The Exception tagged me on a letter meme that has had my head a-spinning! This is, indeed, a challenge, but an incrediby fun exercise!
She bestowed upon me the letter v.
Now to think of ten things that I love that begin with the letter v. If you leave me a comment, I will give you a randomly chosen letter in turn.
So: on to v!
1. V is for my violin, my first true love, my first traveling companion. My violin took me to Japan my first time, to All State Orchestra, and accompanied me throughout a youth filled with learning and loving in the purest sense. My virgin mind wrote a poem extolling my violin when I was but in high school, as an instrument of my love, through which this love shone forth in both a physical manifestation and an emotional outlet. My violin taught me self-discipline; I was self-taught on the violin and am proud that all I accomplished on my violin was due to my own hard work. I miss my violin--my fingers have lost their training but my heart has not lost the love.
2. V is for my voyages. I am a traveler. I have been to, not counting mere airport layovers, twenty-four countries, twenty-three of which before I turned 30. I have lived (long enough to have to change my visa) in Europe, South America and Asia. I have learned to respect the beliefs and the ways of life of so many who live in such a different way than the over-indulgent way North Americans tend to live, which has created in me a desire for much more simplicity in my life. When I sit for too long without traveling, I become extremely restless; my voyages are good for my soul.
3. V is for vivacity. I am extremely attracted to that quality in people and try as hard as I can to maintain my vivacity of spirit even when I feel beaten down by Life.
4. V is for Vegas. And the only reason I love Vegas is because my sister and her family lives there (as well as an old college roomie) and I have grown to love and really look forward to our once yearly visits.
5. V is for violets. Apart from adoring the vibrancy of violet, my imperfect lawn is filled with violets in the springtime. What most would consider a terrible plague infecting their grass, I adore the deep blue, purple and white violets that come out as a sure sign of spring. My children pick them and make me bouquets with these violets, which I put into mini-vases and decorate our tabletop with these springtime treasures.
6. V is for Vienna. It is the name of my town, that which I now call home. It surprises me, to be honest, that this would pop into my mind as I meditate upon this exercise. I have grown to love Vienna because this is the home my children know, and because my dearest adult friends live here. However, Vienna has also permitted me to follow a dream I never considered possible, that of starting my own school and even writing my own textbook, and I think there are few places where there would actually be an active market for what I do that is not already saturated by community college or other community outreach classes.
7. V is for vanilla, my most preferred candle scent and a most necessary ingredient in most Holiday baking recipes. I find the smell of vanilla intoxicating; it fills me with memories and warmth.
8. V is for variety. I become quickly bored with routine, and even if not capable of getting myself out of the daily routine, I seek out people who can grace my life with variety in some fashion--be it an impromptu coffee once in a while, a spontaneous drop-in at the house, or just a telephone conversation that makes me interrupt my norm/rut.
9. V is for velvet. I find the sensous feeling of that particular fabric glorious against my skin. My favorite dress is black velvet with a Chinese collar; unfortunately, I never have ocassion to wear it as I never go out! Velvet makes me feel like royalty. I love to feel like a queen.
10. V is for vicuña…after all, that is what I am. Even my latin name (Lama vicugna) tells you--I am Mama Llama, domesticated version of the wild vicuña that roam the Andean highlands and that give us such versatile wools to weave into sweaters or scarves, that keeps us so warm. They are sturdy, hearty, strong creatures that can handle the hardships of life on the altiplano and that give such comfort through their wool to others.
Funny, now that the floodgates have been opened, I can think of a variety of v variants that command my attentions.
martes, 9 de diciembre de 2008
lunes, 8 de diciembre de 2008
The Reindeer Quiz
Evidently, I have once done a private dance for Santa...
Was that the year my poly-sci prof dressed as Santa? Ugh...my past life is coming back to truly haunt me...
| You Are Dancer |
 Carefree and fun, you always find reasons to do a happy dance. Why You're Naughty: That dark stint you had as Santa's private dancer. Why You're Nice: You're friendly. Very friendly. |
Was that the year my poly-sci prof dressed as Santa? Ugh...my past life is coming back to truly haunt me...
A cinnamon spiced latte
The snow fell on Saturday evening.
It was a shower at best, but as whatever did fall has stuck around until today, it counts as the first official snowfall of the season. Following a day filled with a strange mix of charity, commercialism and the arts, Princesita, Young Prince and I decided to don our Santa hats, bundle up warm, and walk a mile downtown to the noodle restaurant for dinner.
The experience was glorious.
The air was cold, but hearts were warm as we held hands, sang songs and marvelled at the fact that we were the only ones perhaps crazy enough to be out walking in the cold, wintry night. Heated by the purest warmth of the company of those we love most, even my four year old never once complained of the two mile round-trip distance in the chill.
*---*
A pipe has broken on my street. There is a consequential calm on what is normally a known shortcut from one major street to another as Town workers are braving the sub-freezing temperatures to fix the problem. The water is frozen all over the street a few houses down.
What cracks me up, though, is that there are these two huge flourescent orange signs blocking off the street entrance, which actually state that the street is closed to traffic. You would not believe the number of cars that enter on the opposite lane of traffic, choosing to ignore the signs strategically placed right in their lane to (futilely) attempt to stop them from entering the street in the first place, then having to “lose time” by actually turning around and leaving the way they came in--right in front of my house.
I could sit and watch that all day. I wonder what it is that makes people not see big orange signs? Just coming down the street because they saw someone enter who happens to live on the street and thus has permission to come down the street? The mentality of “Well, if s/he can break the rules, so can I” (when, in reality, those of us living on this street are not breaking any rules)? The idea that, “But I’m different…I have to get to work and this is the only way I ever go, so why should I let a water main break my stride”?
What makes people around here feel above the rules? Or is this a universal truth that I only see as being so blatantly obvious here? Do we feel invincible, that whatever danger is posed can’t in any way hurt us? Then, if we do get into an accident from the ice covering the street, we can turn around and sue the Town…even if they had signs and road blocks up telling us to stay off the street?
Human nature can be so fun to ponder sometimes.
*---*
He is gone for a week for hearings regarding the Alaskan fishing boat disaster of a month ago. I feel so calm when I am alone here, much less lonely than when I am feeling forced into my solitude. He’ll be back for his weekend with the children, which is fine as I have other plans for the weekend. It is funny to me to think that, in all the Christmases had together, I feel more empowered in this one merely because I no longer feel like I’m doing everything alone as I had always felt before. I feel that I am teaching the children about the spirit of the season in a very holistic fashion, and am working hard to keep negative feelings away. This is already one of the most fulfilling Christmas seasons I have had in a decade simply because I am not caving to anyone else’s expectations nor fulfilling gift obligations for a side of the family that I hardly even know.
The resulting stress release is unparalleled!
I’ll get to the Christmas cards when I get to them. I will get my family’s gifts sent out sometime this week. It will be a simpler Christmas for my children with fewer gifts in quantity but the quality will be noted. The gift of the Nutcracker Ballet this past Saturday was the talk out of my children’s mouths all day on Sunday, when we graciously received another gift of food, warmth, laughter and company at a friend’s home for the afternoon. My children are learning about the magic of gifts that are not the touchable, playable type. Of course my children will receive some toys. But I want them to receive so much more--the traditions and the memories that we are establishing together are what cannot be bought by point-and-click shopping…
…and on these gifts, the shipping is always free.
It was a shower at best, but as whatever did fall has stuck around until today, it counts as the first official snowfall of the season. Following a day filled with a strange mix of charity, commercialism and the arts, Princesita, Young Prince and I decided to don our Santa hats, bundle up warm, and walk a mile downtown to the noodle restaurant for dinner.
The experience was glorious.
The air was cold, but hearts were warm as we held hands, sang songs and marvelled at the fact that we were the only ones perhaps crazy enough to be out walking in the cold, wintry night. Heated by the purest warmth of the company of those we love most, even my four year old never once complained of the two mile round-trip distance in the chill.
*---*
A pipe has broken on my street. There is a consequential calm on what is normally a known shortcut from one major street to another as Town workers are braving the sub-freezing temperatures to fix the problem. The water is frozen all over the street a few houses down.
What cracks me up, though, is that there are these two huge flourescent orange signs blocking off the street entrance, which actually state that the street is closed to traffic. You would not believe the number of cars that enter on the opposite lane of traffic, choosing to ignore the signs strategically placed right in their lane to (futilely) attempt to stop them from entering the street in the first place, then having to “lose time” by actually turning around and leaving the way they came in--right in front of my house.
I could sit and watch that all day. I wonder what it is that makes people not see big orange signs? Just coming down the street because they saw someone enter who happens to live on the street and thus has permission to come down the street? The mentality of “Well, if s/he can break the rules, so can I” (when, in reality, those of us living on this street are not breaking any rules)? The idea that, “But I’m different…I have to get to work and this is the only way I ever go, so why should I let a water main break my stride”?
What makes people around here feel above the rules? Or is this a universal truth that I only see as being so blatantly obvious here? Do we feel invincible, that whatever danger is posed can’t in any way hurt us? Then, if we do get into an accident from the ice covering the street, we can turn around and sue the Town…even if they had signs and road blocks up telling us to stay off the street?
Human nature can be so fun to ponder sometimes.
*---*
He is gone for a week for hearings regarding the Alaskan fishing boat disaster of a month ago. I feel so calm when I am alone here, much less lonely than when I am feeling forced into my solitude. He’ll be back for his weekend with the children, which is fine as I have other plans for the weekend. It is funny to me to think that, in all the Christmases had together, I feel more empowered in this one merely because I no longer feel like I’m doing everything alone as I had always felt before. I feel that I am teaching the children about the spirit of the season in a very holistic fashion, and am working hard to keep negative feelings away. This is already one of the most fulfilling Christmas seasons I have had in a decade simply because I am not caving to anyone else’s expectations nor fulfilling gift obligations for a side of the family that I hardly even know.
The resulting stress release is unparalleled!
I’ll get to the Christmas cards when I get to them. I will get my family’s gifts sent out sometime this week. It will be a simpler Christmas for my children with fewer gifts in quantity but the quality will be noted. The gift of the Nutcracker Ballet this past Saturday was the talk out of my children’s mouths all day on Sunday, when we graciously received another gift of food, warmth, laughter and company at a friend’s home for the afternoon. My children are learning about the magic of gifts that are not the touchable, playable type. Of course my children will receive some toys. But I want them to receive so much more--the traditions and the memories that we are establishing together are what cannot be bought by point-and-click shopping…
…and on these gifts, the shipping is always free.
viernes, 5 de diciembre de 2008
not much to say...
I know, write THAT in the record books. (grin)
I actually have a lot to say, but can't find the words right now. December is a hard month for me, made this year a bit more bitter with Ryan's death. It is hard for me to believe that, come the 17th, it will have been 9 years that Dad died--what seems like yesterday and yet still a lifetime ago. And the 15th makes 7 years that Ko-chan died. And the 30th makes 11 years that my surrogate grandmother died (she lived next door all my childhood life and thus filled that role in my life).
I focus on the lights on the tree, the music, the lights in my children's eyes and try not to let myself think about all I feel I have lost in December.
I try not to feel so cold, but that is hard for me right now. I take my moments of joy and cherish them, and they carry me through my moments of sadness and grief.
I miss hugs. Sometimes you just need someone to hold you, nothing more, and I haven't had that in a very, very long time. I pretend I'm just holding my children but I never really let them know that it is instead them holding me...it is not fair to them to know that kind of pressure at their young ages.
And that is that.
I actually have a lot to say, but can't find the words right now. December is a hard month for me, made this year a bit more bitter with Ryan's death. It is hard for me to believe that, come the 17th, it will have been 9 years that Dad died--what seems like yesterday and yet still a lifetime ago. And the 15th makes 7 years that Ko-chan died. And the 30th makes 11 years that my surrogate grandmother died (she lived next door all my childhood life and thus filled that role in my life).
I focus on the lights on the tree, the music, the lights in my children's eyes and try not to let myself think about all I feel I have lost in December.
I try not to feel so cold, but that is hard for me right now. I take my moments of joy and cherish them, and they carry me through my moments of sadness and grief.
I miss hugs. Sometimes you just need someone to hold you, nothing more, and I haven't had that in a very, very long time. I pretend I'm just holding my children but I never really let them know that it is instead them holding me...it is not fair to them to know that kind of pressure at their young ages.
And that is that.
miércoles, 3 de diciembre de 2008
Malawi, revisited yet again
Malawi has taken yet another friend.
He was a lifelong friend, one I went to school with from kindergarten all the way through graduation from high school. His father and my father taught together in the same school and educated each others' children.
Although I have many memories, one in particular stands out from Home Ec class in the 7th grade. He was the only of the testosterone set in the class and not only were we sewing machine partners (which was good as I was hopeless at threading the darned thing--he came to my rescue more than once!) but also cooking partners. He always teased me about how much syrup I needed to douse my geometrically-shaped pancakes in because they weren't otherwise edible!
We had fun.
Last I saw him was our 10 year reunion. He came right up to me and we stepped aside, apart from the rest of the group and had a wonderful talk, for a good 45 minutes or so, about life, travel and, most impressive, the fact that he was a missionary in Africa. I am personally not a missionary-minded person but have great respect for those who have such faith that go forth and spread word and, most importantly, good will to all in the world.
He and his family--a wife with three young girls aged 8, 6 and 3--were in Malawi. He was returning after delivering maize with a friend and was in an accident yesterday. He was killed in that accident. He was my age--36.
Today is a sad day. My soul aches for a world that has lost such a good man who had the will and the courage to spread so much love and goodness to places that so desperately need such gifts. Each tear I shed is filled with sadness for his family and yet with hope that his good deeds and example will be remembered and emulated by all who knew him.
He was a lifelong friend, one I went to school with from kindergarten all the way through graduation from high school. His father and my father taught together in the same school and educated each others' children.
Although I have many memories, one in particular stands out from Home Ec class in the 7th grade. He was the only of the testosterone set in the class and not only were we sewing machine partners (which was good as I was hopeless at threading the darned thing--he came to my rescue more than once!) but also cooking partners. He always teased me about how much syrup I needed to douse my geometrically-shaped pancakes in because they weren't otherwise edible!
We had fun.
Last I saw him was our 10 year reunion. He came right up to me and we stepped aside, apart from the rest of the group and had a wonderful talk, for a good 45 minutes or so, about life, travel and, most impressive, the fact that he was a missionary in Africa. I am personally not a missionary-minded person but have great respect for those who have such faith that go forth and spread word and, most importantly, good will to all in the world.
He and his family--a wife with three young girls aged 8, 6 and 3--were in Malawi. He was returning after delivering maize with a friend and was in an accident yesterday. He was killed in that accident. He was my age--36.
Today is a sad day. My soul aches for a world that has lost such a good man who had the will and the courage to spread so much love and goodness to places that so desperately need such gifts. Each tear I shed is filled with sadness for his family and yet with hope that his good deeds and example will be remembered and emulated by all who knew him.
lunes, 1 de diciembre de 2008
flirting
Dad's House wrote today on flirting and challenged us all to a "A Flirt A Day" contest.
Doesn't that sound like so much fun? Perhaps just the thing to draw us out of our winter hibernations, light a fire in our souls and bring some spontaneity and spark to our spirits.
To be honest, nothing makes me want to crawl deeper into my little cave even more.
I used to flirt, I used to have fun and enjoy my company with others, friends and strangers alike. Now, with a mortal fear that someone might read too much into a look, a word, a touch, I find it easier to live my life in my little contactless circle where I don't have to worry about having anything else further complicating my life.
There are external circumstances, of course, that affect these words. I have a hard time in December, I have a sore throat and am not feeling well (which doesn't happen often), the winter chill and short days affect me each year, and I have recently had a hard disagreement with a close friend that has yet to be resolved; these all create in me a great degree of insecurity and my self-confidence is just low right now.
So low that, reading Dad's post, I found myself in tears, wondering what in the world has happened to ME...the ME I used to be. My strength is gone and my resolve accounts for almost nothing.
*---*
Last night I read a Hans Christian Anderson tale I had never before read to my children. It was called "The Fir Tree". The gist of the story is that the fir tree in the forest was never content with how his life was while surrounded by the beauty of nature in the forest; he always wanted something more. It wasn't until he was chopped down, decorated, promptly discarded and chopped and burned that he realized how he had wished his life away. The last paragraph describing how each pop of his trunk in the fire was actually a sigh as he remembered various glorious scenes from his life that he never appreciated until it was all over.
My kids didn't understand why I cried at the end of the story. And I actually, for the first time, didn't feel like talking about it.
Doesn't that sound like so much fun? Perhaps just the thing to draw us out of our winter hibernations, light a fire in our souls and bring some spontaneity and spark to our spirits.
To be honest, nothing makes me want to crawl deeper into my little cave even more.
I used to flirt, I used to have fun and enjoy my company with others, friends and strangers alike. Now, with a mortal fear that someone might read too much into a look, a word, a touch, I find it easier to live my life in my little contactless circle where I don't have to worry about having anything else further complicating my life.
There are external circumstances, of course, that affect these words. I have a hard time in December, I have a sore throat and am not feeling well (which doesn't happen often), the winter chill and short days affect me each year, and I have recently had a hard disagreement with a close friend that has yet to be resolved; these all create in me a great degree of insecurity and my self-confidence is just low right now.
So low that, reading Dad's post, I found myself in tears, wondering what in the world has happened to ME...the ME I used to be. My strength is gone and my resolve accounts for almost nothing.
*---*
Last night I read a Hans Christian Anderson tale I had never before read to my children. It was called "The Fir Tree". The gist of the story is that the fir tree in the forest was never content with how his life was while surrounded by the beauty of nature in the forest; he always wanted something more. It wasn't until he was chopped down, decorated, promptly discarded and chopped and burned that he realized how he had wished his life away. The last paragraph describing how each pop of his trunk in the fire was actually a sigh as he remembered various glorious scenes from his life that he never appreciated until it was all over.
My kids didn't understand why I cried at the end of the story. And I actually, for the first time, didn't feel like talking about it.
December
The lights and tree went up this weekend, as I scurried about in my one and only chance to actually decorate for the Christmas holiday. It was this weekend or three days before Christmas, according to my calendar of events.
I have had some sort of upper-respiratory bug eating at me for a couple of weeks; Young Prince seems to be coming out of his but Princesita is just going into it, and I seem destined to have to somehow suffer through both.
*---*
This week had Him at the house more than I am accustomed to, which had me either out of the house more as a result or hidden back in my room/cave. As I managed to finish crocheting the Young Prince's new bedspread, all was not lost. However, my time just in earshot gave me some enlightening insights into my children's relationship with their father.
1. He has to have the radio up so loud in the kitchen that it drowns out the kids' voices. True, I like to have the radio on as well, but keep it down to background music, especially when the kids want to speak. If there are NPR stories I would like to hear, I leave the room to listen rather than tell the kids to shush so that I can prioritize a faceless digital box over my own children's developing self-expression.
2. He tells me that the kids disrespect him when they talk to him and accuses me of fostering that attitude. However, stepping back and listening to them banter in the morning, I hear them talking to him in the same way he speaks to them. My children do not talk to me the way they talk to their father, and I wouldn't allow it if they did. However, that is not my battle to be waged; it is his as long as he ceases to involve me through accusations.
3. He no longer sleeps in his own bedroom but instead out in the t.v. room downstairs. This results in an echoing of his dreadful snoring throughout the house...another huge reason we could never, in the history of our marriage, sleep in the same room. I would merely close my door if I weren't in charge of taking care of the kids during the night (thus requiring open doors). Perhaps he's starting to realize his room stinks because he refuses to ever open a window for fresh air when it is nice outside. Or perhaps it's drafty because he hasn't put down his storm windows. He needs to learn how to complete these simple menial tasks. I am not going to be his mother anymore.
December is again upon us and I am disappointed in myself that I haven't made greater strides in this separation, which was something I resolved to do this year. I suppose I have made positive steps; just not as big as I had ideally imagined. As of this month I only have one more year of "probation" to wait out as well with CPS, so perhaps next year I will feel much less trapped by my own circumstances.
I hate December. I love Christmas in all that I can teach my children regarding the joys of giving and receiving and thanksgiving, but I despise December. I don't like January much, either, but December comes and I can feel my heart being ripped from my chest and wrung out like a wet towel every year.
So I must find the Joy. Somehow.
I have had some sort of upper-respiratory bug eating at me for a couple of weeks; Young Prince seems to be coming out of his but Princesita is just going into it, and I seem destined to have to somehow suffer through both.
*---*
This week had Him at the house more than I am accustomed to, which had me either out of the house more as a result or hidden back in my room/cave. As I managed to finish crocheting the Young Prince's new bedspread, all was not lost. However, my time just in earshot gave me some enlightening insights into my children's relationship with their father.
1. He has to have the radio up so loud in the kitchen that it drowns out the kids' voices. True, I like to have the radio on as well, but keep it down to background music, especially when the kids want to speak. If there are NPR stories I would like to hear, I leave the room to listen rather than tell the kids to shush so that I can prioritize a faceless digital box over my own children's developing self-expression.
2. He tells me that the kids disrespect him when they talk to him and accuses me of fostering that attitude. However, stepping back and listening to them banter in the morning, I hear them talking to him in the same way he speaks to them. My children do not talk to me the way they talk to their father, and I wouldn't allow it if they did. However, that is not my battle to be waged; it is his as long as he ceases to involve me through accusations.
3. He no longer sleeps in his own bedroom but instead out in the t.v. room downstairs. This results in an echoing of his dreadful snoring throughout the house...another huge reason we could never, in the history of our marriage, sleep in the same room. I would merely close my door if I weren't in charge of taking care of the kids during the night (thus requiring open doors). Perhaps he's starting to realize his room stinks because he refuses to ever open a window for fresh air when it is nice outside. Or perhaps it's drafty because he hasn't put down his storm windows. He needs to learn how to complete these simple menial tasks. I am not going to be his mother anymore.
December is again upon us and I am disappointed in myself that I haven't made greater strides in this separation, which was something I resolved to do this year. I suppose I have made positive steps; just not as big as I had ideally imagined. As of this month I only have one more year of "probation" to wait out as well with CPS, so perhaps next year I will feel much less trapped by my own circumstances.
I hate December. I love Christmas in all that I can teach my children regarding the joys of giving and receiving and thanksgiving, but I despise December. I don't like January much, either, but December comes and I can feel my heart being ripped from my chest and wrung out like a wet towel every year.
So I must find the Joy. Somehow.
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