Paper Napkin

Alrighty then, here's the second installation.

Here's the first installation. Here's what the hell I'm talking about.

Blue Poppy asks: 1. Why are you so hard on yourself? 2. How did you get to be so funny? 3. Have you ever thought about writing a book? If yes, what kind of book would it be?

1. I honestly don't think I'm hard on myself. Hmm, let me pause to think.

Okay, I have tried to recollect times when people said I was being hard on myself, and I just searched my blog for the phrase "hard on yourself" and read the entries where people think I'm being hard on myself. (What can I say, I believe in research.)

Near as I can tell, recalling those times, reading those entries, remembering what I felt at the time, and viewing all of it through that lovely diffuser-lens called time, I would say I am hard on myself because I believe that the rest of the world is out performing me, that everyone else meets a higher standard, that I'm left in the dust. I think this stems from my wacked-out childhood where it was absolutely imperative for me to appear FINE and NORMAL, but I just plum didn't know what fine or normal was, and now I have a wee bit of an obsession about normalcy which, although I can poo-poo it intellectually, I just don't seem to be able to let go of it.

In addition, the times I'm hard on myself, I'm also feeling a lot of despair, and I think my brain does a little two-step which goes like this: if my thumb hurts I look for a splinter, if I feel nauseous it's probably something I ate, if my tooth aches I may have a cavity, ergo, if I'm depressed there must be something wrong with me. I know it's not true-- depression isn't a deficiency in my personality, it's a deficiency in my brain chemistry, but that's the best sense my diseased brain can make of my disease. Like when scientists used to think that fruit flies were spontaneously generated from fruit. It wasn't true, but it sorta made sense.

Or I'm just too introspective, and no good can come of that, missy.

2. I'm funny because I come from a very, very funny family. Also, thank you.

3. I have thought of writing a book. I think I would like to write a book. I think I would like to write the great American novel. If only thinking made it so. Really, I would like to write a book someday. A not-crappy book with interesting characters, and a riveting plot. I haven't quite figured out how to do that yet. One obstacle seems to be I can't think of a beginning. You wouldn't think beginnings would be so hard to come by, but they just don't make 'em like they used to. I think all the good beginnings are being outsourced to Indonesia. The other main obstacle is that I can't think of a plot. I haven't got a plot to piss in. So perhaps, since I can't think of a beginning or a plot, I should start in the middle, with a couple of characters and some good dialogue. Yes, someday I shall do that. I have published a few short stories, so I'm working my way up the literary ladder.

Blythe asks: 1) Do you have any strained relationships you'd like to patch up right now? What's your M.O. in these situations? 2) What's the most unusual thing that turns you on? 3) In what ways are you most likely to be judgmental toward others?

I don't have any strained relationships at the moment. I'm pretty good at resolving conflicts, and I like things to be resolved. My MO for resolution is different in different situations, but the approach is the same: I try to look at things objectively, if I can.

If I'm in an argument with somebody, I'm a fair fighter. I stay focused on the issue, meaning I don't attack the person, and I don't bring up stuff from the past or other crap that's bugging me, I just go after that particular problem.

If someone is just a general ass, but I still have to be around that person, (like a relative or somebody at work) I view that person as if they have an illness, as if they're allergic to being a decent human being. I look at all their actions through that lens. Then whatever offensive thing they say or do, I tend to be much less offended because "they can't help it, they have assititus." This may sound weird, but it works. It may sound like I'm letting people off for bad behavior, which I kind of am, but I'm not going to poison myself with festering resentments, or invest time confronting people like that, or try "working" on our "relationship." Trying to mend relationships like that is a one-way ticket to Nowhereville. With my method, I can write them off, but still be civil to them by keeping them in a neutral position in my head. Sort of like Glinda the good witch when she tells the wicked witch of the West, "You have no power here."

The most difficult kind of relationship problems I have now are with my husband. We've been together 20 years, and as you might imagine, there are certain things we continue to bump up against, and if we haven't solved them by now, chances are they ain't gonna be solved. Fortunately, there aren't too many of these issues, four to be exact. Unfortunately, they're not little things. What I try to do, is not take it personally. I tell myself that it's not about me, it doesn't mean he doesn't love me, it just means he's not going to love me in this particular way I prefer to be loved. Bastard. (Hee, see what I did there, that's levity.) And I have defects like that too. Things he'd really wish I would do, or not do, and theoretically I can see his point of view, but chances are, as much as I love him, I'm probably not going to transform myself, or my behavior in those particular areas. When those things flare up, I try to practice acceptance the best I can, which sometimes is in a very pouty, self pitying, martyred way, and on those particular days I'm a joy to live with.

2. Not having any children in our bed, that would be unusual indeed. Seriously though, hmm, nothing too unusual, I'm not really kinky or anything. Probably the thing that turns me on the most are small thoughtful and/or affectionate gestures throughout the day. My pump takes a lot of priming.

3. I'm likely to be judgmental of others if they're too persnickety, or if they come to a conclusion without getting the facts first. I'll have no truck with that.

Savia asks: What's the one book you think everyone should read, and why? Since I don't know everybody, and haven't read every book, I couldn't begin to say. A completely engrossing one, I suppose. I think the dull ones should be avoided, or used under the legs of wobbly tables. Sorry for the lame answer! But! I will tell you some of the books I've loved, in chronological order.

Ages 1-9 Lucky Mrs. Ticklefeather, Cousin Matilda and the Foolish Wolf, Are You My Mother, Finn Family Moomintrolls, Soup and Me, Wispy The Littlest Witch

Ages 10-19 Wrinkle In Time trilogy, The Secret Garden, Ann of Green Gables 1-5, The Phantom Tollbooth, Where The Red Fern Grows, The Princess Bride, Animal Farm, Travels with Charley, To Kill A Mockingbird, This Perfect Day

Ages 20-29 Ender's Game, Ironweed, Ways Of Seeing, The Dead and the Living, Under Stars, Babbit, The Road Less Traveled, Death of a Salesman, Lemon Sky, Candide, Mother Courage and Her Children, Arms and the Man

Ages 30-41 The Mortification of Sin, The Hobbit, The Endurance, Martin Luther's commentary on Galatians, Angela's Ashes, The Last Lion, The House of Mirth, Harry Potter 1-7

Mission Accomplished

So 100% honest day went very well, although it was kind of exhausting trying to concentrate on everything I said to make sure it was 100% honest. At first I was in a major panic, hyperventilating at the prospect, but surprisingly, I didn't run into any situations where I wanted to stretch the truth, or make myself appear in a more favorable light. Maybe I'm more forthright than I think I am.

Anyway, onto your questions!

Erin wants to know: Have you ever shop-lifted? And in a related question, who are you leaning toward in the November election? Loaded question, yes?

Nah, not really. Yes I have shop-lifted, about six times I'm sorry to say. Supposedly shop-lifters steal for the thrill, but I stole because I wanted the thing I stole. Of course now I can't remember what it is I wanted so badly, except a pink happy-face key ring, and some sour-apple bubble gum.

I honestly don't know who I'm voting for. I get so irritated with the media because they seem to cover everything but how thecandidates plan to run the country, mostly focusing on their blunders and foibles. Even on the candidates' websites sometimes I can't ferret out the nitty-gritty from the rhetoric. So you have to sort of delve to get info, and I haven't done sufficient delving yet.

If you want to know who I like better, I can tell you I like Barack Obama much, much better. And I was a fan long before he ran for president. The guy is just so smart, and inspiring, and so reasonable. That's the thing I like best. He seems like the kind of guy who could keep a level head, and a civil tone even if he totally disagreed with what you were saying. That my friends, makes me absolutely giddy with delight. And I think he will win the election.

However, I don't want to get carried away and vote for somebody solely because I like their style. After all, I voted for Bush was because I felt Clinton never made a decision unless he checked the polls first to make sure we'd still like him. I was sick of that, and Gore just seemed so vice-presidential. I wanted a candidate who would do what he thought was right no matter what anyone else thought. Sure enough George W was The Decider, and decided us right back into the dark ages. So I can't vote based on personality.

My respect for John McCain was also formed before he threw his hat in the ring, especially after reading The Nightingale's Song, and I like a lot of the things he's done in the Senate. I just deleted a long diatribe about my politics, which I can go into if you like, but this answer is already too long. Suffice it to say I'm liberal in some ways, conservative in others. I believe in offending everyone equally.

Carolee asks: If we were meeting at a party, what are the three things you would want to make sure I knew about you, and what are the three things you would make sure I never found out?

1. I love people's stories, the important ones and insignificant ones. The fine details of people's lives are invaluable to me.

2. Keen writing and thinking so stir my heart, it literally aches when I encounter them. 

3. I'm funny, and I like funny people.

The second part of  this question had me quaking in my boots. But then I realized, I don't think there's anything I'd never want you to find out, as long as it was In Context. Context is my patron saint. But there are a few things I'd probably want to hold off on telling you for as long as possible.

1. In fourth grade I mercilessly teased my classmate, Jackie, for no good reason, other than nobody liked her. I actually didn't even dislike her that much, I mostly felt sorry for her. Especially after I was through with her. Ouch.

2. We have a bit of mental illness swirling around here. Aaron's maladies aren't really mine to share, but I have bouts of intermittent depression. I didn't think that would be something I'd want to cover up, until the other day when I was at an all-day seminar and mentioned to the person sitting next to me that I needed to go home during the break because I'd forgotten to take my medicine, and she asked "medicine for what?" and I said diabetes! Geez Louise.

2a. Tangentially, I sometimes say I'm fine when I'm not. I wouldn't want you to know that because it's such a outmoded tic to have. I mean it's so 80's, so pre-Codependant No More to say you're fine when you're not. Couldn't I have a defense mechanism that was up with the times?

3. I have a blog. That I would probably never tell you.

Dana: OK clear pool of Sheryl, what lies beneath your calm waters? What rocks? What skittering, frantic creatures? Be as specific or as vague as you want ~ just be 100% honest. And, what boat would you create to lift you from the pool, to guide you over it to safe passage?

The first is question is hard for me because I live on the island of Specifics. Nebulous is that ocean out there that's too big for me to wade into. But Iet's see what I've got at the top of my head.

I know the lyrics to every musical written before 1985. I usually don't wash my hands unless I'm about to cook or put on make-up . If I make a promise, I follow through no matter what. I rarely make a promise. I often dream about banal things like going to get the mail, and finding letters in the mail box.  I almost never listen to music. My ophthalmologist told me I have a "blonde eye" and should never go outside without sunglasses. I know nothing about New York City, plants, birds, or remodeling houses, but I wish I knew a lot about them. I know a lot about Irish history, major religions, raising children, and dogs. I don't like Charles Dickens, Walt Whitman, watching TV, babies, small talk, or exercise. I like hugs, anything citrus scented, ice cream, sky, children, and playing in the water. I like order, but I'm not orderly. I'm fearful, but not worried. I love enthusiasm, but I'm also embarrassed by it.

As for the boat that never fails to lead me to safe passage, that would be the S.S. Jesus. I practically never write about being a Christian on this blog because Christianity is so widely, wearingly, head-shakingly misunderstood. Trying to slog through the morass of misconceptions seems too overwhelming. Also because I'm not exactly a poster child for Jesus. I'm the bumbling, groping, clueless child of Jesus. I'm the Inspector Clouseau of Christianity. But I have been carried over on The Jesus Boat countless times. No matter how the tempest batters me, I'm carried over.

Slynne asks: What did you want to be when you were little and why? Also, what would you be like if you had actually been that?

When I was little (well, I still am under five feet) I wanted to be a puppy or a witch. Of course if I was a witch, I could've turned myself into a puppy, so there's that.

I think either course would've made me resplendently happy, provided I had a loving owner, and I didn't live in Massachusetts in the 1600s. If I had grown up to be a puppy I would've been a Springer Spaniel named Bill. I would've done a lot of bird hunting in New England, and a lot of lying by the fire with a good bone. If I'd become a witch, I would've taught at Hogwarts, and married George Weasley.

AllAdither wants to know: Why did you take such a long hiatus from blogging? Are you sad that your ads went away? If no, why not? Why did you come back to blogging (I'm glad you did, by the way)?

I took a long hiatus from blogging because I needed to extricate myself. I had run out of things to say, but the blog felt like an obligation. I was spending too much time on the internet, and wanted to cut waaay back. Blogging felt like being inside on a sunny day.

My ads didn't go away, I sent them away. I don't have a problem with ads on blogs, but I don't want them on my blog. You are my friends, and business and friendship just don't mix in my world. I greatly admire those who network, and gladhand, and feel comfortable doing it. I don't. I could probably be a much more popular blogger if I would promote myself, if I would ever-so-slightly tweak my writing persona, if I would brand myself. I think that is a valid approach to blogging, I wish I could do it, but it's just not me. To me that part of blogging is crazy-making, it feels like the Ziegfeld Follies, and I'm not cut out to be a Ziegfeld girl.

I came back to blogging because I've been blogging for four years, so it's a part of me. I missed it, and you. 

...More later peeps, I've gotta jam.

If they're white and little, why are they so darn hard to stamp out?

Dana over at My Gorgeous Somewhere (formerly of Sprigs and Sublimation) asks, "Wouldn’t it be great to be so self-assured that I could just be 100% honest with people?"  So she has declared today 100% honest day!

Perfect, 90% of Blogdom is at Blogher, so there's practically no risk!

I feel a deep yearning to be an honest person. Not just to tell the truth, but to be who I am. To be a clear pool of Sheryl, so when you look at my surface, you get a glimpse of the deep-down of me. The word sincere comes from the Latin sine 'without' and cera 'wax'. Back in the day when Rome loomed large, and people wore laurel wreaths, and minced about hailing this or that caesar, artisans working with marble would often cover the imperfections of their sculptures with wax. So I guess being sincere means, Here I am, warts and all. Honest, in other words.

But I have a problem with warts. (As evidenced by exhibits A and B.)

Well, not your warts. Your warts are charming!  You have very charismatic warts. But my warts must never be seen. I take a nightly moonlight bath in Compound-W to make sure none of my warts ever see the light of day. I must make sure I never overstay my welcome, blow my own horn, push my luck, say too much, run amok, step on toes, sew my oats, or end with a preposition. And really the only way I can comply with all those mandates is to be dead, or take a lot of naps. Perhaps I'd like my epitaph to read, "Here lies Sheryl, same as she ever was."

Of course the source of all this ridiculousness is my XL ego, woven with the finest pashmina, full of holes, and fraying at the edges from overuse. Fear is the warp, and I'm not sure what the weft is... desire, if you're Buddhist, I guess. I'm Presbyterian, so maybe Bingo? Stale donuts? No, let's go with desire.

But truly, 100% truly, I long to engage in the messy, exuberant flatulence of being human. So today, I vow to be 100% honest, both in my real life dealings, and here on this blog. You, my dear readers, may ask me anything (anything!), and I will give you the unedited, uncut, keepin' it real version. Upping the ante, I will live-blog (in the extended entry) all of the lies I felt compelled to tell today (but didn't!), that would have allowed me to appear more acceptable in some way, shape, or form. Side effects of honesty may include insomnia, nausea, vomiting, headaches, heartburn, hair loss, diarrhea, lifting my shirt and showing my boobies, or shouting nee! at inappropriate times.

Leave a question in the comments, and I will answer in the next post.

Mountain Boy

Today Will turns six. SIX, how is it possible for my youngest child to be six?  I don't do birthday letters because getting teary and nostalgic is a feeling that vaguely mimics my post-partum depression, and I didn't enjoy the three times I had to crawl my way through that, so I certainly don't want to go there.

I don't even want to smile and wave to over-there from over-here.

Avoiding reminiscence is also the reason I don't take very many pictures of my kids. Also because I can never remember the darn camera, which in a way is a shame, because I have a truly crappy long term memory. Seriously, I can remember almost nothing if it happened more than 3 months ago. Sometimes it concerns me, and I think maybe I should go see a doctor, but then I remember that I really don't like reminiscing anyway, so if I can't remember much about high school graduation, or my wedding day, or when somebody took their first step, it's not like I'd really be accessing those memories very often anyway. It's not a disability, it's brain conservation!

*crickets* What? You're just now realizing I'm a little odd, and you've been reading this blog for how many years?

Aaanyway, I did want to mark this occasion because last week Aaron took a couple of days off of work to take Will hiking. (Click to enlarge.)

 

They went over to climb Pikes Peak, from the bottom,

to the top.

They climbed up about half way, and camped over night, then the next day they climbed the rest of the way to the top, and back down to their camp again. Take a look at the stairs leading to the halfway point. It's about a 2000ft. vertical climb and 3000 steps over 3/4 of a mile.  I get queasy just looking at it.

Apparently Will was making headlines up and down the trail, because 5 year-olds do not climb Pikes Peak. I'm so proud of him! He did SO well, and had a great time, except for once on Saturday, the third day, as they were heading back down the incline. Aaron said he got very quiet and surveyed long path leading downward, and cried because HE WANTED HIS MOMMY. And I was so proud again, because that's exactly what you should do when facing a task like that. I would've cried for my mommy too. But Aaron talked him down, and pretty soon he was taking those steps like they were nothing, and asking when they were going to climb Mt. Elbert.

Off The Grid

We rented Who Killed The Electric Car this weekend, a movie we heartily recommend. Aaron has been riding his bike to work most days. It's about 30 miles round trip, and takes him about 45 minutes each way. Sometimes he drives to the park and ride, and bikes in from there. Aaron knows someone at work who bought a kit, and converted a truck to run on electricity. We've looked into hybrids, and although they're definitely a step in the right direction they still run on gas.

So now we're considering converting our own car, or mini van to electricity. It really wouldn't be more expensive than buying a new car, and you get a significant tax break each year for owning one. In about 2 years, the car would have paid for itself in tax breaks alone, never mind all the money we'll be saving on gas. And then there's air, which we're fond of breathing, and it would be nice to make a tiny little dent in pollution levels.

Most of the vehicles that are converted by their owners are trucks, because you can keep the batteries in the truck bed. Obviously we're not going to be able to squeeze our family of five in the cab of a truck, so we'll have to figure out how to convert a car with more seating. EV-America is the company Aaron's co-worker used to convert his truck, and he says they're very good at offering assistance throughout the process, and helping you figure out how to convert other types of vehicles too. So we'll probably work with them. It would take us about a year's worth of weekends to do it, and, knowing us, about 3 months to get off our butts and get started.

We're concerned, not only about the environment, but about the economic and political ramifications of continuing to use a gas-powered car. I think there's a good possibility the economy is really going to tank, and while we won't be buying hundred-gallon drums of rice and beans, and holing up with semi-automatic rifles, we are looking for ways we can make some big changes. I don't think the fine folks in Washington will pull their heads out until there is a crisis situation, and I'm not so fond of crises. I generally like to avoid them in all forms if possible. Of course, democracy is designed to protect the status-quo, which is great if you have someone trying to crown themselves king, but not so great if you need the great DC behemoth to pick up the pace a little.

Another big change we're seriously considering is making the next house we buy solar powered. The power of the sun! (Say that like a superhero, it's fun!) We have a lease until next summer, and we're using the time to figure out how to make that happen. So who knows, by this time next year, we may be driving an electric mini-van, which we plug into our solar powered house!

I'm starving, but I'm not letting the terrorists win.

We arrived home late from baseball last night. The children trundled upstairs to put on their PJs while I fervently hoped, with all my fingers and toes crossed, that they wouldn't remember they hadn't eaten any dinner. We had no food in the house, and I had no inclination to grocery shop, or cook, or do dishes, or have anything to do with food, other than have it served to me by the dark-haired Owen brother (hey it's not my job to remember name of hired help).

I was amazed that the kids forgot all about dinner, they lay nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of a deli sandwich danced in my head. So I set out to find one. Unfortunately, it was past nine, and nothing was open. As I drove around, complaining that local businesses had some nerve not catering to my every whim, I began to think about which deli meat I'd endorse for president.

Now some deli meats are immediately out of the running, tuna and chicken salads, for example. I don't want a candidate that has to be held together by bread. I want a solid candidate; one that can stand on its own. Nothing too spicy, like Italian meatballs, I don't want anyone brandishing their shoe at the UN assembly yelling "We will marinate you!" Besides, meatballs don't really count as a deli meat; they just have no business being in a sandwich.

Salami, pepperoni, capicolla are all out. These meats don't exist in nature, they're basically fermented, and nothing says vote for the other guy like fermented meat. Besides, they have too many ties to the mafia. I personally like Liverwurst, but Liverwurst doesn't stand a chance in an election, that's just a schmear campaign waiting to happen (wow, sorry, that pun was so bad, it's painful).

Roast Beef and pastrami might be worth vetting. But to my mind, there's only one deli meat that would get my vote for president: sliced turkey. Think about it. Turkey is versatile, it can be paired just about anything: chipolte mustard, feta cheese, even other deli meats, and still hold its own. (Incidentally, my spell check wants to spell "chipolte" "archipelago." Sure, Archipelago, the mustard with the earthy taste.)

Turkey is bland enough not to offend the average American's taste. It's equal to the tasks of throwing out the first baseball, or holding a press conference with visiting dignitaries. Turkey would look great in a white shirt and a power tie. You know turkey has no skeletons in its closet, no past scandals involving coat check girls, or goats.  And turkey's no hawk. From it's long history, rich in tradition dating back to the first Thanksgiving, you know that no deli meat that has to run for it's life every Spring is going to be quick to go to war.

Have I convinced you? Would, say, an Obama/Turkey ticket win your vote? Or are you one of those hard-nosed corned beef supporters? cough *commie* cough