. Feisty. Can we make a $1000 bet whether that happens or not? Am confirming at LEAST Saturday night.
2. I need garden help, Ms. Green. The weeds are sprouting. And I am just watching them.
3. Ms. McBride: Rest well. It will all be over soon. (Wow, that sounds almost deadly)

Dress Shopping for Assistant to the Bride

I am seeing a pattern. Bridesmaid dresses all seem to be for much younger females than I. As in, ones with perky small non-childrearing breasts, a 'sleeker' waist and let's just face it, overall YOUNGER. The clincher was when I tried on a dress and had to manually pull parts of my anatomy up about 6 inches (I am not kidding) to smoosh in those parts of my anatomy into the too small breast containment zone. I could not figure out what the lumps were above my belly button. They were my boobs flattened. That was a very sad realization. Not a good look. (But hey, I would really make the lovely bride look good, wouldn't I?) And really, spaghetti straps? Those won't even hold my .... well, we are running a family style blog here. I am thinking the whole strapless concept is a danger zone for me unless this is a 'clothing optional' wedding. And it is not. What if I had to jump in the air with my arms up for some strange reason?

I think I will start looking at the mother of the bride/groom dresses.....

Junior Bridesmaid Gowns by Alvina Valenta - Style 507

Now that I wonderfully thrown a fit at my gal pal 3 months before her wedding.... Rose has found her bridesmaid dress. We still need authorization from the bride for color choice, but it was grueling getting the daughter to pick a dress! There was one that she and I both Loved, but I figured the bride would not want two gals standing by her side dressed like classical roman slave girls ala 2010. I do have a wee bit of sense.
Junior Bridesmaid Gowns by Alvina Valenta - Style 507

About said personal fit: when longtime friends no longer keep in touch or share their lives with you the way they did, it sucks. I am just realizing how much it sucks and able to recognize it and no longer take it personally, but it is hard to lose that link in communication. When your lives are woven together by history, familarity, love, longevity and stories... I am torn between "I should have just kept it to myself since she is getting married in three months" and "share." I chose share, and we shall see where that goes. There is so much more wrapped up in this conversation... but the bottom line for me nowadays is trust. I suppose that will be my mantra for the rest of my days of living. And that squirrel-y word 'truth' which I used to believe was so concrete and black and white, and it is nothing of the sort. Where are those hard black and white words that we can solidly build upon? Which ones are written in stone?

Pics Fort Worden

Oh sure, here they don't look scary. But that is the flash illuminating every nook and cranny. Humans were not made to feel comfortable in pitch black subterranean cold places. The last picture you can barely make out the battery in the background. These are the larger walkways you can go through. There are also ones that are just the width of a human body.

Port Townsend Fort Worden

Images: 1. Battery Walker. Courtesy www.callipygia600.com

2. Mild-looking-during-the-daytime battery www.usforting.com

For my birthday we traveled north 35 minutes to the Victorian seaport Port Townsend. Fort Worden has large homes (former officers houses, NCO houses, and barracks) that you can rent. I gathered a big bunch of folks and we moved into a former barrack with 11 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, giant dining room, which came with everything you could need in a kitchen including 4 coffee pots and two fridges and stoves. I was in heaven. The purpose of this was to go through the batteries at night. This park (and Fort Flagler and Fort.... hmmm the other one) all protected the entrance to Puget Sound during WWI and WWII. The military has long moved out of these (1950's for Fort Worden) What is left is the cement batteries that held the cannons and the large artillery. Former radio buildings. A giant empty underground water tank. Without windows or wood doors they seem like an ancient ruin of some sort except they are still fully intact. During the day you need a flashlight to go through them, at night they are positively eerie. There are narrow passageways, giant steel doors that squeek and clang and of course, friends that run screaming through them. Or silently hiding in corners waiting to scare the piss out of you. I considered buying a bag of "Depends" for myself. I more need it for laughter (terror-filled) than fear based expulsions of fluids. I usually cannot stop laughing through this. We did it once before five years ago, but that was just with gal pals. The stories we amassed during that trek are priceless, and I am beginning to wonder if we have started embellishing them a bit. I can't wait to hear those stories when we are all 80. I am sure their relation to the reality of the moment of 2005 will be loose. But they will be dang good stories!