Love Suddenly

The cat that never snuggles is snuggling right now.

I woke up this morning and my back had decided to go on strike. I’m not sure what’s going on, or what I did to it, all I know is that everything is painful right now. Sitting, standing, walking; the only position that doesn’t hurt at all is laying flat on my back. Great way to start the day huh?

It snowed last night. The part of me that hates winter wants to rant and rave, but the part of me that knows how things go out here is rejoicing. Old Man Winter always has one big storm up his sleeve to throw at me when I start to get excited for spring. This is that storm. This means he’s pretty much done. And the glorious sound of running water out my window means it won’t last long.

There’s other stuff I’d love to say, but I’m really having a rough time of sitting right now. Any warm, painless thoughts and prayers you’d like to send my way would be appreciated right now. Thanks.

Dear Sir:

Knowing you as I do, I’m sure I need no introduction; however, we haven’t exactly been on speaking terms lately, so allow me to preface this letter with some small detail. I am 23 and 1/2. I sell items no one needs but many people want. I enjoy my job. I have friends, family, acquaintances, and many a Quidam. I am, to all appearances, a normal, average human being. Though I’m sure it is somewhat uncommon, please allow me to dispense with formalities. This is my voice, and it will be heard. I am writing this evening to establish the nature of our relationship. Strictly professionally, of course.

I find I have many friends in your employ. I believe at one time I was in a similar situation. I must admit, the prospects and benefits that come in association with your organization are tempting. Health, vision, dental, life, the very best retirement plan. The diversification of your organization’s interests and outputs is also alluring. No danger of stagnation, or a lack of use for my talents. Many of my employed friends are happy, at least outwardly, and the pseudo-pyramid nature of your group leads them to remind me of my potential place often.

As I’ve outlined, the benefits are unparalleled. However, I find I must decline. Things with your organization are, to my mind, too good to be true. As any true entrepreneur can say, the benefits of working for myself outweigh anything you can offer me. Setting my own hours, pay, and policies has become a task I can no longer turn over to others. It is your policies and the ’shades-of-grey’ manner in which those policies violate your company’s mission statement, and your own handling of the corporation that were most influential in my decision.

Several times over the last few years I have picked up your company handbook and tried to reconcile it with my knowledge of your organization’s operations. They are irreconcilable. This leads me to believe your motives in leading your organization in your current manner are less than honorable. The mental leaps I have known your employees to make in the name of retaining their position within the company are of neither use nor interest to me.

In closing, I thank you once again for your time and your offer. I appreciate the effort of the employees you have sent on your behalf. I would advise that more of an open-door policy, allowing face-to-face meetings to discuss differences would make huge strides in lowering your turnover rate. At this time I ask to be put on your company’s “Do Not Call” list. I will happily take my chances in self-employment. If I fail or succeed, it will be by my own standards, not some directive handed down by memo from middle management.

With sincerety,

Margot

All in all, a good day. Went for a walk/run at the park, and ran my farthest so far. Still under a mile, yes I’m that out of shape, but the farthest nonetheless. The army has thoughtfully put markers on the ring all over the place. No really… you can find at least three different “one mile” markers. Kinda makes you wonder about the military. But as long as you match starting point color with end point color, I figure it’s reasonably close enough to count. I know I at least ran more than a half mile. If you can call it running. I knew if I was going to get very far, I needed to take it easy, so it was probably the slowest job mankind has ever known. Other than the old guy that was jogging there too.

Bought a nifty cookbook at B&N today. Lots of tips explaining the very basics. I haven’t managed to burn water yet, but my skills aren’t far above it. With BF and I trying to save money and eat better, cooking is necessary, and enjoyable thus far. I just know I’ll want to expand my repetoire as we go along. This book has some good info on tools, the difference between mixing and blending (there’s a difference!), and some nice, easy, doesn’t require a trip to the ‘ethnic’ aisle for ingredients type recipes.

Um. I know I had other stuff I was going to write here, but I don’t remember what they are. Oh well.

Other than the cats keeping me up for about an hour when I just wanted to doze, it has been an excellent start to the day. Drifted off to the wonderful sound of rain on the roof (after the cats settled down), and woke up around 10 to cloudy sunshine. Puttered the net, put on some clothes, and got out my bike. Checked everything over, lubed some things, cleaned some things, put some more air in my front tire and headed out. Promptly turned around to grab a jacket as the wind was a whole lot colder at higher speeds. I’m not sure how long I rode for, but I took it pretty easy. Did a turn around the park, and then wandered around the neighborhood. Went almost to 21st South before turning and coming back. Some tiredness in the legs, soreness of the butt, and my left elbow was aching a bit toward the end. Not too bad for a four month history of sitting on my ass. BF started his new job today, and because of the wacky scheduling I’m going to start riding my bike to work. Today was a chance to get used to being back in the saddle and back in traffic; and to make sure the bike will get me to work. I just had two pieces of peanut butter toast for breakfast, I’m off to take a shower, do some laundry, and make some calls. Oh! Plus I got my paycheck, so I paid some bills and still have money left over. With any luck, this is the beginning of our uphill climb!

P.S. I’ve sketched a few things over the last couple days in an attempt to convince myself that a lack of skill shouldn’t keep me from trying to draw. Maybe I’ll break out my scanner and post some stuff. We’ll see.

In this post a little over a month ago, I mentioned the blog and story of a woman and her son. While I’ve never met them, their lives have touched me deeply. After 67 incredible, powerful, amazing days, Joshua Sams has passed on.

If any of you haven’t gone and read her blog, I would encourage you to do so now. It’s the story of a woman who chose life and possibility over comfort and certainty. She put her faith in her God, and chose to walk where life led. When so many would blame him, curse him, or just turn away, she celebrated. When so many women and families would choose to terminate what the doctors deemed an non-viable child for any number of reasons, she welcomed her little boy into her life for however long she could have him. In the face of stress, grief, pain, exorbitant bills, and so on and so on, she gave birth, and gave unconditional love to her son.

At first he was strange to look at; his head was too small, and the brightly colored hats drew your eye to his cele. She kept it covered both to keep as much away from the thin membrane covering his brain as possible, and to lessen the impact his deformity had on outsiders. She took as many pictures as she could, knowing she had a limited time with him. They celebrated all the milestones they could, knowing they’d be few. As time went on, you started forgetting his vast differences, and started noticing his humanity. The little fingers, his tiny mouth and tongue, the curlicues of his ears.

I came to love that little wonder, and every day I’d fire up my computer dreading the news that he had passed on. With so little between the world and his brain, a quick death was likely. When the post finally came — “His cele burst today…” — my heart nearly broke. It was difficult to go about my daily routine rather than refresh the page every few minutes waiting for the news. The next post, pictures and seizures and worries; another titled “Still here” of just pictures; another, also “Still here” with more pictures and reassurance that he was not in pain. In a devastating blow to my heart, the last picture in that post was of the beginnings of his very first tooth. A miracle in a child who wasn’t supposed to live through birth.

Finally, “Promoted” came through the feed reader. It now has 256 comments full of love, prayer, well-wishing, and shared sorrow for the loss. Her latest posts have included more pictures, a tribute video from another blogger, and the video they played at the funeral, which I’ve included below. I have cried several times over the last few days as they began their mourning, but nothing ever prepares you for the sight of a tiny casket waiting for its final resting place.

She has created a link for donations in memory of Joshua to go to the Ruel Foundation. They work to provide surgeries for children in similar, though less severe circumstances than Joshua. At this point, I believe their focus will shift to mourning, and restructuring their family. They still have their beautiful little two-year-old girl, who loved her brother, but is still too young to truly understand what’s happened, or her parent’s grief.

I’m not sure why I wanted to share this will all of you, but I feel that their story is important. To me, to you, to the world… I feel like it is something I should point out and say, “Look. See.”

To read their story go here: Be Strong and Courageous

Their video:

I got my sheets washed and the coffee nastiness cleaned up today. I know at least one of the keys to bridging the gap between who I am and who I want to be is doing a little every day. Today: big fat check!

Picture this: BF and I, amidst riotous and witty conversation, exit the house. We are on our way to my place of employment to once again take advantage of… well, more like be taken advantage of. In other words, trading in games for cash. We are broke and hungry, and play too much World of Warcraft anyway. BF speaks the magical words, “I sure hope they send that check soon,” and turns back into the house for some forgotten article.

Drawn by sheer magnetic force, my eyes fall upon the mailbox. From my vantage point it is empty. Stepping closer, peering in, still empty. The magnetism prevails, my hand reaches in… Lo! and behold a government check! BF’s tax return had arrived, serendipitously coinciding with BF’s well-timed wish.

One trip to Walmart and $160 later, we have food stocked in the fridge and cabinets that will last us a while. If we eat well, we should have full meals for at least two weeks. My mother taught me many things; how to clean, how to do laundry and dishes, and how to make desserts. I have a recipe for the perfect (in my mind) fudge memorized, and I’ve done it enough times now that it comes out perfect almost every time. Fudge is finicky. The secret: stir. Then stir some more. Then keep stirring. When your arm feels like it’s about to fall off, you’re getting close. Sometime after the next ice age has thawed, the fudge will start to harden. You then have exactly three point six seconds to get it in the pan before it hardens right in the pot. No lie. Anyway…

Of all the useful things my mother taught me, cooking/shopping for food was not one of them. When I was young we lived off of lots of canned, dried, storable foods. Lentils and split peas are on my hit list. Along with dried apples. *shudder* We were not an affluent family when I was young. Things turned around, and we began having more expensive foods, but at that point, most of them came pre-prepared. Most of what I remember eating at home as a teenager simply required a trip through the oven or microwave. The boys I hung out with all the time were no help. I’ve probably eaten enough cheese quesadillas and bowls of cereal to feed several small countries.

Then I began acquiring my own income, and working a lot, and fast food became a staple. At this point in my life, I’ve cooked a few things, and had a good time of it, but it’s the equivalent of jumping into a pool once or twice in the summertime. Sure, you know how to swim, but it doesn’t exactly qualify you for the swim team. I can cook, it’s just not a regular part of my life. “Preparing” food for me right now usually entails three minutes in a microwave, 20 minutes in an oven, or a trip to the drive-thru.

It’s not a very frugal way of living. Even buying food at the grocery store that meets the above requirements will cost you. The more work you have to put into your food, the less expensive it becomes. We went for stuff about halfway in between this time. Neither of us have much experience with this, so working completely from scratch just means we’ll keep eating out. It will be an adventure, and it’s one I look forward to. It’s a skill I want to be able to pass on to my children, so they don’t have to repeat my mistakes. They’ll may choose to, but at least they’ll have the choice.

What it all boils down to is that we have food, we have good food, and somewhat of a variety (there are actually vegetables in my house right now!) so things are looking up. BF starts at his new job tomorrow, and we shall see from there.

About a year and a half ago, I was chatting with a good friend of mine, and brought up the concept of a Warrior Woman. When I was younger (early teens) I often referred to my mother in my own head as the Wench Woman. She was, after all, the antagonist in my own personal heroine story. Several years later, I found and fell in love with the Rose is Rose comic. Full of happiness, laughter, and simplicity, it spoke to me. The mother, Rose, is the quintessential ‘good woman’. She gardens, cooks her family’s meals, greets Jim with a smile and a kiss, and loves her son to pieces. She has her trials too; relieved by leaning against her “let it be” tree, or fought off by her alter ego Vikki.

Vikki is the true inspiration for the Warrior Woman. Vikki is everything Rose secretly dreams of being. She’s clad in a leather jacket and mini skirt, sunglasses, and a rose tattoo on her revealed thigh. She rides a motorcycle and eats jalepenos. And she often taunts Rose for her timidity.

Well that’s what I wanted. My own alter ego to push me and inspire me. I even named her Eden. Eden could overcome any Wench Woman in her path. She was the writer, the creator in me that has lacked a voice for so long. The clarion call suppressed by my own belief that my creations were of lesser worth, or even no worth at all. My logical demon whispered the truth that there would always be someone better at it than I. That’s the thing with demons. They tell the truth. The dangerous part is separating the truth from the lie.

Truth: It is a fact that there will always be someone better at anything than me. Lie: That somehow that fact matters.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about where my life is, and where I want it to be. I’ve also been thinking about the gap between the two. Not necessarily how large it is, or how to surmount it, but why it exists in the first place. Why is there a gap? Why, when I desire something other than what exists, do I not simply grab hold and create it? I think it may have some parallel in basic art technique.

When you were two, you discovered your ability to create marks on paper. When you were four, you realized that if you made the marks look a certain way, other people saw the same picture you did. When you were six, seven, eight, you stopped looking at the world, and saw only your marks. You refined your symbols so they were more recognizable, but not more realistic. Maybe you moved on from there, maybe you didn’t. Most of us didn’t. Some of us then discovered cartooning, and made the symbols work for us. Most of us didn’t. Most of us, when asked to draw a face, will still draw eyes, nose, mouth, hands, hair the same way we did when we were six. We know that’s not the way we want it to look, because we can see the real thing around us all the time. Some of us get frustrated and give up. They say to themselves, “I’m not an artist; I’m no good at drawing; This isn’t fun anyway.”

That’s me right now. Looking at the life I want and saying, “I’m no good; I can’t; Why would I want to anyway?” But it’s my goal to step over/around/through that gap. I will be who I want to be, because I can, and because I’ll love almost every minute of it.

And now I must go. Who I want to be includes being rested. Dreamland calls my name.

But this one is really cool. It sounds odd, but put on some headphones and listen to this. No seriously, go find your headphones and plug them in, otherwise this won’t be nearly as cool. It’s not a scare or anything, just some really high quality stereo sound.