happiness is...

...beer. though I am a remarkably cheap date, beer feels like the perfect drink. Drinkable bread. I didn't like the flavor at all until I got pregnant, when I wasn't allowed more than a sip or two now and then. It was a sore trial. I'm sipping the last of the case of Shipyard products my sister and her family brought us at Thanksgiving. Only halfway and even now, my eyes are a little glazed and I'm warm. Sigh. Burp.

...audiobooks. Last year I was given a subscription to Audible.com, which is a website where you download audiobooks, journals, etc for a fee. It's far cheaper than buying the audiobooks at the store (sometimes 50-75 bucks a pop), though I did wait a long while to download my full batch of credits. In the last week, I downloaded all of the Number One Ladies Detective Agency books, read by a superb Lisette Lecat, whose thoughtful South African accent perfectly matches the calm, philosophical tone of the books. Mma Ramotswe's wry comments and apt descriptions come to life in each one.

...James Herriot's audiobooks. I started listening to library copies of random stories from the "All Creatures Great and Small" series when A was born, as a way to pass the interminable hours of feeding, burping, and rocking the poor bugger. The books are gentle, amusing, full of local Yorkshire color, and only sometimes a bit sad. I needed no dramatic cliff-hangers or tragic events to think about at that time, and besides, all the talk about milking, mastitis, and the innumerable ways livestock are born into the world were very apropos. The books are read by Christopher Timothy, who played James Herriot in the BBC series. (Sigfried Farnon was played by one of my favorite actors, Robert Hardy, aka Cornelius Fudge in HP and Sir John Middleton in Sense and Sensibility.) I downloaded the audiobooks last week as well, and have thoroughly enjoyed the broad Yorkshire dialects, the mortifying situations the vet gets himself into, and the little triumphs and "Aha!" moments when he finally diagnoses the problem in a difficult case. I like the books a bit better than the show, as Herriot looks more like a stick-in-the-mud and a consummate ass in the show than he seems in the books--though there are many moments in the books when he does make a prat of himself. The most wonderful thing about the show was the theme song, an energetic, thoroughly English TV beauty with a bit of syncopated drumming at the end--too bad it doesn't play in the clip I linked to. D and I watched the series shortly after I got into the books, every episode lovingly recorded on VHS by his grandfather when they aired in 1979. He was what they call an "early adopter" of technology. If they made it in Japan, he wanted one now. Even if it had too many buttons to remember how to use, he bought it. D spent hours teaching Grandfather the order in which buttons were pushed, writing them down with helpful diagrams, but it was like ramming your head into the double-thick cinderblock walls of their house. I had to leave the room when any of these tutoring sessions was going on, so I wouldn't scream in frustration. As Grandfather's eyesight failed, the TV got bigger and bigger each year until it hovered over their bed like the menacing black wall from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Each new set required a new set of directions, completely bewildering Grandfather all over again.

Anyhow, I eagerly waited for the end of each "All Creatures" tape, because at times Grandfather would forget and leave it recording. Two things stand out from the mess of commercial jingles, public television snippets and static: a full newscast from Channel 13 during the oil crisis, and the most horrifically suggestive modern dance performance I have ever seen. The newscast featured Jerry Turner, who was a staple of TV news in Baltimore for years, and the sparse set showed only the pathetic little screen showing the headline being discussed. The leaders of OPEC had just met, the hostages were still in Iran, inflation went up another percent in a month, and gas stations rigged up a system of flags to notify the public of whether they had certain kinds of fuel or if they were out, so people wouldn't waste precious fuel waiting in line for gas they couldn't get. It was unbelievable. Where today our country is seen as the bellowing bully, back then we were led by a bunch of milktoast weenies. Neither image does us much good, but I'd rather be on the bully end of the spectrum, honestly. The second forgotten recording session from the tapes featured a group of about 5 men (maybe less, but it seemed like an orgy to me) in very tight, very far-out leotards, with swirly designs all over the set, their tights, and across the surface of the TV screen as they writhed and wove tapestries of psychedelic human flesh to very loopy music. It must be the closest I have ever come to a pornographic acid trip, only I was stone sober and disgusted, yet completely transfixed. The thing that really got me thinking was why Grandfather decided to watch the show himself, if it was still recording. Maybe he was transfixed with horror as well. Here's hoping.

christmas 07

"A kiss for Santa?" Love the tissue paper beard...

We have had a lovely time these few days. D has off for the whole week, Christmas was really a blast here and at my parents' house, and today we watched High School Musical, played videogames, legos, Magnetix (which are really cool!), drove around tonight to look at Christmas lights, and now I'm dreaming of all the yarn I can splurge on with my many gift cards. Woot! I also registered today for the "Transforming Culture" symposium in Austin in April, which has a huge lineup of amazing speakers, many of whose books I own or have read. It will be a brilliant opportunity and hopefully really encouraging.

I'm also looking forward to playing my Christmas present from D: Rayman's Raving Rabbids 2. I am sure most people will find the game ridiculous, stupid, inane, and puerile. But every time I hear those bunnies scream, and run around blindly with plungers stuck to their faces I can't help but laugh until I'm sick. It's like Bugs Bunny on crack, mixed with the grossness of Ren and Stimpy. I think on my depressed days I need to just prescribe some Rayman, shoot a few hundred insane bunnies with plungers, and it may put me back on the road to recovery.

High School Musical was interesting. A loves musicals, especially Singin' in the Rain--recently eclipsed by Nightmare before Christmas as his favorite. He wasn't super impressed with his first viewing of HSM. Maybe if we had the album (no, please don't) he'd be more enthused. But I had to see it after all the hoopla, and the fact that Teen Vogue has at least one picture of a cast member every month (usually Zac Efron, who is very cute in a soulless, airbrush-tan Disney sort of way). Plus the fact that my nephew has the whole thing memorized. Had to see it. The message was good--don't let your clique define who you are--the songs were fun and cheesy, but not quite as good as I expected. I do love the Wildcats song though. Sue me.

More pics to come of the crafty things I made for family this Christmas, and other thoughts.

silence

One of seemingly hundreds of crafty projects A has made lately at school. I love how contemplative and sortof sad the star looks. And like my friend J says, artists can't do drawings as good as these if they tried. There's something so subconscious and haphazard and raw about what children make, and to try and recreate it always falls flat and looks contrived.

The house is completely quiet except for some clocks, the fan on my computer, and the humming of something outside that's probably a street cleaner. It is truly lovely to have this space, the cozy lights, everyone else asleep for once. We all took very long naps today, and D isn't feeling well so he's on another sleep component of his get-well regimen (which follows this pattern: sit in scalding shower, barely dry off, sleep, repeat). I felt clobbered this afternoon, and nearly fell asleep during our impromptu tea party with A and D. It was great to climb into the warm covers and really rest. I'll be off for more of the same in a few minutes, but I wanted to write too.

I'm done wrapping presents finally, and all is ready except for a few things needing cleaning and cooking tomorrow. Most of the immediate family will be here tomorrow evening, except my sister's family, cousins and Aunt and Uncle--they live just far enough away for it to be a real pain to drive, plus they're getting ready to visit my cousin L in Kansas who just had a baby girl on Friday! Yay! Congratulations L and enjoy the little sugarlump! The first great-granddaughter in the family, which is pretty cool. Our dads had 5 daughters between them, so we didn't know what to do when 4 grandsons showed up. Everyone's houses seem so much smaller with boys around.

Even without 2 extra growing families, the house will be full and noisy and I'll be kindof crazed, so it is good to savor my last few moments of quiet before the madness begins. A has been mega-emotional and more sugar-charged lately, since everyone he meets thinks the best thing for him would be some more candy, cookies, munchkins, and Christmas presents. I reprimanded him the other day for something minor, and he sobbed, "You ruined Christmas, Mommy!" Wow, I had no idea how much power I really possessed. Watch out, everyone, or I'll ruin your Christmas too! I am praying that he can get through the dinner tomorrow night without having to run laps around the first floor and sit in the naughty zone a hundred times. We had fun today watching Rudolph (who he calls Randolph, a mix-up from Lord of the Beans) and singing some Christmas carols before he went to bed. Here are the beautiful, haunting lyrics from my favorite carol, and Merry Christmas!

Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.

King of kings, yet born of Mary,
As of old on earth He stood,
Lord of lords, in human vesture,
In the body and the blood;
He will give to all the faithful
His own self for heavenly food.

Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vanguard on the way,
As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.

At His feet the six wingèd seraph,
Cherubim with sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to the presence,
As with ceaseless voice they cry:
Alleluia, Alleluia
Alleluia, Lord Most High!

a strange day

at the seven deadly sins show!
my pilgrimage to see the many Sargents in Boston. People just looooooved him there, and so do I!
(check my flickr site for more recent trip photos! they're fun)

Well, this is the first time I've ever been on Xanex (sp?). It may be subsiding now, but it was nice. I had a fine morning of church, meeting a new friend or two over coffee, and was settling down (for a cold winter's night?)--until I started having chest pains and dizziness. It was just shy of the pain I had during my lovely gall bladder attack stage of life, and I thought I was well shut of it from now on, as the offending part has been removed. I thought it might be a reaction to some antibiotics for a recent cold, so I went to the ER with D to get checked out. A few hours later, I'm home and fine, with 2 bandaids for the "pokes" I got (a's word for needles). I was pretty much fine until they came to take blood and put in an IV, and then unfortunately my Wuss Syndrome set in and I hyperventilated. It was kindof embarrassing, as I know rationally that all these wonderful people are there to help me, and I am over the worst of my post-traumatic-stress bit from when A was born. I'm still awfully bad with IV's though, and breathe and pray as I might, I just couldn't handle the whatever-it-is that scares the hell out of me with needles and knowing things are sticking into me. Hence the Xanex. Piercings and tattoos are out for me, even if I liked them, and luckily heroin will never be a temptation either. Too bad, as Baltimore's heroin is legendary.

So here I am, trying to chill a bit and succeeding pretty well. I would love to write what I'm doing right now, but that would involve blabbing Christmas secrets all over the interwebs. I am very excited though, because D delivered a stroke of genius today and my own brain has been working as feverishly as my cold fingers on some fun hand-made projects. Pictures will follow. I'm trying to convince D to get a small space heater for the studio, as it is the coldest room in the house, and when I'm in there the only things that are moving are my hands. Not conducive to heat production. I don't mind saving money on heat (or at least, not being completely bankrupted by heating bills), but I do mind the numbness in my extremities that are very valuable to my work.

D has called our family the OCD's, and like the Avengers, who say "Avengers Assembled!" or something of that sort, we have assembled many days this week to play with a hoard of legos most generously given to us by my parents. Three generations of legos, plus a few of our own sets (star wars, of course) were stored in a large wooden box that my dad and I made years ago. While my older sister permed her hair with mom (a Lilt disaster), and my younger sister was too busy pretending to be a dog (she was about 3 or so), I would go to the basement and build stuff with my dad. We designed the box to have a bunch of compartments for smaller pieces, base plates, and directions, and the lid comes with two posts to turn it into a table when it's open. Pretty ingenious, I must say. The box fits perfectly under the mostly unused train table (a present from the inlaws, which all other children love and would kill for, but my kid is all "meh" about trains.??? don't all kids love trains? apparently not). So now the table is home to about seventy mismatched minifigs, whose heads, legs, and acoutrements have been pulled apart, rearranged into aliens, and eaten by lego dragons. The arsenal of lego weapons is enough to outfit an army, and in true A style, they're all smaller than a fat toothpick. We've built a topsy-turvy castle, some Egyptian archeology things, and a space shuttle platform. He is in hog heaven. A is good so far at keeping them all in his room, on the table, but I am just waiting for the day that the tender part of my bare heel finds one. Such are the hazards of motherhood. If not this, then it would be my Little Pony hairbrushes or Polly Pocket's purses, which aren't much better. OCD's assemble (legos)!

the dementors are breeding

It's 11 AM, Monday. A is at school, has an extended day today and Wednesday, which is a beautiful thing. I am dragging, though, after two marathon-type weekends of fun and exhausting extravert activities. I just finished my breakfast now, after sleeping in this morning due to the kindness of my husband, and I'm watching the minutes of blessed silence slip away into the "wasted" category of my brain. Even if I know I needed the rest, I still see this time as so precious and anything not filled with doing stuff as a lazy slothful waste. "I should be doing X right now." "I should call Y right now." At least I don't need to clean the house right now--we had a party planned for last night, so everything is clean, though only one person showed up to celebrate. Why? Suffice it to say that artists need at least one person in a car who is not an artist, or they will become hopelessly lost on top of being late. I know from experience. Most county art teacher meetings were conducted with half the people there on time, and the other half panting in a half hour later after driving around cul-de-sacs near the school--or in completely different neighborhoods. You'd think we would be more spatially aware and good with maps, but most directions aren't written for visual people. "Turn right at I-874 S, go 0.6 mi" instead of "pass the decrepit strip mall and the next road has lots of political signs down the median, turn towards the McMansion neighborhood with the green sign." That I can do.

So our weekends have been jam-packed, but promise to taper off a bit this coming weekend--only one party that I know of (I ought to check to make sure), and we're not traveling 600 miles anywhere either. We had such a great time visiting friends in Boston, and going to the Seven Deadly Sins show in Troy, NY, where--surprise!--my paintings won a prize! Yay! I don't want to be filled with pride or inspire envy...heh. But I know everyone's been just lusting after these pieces, and greedily snapping them up...ok I'll stop. Because no one has yet "greedily snapped up" either of them. That's fine, as I want to finish the other five to have a complete set of deadly sins. So I can hoard them. Is selling a sin, a sin? Discuss.

I say the dementors are breeding because it's so foggy and dreary outside, and has been for a week, which is what happens in harry potter when these foul creatures suck all the warmth and hope and happiness out of people. It never fails, that even now when things are going so very well with me, and when I am truly feeling healthy and like I am doing what God wants me to do, dementors really do swoop in right on the heels of any joy. I don't even need to read the news for it to happen. It's very true, what I heard in the sermon this week--we are in an in-between world, where God's kingdom has come but not fully. Christ has conquered ultimately, but we are still waiting for the end in a world that totally sucks, where it appears that evil has won and it's vain to hope for justice. But that hopelessness is a lie, and there is "light and high beauty forever beyond the reach of any evil," like Sam realizes in Mordor.

Some might think, "sheesh, aren't you morbid? Merry Fricking Christmas???" But it seems like it's appropriate especially now to think of these stark contrasts--the inbreaking of Someone so pure and so helpless, so utterly poor and disgraced born into a brutal world, casting off the high beauty of heaven's perfection to be with us. For him to live here and die here so that we--beyond all of our wildest hopes--can be taken forever out of the reach of evil. In the meantime we know how terribly evil and brutal life is, and every joy is tinged with grief.
If we refuse to see that, to deny reality, there is a far greater disconnect to deal with, and one that has no good explanation. Why aren't you happy then? Why isn't there ever enough to satisfy? Why, even at the heights of success and praise, is there an emptiness no award can fill? If this world is it, then there is no good reason for the ache. But if we are truly in an "already but not-yet" world, it makes sense. The longings point to their only fulfillment, to the only King whose reign will never end.