Posts Tagged ‘blogging’
Not really sure why some photos I upload from my iPad are displaying wonky when viewed on mobile. They just are. And a quick google search suggests that I’m not alone and this has been a known problem since ’11. Wordpress is “working on it.”
I am, however, not working on it. So, there are a few posts below with funky layouts–if you’re looking at them on mobile. And so they’re going to stay–eventually, they’ll get buried. Right?
So, yes… I’m aware.
But, no… not too motivated to go edit old posts. Ok, so I edited the most recent posts on the front page. Page 2 will have to fend for itself.
A few years back, an email appeared in my in-box. I wearily looked at the sender and knew, “well, this won’t be good.” But I could not have imagined what was inside.
To say it was the most hurtful thing I’d ever read: well… that would have been true at the time. Since then, I’ve read worse — directed at me. But at that moment, it was devastating.
Reading it, my whole body shook: as if I was holding a real letter. No paper, just words on a screen and a violent physical reaction from me.
Never let anyone tell you words can’t hurt you. I’ll take sticks and stones.
And here’s the thing: I’ve written difficult letters. But never when I was angry: always trying to state the hard facts as FACTS. Not, “You’re a miserable person” — but “I can’t continue to be in this relationship.”
The end result is the same, I suppose. But I want to believe, actually I do believe that we all must speak our own truth: in love. Even if that love means letting go because it makes you safe and sane and human again.
But what arrived in my in-box that day wasn’t love. It wasn’t truth. It wasn’t even human. What it was? I’m not sure. I’ve sat with it for ages and I still can’t begin to tell you where to begin.
And it was eventually followed up (a year later) by an “apology”… that was really just more of the same. Only this time, it got worse. Somehow, all the bile that was sent my direction was now my fault, too. That and so much more.
And this is why you never say, “It can’t get any worse.” *smile*
Today was an amazing day. Day two of 60 degree weather so of course IZ and I found time to walk along the river and at some point on our walk this letter came up in conversation. IZ asked, “Are you going to publish it?”
I’ve been sorely tempted. At first to rebut it point by point. Then, because it would be therapeutic to put it to bed. Blogging has always been my way of working it out. Now, because some things should see the light of day: if only as a cautionary tale.
However, the timing has never seemed right. I’m not sure when that will be. But I have a hunch it will have something to do with finally letting go of figuring it out and letting the letter speak for itself.
This photo was taken for a photo tour of my house a few years back. But I go back to it often, because it sums us up. On the porch, having tea, together.
In a few short days (Saturday) IZ and I will celebrate 22 years together. Married. We don’t count those years before because that number is getting ridiculously large!
Wedded bliss? Um, sometimes.
Wedded strife? Um, sometimes.
Mostly, it’s two people committed to striving together. And that in itself, is a beautiful thing.
It’s the nature of marriages, any marriage. You bump into things you weren’t expecting. Life hands you lemons. You make lemonade or margaritas. You squabble. You row. You fight. You endeavor toward intimacy. And it’s not always pretty.
But I choose to write about the good. The beautiful. The bliss. And I will continue to do so, despite the recent impulse of the blogosphere to bare its soul. While I applaud the willingness of bloggers to get real and share the hard stuff. To forsake, if only for a few moments, the urge to “pretty it up” and make it seem presentable. When it comes to my marriage, I blog the beauty.
I’ll show you my laundry. And the works in progress. And weeds in the yard along with the before pictures and the posts about failed recipes. I’ll tell you that I struggle with my weight and staying on task and being charitable to neighbors who kill my roses.
Will you let me take our picture?
“Will you let me take our picture?”
“Sure? What should I do?”
“Just hold my hand.”
My head is a jumbled mess. I’ve been reading some amazing writing* online. Which is a blessing and a relief. Good writing always is. But it also reminds me that I’ve not been writing on this blog, not really.
To my mind, blogging and writing are different things. They often converge and that’s lovely. But not always. Me putting up a picture with a few words below it is blogging, barely. I wouldn’t call it writing. Â You might not agree with the distinction, but I’m loath to use language like “real” or “good” or heaven forbid, “literary” to describe the difference. Wait, wait, you’ll know (real) writing when you read it? I’m not sure that’s even true with Porn, so um, no on writing. You can see how I’m consoling myself, right?
Traipsing through my archives might make the point better. I’m not observing anymore. Let’s face it, every new blogger has a tank full of observations just waiting to get out. Crawling to the surface, it’s blood lust, to put the words on paper. But eventually, you run out of a steady stream of lovely turns of phrases and witty antidotes about standing in the grocery line at Whole Foods. Your three year old grows up. You sleep again, the words no longer playing bouncy house in your subconscious.
I had a fabulous blog post planned for today—and then, it disappeared, as blog posts often do. Something about sunshine makes last night’s brilliant idea seem ridiculous. It’s the blogging walk of shame.
Anyhow, my day is jam packed with moving. Moving more of my “crap” from one space to another to make way for the plaster artists (he really is amazing, this guy Â doing the walls and ceiling!) to work. On today’s list is our bedroom and my walk-in closet. Both the contents of my closet and Â our King sized bed will be going down a flight of stairs and into our living room for the next three days. Camping! Without the open fire. Good times.
So, busy. But I wanted to share this graphic with you before I forgot. Because it really is amazing. I think it was originally a Mercedes ad, but I thought the text was moving. Â So often, an author’s bias shows when describing either the right or left brain way of thinking. But in this case, the artist graphically captures the beauty of both ways of being.
Which begs the question. . . which are you? Team Right? Team Left? Either way, you’re beautiful.
A delicate Forelle from Day Eleven’s Costco run.
Day Twelve: Deep Clean
I’ve been MIA with my daily photo posts to spare you my misery. I’m in the middle of a deep clean and I’ve not had the time, nor the inclination to photograph the grime. Aren’t you lucky?
I did manage, in the midst of scrubbing a bathroom from floor to ceiling (or is that ceiling to floor?) to dash off Â for a grocery run yesterday. That might have been ill-timed, as deep cleaning the refrigerator is on my agenda for today. Oops. But I did grab a box of lovely Forelle pears. So pretty and sweet and lovely. But now I’m back to the grind. Joy.
So, I’m taking the weekend off to finish my deep clean. I’ll be back on Monday to share 4th of July fun. Until then, I hope you have a lovely weekend and a wonderful holiday.
A gift from my son. Which just proves my point, I don’t think this kid is listening to me.
Whew! We survived yesterday. On a humorous note, I have to tell you: if this blog’s stats are any indication, there’s a whole lot of angst over this holiday! Last week’s stats was lit up with google searches for “honest Mother’s Day Cards.” If you’re an enterprising sort, there is clearly a market for “telling mom like it is” on Mother’s Day! I’m not advocating it, as much as observing. You could probably follow up with “Honest Father’s Day” cards and cards for “Ungrateful children who don’t send Mother’s Day Cards.” Seriously, folks, that’s what been bringing traffic to my blog all week.
That’s what I get for writing a post about not being a fan of Mother’s Day. IZ got my full fledged sermon on our walk yesterday—everything I’d say to all those people out there about the holiday, about what real mothering looks like and how it is imperative for those of us who “celebrate” to “mother” those who can’t. Lucky for you, he’s a built in congregation Â of one and sermonizing is now out of my system. But it was a good sermon, complete with emphatic hand gesturing! I’ll just sum it up with what I told facebook, “Rejoice with those who rejoice. Mourn with those who mourn. It’s really not that difficult!”
Or, it shouldn’t be. I saw a lot of evidence to the contrary, last week. People, so called loving mothers, eager Christians, behaving in ways that were neither. There is something about this holiday that brings out very raw emotions—no matter what side of the issue. Ultimately, when I get past my ire and angst, I just feel sad. Sad for those who are mourning. Sad for those who cannot do the very basic act of the mothering that they insist on celebrating!
I should know better.
Anyhow, I don’t celebrate, but apparently my kid didn’t get the memo. He bought me a blank card, telling his father that he didn’t want one of those “sappy” cards. (GOOD BOY!) And he bought a replacement orchid for the one I accidentally offed with too much love last year. His father got around the edict by having a “non-mother’s day dinner” the night before. I love them.
And here’s the thing, the very bottom of my philosophy (for lack of a better word) on the matter: NO GUILT. I was touched and honored and completely charmed by their efforts. But I don’t have expectations. Our son remembered on his own (HUGE!!) and insisted on doing something with his own money. I’m not going to say “no” to that. I’m going to rejoice in the fact that my kid is kinda really great. But I’m also not going to get all weepy and demanding when, eventually, some other woman is the center of his universe.
Can I get an Amen?
He’s working. I’m working. Would you call this parallel play?
I’ve been crazy busy organizing our life here at Chez Wonder. And, as you well know, organization projects often look worse before they look better… so I’ll spare you the photos of the explosion. There’s something about spring that gets me cleaning out cupboards and organizing shelves, and this spring is no exception despite the winter-like weather.
And what’s up with that?
I’m going to leave you with a few links. Mostly of blogs that have touched me this week, but also a link to a very cool wedding invite.
First up: I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the lovely article written about me and Mireio over on Handmade Spark. Makes a girl all fuzzy!
Tara Gentile (aka Scoutie Girl) Â is talking about support and results over on her blog. While I have a fabulous support system at home, I’ve certainly bumped into my fair share of people who don’t get it. I’m passing this along, in case you are struggling for support in your craft. Go get em!
For those of you who homeschool, I thought this post by Diane Keith over on the Homeschool blog was reassuring. I don’t think it translates well for those of you in the public school system, but Â still worth a click if you’re schooling your child in less traditional ways.
I’m love, love, Â loving Katie over at Texas North. Today she writes about hard work and children. Go tell her about your first job!
And finally… don’t you wish you were these people’s friends? Utterly cool wedding invitation. (And if the invitation is this amazing, can you imagine the wedding? I think we should crash it!)
Did you read someone or something amazing today?
My tea bag is mocking me.
Yeah… so a time bomb went off in my body. Everybody talks about how it’s all down hill after 40. I used to think that was all hyberbole. Now I know, they were under selling it. THOSE people should be shot for not scaring the hell out of me in my thirties. As I tend to read the L.A. Times for information, I’ll just blame them. Shame on you L.A. for not warning me better that my body was going to fall apart EXACTLY at 40. Rude!
Click, creak, click, click… oh let’s go to the ER for no good reason but we like being poor. . . pop a pill, pop a vitamin, oh my aching back, um where’s my period. . . or there it is, nice of you to join the party. . .wait, what were we talking about?. . . Â click,creak, click, click. . . repeat.
Stupid time bomb. If you don’t think your life is run by hormones, you’re probably a boy.
Where was I? OH YEAH… I’ve lost my perimenopausal mind. In terms of mental processing, I’ve always been what professionals call a nonlinear thinker. (abstract random) But I usually get to my point and I typically can keep that point in focus even as I’m bouncing from topic to topic verbally. Tangental thinkers make great writers and preachers and parents who lecture you to pieces when pushed. Â However, there’s a huge difference between weaving 6 different topics into a conversation and pouring yourself a cup of tea and walking away from it, into a completely different room and forgetting that cup of tea for hours.
Last week I was cleaning up melting pots. I popped one into the freezer, because it had unscented wax, I figured why waste water… just use the cold method. Then I cleaned my other two scented pots. That took maybe 5 minutes. And as I was finishing up the second I thought to myself, “I need to clean that third pot. I wonder where it is.”
I’d completely forgotten that I’d put it in the freezer. I turned the house upside down trying to remember where it could be. Didn’t I just have a few minutes ago? I didn’t find it until IZ opened the freezer hours later and handed it to me.
I’m ready to start popping pills to alleviate the symptoms from the other pills I’m already popping. I’m ready to groan when I get out of a chair. I already spend too much money on wrinkle cream and hair dye. What I’m not ready to lose is what I have left of my mind.
Which brings me to this blog. I’ve been meaning to blog for days. Â There was something on my mind, but then I lost it.
And while I was trying to figure out how to end this, Pandora loaded The Pixies’ “Where is My Mind” —Sometimes, you just have to let the Universe have the last word:
With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick and spin it, yeah
Your head will collapse
But there’s nothing in it
And you’ll ask yourself,
Where is my mind? ~~The Pixies
And you’ll ask yourself. . . where is my mind, where is my mind, where is my mind?