I have just snippits floating around, so time to employ the random!
*Glee is fantastic. Castle starts Monday. Set your tv watching appropriately.
*I spent A LOT of money at IKEA yesterday. My favorite thing, though, was some fabric I got to make a purse.
*As I drove to IKEA, I noticed the leaves were turning. I got giddy. And remembered that I do love where I live. It's just gorgeous here.
*This makes me silly giddy.
*I just found out my friend Summer hasn't seen any of the X-Men movies (including Wolverine!). I'm publicly shaming her to try to rally an X-Men girls' night.
*We're redoing our family room today (see IKEA trip...) and after the redo I'll get a sewing / jewelry specific cabinet out of the deal. Wheeee!
*I'm thinking this needs to be on my Christmas list...
*I'm starting to think I may need to potty train. At some point. I simply do not know where to start, though. We aren't pushing - I don't believe in starting before the kid is ready - and we have all the undies (do you KNOW how cute little boy boxer briefs are?!) and the seat and the Elmo potty book, but now? Eh...I am at a loss.
*Apparently eating eight (8) lemon cucumbers in a 24 hour period does, uh...fun things to the inside. However, totally worth it. I LOVE lemon cucumbers...
*My new obsession is making earrings. I LOVE it!
Random Song for Your Friday:
(simply red, angel)
Friday, September 18, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Whisper to A Scream
There are a few things I don't allow myself to think of regularly. One is my former best friend. It just...hurts. Way too much. So I avoid the whole situation completely. Another is Portland. I know it sounds silly to get this way over a place I lived for four years, but...
I have four or five cameras. I've taken several photography classes. I love photography - everything about it. Taking a roll of film and going into the dark room, hoping you got at least one shot that is brilliant is one of the things I miss most from my former life. While living in Portland, I shot roll after roll of film. Some of the resulting prints are hanging in our living room. Others are tucked away. All of them are neatly in my memories. Going back last week and walking through the city naturally brought my camera to my hand. I couldn't stop shooting. Everywhere I looked was a picture filled story. I wanted to grab snapshots of the city without worry of being the prettiest of pictures. I wanted to see the city in all its imperfection and live in that moment.
People ask why I loved it so much and I struggle for the words. It's not something I can articulate well, though I can simply say that I was happier there than anywhere else I've ever been. It was like Portland understood me. I didn't realize there was a place on earth I could feel so inspired on a continual basis. I remember afternoons, sitting on the benches near Portland State with my camera and notebook and writing, furiously. I could breathe in the city and breathe out words. It was a magical relationship. The city fed me what I needed to live. It was more than merely living.
Going back, everything I've pushed aside and tried to ignore for five years came rushing out. I wrote more in the brief time we were there than I have in a long time. I had idea after idea come tumbling out of me. I shot pictures until my battery ran out of charge. Then I simply stood, in the middle of downtown and breathed. I tried to store as much of the city in me to sustain me until I get back. I realize now that I was right to not think too much about it. I will hurt. And my memories didn't trick me, my love of that city is as real as I remember. But I need to push through and channel it. At least the part of it that speaks to my soul and reminds me who I can be.
my loves...sammy, isaac and portland
Music to miss Portland by:
(if you don't come back to me, alison moyet)
I have four or five cameras. I've taken several photography classes. I love photography - everything about it. Taking a roll of film and going into the dark room, hoping you got at least one shot that is brilliant is one of the things I miss most from my former life. While living in Portland, I shot roll after roll of film. Some of the resulting prints are hanging in our living room. Others are tucked away. All of them are neatly in my memories. Going back last week and walking through the city naturally brought my camera to my hand. I couldn't stop shooting. Everywhere I looked was a picture filled story. I wanted to grab snapshots of the city without worry of being the prettiest of pictures. I wanted to see the city in all its imperfection and live in that moment.
People ask why I loved it so much and I struggle for the words. It's not something I can articulate well, though I can simply say that I was happier there than anywhere else I've ever been. It was like Portland understood me. I didn't realize there was a place on earth I could feel so inspired on a continual basis. I remember afternoons, sitting on the benches near Portland State with my camera and notebook and writing, furiously. I could breathe in the city and breathe out words. It was a magical relationship. The city fed me what I needed to live. It was more than merely living.
Going back, everything I've pushed aside and tried to ignore for five years came rushing out. I wrote more in the brief time we were there than I have in a long time. I had idea after idea come tumbling out of me. I shot pictures until my battery ran out of charge. Then I simply stood, in the middle of downtown and breathed. I tried to store as much of the city in me to sustain me until I get back. I realize now that I was right to not think too much about it. I will hurt. And my memories didn't trick me, my love of that city is as real as I remember. But I need to push through and channel it. At least the part of it that speaks to my soul and reminds me who I can be.
my loves...sammy, isaac and portlandMusic to miss Portland by:
(if you don't come back to me, alison moyet)
same, same!
all about me
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The Beautiful People Strike Again
I had a dream last night about Justin Timberlake. In it, he called me Susan (clearly not remembering my name). I woke up this morning thinking about that in addition to our trip and how Seattle made me feel.
All my life I've had an inferiority complex toward 'the beautiful people'. The girls with all the right clothes, the cheerleaders, the tall blondes. I was tall and thin, but nerdy and just not quite...there. I embraced the title of "the smart one" and ran with it. If I couldn't be beautiful, I would be smart (even though I really wanted to have men admire me...).
By the time I got to college, I had developed a pretty hefty chip on my shoulder from my self talk. Luckily, I also had developed some pretty fierce independence and a desire to change what I could about myself. It definitely helped. I dated quite a bit (not as much as my beautiful roommates, but...), but still. The men I really wanted seemed right out of my reach. I remember my former best friend telling me one time that it certainly DID matter what was on the outside because of first impressions. However, people stay for what is on the inside. And then he looked at me and said, "luckily you don't have to worry because you have both". I think that may have been the first time I ever believed that a man could find me beautiful.
Around the time of my divorce, Isaac was dating this girl named...Lulie (hee!). She was gorgeous. And tall. And blonde. And, well, not the brightest bulb, but still. I remember, after things were final, looking at Isaac and wondering why he was dating someone like her. And not just dating - taking home to meet mom dating. And it seemed his whole family loved her and I just remember thinking, "Wow. Not only am I single again, I have to deal with the Lulie's of the world again.". It was a definite low.
Even after Isaac and I started dating, I still struggled. I had put on a little weight through the divorce and my faith had been shaken. All of the negative self talk came rushing back, no matter what Isaac said to the contrary. It made it difficult for him to compliment me (something I still struggle with, truth be told). However, through the last decade I've had moments of clarity and beauty and of remembering a time I COULD turn heads. I work hard (maybe a little too hard...) on my appearance. I never want to be the frumpy mom who doesn't take pride in how she looks. I know the frump looms, though and that saddens me and makes me redouble my efforts.
This past week, I felt the beauty come out. Everywhere I walked in Portland, the beauty followed me. I felt like I looked cute and put together. People looked me in the eye and complimented me. I felt on top of the world, extra weight and all. Then. And then we got to Seattle and it all went away. I felt the lowest I've felt in a long time - divorce proportions. I felt I was the fattest woman in that city. No one went out of their way to help me. I felt avoided on the street; very frumpy and middle aged and tired looking - oh, no! Here comes the frump mom with the kid. I wish she would go back to the burbs and leave us beautiful people to ourselves.
And while I realize most of this is me and silly, I can't completely discount it. It is how I genuinely felt. And I hate that. Coming into my 30s felt great - like finding sure footing among the beautiful people and to have that taken away, if only briefly, was unsettling at best.
Music that never fails to make me feel beautiful:
(i want you now, depeche mode)
(blue dress, depeche mode)
All my life I've had an inferiority complex toward 'the beautiful people'. The girls with all the right clothes, the cheerleaders, the tall blondes. I was tall and thin, but nerdy and just not quite...there. I embraced the title of "the smart one" and ran with it. If I couldn't be beautiful, I would be smart (even though I really wanted to have men admire me...).
By the time I got to college, I had developed a pretty hefty chip on my shoulder from my self talk. Luckily, I also had developed some pretty fierce independence and a desire to change what I could about myself. It definitely helped. I dated quite a bit (not as much as my beautiful roommates, but...), but still. The men I really wanted seemed right out of my reach. I remember my former best friend telling me one time that it certainly DID matter what was on the outside because of first impressions. However, people stay for what is on the inside. And then he looked at me and said, "luckily you don't have to worry because you have both". I think that may have been the first time I ever believed that a man could find me beautiful.
Around the time of my divorce, Isaac was dating this girl named...Lulie (hee!). She was gorgeous. And tall. And blonde. And, well, not the brightest bulb, but still. I remember, after things were final, looking at Isaac and wondering why he was dating someone like her. And not just dating - taking home to meet mom dating. And it seemed his whole family loved her and I just remember thinking, "Wow. Not only am I single again, I have to deal with the Lulie's of the world again.". It was a definite low.
Even after Isaac and I started dating, I still struggled. I had put on a little weight through the divorce and my faith had been shaken. All of the negative self talk came rushing back, no matter what Isaac said to the contrary. It made it difficult for him to compliment me (something I still struggle with, truth be told). However, through the last decade I've had moments of clarity and beauty and of remembering a time I COULD turn heads. I work hard (maybe a little too hard...) on my appearance. I never want to be the frumpy mom who doesn't take pride in how she looks. I know the frump looms, though and that saddens me and makes me redouble my efforts.
This past week, I felt the beauty come out. Everywhere I walked in Portland, the beauty followed me. I felt like I looked cute and put together. People looked me in the eye and complimented me. I felt on top of the world, extra weight and all. Then. And then we got to Seattle and it all went away. I felt the lowest I've felt in a long time - divorce proportions. I felt I was the fattest woman in that city. No one went out of their way to help me. I felt avoided on the street; very frumpy and middle aged and tired looking - oh, no! Here comes the frump mom with the kid. I wish she would go back to the burbs and leave us beautiful people to ourselves.
And while I realize most of this is me and silly, I can't completely discount it. It is how I genuinely felt. And I hate that. Coming into my 30s felt great - like finding sure footing among the beautiful people and to have that taken away, if only briefly, was unsettling at best.
Music that never fails to make me feel beautiful:
(i want you now, depeche mode)
(blue dress, depeche mode)
same, same!
all about me,
the pretty people
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