Ganap Mart!

Hello everyone! Sheesh, it's been a while since I've written anything here, and there's been (of course) a lot going on. The biggest news of note is that I finally set up GANAP MART, my Etsy shop! I will be selling all sorts of things there, once I get all the photos re-sized, products described etc. Till then, there are two items for sale that I will custom-make for you if you order them! Spread the word, and help me pay for A's Kindergarten by supporting your favorite crochet artist. Seriously, I need a LOT of orders...

I am also selling adorable bunnies and spring-welcoming toys at the Red Canoe! Stop in and buy a finger puppet, a bunny stuffed animal, or (soon to come) hand puppet! The shop is terrific, the people are friendly and they love to stock things by local artisans (and they make a mean panini!). 

I'll be starting a new job as an art teacher at A's preschool for a couple of hours a week, gradually getting myself used to being in the classroom again with some adorable, funny children. They have even set aside a great room--with a sink--for me, so I won't be the art-cart lady. I have been so fortunate in my teaching assignments, ever since I started this whole gig, and I am excited about this opportunity. We'll see how it goes!

world fender-bender

Like when two worlds collide, but not as severely.

This morning was very odd. D and I went to check out a Lutheran school for A's kindergarten (and possibly beyond). It was the school D attended, K-5, and the same school many of my friends went to and subsequently made their way to the Lutheran high school. My elementary school, sadly, is defunct due to a lot of mismanagement and fear of neighborhood changes. Old white Germans don't really live around there anymore, but the old white Germans in charge couldn't handle the transition. They would rather the school die, apparently. Nicht Gut. 

Baltimore is Smalltimore, as most people know who have spent more than 2 years here. For those of us who have spent 90 percent of our lives here, one would be hard pressed to go anywhere without recognizing at least one person. It makes going out without makeup particularly treacherous, if I cared about that sort of thing. 

If you take the Smalltimore phenomenon and grow it exponentially, you can get a good idea of what it's like to return to a Lutheran school after a long absence. It's not merely the associations one has with the physical space, though those are enough; walking through the hallway of my old middle school sent torrents of insecurity through my whole body, and I hadn't even seen anyone. The smell. The lockers, floor polish, radiators, copy paper, the mustiness of hormonal anxiety, gym shoes. It was a little too much to handle. 

Luckily I didn't have too many associations with the buildings we visited today. The only times I had been there were for middle school record hops, all at night and in the basement of the church, which I probably wouldn't recognize even if it had a smoke machine and strobe lights going. And Def Leppard blasting from the speakers.

Today, it wasn't the place but the people who sent me plunging into a contemplative mood. The principal was D's confirmation teacher, a formative person in his life. She was one of the few adults D said had been completely honest about life when she taught him. Knowing how quick D is at spotting baloney, I had been eager to meet this woman for a long time. She really is extraordinary, loves middle school kids (my personal favorites), and is a whole lot shorter than D remembered. She's been there for a very long time, which is a great sign for an elementary school, and has a great rapport with the teachers. 

We took a tour of the school, and several times a teacher's name would be mentioned, "so-and-so's wife," so-and-so being someone I graduated with or went to the ice rink with, or had all my classes with and hardly ever talked to (a real feat in a class of 50 kids total).  The most anxiety-inducing of these names belonged to an ex-boyfriend's mom, who is a middle school teacher. She's sweet, super-nice, and I clearly remember the last time I saw her: dropping me and her son off at the movie theater for a date. Jeez. 

Even though there's a lot of water under the bridge, 15 years of water in fact, it's still rather unpleasant to see someone and wonder what they're thinking. "Yes, I remember you. You're the one who broke my son's heart." Or something equally horrible, and probably not at all what's going through her mind.  But it was going through mine. I was not nice to boys, not at all. I don't think I ever had a rational thought for my whole dating career, when I look back on it. Teenagers are irrational, yes, but I had convinced myself of my superior intelligence which kept me even further separated from reality. "All these boys are lame, and I am so far above them," I would say as I agreed to go out with one of them, and then another. Staggering idiocy.

I'm probably being too harsh with myself, with all the intervening time making me much more critical. But there are a few people in particular I can't think of without shame and remorse, and a prayer that the wounds I inflicted were much less than I fear. I am friends with some of these guys now, which has been a real, if awkward, relief. I know though, that there are things that happened in high school and college that still grieve me, so I can only guess that there might be someone who can't think of me without a great deal of negativity. Well, I can't do much about that except track them down on Facebook and send a long-overdue apology. If I don't, I'll probably run into them at the grocery store in my sweats. That will be the day I decide to move to California.

home improvement photos

Check out my flickr page for photos from our frenzy of renovation! More still to follow, once we're finished. I'm so excited!

twilight madness

Hm. I feel compelled to write about this, even though I also feel very sheepish and way too much like a giddy, hormone-addled teenager. My sister-in-law gave me the book, twilight, for Christmas, which I've been studiously avoiding, fearing that it would be just a poor substitute for the gaping hole left by the end of Harry Potter; supernatural powers, a love story, good triumphing over evil through self-sacrifice, but with vampires. I was wrong that it was a poor substitute, though my plot assessment wasn't too far off. D said "it's probably like Buffy without pop culture references." Yeah, less snarkiness but the same themes of desire and doomed love, dealing with all the mess of growing up, with the added desperation of wanting someone who should be your mortal enemy. Realizing that a person you thought the embodiment of perfection actually chooses you, above everyone else. 

To be totally honest, my initial interest in the book came from the casting for the movie, namely this young man:

Robert Pattinson, who played the ill-fated (but hot) Cedric Diggory in one of the HP movies, has grown up a bit, and now plays the role of Edward Cullen: a dreamy, intense, brooding, majorly hot vampire who falls in love with a human. 

See, I can't even describe one character without going all gooey. I feel like a stooge. 

So I read the first book, charged through the second and third while in Maine (losing much sleep and waking to constant musings on what I had read), and just finished the final book last night. And I saw the movie today with my sister-in-law. A little obsessed, aren't we? Yes. ok? 

The movie was really interesting to me, and not just because Edward is a little too gorgeous to be allowed. The movie captured the feeling of high school friendships, the entirely unspoken relationship between two introverted family members, and the feeling of isolation when you're an old soul in a teenager's body. The casting really was terrific as well, especially for Jacob, Bella's friend from the reservation who has a very large part in the next book. It's really going to be interesting, and I hope they don't get a crappy director to replace Catherine Hardwicke. She didn't like the short timetable for production, which I don't blame her for. I just hope they can get someone good. Sophia Coppola...?

I've been reading the first book to D while he works on the thousand things that need doing in our renovation-explosion. It's funny to hear his theories on things, character motivations and so forth. The books are not terribly great writing, but you wind up caring so much for the characters that it doesn't really matter if the writer can get repetitive. Sometimes the narrative switches to Jacob, and I admire how she can change the feeling and pacing of the writing to match his thoughts and personality. It's compelling and addictive, though I wish heartily it were otherwise. 

When I first started reading the book, I felt really depressed. There's a whole phenomenon surrounding Edward, millions of girls looking to him as their ideal guy. He's a protector, he's complimentary and sincere, he's observant of feelings and moods, and is able to control himself even when his feelings are more than passionate. And mysterious as well. Great, right? I just was sad because it seems like a guy needs to be undead, or live over a hundred years ago, to be a really awesome, manly love interest. Most of the guys in contemporary movies are brainless hedonists who are lucky enough to find a woman who can lower her standards to be with him. They're man-sized boys with no sense of leadership or responsibility, no idea what it means to have an intellectual connection with a woman. And then the women are so busy eliminating all the mystery they possess, to keep themselves from loneliness, and then are surprised that the guys lose interest in them. They stubbornly cling to their independence, not letting anyone fight for them and so no one does. A lonely, bitter existence. So here comes Edward, a man from another time who has more than an idea of the right way of going about things--he acts on those ideas. And everyone swoons. I'm not surprised, though I wish there was a way to say to these girls, "quit taking suggestive photos of yourself for your facebook page, being coarse and trying to be one of the guys, treat yourself with the respect that you want from everyone else, and then maybe someone will notice." And tell guys to just read the book and take some notes. "What would Edward do?" someone said, as an answer to a difficult relationship. Funny, but still sad to me. 

The best thing about these books is knowing that I have my own Edward, in a way. I am beyond grateful, awed really, even after all these years of being together, that D chose me. He's not perfect, and who would know that better than me, but even so. I could have settled for a very mundane, painful, and miserable life with someone else, and instead I have someone who I had no hope of ever capturing his attention. It's staggering. Even after all the butterflies and disbelief of those early days, I'm still amazed. It gives me hope that other people could find someone for themselves as well, that it's not just fiction.

home improvement

I'm home now, safe and sound and prepared for any weather now (1 inch of snow today, which had me scoffing, "Heh. I've seen worse! These people drive like pansies!" How quickly one turns to condescension.). A survived our 12 hour drive like a champ, I was thrilled to see D again after one of our longest absences, and I came home to beautiful progress on our house. D spent his time alone working, at his job first and then on many projects for hours at night, getting little sleep in the process. After a weekend of more work, we have a new toilet and sink in the first floor bathroom, the walls painted in the kitchen and hall, new curtains for the kitchen, new hardware for the drawers and cabinets, new lights in all the halls and kitchen...and more. It's fantastic. 

We've lived here for 8 years, easy to count since we bought the house during the never-ending election. I sprained my ankle at school (clumsy dork) and hobbled the walk-through with the owner of the house, who was very defensive about bits of the house that needed fixing. I'd be defensive too, if people were criticizing my half-ass constructions that could be more fittingly described, "Stuff To Do With Scrap 2x4's and Giant Nails." Like keeping the windows from falling open. Or creating a staircase addition that would make one more likely to break one's neck, than just leaving a two-foot drop to a more stable platform. I know I am a perfectionist, so my standards of craftsmanship are considerably high, unreasonably high. But...many of these Yankee Ingenuity jobs we've found over the years are shameful to see. I would have been lying awake at night thinking about the sledgehammered hole where the sink pipes come out in our first floor bathroom, or the fact that the top of the door frames weren't painted at all (because, obviously, no one can see it), or that a crack in the ceiling was masked over by wallpaper and paint. At least they had the courtesy to hire someone to apply the hideous wallpaper, which made its removal that much easier. If they had done it themselves, there would be glops of goo, seams that didn't match, and probably a few nails to hold it on till it dried. 

All of those things have now been dealt with by my wonderful husband, including great color choices for each room. It really helps to live with another artist. I can trust that he will not get a lame color, and will be even more critical of his work than the wife who just gawks and gasps at each little OCD detail. 

Pictures will follow!

bret-dist in Maine

I'm here in Camden, ME, taking care of my sister's kids and A while my brother-in-law recovers from major surgery. He's doing well, supposed to walk around a bit today, and had a good night's sleep, which is fantastic. The kids are also behaving themselves quite well, and had a day off school yesterday for snow. I expected them to be crawling up the walls, but they had a fabulous time playing Playmobil, Nintendo gameboy/DS, Legos (of course!), and running around with a huge box on their heads and shrieking. They also spent about an hour playing outside in the snow, after which time we discovered that A's snow boots really suck. His 2 pairs of socks were soaking wet, and I thumped about a cup of snow out of them. His little piggies were red and freezing, and he was miserable. "Next time I go at Maine, I'n NOT goin in da snow!" he decided. 

Right now the youngest boys are at the preschool, where they will be having lunch and playing and, no doubt for A, drawing things with lots of teeth. Getting there was a bit of a challenge this morning, as I get lost easily and am not used to four-wheel-drive.  It's extremely difficult to get the car out of it, once it's in it. Also I am not used to driving in snow or slush, and I needed all my concentration to get the car down the driveway and through the neighborhood. The boys were not letting me get by so easy, of course. "Are you stuck in da snow?" one asked. "Are we late to school?" another asked. Then the perpetual soundtrack of my life lately started up: "duh..DUH..duhduhduh DUH duh etc" (star wars theme, along with EVERY OTHER STINKING SONG IN THE MOVIE, courtesy of my son, who only knows partial versions of the songs and puts them on "repeat" in his mind). The car started to fishtail a little bit around a corner, as I was praying aloud, "God please help me to do this, I really need your help!" From the backseat, my nephew said, "God must be having his bret-dist."

Yes.

So that's the real reason so many prayers go unanswered. God is having his breakfast and can't be bothered. What does God eat for breakfast anyway? 

mk's day off (cue song by Yello...)

(**bawp, bawp, chk, chickachickaaaaahh**)

What does a girl do when she's coughing her brains out, can't hear out of one ear, and feels like her eyes will go popping into her soup with the next sneeze? Why, blog about it of course!

I won't add any more grisly details, to spare you the discomfort I have experienced for 5 days now. I've got medicine and it's starting to work, but for a "common cold" it's stayed uncommonly long. During that time I have swum through (swum? swam? very awkward word) life; a golden bowls party at my house, the lights in Hampden, and a super kid's birthday party (his dad made his cake look like the legion of doom, complete with dry ice and swamp that it hovered over mysteriously). It was awesome. Hack hack, sneeze. 

So this morning I dropped off A at school, and D arranged to have his sainted dad pick A up after school. They're still over at the house, playing cards and eating candy, no doubt. I spent my day watching the Food Network, How It's Made, and What Not to Wear. All day. I did crochet a couple of animals, but this is the most "wasted" time I have had at my disposal for a long, long time. I really love TV. Especially when you can pause it and skip the commercials. I know I would feel terrible about myself if I did watch that much tv every day, but I could easily do it. My sisters can tell you that all other functions shut down when I am watching TV, making me apt to miss entire conversations unless someone hits the mute button. "Wait, what?"

I avoid the TV, then, as a hazard to my productivity. But when the plan is to be sedentary, it's the best place in the house. 

I'm just praying that I can feel better before Saturday, which is the big company Christmas party. It's the most I dress up each year, usually, but I'm not feeling very festive if a box of tissues is on my accessories list. And last year I laughed so hard during a friend's very bizarre musical performance that I lost my voice for a week (you can sortof hear me once or twice in the video. luckily I was too far away to embarrass myself). And losing my voice is like, soooo five weeks ago.

Besides being sick a lot this Fall, I can't remember when I have felt more at peace. After all of the soul-searching and hemming and hawing about taking anti-depressants, feeling somehow like it was a lazy way out and the ubiquitous guilt and, surprise! depression, now I can joyfully eat my words along with all the doubts. I feel like a sortof normal person now, instead of one who can't deal with the little things in life without exhaustion and misery. I don't like the idea of being medicated, just from my own self-sufficiency standpoint; it feels like a failure to need medication. But when has success ever taught me anything? It's my failures, both from my actions and from just being a fallen human, that have brought me back to reality and not the fantastic notion that I can do and be everything (right, Barbie?). In the eyes of the world, all of these failures are unacceptable. I must be the BEST mom, artist, crochet designer, business woman, daughter, wife, cook, housekeeper, chipper bible study leader, go-getting graduate of prestigious art education program etc. And be singing all the livelong day. It cannot be done, and it's a fool who tries to make it so. 

It's so liberating to crawl out from under that mass of unrealistic expectations, look it over, and feel like I have choices. It's paradoxical, that admitting one's humanity and weakness can give one a phenomenal sense of power. I am choosing which things to prioritize, and can focus better (not perfectly, by a long road) on the present without all the other imagined obligations intruding on the moment. It sounds so very self-helpy but it's actually very Biblical. Jesus never sat around bemoaning all the people he could have helped that day while he was "only" healing a few lepers and saying a few parables. And the ultimate failure, being killed by the government in the most shameful way possible, was turned to the world's greatest success of the resurrection. It really puts "taking little happy-pills" into perspective. 

With all this peace has come so many more opportunities than I have ever had to serve. I have always been hyper-ambitious, egotistical yet insecure (a deadly combination!), wanting desperately to be in charge of everything and never quite getting the chance, then resenting the people who were in leadership or despising the people who didn't understand the complexities of Art, yadda yadda. It's kindof sickening to read it all. Especially when my own art is largely comprised of Smurfs. One can only go so deep with Smurfs. But now, I still feel like art is extremely important, but I don't hate the people who have other priorities. When I have felt more charitable to others who disagree or aren't on the same radar, lo and behold, people have been more eager to listen to me. Duh, but it's taken me a long time to see that. When I stopped grasping for authority and learned how to support people in authority, somehow that authority was given to me. It is, to use a very over-used term, humbling. That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown. 

socking-stocks and rit-mit-reeeeeeeeeth

A is occupying himself in the exquisite, silence-inducing act of painting. Whenever he paints, he enters some other part of consciousness that is found in no other activity. It must be truly Right-Brain-Land he's enjoying. The thing is, I am a recovering control-freak, so the "It will make a huge mess I need to clean" part of my mind usually outweighs the "I love silence" part. And really, he only makes a huge mess when he has huge amounts of paint to work with. These are the weeny little paint cups manufactured in some god-forsaken Chinese factory, with tiny brushes that he is expertly dipping and cleaning (!!! a kid who cleans his brushes??). He did learn from me, consciously or not. I'm kindof a freak when I paint.

So it's Christmastime. I listened to the entire Christmas-album-bonanza by Sufjan Stevens yesterday, as A and I put up our new fake Christmas tree. The old one was a shorty, which we used for several years after we moved in. The great advantage of a short tree is putting it on a table, just out of reach of Mr. Curious, and having lots of room for presents underneath. Now I can just about trust A with all our ornaments, and he helped me put them all on the tree. He has a "fravrit shecshon" of the tree, with all his most cherished ornaments in a group: the Bat Signal by my sister Molly, the Batmobile, a popsicle stick manger he made in preschool, and the " 'dominal snowman" from the Rudolph special. I haven't corrected these mispronunciations, since they are so entertaining and cute, and it reminds me of Pepe le Pew when he was covered in snow; "I am zee abdominal snowman, no?"

He also calls stockings "socking-stocks," and gets them mixed up with Woodstock, Snoopy's friend. At the moment he's painting socking-stock ceramic ornaments we got at the craft store, and doing a fine job.

Another of my family's odd traditions, if one could call it that--phrases, maybe--is calling Christmas trees "rit-mit-reeeeeeth!" in sortof a nasally, not-too-intelligent voice. Probably the association for cognitively delayed people would be offended, but it isn't making fun of anyone, I swear! When we passed a stand of trees, that's what my mom would say and it stuck. Much like saying "you'll freeze your winkies off" if one goes out without a coat. What's a winky, you ask? No idea. But you don't want it frozen off, so put your stinkin coat on.

A gift which will not spend any time under the tree is my new Mac Book laptop. It came in the mail today, an exquisite present from my lovely husband, and I can't wait to hook it up and use a computer that doesn't make me feel like an idiot. Even the packaging was gorgeous. They know how to put a thing in a box at Apple, lemme tell you. It may not seem like a big deal, but these are the things I notice and prefer paying a little more for. If I got a new PC it would probably come with Vista, too, which is a big stinking pile of an operating system from all I hear. So it's a joy to look forward to a nice clean interface, and get used to having my toolbars in different spots again. It's got a boatload of memory as well, and no hot-running fan to get clogged with schmutz from my desk and threaten to catch fire. This computer has lasted through many a challenging year, but it's time to start fresh.

Merry Rit-Mit, a little early!