Just visiting?

This cute little guy has been hanging out with us since yesterday. I have no idea who he belongs to. Today I took him to the animal shelter to have them check him for a microchip. He doesn't have one and he's not neutered either. They offered to take him but they would put him up for adoption after 48 hours so I filled out a "found dog" form in case his owner goes to the shelter and we are going to put notices on the mailboxes in our neighborhood. I'm not sure what we will do if no one claims him. He's a sweetheart though and Gracie seems to be in love with him.

So much to say... part two

Oh dear, it's been almost a whole week since I started this post. I am pathetically lame and lamely pathetic. But you know what? In two weeks and two days I will be lamely and pathetically unemployed. (yippee!) Now I just have to figure out how to schedule my soon to be free time so I don't fritter it all away on silly things like cleaning the garage or doing laundry.

So much to say... part one

I've been trying to write a damned post for four days now and every time I sit down with my computer in my lap all that my brain will give me is a recording of Dave Matthews...

I say my hell is the closet I'm stuck inside
can't see the light
and my heaven is a nice house in the sky
I got central heating and I'm alright
yeah yeah yeah can't see the light
keep it locked up inside don't talk about it
t-t-talk about the weather


So I talked about the weather. Boring wasn't it? But I am really having trouble coming up with more to write about. The funny thing is that I'm not short of subjects; actually I have too many. There is so much going on around here right now that figuring out where to start is the first problem...

so much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to say

And how much to share is the second...

I've been sitting on one piece of news for many weeks now and I can finally share it but it feels anticlimactic now... and complicated. You see, a year and a half ago we made the decision that Bob would leave the stable, safe, corporate world and take a job at a much smaller company. It has been a remarkable experience in many ways.. unfortunately not all the remarks would be positive. During this time he has also been frequently encouraged to return to his old company. Well, for various reasons he recently decided to consider the options and before we knew it there was a very nice offer in front of him. He took it.. and he resigned from his current job, giving them more than a month to find his replacement but the owners didn't want to tell the staff immediately and, since I also work there, and some of my coworkers read this blog, I had to stay quiet. Now I can talk about it because everyone knows but I don't feel right about talking.


I'm not sure what will happen with my job. I work on a contract basis and took the job because Bob really needed a spot filled and they couldn't add staff. I am not an employee and my contract could be cancelled any day and I honestly wouldn't cry about that. In fact I would quit tomorrow if I didn't like my supervisor so much. She's a very nice lady who is currently overwhelmed because her boss (my husband) is leaving and one of her full time employees is going part time so that she can go back to school. I don't want to make things any harder than they already are. However, I really want my life back. I know this sounds whiny to many women. I work with a few who can not imagine why I am not thrilled to have escaped the drudgery of being a "housewife". But I'm not thrilled.. I'm bored. I miss having time to write. I miss baking. I hate that my house is messy and my budget is shaky because I'm distracted and tired. I feel like I'm wasting my days sitting around that office. I don't know what to do but right now I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing and evaluate again after Bob has left and things start to change... because things will definitely change

I find sometimes it's easy to be myself
sometimes I find it's better to be somebody else

It's midnight and I need to get to bed. I'm going to post this as part one and maybe it will motivate me to write some more after work tomorrow...

It's April 18th...

... and it's snowing.

Through rose colored glasses...

Cherry blossoms are so lovely..

Truly a harbinger of spring.. they lift my spirits and give me hope that we will see the sun again soon.

Then the weather man goes and ruins everything!

Check out the "alert" button below. There are some nasty phrases like

"UNUSUALLY COLD WEATHER IS EXPECTED FRIDAY THROUGH EARLY NEXT WEEK.." and "NEAR RECORD LOW MAXIMUM AND MINIMUM TEMPERATURES ARE LIKELY ON SATURDAY. TEMPERATURES IN THE MOUNTAINS WILL STAY IN THE 20S AND 30S. SNOW LEVELS FRIDAY NIGHT AND SATURDAY MORNING WILL AVERAGE AROUND 1000 FEET...AND MAY FALL TO NEAR SEA LEVEL IN HEAVIER SHOWERS."

The Weather Channel 3

Hell on wheels

When I was thirteen I loved to skate and I thought I was pretty darn good too. I could skate forward and backward, twirl and jump... but mostly I could skate in circles with my cousins, giggling, tossing my hair, and trying to catch the attention of the sixteen year old boys at the roller rink.


The winter of my Freshman year we skated a lot... and we saw the movie Roller Boogie quite a few times too. The sappy romance on wheels flick simply fueled our desire to catch the attention of those boys. Of course the boys were looking for sixteen year old Linda Blair types and had no interest in chubby me and my flat chested cousin. Oh well.. we still had fun.

Tonight we took the kids skating and it was painfully obvious that thirty years have passed and rollerskating skills, much like perky breasts and sculpted abs, don't last. Ok, so I never really had sculpted abs but you know what I mean! It was embarrassing to jerk and wobble around the rink. I got better with time but I still ended up on my butt before the night was over. Hopefully I didn't break anything but I can't honestly evaluate that right now because EVERYTHING hurts!


Despite the pain, it was a very fun evening and we will be going back again. The kids are already at the rink four hours a week for hockey practice and another few hours for games so it just makes sense for the rest of us to get involved. Bob is working on getting himself in shape so that he can help out at practices already. I've just got to take care of one little problem...


Rental skates are implements of torture! The kids have new skates for roller hockey and I'm totally jealous. I want a pair like this.
I'm sure that I will skate much better if I just invest a few hundred dollars.

Oh... and perhaps an xray tomorrow...

Mouse Cheese

Someone I love dearly implied, in a moment of anger, that I write this blog for attention and sympathy. That I take problems that should be dealt with privately, as expediently and unemotionally as possible, and put them on display for the world to see so that I can feel justified in continuing to be upset about them. At first I was mortified and ashamed because I had been taught from a very young age that it is traitorous to share family business (we are Italian you know) and even worse to look to strangers for support (even school counselors were considered suspect.) This mentality is deeply ingrained and even though I have been a writer, who sometimes even gets paid, for over a decade it wasn't until I started this blog that I began to write about my life. However, after having some time to reflect and recover I began to resent the judgement that I had been handed. Of course, the argument was over by then and I had no desire to revisit the whole awful experience. So I decided to bring it here and write it all out so my readers (all seven of you) can feel sorry for me.

My first inclination was to just stop blogging. It took about three nanoseconds for me to decide that wasn't an option. So, maybe I could just block this person from ever reading my blog? After all, it's MY blog and I can decide who gets to read it, right? Well.. I don't think it's that easy to do and I don't really want to learn how. Especially since Blogger help files often seem to have been written in Martian and translated to English by a foreign exchange student from Saturn. Then I got mad, again. How dare they decide what I should and shouldn't write about and why the hell does anyone think they can decide what I can or can't feel!

Finally, I came to the conclusion that I need to just let it go. It wasn't a nice thing to say but it was just an opinion, no, not just an opinion but an opinion in anger which gives it even less weight. In a perfect world people wouldn't say hurtful things in order to "win" an argument but there's not much perfect in this world and occasional nastiness is likely to occur. So I will forgive my dear friend, I will continue to write, and I will cultivate a slightly thicker skin because this probably won't be the last time someone says something mean to me about my writing.

I love the following passage from Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott. It's her technique for dealing with the voices in her head that distract her from writing. The critics, real and imagined, the family and friends with their opinions and the dogs... "And there are also the dogs: let's not forget the dogs, the dogs in their pen who will surely hurtle and snarl their way out if you ever stop writing, because writing is, for some of us, the latch that keeps the door of the pen closed, keeps those crazy ravenous dogs contained. Quieting these voices is at least half of the battle I fight daily."

Try this!

"Close your eyes and get quiet for a minute, until the chatter starts up. Then isolate one of the voices and imagine the person speaking as a mouse. Pick it up by the tail and drop it into a mason jar. Then isolate another voice, pick it up by the tail, drop it in the jar. And so on. Drop in any high-maintenance parental units, drop in any contractors, lawyers, colleagues, children, anyone who is whining in your head. Then put the lid on, and watch all these mouse people clawing at the glass, jabbering away, trying to make you feel like shit because you won't do what they want--won't give them more money, won't be more successful, won't see them more often. Then imagine that there is a volume-control button on the bottle. Turn it all the way up for a minute, and listen to the stream of angry, neglected, guilt-mongering voices. Then turn it all the way down and watch the frantic mice lunge at the glass, trying to get to you."

This is exactly what I did when I sat down to write this afternoon. I put that angry opinionated mouse in it's jar and watched it for a minute. With some distance I could see it was really more sad and afraid than anything and I really didn't feel like biting it anymore. I even put away the traps and put the cheese back in the fridge.


I don't write for attention, admiration, or sympathy, although I admit that in the right situation all of those are some of the great benefits of being a writer. I write because I need to. It keeps me calm and rational and forces me to slow down and think about how I'm really feeling. I believe it makes me a better person.

Radio Silence

Two weeks without blogging explained in pictures and a few words:

Jungle Book!!!

A desperate phone call from somewhere in California.

A Bus Ticket


Easter

With all four kids.

Roller Hockey Season Starts!




And after seven days of quiet...

The lost boys seem to be beckoning Ian back.

Somehow this just doesn't surprise me...

So what breed are you? Or are you a cat?

Brown thumb

On my list of things I would want, if I could have anything, a talent for gardening is in the top ten. My grandfather was a fantastic gardener. He could make almost anything grow. He didn't spend a lot of money on plants or garden design. He just put things where they would grow. When he had a spot that needed a plant he'd create one. I once watched him take a 5 inch branch and turn it into a new, blooming rose bush. Yes, it took months but it was still magic. His gardens were practical but beautiful. Alas, I don't seem to have inherited his talent, but I do have a great appreciation for beautiful gardens. Which means that as spring approaches I get more and more distressed by the mucky yard outside my backdoor.

My dream

My reality

Not only am I short on talent, I'm seriously lacking space. To make matters worse my dog thinks her job is to protect me from daisies. Last summer she dutifully attacked every single plant I put in the ground. But for some reason all of these things just don't keep me from flipping through seed and plant catalogs! So, here for your entertainment, are a few plants I would plant if I could plant a garden that grew....

Oddly enough, I find myself attracted to the cool, new, brown plants that are showing up in trendy nurseries. Perhaps it's so there isn't as far to fall? "Why yes, that plant is supposed to have brown leaves... isn't it lovely? No, it's not dead..."

The beautiful pictures are courtesy of Jackson & Perkins

Rock, Paper, Scissors

So... I had a dream the other night. In the dream I found myself at an ambiguous event, it might have been a wedding, conference or a reunion, I don't know exactly but I was dressed up so it was something semi-important. I was happily sitting at a large banquet table, chatting and having coffee with non-specific friends, when I noticed a group of men sitting at a nearby table.

They were playing rock, paper, scissors.

After a few seconds I realized that the men were all my ex-boyfriends and the winner of their game was going to get to go out with me again. The weird thing was that some of them weren't even really boyfriends, just guys I had spent time with in my wild youth. I was appalled to see them all, and embarrassed, and generally annoyed by the whole thing. Then it occurred to me that this was ridiculous because I am happily married to Bob... who wasn't at either table.

I woke up before the game was over and I'm happy I didn't find out who "got" me. Why in the world would I dream about men I haven't seen in over 25 years?

Happy Birthday

"If critics say your work stinks it's because they want it to stink and they can make it stink by scaring you into conformity with their comfortable little standards. Standards so low that they can no longer be considered "dangerous" but set in place in their compartmental understandings." — Jack Kerouac

3/12/1922 - 10/21/1969

If he had lived to 86 what would he be writing about?

Now I understand...

I've never really appreciated the movie Office Space even though it ranks near the top of my husband's list of favorites and has been played about a million times in my house. It was comical enough to hold my interest once but over and over again? Hardly. It just didn't resonate with me, you know? Until today.

Today, for the third Monday in a row I arrived at work to find that some aspect of my job changed after I left Friday afternoon. Three weeks ago I walked in to find pictures of a coworkers children on my desk. That was my first clue. My things had been moved to an office down the hall, which I suppose was fine.. Until the accountant came in and wanted HER desk back. We adjusted though. Neither of us is there full time so we divided up the drawers and I found a spare computer that I can usually use when we happen to be in the office at the same time. I made myself a "mobile desk", a manila folder with various supplies and my name on the front so I could float around without infringing too much on others.

Two Mondays ago a new full time person was hired. This is actually good news but it means I will be losing some tasks after she is fully trained and able to take over. I spent the week getting used to my new routine. Monday at my desk, Tuesday floating, Wednesday my desk again, Thursday and Friday.. floating everywhere.

The new person started today.. and when I got to work I found she has been given my computer, and calculator, and stapler, and staple puller, and my cup of pens... in fact the only thing she didn't get was my "mobile office" and my box of zbars!

I should have seen it coming. I should have paid more attention to Milton... but I didn't.. so I've lost everything. Except the job. They still expect me to do the job......



"And I said, I don't care if they lay me off either, because I told, I told Bill that if they move my desk one more time, then, then I'm, I'm quitting, I'm going to quit. And, and I told Don too, because they've moved my desk four times already this year, and I used to be over by the window, and I could see the squirrels, and they were merry, but then, they switched from the Swingline to the Boston stapler, but I kept my Swingline stapler because it didn't bind up as much..."

On the books...

Mrs. G at Derfwad Manor is giving away books this month and her generosity inspired Laura at CenterDownHome to contemplate giving away some of her own. However, in the process of analyzing her collection she seems to have found herself unable to part with anything (a condition I can completely sympathize with!) so instead of giving them away she documented the wonderous diversity of her hoard. Then she suggested that her readers do the same.

Then she posted pictures of Matt Amsden which made me go looking for information about Rawvelotion, which made me hungry…

But back to the books… I loved Laura’s pictures of her various shelves and tables full of books, unarranged, unretouched, and yet so artistic. I want to be like her! Unfortunately, I’m not Laura, I’m Gina…

(thanks Mom)

I’m a disorganized semi-packrat with a serious shortage of horizontal surfaces suitable for displaying reading material. Did I mention I moved twice in the last 18 months? I intend to use this excuse for at least another six months…

But back to the books… let me explain before I start showing pictures. You see, in my old house I had lots of built in cabinets in which to store all of my treasures. In this house I have very few. Two weeks ago we decided to move the only large built in bookcase/entertainment center, which really didn’t look right in the living room, to the den. This meant that I had to move all of the books. Since the shelving unit is the new home for a tv and all of the kids video gaming paraphernalia, my poor books are now homeless. Oh the shame!

Some are slouched against the wall in a corner of my living room, begging passersby for loose change, or wood, even particleboard will do... perhaps an IKEA gift card?

Fortunately they haven't taken up smoking.

Some huddle together in the shadow of the entertainment center hoping it will hide them from maurading dogs.

The oldest ones have taken up residence in an antique desperately in need of renovation. It's not pretty but at least they are safe there.

Many are hanging around the dining room in hopes of squeezing into a kitchen cabinet.

But the cookbooks aren't moving.

The Bible always has a home... especially during tax season.

And Bird by Bird hasn't left the bathroom in a very long time.


We won't even discuss the books jailed in boxes in the garage, or those that are hanging around the kids rooms. It's a terrible thing to be a poor, neglected book in this house and yet, like a crazy cat lady, I just keep bringing new ones home.

Help me...

Legos, Literature, Solicitation...

photo courtesy of Kaptain Kobold

Writing is like prostitution.

First you do it for love,

and then for a few close friends,

and then for money.

Moliere

Closet Archeology

I moved twice in the last eighteen months. The first move was from California to Washington. With only a few weeks to accomplish that move, most of our stuff went into storage and we moved into a rental house. Four months later we moved into our new house and I've been trying to recover ever since. Oh, all the basics were in place within a week or so but there is a whole lifetime of things that are still boxed, or partially boxed, stored all over the house. This week, in a futile effort to find a pair of textured brown tights (laugh if you want but they keep my legs warm and would go well with my sketchers mary jane's; yes I am 5) that I know I have, I cautiously opened a box in the master bedroom closet. The box was labeled "lingerie" so it was the logical place to start. In it, along with the 75 unmatched socks, slips, and panty girdles and other contents of my California underwear drawer, I found the following items:

• A silk Versace scarf. I will never be able to justify what I spent for it in 1985.
• Baby shoes - white, leather, with a little rubber baby foot molded into the sole. Unfortunately they haven't retained the lovely smell of baby toes.
• The hat that went on Taylor's head the minute after she was born, and an almost identical one that Delaney wore. God they are so small.
• The longline strapless bra that I wore with my wedding dress and the size 38GGG nursing bra I wore after Delaney was born. The difference in the cup size is astonishing.
• A Sum 41 CD that I don't remember confiscating from one of the children... but I'm sure they haven't earned it back yet.
• Letters to the tooth fairy.

My underwear drawer has always been the place to stash things that I just can't seem to part with... or stuff I'm hiding from the kids. That box was at time capsule waiting to be explored. I never did find the brown tights but I did find some buried treasure. What's in your underwear drawer?

The end...

Well, February challengers, the end is finally here and we all survived. Plus we posted some pretty cool stuff. Thank you so much for going along with me. You made this cold, dark month much brighter.

Our last reward goes to the person with the most posts this month. Several of us had 29 posts, Debbie was second runner up with 31 posts, Taylor had 33. She also happens to be the only person in our group who posted every day in February. What you probably don't know is that she started blogging on February 1st... after following her mother around for hours and begging for a blog. Love of chocolate is a powerful thing.. but week after week went by and Taylor didn't win any chocolate and she still kept blogging. I think it just comes naturally to a girl who has been keeping a journal since she learned to write. The prize is a box of delicious Stephany's Truffles and a fun book of writing prompts. Taylor, I hope that you will continue to post to your blog. I really enjoy reading it.




I'm getting ready to mail out the last of our February treats... Candy bars for everyone who posted about where they grew up last week. February blogging bookmarks for everyone who participated in the challenge. And more candy bars... for anyone who didn't win anything, because I never feel good about leaving anyone out. I have addresses for almost everyone. Heidi and MS Teacher, if you want chocolate please email me at ginaagain@aol.com.

Lastly, I want to thank you all. This has been a lot of fun for me.

gina

Blogging

I've been doing some thinking about the blog lately and trying to decide what exactly I want to accomplish with it. I didn't really have a goal in mind when I started writing this.. other than to write something every day. I figured if I told a few friends I might feel as though I had to write for them every day. Leeann can testify that it didn't work! But she refused to give up on me and continued to ask every few weeks if I was going to be updating any time soon. You are a great friend Leeann, and a very patient woman.

Anyway, in September I made a commitment to give myself six months to work on nothing but writing. It was a serious commitment.. at least I thought it was.. and the first thing I did to prove that was to start posting to the blog. I intended to use it as something of a warm up and an organization tool to keep me on track with menu planning and time management. Well, of course, plans change and instead of six months I got six weeks. A staffing emergency led my husband to ask me to come work in his office part time for a few weeks. A few weeks turned into a few months, part time turned into full time, and I've written very little other than the blog. Next week marks the end of my six months.

Six months isn't very long at all.

For those of us who have been married for a long time...

This is awful and hilarious at the same time... and it's mild compared to the other commercial at the "shave everything" website.



Second Puberty

***************

Update... my son just informed me that the makers of this video are probably going to hell.