today: a poll

my debate over what to do with this blog continues. keep it wide open or require people to sign-in to read it?

i remain undecided, because there are pros and cons to both options, so i'm looking for feedback and have posted a poll over there in the left-hand sidebar. what do you think?

do you like the freedom to read without logging in? or would you happily go through that extra log-in step to keep reading?

would having to log in be a deterrent?

please cast your vote (the poll will be open until midnight tomorrow), and feel free to leave your thoughts on the issue in the comments section of this entry.

thanks in advance!

colours

it was a busy, artistically enriching weekend.

friday, i went to sharron’s party.

saturday, i went to my second salon, which was bathed in the warm, candlelit glow of earth hour.

and yesterday, i went to a free-wheeling open-mic cabaret event.

so i’ve spent the past three nights out, watching people perform and, alternately, being moved to tears or belly laughs... or just enjoying the work but missing a sense of connection. it’s been interesting, seeing what material and which performers resonate with me, and vice versa. and it made me start thinking about the why behind it. is it the music? is it the lyrics? is it the person at the microphone or the piano? is it me? or some combination thereof?

why does some stuff really cut to the core of me and other stuff doesn’t?

i chatted with b-dub about it yesterday morning, and he said something about “emotional colour” in a performance, and a light bulb clicked on in my brain. because, for me, and in terms of all art not just song, i’m drawn to that which is richly coloured... literally or figuratively.

among the people i watched over the past three nights were gifted pros, established-but-still-growing performers, and some up-and-coming singers working at finding their voices. it was a wide spectrum of talent, but without question the ones i loved most were the ones who used an array of brushes and myriad colours to paint me a picture when they stepped into the spotlight.

a cheerful love song can be nothing but broad strokes of bright yellow, but is so much more interesting to me if there are delicate dabs of blue. or red. or green.

an actor raging on the stage can splatter nothing but black at you... but i think the work is so much richer if that black is perhaps broken down into a rainbow of greys.

even when i’m writing this blog, i could go ahead and post nothing but monochromatic entries that maintain an identical tone throughout. never veering from the primary colours, so to speak. but i hope it’s much more interesting for you (and i know it's much more challenging for me) if i try to pick out various shades and explore them. the pretty ones. the sad ones. the ugly ones. the silly ones. and so on.

that sort of colouring is easily recognizable, too... if you’re paying attention. sometimes, you recognize it instantly on a subconscious level - you can't quite pin it down, but you feel it; sometimes you have to look a little closer or listen a little more carefully before you spot it – a tear welling in a performer’s eye, a certain intangible weight to the words he or she is singing, a mournful or wistful or hopeful note struck in just the right way at just the right time so that you feel it in your heart. or, even better, in your soul.

brushes and colours.

and they come in many forms. vulnerability. honesty. sensitivity. creativity. authenticity. sincerity. show me those and i’m yours.

to be clear, this isn’t to say that you can’t fully enjoy a comparatively less-shaded piece of art, be it a song or a movie or a book or a photo or a painting, because you most certainly can. but, for the purposes of this entry, i’m talking about the sort of stuff that embraces a full palette. that truly moves you. changes you. reaches you. and connects with you in a way that reminds you you’re not alone.

as an audience member, i am consistently and unwaveringly drawn to those colours and that kind of emotional exposure. i also feel tremendously lucky to have friends who are willing to open themselves up in that way: to offer the vulnerability and honesty and sincerity that, as b-dub put it, is the difference between someone who’s sharing and someone who’s showing. it’s a tricky thing, too. one that requires tremendous courage on the part of the person who’s singing or acting or playing or painting or what have you. to take someone’s hand, embark on a journey together and share the colours that make up a life.

i think a great artist – and i saw several this weekend – will knock down his or her walls, fill the proverbial canvas and give these things to you; whether you’re willing or able to accept is entirely in your hands.

but, man, when they do and you go along?

magic. pure and simple.

today's blog entry

isn't finished.

and won't be until tomorrow.

sorry.

that's how it goes sometimes.

you slog through a bunch of crappy ideas, and then get a great one late in the day.

but bedtime comes before you're done.

it's about emotional honesty in art.

and is one of those entries that takes time to get right.

earth hour 2009: please turn off your lights

tonight, the world celebrates Earth Hour.



tonight, at 8:30pm local time, wherever you are on the planet, please turn off your lights and non-essential appliances (and your computers!) in observance of this global movement. i would love it if my hit counter on this blog stayed at zero for the entire night. please help make it happen. i won't be posting again until tomorrow afternoon, anyway.

tonight, i'll be at an event where this hour promises to be hugely beautiful and i hope, wherever you might be, you find yourself bathed in figurative light amid the literal darkness.

10 rejected blog topics for today

they were all under consideration at some point. some were even started and then tossed. nonetheless, the options were:

* why i value fresh breath

* the concept of being a “displaced person”

* earth hour

* stuff that’s always in my bag

* stuff that’s always in my fridge

* how to waste an entire day in 10 easy steps

* why i sometimes think the manufacturing world hates me

* cake!

* a “day 17 of the plan” recap

* my thoughts on turning this into a subscriber-only blog

instead, i chose none of them. and now my brain has gone to sleep, so new ideas aren't surfacing.

so goes daily blogging sometimes.

kuchen

today, i spent the day at my parents’ house, making german cookies with my mom.

she’s teaching me how to make some of her most-loved confections.

many were also the favourites among the ones my grandmother used to bake.

we used the ancient german scale to measure ingredients.

i cracked eggs and adjusted mixer speeds and spooned clumps of dough onto parchment paper.

we both stood at the oven and waited in anticipation of the finished product.

eight long minutes.

then, the cookies emerged... golden brown on the outside, chewy and light gold on the inside.

perfect.

i dumped them into a huge plastic bowl, where they were coated – by hand, one cookie at a time – with a thick, lemon-flavoured meringue.

the cookies went back into the oven so the meringue could dry out.

once again, we waited.

once again, perfect.

i felt very proud, and my mom smiled each time i said, “they turned out SO well!”

and, as we cleaned up, i thought about my grandmother – my mom’s mom, from whom the original recipe came.

and i imagined her teaching my mom how to make the cookies, just as my mom was teaching me.

and i wondered if i would ever teach someone else.

the courage crown

what does it mean to be brave?

for the daisies, five- and six-year-olds in the juniormost branch of the girl scouts of america, bravery is an achievement, marked by small paper flowers on a colourful “courage crown.” the photo you see above comes courtesy of my friend lou, and the courage crown on display belongs to her granddaughter, a pint-sized dynamo with a killer smile, a new pet finch named sharlene (!) and a hardcore daisy spirit.

the process is thus: the girls in her troop have a pile of different sentiments from which to choose – each printed on a cheerful paper cutout of a flower – and they decorate their crowns with whichever ones resonate most. it’s an opportunity for the girls (and their moms) to take stock, discuss fears and acknowledge bravery in a creative way. a time for them to assess what’s been done and to perhaps reflect, as five- and six-year-olds (or their moms) might, on what still needs doing. little badges of courage... plus the requisite ornamental trim and sparkly glued-on jewels, which add the appropriate amount of girly flash to a project so inconspicuously profound.

the sentiments are these:

I try new foods!

I'm brave at the doctor!

I'm brave at the dentist!


I used to be afraid of ________, but I'm not anymore!


I can speak up with my ideas!

I can talk in front of my class!


I’m not afraid to try new things!

I’m not afraid to meet new people!

I’m not afraid to ask questions!

I don't let mean words hurt me!


I’m not afraid to ask for help!

I don't let others hurt my friends!


I’m not afraid of the dark!

I can stand tall!

this is a very important exercise for the petal-seeking daisies, and would be just as useful for adults, i think. looking over the list, i was struck by how easily it might apply to my life, which ones i would choose to use, and how those markers could be just as beneficial for living healthy lives as grown-ups as they are for helping a troop of little girls growing up. the phrasing may be more basic, sure, but the idea contained in each paper flower remains hugely relevant no matter how old we are.

“i don’t let mean words hurt me.”

“i don’t let others hurt my friends.”

and my favourite, for the sheer joy and pride inherent within it:

“i used to be afraid of ________, but i’m not anymore!”

just look at those simple but subtly powerful statements.

and think of how awesome it would be if we, as adults, had similar sentiments that we’d wear on courage crowns of our own. how important that could be for self-confidence and self-worth. a tangible, visible, wearable affirmation of bravery. of accomplishment. and, simultaneously, a clear way to make note of where we might need to focus more attention. do i let mean words hurt me? do i let others hurt my friends? am i afraid to try new things or meet new people or ask for help?

i’d be willing to bet that, for many of us, if we got a little navel-gaze-y and took the time to ask ourselves those kinds of questions every once in a while as a way of checking in with our ongoing progress, like it or not, the answers might be yes. don’t scoff, because no matter how rich someone is, or how successful, or how beautiful... everyone possesses fear. it does not discriminate.

fear of failure.

fear of success.

fear of rejection.

fear of flying.

fear of dying.

fear of being alone.

fear of spiders.

fear of the truth.

but what scares me might not scare you, and vice versa. what scares us at five, however huge and terrifying it may seem at the time, might not scare us at all at 12. what frightens us at 12 might be a fleeting memory by the time we’re 21. what causes us sleepless nights at 21 may seem like a joke when we hit 30. our fears right now, right this second, whatever they are, might become just as forgettable when we look back on them ten years from today. fear is certainly fear, but it’s all relative. and the things we'd have rewarded ourselves for as children are no less valid than those for which we should be rewarding ourselves today. fears evolve... and bravery does, too.

so, think of what the world would be like if everyone in it aimed to fill their own personal courage crowns – not just once at age five, but repeatedly and in new ways over time. maybe we'd even be more willing to attempt bravery, whatever that entails for each of us, if we knew we'd get the positive reinforcement of a pretty paper-flower reward. and think of how great it would be if we regularly made the effort to congratulate ourselves for our courage, however minor it may seem in the moment or however daunting our fears might appear as we face them. everyone is afraid sometimes, but everyone is also brave. we just need to remind ourselves of that. and if it takes a paper crown to do it, then so be it.

i think what the daisies have implemented is fantastic. i think it’s a tremendous way to build self-esteem and affirm one’s greatness and to pause for a second – without judgment or criticism, but with love and support – to see where there might be room for more growth. i hope all those daisies are proudly marching around in their crowns as i type this.

while they do, please reread that list of daisy sentiments posted above. if you were to make your own courage crown today, which would you glue on? which ones would you have to leave off?

what would your crown say about you?

i’m not suggesting you actually sit down with safety scissors and construction paper to start cutting out flower shapes – though, if you’re so inclined, by all means clear the kitchen table and have at it.

but i am suggesting it might be nice to borrow a page from the daisies’ manual to occasionally applaud ourselves for the bravery we possess, and to strive to attain the courage we may lack.

random things i remember from childhood

* peanut butter on thick slices of just-bought fresh, crusty bread. and a coke. eaten on a TV tray while sitting on the couch in the family room at lunchtime on a saturday. watching the saturday-afternoon special on the ABC affiliate from buffalo.

* the smell of my birthday.

* outings downtown on the subway, which was red inside and out, with vinyl seats and windows that opened. the smell of burning tar as the cars rocketed along the tracks. the feeling of going on an adventure, even though the destination was just the eaton’s or simpson’s department store.

* the smell of sunshine on my skin after hours spent outside. playing with my friends in the yards around their houses or mine. baseball in the circular elbow of the street where it curved west. riding bikes to nowhere and everywhere. sitting on the front porch, having the kind of deep and insightful conversations only an eight-year-old can have.

* baskin robbins mint chip in a sugar cone.

* the cold, wet floors of the women’s change room at the nearby outdoor pool. the showers on the way out to the pool deck, which were so powerful they felt like they were actually shredding skin with the force of the spray. shower water that was always too hot or too cold. never perfect.

* hours and hours and hours and hours spent swimming at that pool. some days, for every available minute it was open. bleached hair that was nearly white. deep, pronounced tan lines.

* my grandmother’s asbestos hands.

* sledding on neighbourhood hills in winter... none of which look halfway high enough to count nowadays, but which seemed immense back then. playing on snow banks and in snowdrifts until snowsuits and mittens were soaked through and through.

* crying. a lot.

* the smell of the school bus on rainy days. like wet socks and disappointment.

* hostess smoky bacon chips, with an illustration of a bacon strip on the front of the paper and foil bag.

* tagging along with a neighbour to the vet clinic in the strip mall across the street, where she worked as a tech. helping to feed the cats. playing with kittens. seeing a rat splayed open in surgery.

* my horrible, horrible czech dentist with the thick accent, nicotine fingers and the perpetual scowl. who hated children. the mouth full of metal that remains as a result of his practice of eschewing preventative care for restorative/reparative “care.”

* all the dogs on the street. sadie, the white lab; tammy, the boston terrier; missy, the black poodle; frobie, the cairn terrier, and his gigantic best friend, toula, the great pyrenees.

* being afraid much of the time. not of anything or anyone in particular, just a semi-constant sense of dread and worry. it’s never completely gone away.

one drop

sometimes, it only takes one drop to make a big difference.

you can take an empty glass and add water with an eyedropper, slowly and carefully, one drop at a time, and it will gradually fill to a point where the next addition of one single drop will cause the water to spill over the edge.

just one drop can do that.

it’s like the straw that breaks the camel’s back. it’s not that one straw all on its own, but the cumulative effect of the addition of one more straw to an existing stack that makes the whole thing too much for the figurative camel to bear.

sometimes, the universe fills our life glasses one drop at a time, and it’s not until that lone meniscus-breaking drop falls that something transformative happens. sometimes, it takes that solitary, otherwise-benign drop – which, on its own, might be inconsequential – to cause a shift. a change. a new perspective. the spillage that leads to a new beginning.

sometimes, we add the drops ourselves. sometimes, other people add them. sometimes, it’s both.

sometimes, we recognize the drops as they’re added and we wait in anticipation for that metamorphic one. sometimes, we go in search of them, collecting them as we go. and sometimes, they land in our glasses all on their own... so quietly, so gently, so subtly and unexpectedly that they’re almost unnoticed.

but when that final one lands in your glass, regardless of how long the drops have been falling or how many times you think your glass couldn’t possible hold one more, you know.

then, for better or worse, your glass spills over and the world is instantly different.

two years ago today, i started this blog...

* in sticking to my 30-entries-in-30-days plan, i’ve come to realize that i’m much better at getting an entry written and posted in a timely manner if i’ve been home all day. if i go out, especially if i get home after 10pm, i find myself scrambling or struggling or just throwing up some half-assed offering. i’ve tried writing them in the morning, but some days the good stuff doesn’t happen until later in the day. i'm afraid today is going to be another one of those "what the heck am i going to write about?!" situations. alas.

* i went to my parents’ house for lunch today. my godparents (my mom’s friends) were visiting and, even though i vowed not to go because my father inevitably ends up behaving poorly when they’re over and i then wind up super-stressed and upset, i wanted to see them. so i went. we had roast turkey with an array of side dishes, a decadent chocolate-kahlua dessert, and angel-food cake with lemon crème and strawberries for a late-afternoon snack. my godmother gave me an antique necklace she bought when she was a girl and my godfather lllllllaughed and laughed when i said something funny. they’re good people. and my father behaved. mostly.

* earlier tonight, young beatrix and i went grocery shopping. i bought a bag of president’s choice spicy piri piri chips. when i got home, i opened the bag, ate four and thought i was going to die because they were that hot. i ate a spoonful of leftover lemon crème to douse the fire that had erupted on my tongue.

* yesterday, i went for a most excellent walk with my friend j-dub. we walked for four hours. FOUR HOURS. with a half-hour sit-down break in the middle, where we rested in the afternoon sun on an outdoor patio at an italian restaurant and ate tiramisu. though my muscles started getting sore much later in the day after i got home, it was so totally worth it.

* on the above-mentioned walk, we both learned how valuable muzzles are on very large, very angry pit bulls. especially when they’re being walked by a huge, thuggy guy.

* i’m watching the season finale of Sober House and wondering what the point of the series was. it started well, but is ending on a note of pointlessness.

* kyle is sad and lonely now that trix has moved out of my parents’ house. he and i had a cat nap together today.

* nestlé has discontinued the french-vanilla iced java syrup that i have been using for many, many years.

* i really want to have a deep, restful sleep tonight because i need one badly.

* there’s another salon this coming saturday. i’m excited.

* i am rediscovering cream soda.

* that is all.

better luck tomorrow

normally, when i write an entry like the one i wrote last night, i like to leave it up as the “lead story” on the blog for a few days (or a week) before bumping it down the page with something new. partly because entries like that are epic in size and need their time in the spotlight, partly because whatever i’ve written is something i want folks to see if they swing by unexpectedly (as opposed to, say, them surfing over and finding “a day in nouns”), and partly because the sentiment behind the entry is something important from which i’m not yet ready to move on.

but here i am with a 30-entries-in-30-days mission. which means i’m obliged to add a new entry today. which means that “encounters at the end of her world” gets shuffled down. alas.

at the same time, this is my blog. i make the rules around here. so i can let myself off the writing hook on a technicality if i feel like it.

and, tonight, i feel like it.

i don’t have anything i feel compelled to write about this evening, so why not just direct you to yesterday’s superior offering?

if you haven’t read it, just scroll down.

and if you have read it and feel cheated that there isn’t something fresh waiting for you to read tonight, well... i apologize.

mostly.

encounters at the end of her world

as a single woman, riding the subway alone at night is sometimes a little scary. the later the hour, the more likely you are to encounter someone weird. or creepy. or drunk. or frightening. or all of the above. i am, and always have been, a magnet for that kind of after-dark commuter. somehow, i must give off some kind of “hey, come chat me up!” pheromone no matter how inconspicuous i try to be, or what kind of angry, subway face i put on.

as such, i tend to be hyper-alert when i’m heading home late(r) at night. there’s no daydreaming or resting of the eyes – i’m always aware of who’s around me and who might be sketchy, and i always listen to that little voice inside that says stuff like, “maybe you should get off at the next stop and move to the next car...” or “just wait for the next subway and let the freakshow get on this one without you.” i’d much rather be mildly inconvenienced than hugely uncomfortable, uneasy or afraid. or worse.

last night, though, i had a very different subway encounter.

i was heading home from m-dub’s around 10:30pm. not very late at all, but she lives far enough away from my place that it would still be at least a good 45-minute trip. when the subway pulled into the station, i was positioned to get on one particular car, but noticed (as the train was slowing to a stop) a rather tweaked-out-looking woman inside it, right near the doors, so i opted to head for the next car in the hopes of avoiding her.

the tweaked-out woman got off her car and darted after me into mine.

dammit.

the car was almost empty. i think there were two, maybe three, other people on it. i found a seat and saw in my peripheral vision that the tweaked-out woman was very clearly following me. she sat down one seat away and, though i didn’t look at her (“don’t engage the scary person!” my brain was saying), i could feel her staring right at me.

my pulse quickened. i started having serious hell house flashbacks, and knew from my experiences there that someone tweaking as she was might be a problem. i started wondering if i should get off at the next stop and move to another car, but then worried that she’d just follow me again. getting off altogether and waiting for the next subway might not be the best idea, either, since i wasn’t interested in standing on a platform alone with her (for who knows how long) until the next train arrived.

i decided to just avoid all eye contact. i stared down at my lap and willed her to get up and move elsewhere. there was a young woman sitting nearby, earbuds in and ipod on, so i didn’t feel completely alone... but i also didn’t imagine she’d leap to my defense if the tweaked-out woman lunged for my bag or something. the young woman actually looked like she was silently hoping the tweaked-out woman would stick with me as a target.

as i sat there on high alert, eyes locked on my hands and mentally planning what i would do if the tweaked-out woman suddenly started freaking out or lashing out, i heard a voice say, “my name’s karen*.” i knew the tweaked-out woman was talking to me. the young woman nearby looked ready to flee. (*name changed for the purposes of this story.)

what should i do?, i thought. if i ignore her, she’s liable to get angry. but if i face her and respond, it’s possible i’d be welcoming a whole mess of trouble.

i decided to look up.

karen, the tweaked-out woman, was leaning forward, looking back at me with kind of herky-jerky movements, and smiling. i gave her a rapid-fire once-over – though she was disheveled and her sweater was tied very awkwardly around her neck like a bib, her clothes were clean. she looked like she might be about my age. her long, blonde hair was all askew and crammed underneath a baseball cap, but when she smiled her teeth were immaculate. i realized that whatever she was on had not consumed her to a point where she wasn’t taking care of herself... but it had definitely taken over her for the night.

nonetheless, her blue eyes – reddish and puffy, with eyeliner smudged – peeked out at me from under the chaos. with some kind of... hope?

so i engaged her.

i said hi and half-smiled in a way that screamed, “you’re acting strangely so i’m just going to be polite,” and she kind of sighed.

“it’s cold out,” she said too loudly, speech slurred. “and i had a REALLY, really crappy day.”

at this point, i felt myself relax a tiny bit. maybe she really did have a crappy day and was on her way from someplace where she’d been trying to escape that crappiness. still, i kept my guard up.

“those can happen,” i said sympathetically, not really sure how to respond. i didn’t want to upset her, but i also didn’t want to pretend i hadn’t heard her by just remaining silent.

“oh, you have NO idea,” she went on emphatically. “you have NO IDEA.”

without prompting, she then started telling me how she used to work with troubled children. “little kids can have problems,” she explained. i nodded. she told me about how some of them were violent, and how some of them threw blocks, but how she tried to be a good teacher to them. i told her that was a very admirable thing.

“i know,” she said flatly, in the same tone that someone might say, “oh well.” she said that over and over again at various points throughout what follows.

karen told me about her mother, who had also been a teacher (“she was SO AMAZING, you have no IDEA!”). she said she thinks her mom is the best mother ever, in fact. “i should just go and give her the biggest hug EVER,” she slurred, almost yelling. “i don’t know why i don’t. i don’t know why i don’t!”

by now, i was no longer feeling threatened by karen. she was still shouting and acting erratically, but something had changed in our dynamic as soon as she went from being a tweaked-out stranger who might hit me, to a real person with problems who was just looking for someone – obviously, anyone – to listen. i wondered how long she’d been riding the subway before we met, and whether she’d tried to talk to anyone else. i decided my best course of action was simply to have a conversation with her, so i started asking questions.

did she become a teacher because of her mom?

“oh YEAH, for sure,” she said. she talked about a paper she’d written in university, and how she got her teaching job because the person doing the hiring thought it was so well-done. karen told me about her family – her boyfriend, her sister, her parents, her nephews – it all came pouring out of her in a wave of release. who loved whom, what each of the interpersonal relationships was like, how much she wanted to DO something for each one of them. i found out all about her parents’ marriage, and the rivalry with her younger sister, and karen’s own unwillingness to have children because, she said, “it would be a REALLY really really bad idea for me.” with every story about each person, she said to me, “i don’t know what to do for him!” or “i don’t know why i don’t tell her that!” or the like.

a lot of what she was saying was also punctuated by random ramblings and rantings that made sense only to her. i tried to follow but, frequently, just nodded in agreement or understanding and that seemed to be enough for her.

while she was on a semi-incoherent tangent about trying to find her purpose in life and how we all need to find our reason for being here, out of nowhere, she paused, looked me in the eye and said, “i dunno. maybe I'M here for YOU. maybe i’m here for you.”

and, in that second, something strange happened.

it was like... i dunno, i can’t even explain it properly... but it was like a filter lifted or a picture came into focus or a light went on and i immediately saw her. not the tweaked-out woman fidgeting in the seat, but karen. karen the former teacher who probably wasn’t teaching anymore. karen, the sad and lonely and very troubled soul, who was desperately searching for... something. karen, the daughter and sister and girlfriend being slowly swallowed by some kind of internal struggle between the person she wanted to be, the person others want her to be, and the person she is.

karen, who – under different circumstances – could be me.

from that point on, we just talked. i listened as she told me her problems (and her family’s problems, and her boyfriend’s problems), and just let her purge whatever she needed to force out through her jittery, wobbly haze and stream-of-consciousness monologue. it was fascinating, and heartbreaking at the same time.

just before i had to get off, she reached her hand out to shake mine and said, “it was nice to meet you.”

i shook hers back and, despite my initial fears and uneasiness, i felt the same. what began under a big, ominous cloud of negative energy was ending in a very curiously positive light somehow. maybe she really was put there on that subway for me. maybe i was put there for her. who knows.

when we pulled into my stop, i got up and started for the door. she’d been in mid-story about how she feels responsible for telling one of her nephews how great he is because “he doesn’t always have to RIDE THE BIKE, you know?! he doesn’t have to do it! people expect him to, but he’s SUCH A GREAT KID!”, and was saying that she felt all she could really do to help him was to keep telling him how great he is. and to just love him.

“you should. that’s all you can do, and i think that’s great,” i said, and i meant it. “good luck.”

as the doors opened in front of me, she said thanks. then, just after i got off the train and the doors were closing, i heard her yell out, “bye!”

as the subway pulled out of the station and i carried on to my connecting train, i felt oddly moved by the whole thing, and really grateful for the experience. i also found myself worrying about karen.

did she have any idea where she was going? was she going to pass out? would she get off at the right stop? might she wind up hurt? would anybody keep an eye on her?

and, in the back of my mind, would someone somewhere ever tell her that she’s great... and just love her?

because, ultimately, that’s what counts. i know it.

and, even amid her demons, so does karen.

preamble

so, i've started writing today's blog entry, but i already know i won't finish it before i go to bed. despite the timestamp on this post, it's midnight. for some reason, blogger has me in the wrong timezone, or hasn't yet leapt to daylight savings time.

anyway...

all day, i wondered what i'd write about. not much happened, inspiration didn't land in my lap, and i'd actually started working on an "i have no entry today" poem earlier just in case i had to use it. i feared i might. i've been out of the house since around 5pm, and knew i'd be getting back late with little time left and even less energy to write something.

but then... i had a curiously profound encounter on the subway on the way home.

it started out looking like it might be kind of scary, but suddenly morphed into something quite different. and, even as it was happening, i thought, "this is what i'm going to write about."

problem is, i haven't yet fully digested it all or wrapped my head around what i want to say about it, and i need to get some sleep.

so i'm going to finish tomorrow.

because i think this kind of story deserves more than just a quick pass.

(note: technically, in writing this notice, i *did* write something today. the plan goes on!)

or, perhaps, next door is where the crazy is

i think my next-door neighbour has asperger’s syndrome. at least, i kind of hope he does. otherwise, he’s just a mildly creepy and weird guy.

don’t get me wrong – he’s nowhere near as scary or freaky or threatening as any of my former neighbours at hell house, and he’s always pleasant. he’s just... very peculiar. and seemingly unable to pick up on (my) social cues that say, “i’d really rather not talk to you, kthanx.”

for the purposes of this story, let’s call him stanley.

when i first moved in here, right on day one, stanley came a’knockin’ at my door. he was maybe in his late-40s or early-50s, tallish, average-looking with glasses and very tidy. sort of like a high-school math teacher. he introduced himself as my neighbour to the right, and asked me if i needed a dolly. thankfully, not a toy that comes to life at night and kills you in your sleep, but a wheeled device for moving heavy things. i thanked him, but declined. he wanted to know if i was settling in. i said i was. he complained about the property management, but (having previously lived in la maison du hell) i was thus far thrilled with them. he wished me a perky “good day” and left.

i didn’t really see him for a long while after that, though i’d occasionally come home and see his dolly or a grocery buggy sitting outside his door. the superintendent, upon learning i’d met him, rolled her eyes and proceeded to tell me what a headache he is, and how much she wishes he’d move out. from what she told me, it simply sounded like he was an overly conscientious tenant, which was fine with me. i was happy to learn there was someone else keeping tabs on the building and its goings-on, since i’d done that to no avail back at HH.

nonetheless, he did seem strange.

on the rare occasions when i did encounter him in the hall, he always had some bizarre proposition for me. one day, he wondered if i was interested in sharing the internet with him. as in, signing up for a single account with, he hoped, other tenants on our floor and then all setting up a “network” to split the cost. in my head, my answer was, “um, no, freakshow. i don’t even know you, and i kind of think you’re weird, so why would i willingly share online access with you?”

out loud i simply said, “no thanks. i’m not interested.”

another time, as we were waiting for the elevator, he asked me, “do you have a car in the underground lot?” i said i did not. he went on to explain (without me asking) that small bits of debris were falling onto cars, presumably due to the ground shaking from a large construction project next to the building, and he was going to complain. i learned stanley complains a lot. about trivial things. sort of a boy-who-cried-wolf scenario, only instead of a boy it’s stanley. and instead of “wolf!” it’s “the super is operating a gas-powered snowblower too close to the front door.”

then there was the night several months ago when i heard men’s voices in the hallway outside my door. i muted the TV and scurried to eavesdrop. based on what i heard, stanley had apparently called the fire department and was being reprimanded by a firefighter for abusing the emergency-services number. seems stanley felt the floor-varnish fumes coming from another unit on our floor – which had been rather strong earlier in the day but which had long since dissipated – were hazardous, and had complained to the super (who, as you recall, can’t stand him) several times. then, when she did nothing (not sure what he expected her to do), he called the fire department. all i heard was the firefighter sternly saying, “sir, you can’t call emergency services for something like this...” and stanley saying something about being concerned about anyone on a respirator who might breathe that air. please note: no one on our floor is on a respirator. that night, i figured stanley was one nuisance complaint away from being kicked to the curb.

cut to a couple of weeks later, when i heard something being slid under my door. it was a flyer, printed by stanley and evidently slipped under every door in the building, offering to come to the apartment and weather-seal the windows for $50. the flyer also talked about how inefficient the building’s heating system is, and how the radiator covers are never removed or the radiators cleaned (“i’m able to clean those for you, too” read the ad). as soon as i saw the flyer, i knew stanley was just asking for trouble.

sure enough, two days later, another notice was slipped under everyone’s door... from the property management company. it notified us that they (the company) had been advised that a tenant had been soliciting residents for “unauthorized and unapproved” repairs and maintenance work, and that “this tenant” (who remained nameless in the memo, but whom we all knew was stanley) had been warned that performing any such work or continuing to solicit his neighbours would result in his immediate eviction.

long story short: stanley’s been walking on thin ice as far as his tenancy is concerned.

and then, just this past sunday, came the pièce de resistance. as i was chatting on the phone with dan of ericanddan, there was a knock at my door. i wasn’t expecting company, and there’s no mail delivery, so i was curious and actually paused to answer. it was stanley.

smiling and used-car-salesman-y he said, “do you have any environmental wonks in your circle of friends?”

WTF?

“sorry, what?” i replied.

and then stanley said... totally seriously... no joke...

“i’m petitioning for the creation of an international criminal court to prosecute crimes against the environment...”

and i stopped him. “oh, i don’t know anyone who’d be into that kind of thing.” (i.e., i don’t know anyone insane enough to join you on your outlandish visionquest.)

“okay,” said stanley. “so, what do you do for a living?”

wait. was this turning into a social call?

“i’m a freelance writer.” as soon as the words left my mouth, i wished i’d never said them. my brain hit the FFWD button to stanley asking me to help pen his press releases and i felt myself break out into a panic sweat.

“really! what kind of writing do you do?” he asked.

“entertainment,” i answered quickly. “and i’m on the phone right now, so i need to go.”

he smiled and nodded, then issued his trademark, “good day!” and left.

i closed the door.

for now, stanley doesn’t worry me. he’s a little annoying, yes, but i rarely see him. i definitely never hear him. he’s (knock on wood) blissfully quiet, and evidently diligent to a fault. his business is his business... provided he leave me out of his schemes. and his complaints. i’m not actually sure why he still lives here, either, since he seems to take issue with so much about this building and its management (both of which, btw, are great as far as i’m concerned), and they haven’t been shy about expressing their desire for him to perhaps find a new address. like stanley, it’s weird.

a day in random thoughts

“what time is it?”

“what day is it?”

“five more minutes.”

“robin roberts looks good this morning.”

“i should flip the mattress today.”

“these flower books better come through.”

“the coffee syrup is almost gone.”

“this milk isn’t milky enough.”

“god bless routine.”

“maybe i should blog today in thoughts.”

“wow, it’s gorgeous out.”

“i forgot to thaw that chicken breast overnight.”

“i wonder...”

“figures.”

“why am i still trying?”

“what should i have for dinner?”

“why doesn’t she see?”

"it's very warm in here."

“cats are funny.”

“who knew there was this much to know about flower mythology?”

“i should have lunch.”

“why does this bother me so much?”

“i should turn off the computer.”

“i’m going for a walk.”

“i love this street.”

“i love this sidewalk.”

“there are no clouds.”

“dogs are funny.”

“i am alone.”

“SNAP OUT OF IT AND KEEP WALKING AND LOSE THE NEGATIVE THINKING!”

“i wonder if it’s been 40 minutes yet.”

“i don’t feel like soup.”

“maybe she does see.”

“i love cheerios mix.”

“oh, i had forgotten how good this grapefruit sorbet is.”

“how many more flowers do i have to research?”

“i’m bored.”

“maybe a nap would be good.”

“if i take a nap, i’ll be asleep for at least an hour and dopey for several more after i wake up.”

“nevermind the nap idea.”

“i think i can feel my cranio-sacral tide.”

“i wonder if the kraft dinner has expired...”

“gotta finish with these flowers.”

“i need to call mom to ask about the chicken.”

“dammit, the kraft dinner has expired.”

“five flowers to go.”

“i don’t think that’s supposed to be that colour...”

“well, at least it’s not rancid.”

“ooh! the raspberry cookies!”

“done!”

“done!”

“done!”

“i still have Kings to watch...”

“that song always makes me cry.”

“she doesn’t have a clue.”

“why is facebook so slow?”

"i'm going to keep the windows open overnight."

“is my email broken?”

“i’m so glad i started my blog entry early.”

“i need to get up early tomorrow.”

“i should go to bed early.”

“yay!”

“done.”

“what time is it?”

a day in nouns

bed.

morning.

stretches.

regis.

kelly.

crunches.

weights.

milk.

cookies.

ellen.

email.

facebook.

laundry.

lunch.

sunshine.

walk.

library.

bakery.

bank.

email.

facebook.

snack.

review.

lyrics.

phone.

email.

facebook.

blogs.

couch.

snack.

news.

magazine.

shower.

dinner.

dessert.

email.

facebook.

lyrics.

blog.

bed.

hearing voices

today i heard my friend lou’s voice.

for the first time.

we’ve known each other... wow, maybe 11 years? 12? i’m not even sure anymore... but i’d never heard her voice before today.

we met online in the late-1990s, back when the internet seemed much smaller, much simpler (comparatively speaking) and, despite the prevalence of social networking, much friendlier. she, moob (cod) and i met in a women’s chat space, where our mutual irreverence bonded us fairly quickly. we’d “meet” at least once a week with several other women from around the U.S. and elsewhere in the world for a dedicated poetry chat, where we’d share our writing and, more often than not, goof around. from there, we eventually branched off into private messageboards and emails and blogs and the like. lou is one of my closest confidantes, perhaps because of her physical distance, and one of my most trusted advisors, because she’s a super-smart lady with a world of experience... and she's an amazing listener. which is oddly ironic, since we've never had a spoken conversation.

in all these years, we’ve never met in person. lou lives in california, and i don’t. since we’re both writers, we connected through the written word and, as such, haven't even talked on the phone. but that hasn't mattered, because our friendship grew just fine on its own, online. not all online friendships work that way, though. sometimes, you do meet in person and hit it off immediately and an IRL (in-real-life) relationship instantly materializes. sometimes, you meet in person and you realize, “oh. you’re not the same person you are online...” and not only does an IRL relationship never happen, but your online friendship eventually evaporates, as well. or sometimes, for whatever reason, you don’t meet in person, time goes on and the online friendship slowly fades to black.

say what you will, voices matter. the way people wrap their mouths around words. the inflections. the pronunciations. the accents and intonations and reverberations. everyone’s voice is different, and they’re not all music to a listener’s ear. haven’t you ever heard a supermodel give an interview and been shocked at the flat, nasal voice that came out of a gorgeous face you’ve seen on magazine covers? (where do you think “just stand there and look pretty” came from?) or perhaps you’ve seen someone from across the room, felt a flutter in your heart and then had that flutter stop on a dime when the object of your imaginary affection opened his or her mouth to reveal a voice that instantly erased your attraction. conversely, maybe you've had your heart unexpectedly melt at the velvety, dulcet tones of someone you’d initially thought might sound like gilbert gottfried.

all this to say: it was really freaky (in a good way) to finally hear what lou sounded like. earlier today, she’d posted a couple of home videos on her blog and, though she was behind the camera, she was posing questions to her onscreen subjects – her grandkids, who were animated and funny and adorable, showing off their home and chatting about their lives.

and then there it was.

lou’s voice.

!

last year, lou heard me for the first time when i sent her a video i’d made for ericanddan, and i remember her saying at the time how strange an experience it was... to hear my voice after all these years. it was equally strange for me the first time i met (in person) and heard moob – i had no idea she’d have a hint of a southern drawl! ericanddan didn’t sound a thing like i’d expected when i first met them, but now i can’t fathom them sounding any other way. the list goes on.

when you make friends online, and i’ve made a few, it’s often a curious undertaking because of the inherent nature of online communication. for the most part, especially in the days before webcams and skyping and the like, it’s often silent. distant. with varying degrees of anonymity. and that very first glimpse of the other person in person, in the 3-D world of real life (even if it’s just a voice), is sometimes surprising.

but for some reason, lou kind of sounded exactly as i’d imagined – warm, soothing, loving and fun.

and, really, i wasn’t surprised at all. :-)

three good things

a while back, at my weekly meditation group, our regular “discussion period” was unusually quiet. no one really wanted to talk, it seemed, and the silence after the question “does anyone have anything they’d like to share?” was awkward.

crickets.

tumbleweeds.

silence.

so, our de-facto leader that night decided to try sparking some chatter by suggesting each of us share three good things about the day. just any three things that made us happy, or relieved, or feel nice, or were simply positive somehow.

“if you can’t think of three, two is okay,” he said. “if you can only think of one, that’s okay, too. and if you’d rather pass, you can pass.”

pass? would there really be anyone who couldn’t think of a single good thing about their day?, i wondered. turns out, yes, there were a few people who passed. but i think that had more to do with them being shy than them having had a day devoid of an ounce of goodness.

for the rest of the group, it was an opportunity to share everything from the minutiae of their world (“i had a really great sandwich at lunch”) to the life-changing (“my husband’s cancer is officially in remission”). one by one, we went around the circle (because that’s how the chairs are configured) and thought about our days, each one of us picking out a few things to offer. for some, it was challenging to find three things, for others it was easy. overall, though, it was a surprisingly moving exercise – a few people shed tears, and i tried hard not to (especially after the remission admission) – that allowed each of us to share as much or as little of ourselves as we liked with the others. it reminded us all to be a little more mindful in our day-to-day lives. to look for the good if it didn’t seem obvious at first.

it was also a nice way to acknowledge that there’s something good in every day... and that those good things don’t have to be Big Events like winning the lottery or getting married or eating a platter of cupcakes. little things count.

little things add up.

little things are good.

little things can be great.

so, later today, i encourage you to think about three good things about your saturday.

even if they’re little.

home is where the crazy is

let me just get this out of the way right now: i’m crazy. i am. i know it. and i’m okay with it.

lest you suddenly worry that i actually have gone off the deep end, or am somehow being offensive to the mentally ill, let me explain:

we’re all crazy in our own ways. each one of us. everybody.

not the “should be heavily medicated and in some kind of supervised-care facility” crazy, but idiosyncratic. different in very unique ways. possessing foibles that, to the casual observer, might seem a little strange or weird or silly.

or crazy.

the way you fold your shirts. the time you get up or go to bed. your preferred organizational style when it comes to your cupboards. your habit of rechecking all the lights to make sure they're off before you walk out your door. your inability to eat anything with caraway seeds in it. the fact that you enjoy sitting around naked and watching TV in summer.

everyone has some crazy in them. no matter how seemingly sane and together and normal and ordinary. everyone has some crazy.

after sitting here tonight for the past 90 minutes, writing a long, blathering, rambling, epic blog entry (that, by the way, still isn't done because it was that massive in size), i decided to scrap it all. the overall gist of what i was writing is: i'm crazy and so are you. and, for me, my home is my sanctuary where all my idiosyncracies and foibles and quirks can flourish and live comfortably. where my craziness can kick off its shoes, stretch its toes and recline on big red without fear of judgment or scorn or ridicule or rejection.

i may or may not finish the epic blog entry tomorrow morning. it snowballed into something of a personal-therapy-session avalanche of words, and i don't know that posting it will be a benefit to anyone... in fact, i think it may simply wind up being a gigantic navel-gazing bore.

but i did write it. consider this the condensed-for-your-pleasure version that, for all its brevity, is a much better, much more coherent encapsulation of everything i wanted to say, anyway.

embrace your inner crazy, accept it with love, and don't apologize for it.

oh, don't think i forgot...

i got home very late after a day out, and knew i still had a blog entry to write before bed.

so i'm writing it right now... but wanted to put this placeholder up in the meantime, lest anyone swing by, look at the clock and think, "feh, she's already bailed and it's only day four."

entry coming shortly.