Warning: Contents Unsettled

New Blog Site

2010-05-13T13:23:00.000-05:00

I launched a new blog last week, The Absinthe Road.
Not that I'm done with this blog! The Absinthe Road has a mission, whereas this page is mainly personal babble and such. So if you are a creative type, who sometimes runs into roadblocks on your path to inspiration, head on over to my new site every Monday for a writing prompt.

The Tattoo...(finally)

2009-05-17T20:14:00.003-05:00

My Dear Readers ~

I apologise for leaving you hanging. I could go into a long-winded rant about being a horrible and neglecting individual, but that would just be a bunch of fluff, because truly, I'm a lovely person.

I was sideswiped by a horrible sinus infection, with impacted sinuses. (SO not the fun I would have rather had.) After a week of congestion and vertigo-like fuzziness (which made concentration terribly difficult) I developed that tell-tale face pain which signals a sinus infection. So I made the trek to the doctor’s office, where I received two shots and a ten day course of antibiotics. Woohoo!

It took me almost a full week to really start feeling better, and to begin playing catch up on all the things I let fall by the wayside while I was sick.
Now I feel like I can finally apply my thoughts to catching up on my poor abandoned blog. My original intent – when I first began blogging - was to write at least once or twice a week, but as you can see, it’s been more than a month since my last post. ~sigh~ I have a great respect for those who write faithfully EVERY single day. Good souls. My my my. Will I ever be one of those folk?

When I last posted I left a little teaser line about the next entry…so here we are, at last. I’ve been planning to write about my newest tattoo; the humourous and sentimental reasons behind this particular ink.

I love tattoos. I got my first one about eight years ago. I now have seven. I still want more. (This makes my mother a wee bit sad… ~shrug~ after all these years, she still doesn’t like it when I draw on myself.)

Remember, the original trip itinerary included three of us - The Midget, Red, and me – and during one of our chats, we mentioned that we’d like to get new inks on this trip, and perhaps a matching something to commemorate our friendship.

We searched for several days, and far too many hours, trying to come up with something that would apply to the three of us - representing Sisterhood, or Friendship, or three different symbols (we would each choose one) tied together to make one symbol.
We were coming up totally empty. Neither of us could come up with anything that really moved us; nothing felt right.

That’s about the time I decided I wanted a bird. I had to find the right bird still, but I knew that’s what I wanted.

Now, many of you know (either you know her, or you’ve read enough of my postings to know) that My Midget is totally and completely terrified of birds. I don’t think terror even properly describes her fear. She cannot get out of a car if there is a bird outside. She will walk FAR far far out of the way if there is a bird in her path. And you can just forget about it if there is a huge flock flying overhead. Just stop the car, let her put her head between her knees and breathe until it passes. Now, I get it. I mean, I hate spiders, and I HATE hate hate wasps – their dangly creepy legs, ugh…it’s just wrong, and there is no shame in telling you that I do the “bee dance” if one comes near me, I will scream and swat and run! But! While I sympathise with the irrational fear of small creatures and bugs, I still love to tease My Midget relentlessly about her fear of birds.

Several months ago I found a great little t-shirt with birds all over it.

I bought it for her.

Lucky for me, she has a sense of humour. When I gave her the “present” she unfolded it, looked at me sideways, whispered, “bitch!” then laughed at me. I told her, “Hey, I know you’ll never wear it, but you will always think of me every time you come across it.”

And now, the sentimental motive for the tattoo.
I’ve mentioned several times what a gypsy I am; how the wanderlust is infused in my blood. I relocate a lot - usually every six months or so - but somehow, beyond my grasp of logic and rationale, I have been in one place for four and a half years now. It goes against my grain, this putting down roots. It is oddly comfortable, but there is a part of me that fights it. I am happy, but sometimes feel displaced. I am learning to be still.

The bird represents the nomad in me; the part of me who needs to fly and wander and soar. But birds have a nest they return to at the end of the day; they migrate each season to warmer locales, but they always come home.

So I got the pretty little bird tattoo. In an abstract kind of way it’s a symbol of friendship. It’s also there to remind me that even though I have surprisingly found myself rooted, I still soar. And it is also for my dear and wonderful Mulligan who wrote (Oh so many years ago) on my graduation card the lines from a Dolly Parton song “She’s a sparrow when she’s broken, but she’s an Eagle when she flies!”

Highlights from the Trip

2009-04-16T09:32:00.000-05:00

Part Two of my three-part series.

So “tomorrow” morphed into a few days. I probably should have said “tune in later” or “next” or even “coming soon.” C’est la vie. We already know I’m a procrastinator, explanation, at this point in the game, is kind of moot.

And now, back to the road trip…

The vacation was planned. The hotels were booked. Restaurants and nightclubs all scoped out. We were READY…

We were counting down the days. One month. Three weeks. Two weeks. One week! The three of us were escaping together for a long weekend. Just the girls. No husbands. No kids. No classes. No work. Just three friends who don’t get to spend enough time together because of distance, schedules and families.

Four days before we were scheduled to leave I started to get an eerie feeling. The Midget and I had been texting each other the daily countdown status of the trip. So excited! But I’d heard nothing from Ms. Steele. ~sigh~ something’s wrong. I knew it, but I tried to ignore it.

I finally asked Miss Midget what was going on, and she told me I’d have to talk to Red. Shit. This is where the back injury comes in. Red couldn’t stand up or sit down without help, she couldn’t pick up her baby, and she couldn’t walk without assistance. No college classes. No work. Certainly no sitting in the car for seven hours… No vacation.

Not the news any of us wanted to hear.

Red really tried to make it work despite her injury, and the Midget kept an over-the-top positive attitude. We talked about making a bed in the back of the SUV so that Red could lie down and keep the pressure off her lower spine, and we joked about renting a wheel chair to whisk her around the island all weekend. The morning we were scheduled to leave, Red was still determined to make the trip, but husband-to-be put his foot down and said no. Though she was feeling much better, he was concerned that she would exacerbate the injury. So the midget and I took off as a duo instead of the originally intended trio.

Our drive took us through several little West Texas towns and through the beautiful Hill Country. We arrived in Fredericksburg around 4:00 on Thursday afternoon, found our hotel (a block from the main strip,) dropped our bags in our room and walked up the road to check out the shops. I grabbed a fantastic Americano (for those of you who don’t know espresso, it’s a cup of coffee with a shot - or two or three - of espresso tossed in,) we strolled up and down the streets for an hour or so, then stopped at a wonderful wine bar. Our Bartender was a darling little Amanda Bynes clone. She gave us recommendations for dinner and a bar for later in the evening. We specifically wanted a local bar – nothing touristy – a hole in the wall, local hang out. We ate dinner at a little pasta place, and then headed to the recommended bar where we were served our drinks by a bartender named Vino.

Friday morning, we woke fairly early (for being on vacation time,) packed up the SUV, checked out of the hotel and walked to the coffee shop up the street. They had gigantinormous breakfast burritos, so we grabbed some breakfast and coffee before hitting the street again to stroll the shops for another hour or two before getting back on the road and heading to the Gulf.

Our drive Friday took us through San Antonio and Corpus Christi before reaching the island Friday afternoon. We spent the rest of the weekend buying souvenirs for everyone back home, browsing various shops, sitting on the dunes (where I took over three hundred photos and the Midget did abstract art,) and gathering shells on the beach.

Friday and Saturday night we went out to a place called Bernie’s Shack and joked about spending the weekend at Bernie’s. We met several people over the weekend who we managed to run into Saturday night, (making us feel a bit like locals.) Saturday night we needed to find our stand-in Red - our Shan-in - and set to scanning the bar to find her. (Not an easy task really, considering the bar was loaded with mostly men.) We spotted a very energetic blonde; I explained to her that our third was not here, and asked if she would be willing to take a shot with us and have a picture taken to commemorate the moment. She emphatically replied “Without a doubt!” She was the perfect Shan-in for Red. She was vibrant and buoyant; lovely - she made a toast while the Barback took our picture. We have no idea what her name was. She was our Red for the evening.

Sunday. Last day of vacation and it was time to leave. It was bittersweet. I was ready to go home and hug my boys, ready to sleep in my own bed, ready to get back to work…but not at all ready to leave the waves, the wind, the sun, the weekend spent with my best friend. We went back down to the water before we left, then got in the truck and started the loooong drive home.

Next: The Tattoo

That's Love

2009-04-11T14:25:00.002-05:00

After working on this post off and on for the past four days, I’ve decided it is necessary to make it a three part series, rather than to bog my dear readers down with too much all at once. And so…Part One.

My midget* and I went to the Texas Gulf Coast a couple weeks ago. The weekend was originally planned to be a “Witches of Eastwick” get together, with our Redhead as well, but as injury would have it, Red threw her back out and couldn’t walk for a week. Midge and I, (being the troopers we are,) assured her that we would miss her terribly and would call her over the weekend. Some time during the seven hour road trip we decided that Saturday night would be our night to celebrate the three of us and in tribute we would buy three shots and take them “together.” (we later decided that we would find a stand-in for our missing diva – but that story comes a little later in this series.)

Back in January, when we first started talking about a weekend getaway with the girls, Midgie and I suggested Santa Fe; groovy little artist community, lots of galleries. Several other options were tossed around…Austin, Bricktown, Dallas, San Antonio’s Riverwalk, NOLA and a few others. Midge and I wanted a good long road trip. Ms. Steele wanted something close-ish. We nixed a couple of choices because we wanted something new, some place none of us had traveled to before. Then I pulled the Karen card - I NEEDED water. Whether a river or the ocean - I’d simply been landlocked far too long and craved water! I am a Pisces after all. (I spent my young years on the Puget Sound and my teen years only a few hours from the Pacific Ocean – I’ve spent most of my life near water – Louisville, Kentucky on the Ohio River, New Orleans, Southern California, and several rivers in Eastern Washington. I’ve always been near the water. With the exception of the last 6 years.) So that pretty much settled it, I threw out Corpus Christi, the girls agreed, and we started finalising our plans. Check out hotels, restaurants, bars, coffee shops and tattoo parlours.

We decided that we would spend an afternoon and evening in Fredericksburg (little German touristy town with several wine bars, great food, eclectic shops) and changed our destination to Port Aransas instead of downtown Corpus.

We arrived at our hotel in Port Aransas late Friday afternoon. The hotel was nice enough; the room was gigantic and bright marigold! But, the two blocks to the beach advertisement failed to mention that it was two blocks driving, not walking, and that the hotel actually looked out over a private golf course. No beach view. ~shrug~ Still, we got a pretty good deal on it- it was only a place to lay down and sleep – and it was a small island; getting around wasn’t going to be a chore.

We drove the two blocks to the beach, as we crested the top of a dune…WATER!!! Waves upon waves, rolling and crashing, making that beautiful noise that only waves make. We drove down onto the hard-packed sand road – parked the truck. I left my sandals in the car. I wanted the sand between my toes. Super soft sand. Felt like sugar. I walked straight into the water. Splash – my jeans got wet. I didn’t care. It was the warm bath-like water of the Gulf. The wind was blowing hard and cold. My hair, (which is almost to my waist) was flying around and I knew it was getting tangled but it just didn’t matter. I was happily breathing in the salt air and feeling like my toes were webbing again. I looked for shells and sand dollars, then looked back to say something to my Midget and noticed she was standing VERY far away. I waved to her to come closer – she shook her head. I said “come in!” she said “I don’t DO water.”

What?

“Then why are we here?” I asked.
“Because you wanted the water. This is for you.”

I almost cried. I said something to her about coming to the beach where there are birds and LOTS of water and why on earth would she do something like that when she likes neither and is actually terrified of both. The gulls were actually laughing at her (along with me) when we first got to Port Aransas. They were floating just a foot or two above us and she was screaming, hiding under the back door of the Escape, while I laughed hysterically because the birds just didn’t understand what her problem was. I swear to you, the birds started laughing too! They cackled! Which only made me laugh harder.

Oh! And did I mention the bridges we had to drive over to get to Port Aransas. Also not fun. Neither one of us being a big fan of bridges. In fact, as a side note, I once sang at the top of my lungs with my friend Sam in order to get across a bridge. It was a very long bridge, and I was having a panic attack. Sam started singing…I joined in, and we sang all the way to the other side of the bridge.

So I stood on the beach, staring at my friend, looking back out at the water and marveling at how much my friend must love me to do this for me. Yep. That’s love.

At one point during the weekend, she actually stepped into the waves. Got her toes wet. She didn’t go much deeper than ankle deep, but she got in. I was kind of proud of her.

I am amazed by what people will do to let you know they love you. Sometimes subtle, sometimes big. Always humbling. It’s nice to know I am loved.

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* She's 4'11"

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Tomorrow: Part Two – Highlights from the trip.

Making Room

2009-03-05T08:41:00.005-06:00

I have a friend who has a room full of things - floor to almost ceiling - which she has tried to empty for at least a year. She can't do it by herself; some tasks are just too daunting to attack alone.

I am in the process of trying to raise funds for my son to go to a very cool educational leadership conference.

She came up with a fantastic idea. My son and I will help clean and organize the room, and she will contribute to the trip funds.

The task of cleaning up is made easier. The task of raising enough money for my son is made easier. A fantastic example of bartering, trading, helping out friends and scratching backs.

Then something deeper occurred to me this morning...
What are we readying the room for? Does the process of cleaning allude to each of us getting "ready" for something else; making space? Or is a literal readying of the room. Cleansing a space has so many variables. But as chance would have it, I know someone who needs to rent a room, and I have to wonder if this is it, or perhaps only a symbol that a room will be ready exactly when this person needs it.

The Waiting Game

2009-03-04T10:45:00.003-06:00

So I've been meaning to write for about a week now. I have several topics to choose from, but just haven't had the time to get it all down and post. I was thinking I should write about my skills of procrastination, actually started a blog on the topic a few weeks ago...I think I'll finish it tomorrow.

And then there are the overachievers such as my friend B who just sent me this:
"I thought I was late for an appointment. It turns out I was about 23 hours and 50 minutes early. So I'm back"

Roots

2009-02-18T14:34:00.003-06:00

My longest best friend and I have known each other since we were three. We met in preschool on the playground, on the monkey bars. She is my first memory. She is my sister, my confidante, the one I call with the things that are really big. I believe I've broken her heart on more than one occasion, but somehow, she still loves me. I believe this is the true testament to our friendship. We have grown with - and separate from - one another and have managed to come out the other side with a greater understanding of each other, ourselves, and our lifelong friendship.

She is a roots girl. Grew up in Washington, moved away in college for a year and realised, NOPE, not for me! and went back home. She resolved to never move away again. She said she should have known better than to leave Washington, she knows where she belongs.

I, on the other hand, am like a dandelion on the wind. I have a friend who refers to me as her butterfly - drifting in and out of her life at my leisure. I am not a roots girl.

But...

I find that I am in unfamiliar territory. I have been in one town for four years now, and the same house for three. This is new, and something I am not entirely comfortable with all the time. I am learning to be still, but sometimes the desire to pack it all up and move again is strong, and I have to put my head between my knees and breathe into a paper sack until it passes. Stillness does not agree with me. I get a little stir crazy now and then. Maybe too often. So I plan trips...lots and lots of trips. Some by myself, some with my own personal ya-ya's, some with my sweetheart and our little family. Let me say this about my love, he is wonderful. He is all roots. Happy to live and work in the same town he grew up in, and wise enough to understand that someone like me cannot stay in one place for too long, or I will stagnate. So he tells me to take off! (in a nice way) as long as I come back, please. I try to view this sleepy West Texas town as my trampoline; it's a good place to bounce from.

Lately, I have been contemplating a business opportunity. It's a dream I've entertained since I was a teenager, but one I've put on the furthest back burner simply because it's difficult to run a business when you move every year or so. It's so much easier to just be a writer and photographer - I can take those with me anywhere I go - but actually considering something which would be long-term and in one locale...kind of freaks me out.

While forever friend and I were chatting via Facebook a few days ago, I had the chance to brief her on some of the current happenings in my life, including the aforementioned business challenge. She said to me "ah...so you're finally putting down some roots?" to which I replied, "aack, NO!" and then quietly hyperventilated through a small panic attack. Then she said the sweetest thing to me, she told me that maybe my roots were more like air roots, easy to pull back out, but there's still something in the ground.

"Not all those who wander are lost" ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

Blog #3.

Open Windows

2009-02-11T16:49:00.003-06:00

So it seems my first post was a knock-it-out-of-the-park home run. I received numerous compliments, (both private and posted,) and I'm now feeling a wee bit apprehensive that I may have set the bar too high. Now, in addition to my overzealous self-editing nature, I have the added pressure to keep my writing entertaining, informative, interesting, and keep my readers coming back for more.

Ultimately, when I send a piece out into the blogosphere, the only person who must be satisfied with what I’ve written is me; but the vanity in me - the part of me who loves the feedback and craves validation - that part wants everyone else to be delighted as well.

I am not one to leave the windows cracked on my personal life. There is much I am not eager to share, and the decision to actually establish a blog was a challenging one. Alas, here I am - in the bloggy world - prepared to place my heart and soul into these little snippets of me which I deign to make available to the universe.

1. I am obsessed with what I call raw writers - those who willingly offer up the ghastly and unattractive of their lives, and throw it into a goulash of open wounds and wicked histories - I have a deep admiration for those who put it all out there for everyone to see; those who write unrefined. I love to watch the transformation from damaged to divine.

I know of a girl who writes about her tainted and troubled past with all the guts and grandeur laid bare like viscera strewn out for the carnivores. She is fierce and brave, and I am drawn to her blog like a buzzard to carrion. It is not pretty, there is little about it that is gentle or tame; it is the primitiveness of her voice that attracts me to her postings time and time again. Her writing slaps me in the face with the absolute lack of fear of ripping herself open and flashing the world. It is a beautiful thing.

2. I refuse to regret. Regret is that poisonous parasite which creeps in, latches on and whispers “You missed out.” There are times when my decisions have been difficult for others, but I do not regret a single choice I’ve made (some were certainly tougher to decide on than others,) but I wouldn’t change anything. The things I’ve done, the places I’ve gone, the decisions I’ve made have all played a part in shaping me into the woman I am. I do not regret getting here. I am happy in my skin, and know that I am loved despite disagreements and differences of opinion.

3. I have a plethora of incredible, loving, amazing friends. I am completely floored by those who selflessly give of themselves. Thankfully, my heart has a huge capacity for love. Those who have found their way to the inner sanctuary of my soul should know… not a moment goes by that they are not treasured. This applies to old friends, lost friends, dear friends, reacquainted friends, old loves; Love is never wasted, it just changes shape. It morphs from seed to flower; water to cloud; wind to calm. If I love you, I will always love you. Those who have been lost to time passing, distances traveled, and parting ways still have a place in my memories; though I will say… I don’t frivolously let go and my heart breaks when I lose someone dear. (I’m also a sentimental sap sometimes.)

4. Icebergs scare the crap out of me. Weird. It doesn’t make sense. I’ve never even seen an iceberg up close and personal, (just a photograph will start a mini panic attack.) They terrify me! I get all wonky and my heart starts beating really fast and I have to turn the page really quick-like!

So there you have it. A few more random bits of information for those who care to discover.

Blog # 2. Good Day!

Birds of a Feather...

2009-02-06T10:30:00.015-06:00

Being the OCD creature I am I have been struggling with how to begin this blog. Not this posting in particular, but the commencement of the page as a whole. The struggle is this: how do I make it interesting and fun enough that my friends and loved ones (and any random straggler who might stumble across it) will be interested in reading and keeping up with this page.

I figure what happened Wednesday, and the history leading up to it, might be a really good place to start.

To really appreciate this story we first have to journey back about eight years.

I am living in Seattle. My son's grandparents have come to town for a week; we pile the car high with family and head down to the waterfront. Those of you who live in or around Seattle are familiar with Ivar's - those of you who have never been to Seattle; the original location on Pier 54 is kind of a big deal. It's quite the tourist stop - because of their seafood and clam chowder - and because people like to feed the seagulls.

Now, I am allergic to seafood, so the glory of fish and chips is lost on me, but we are there so that our loved ones may enjoy the partaking of the food, and the feeding of the gulls, so I submit. Three generations of McMen are dangling their fries for the greedy birds to swoop down and snatch from their fingers. They are having a grand time - McGrandpa, McDad, and McSon – laughing and squealing with delight (McSon.)

I’m horrified. With each swoop I cringe and shy back – trying to get under the awning and away from the ravenous birds. I say to McDad, “One of these bastards is going to crap on me!” An emphatic NO resonates from both the elder McMen (junior McLittle could care less – he is still having a grand time with the birds). I protest a bit more – to no one it seems – and mid-complaint I feel something hit me. Smack! A direct hit to my shoulder. I look at McDad, take a deep breath and say, “I just got shit on.” He stares at me for a moment, as though trying to fathom what just happened, and then declares that it’s simply not possible that a seagull just took a dump on me, so I say, “No. I’m sure. I felt it hit me. Look.”

So he does. And he gags. Which really does make me feel a little bit better in the whole great scheme of things.

Let me tell you just a little bit about seagull poop. There’s a LOT of it. No small pooping for these birds!

I won’t go through all the details of clean up – suffice it to say I am glad I layered that day, because I ended up in just my sweater after carefully removing all the seagull soiled under layers. (To clarify – when the poo plopped on my shoulder, it schmooged down my back into my tank top and bra.) The yuk clothes went into a plastic bag meant for take out, and were later washed five times before I would wear them again.

Fast forward a couple years. I am living in Louisville, Kentucky.

One day, we trek off to the fabulous Louisville Zoo. We have a great afternoon watching the lions, polar bears, elephants (my favourite,) etc. We stop to visit the penguin house. There are various cold weather birds in this house which are free to roam and fly around, kind of like a cold aviary.

Now, the penguin house has a very cool little nook you can lean into to view the penguins as they swim up close to the window – McLittle climbs in, and I lean over to watch with him. As I’m leaning in, I notice one of the many flighty creatures roosting above this nook. The thought goes through my mind; he’s going to poo on me. I voice this concern to my then significant other, he scoffs. But I know. Oh, do I know. These birds have it in for me. As I am helping my son out of the cubby, I feel it, plop! Great. Here we go again. I tell S.O. to watch McLittle, I have to go wash bird crap out of my hair. This is becoming a habit I am not so fond of. The best part of the experience was this: while I lean over the sink to wash bird pooh out of my hair in the zoo lavatory, a woman steps out of the stall and looks at me strangely. I look to her and say, “a bird just shit in my hair.” She is horrified. Eyes wide. Has nothing to say but, “Oh.”

And now, we are almost to the end of our story.

I currently reside in Texas. (I have to interject a small side note here. One of my best friends, here in Texas, is absolutely, soul-pounding terrified of birds. She screams if one even gets near her. This makes me giggle. A lot. I like to tease her about it, even though she does not retaliate by teasing me about spiders. I recently bought her a t-shirt with birds on it because I thought it was hysterical. She laughed. She also called me a bitch, but she said it with love, which makes it okay.)

This brings us to Wednesday. My sweetheart and I head out to do our weekly grocery shopping. As we are getting out of the car, I notice a huge flock of birds. I had a moment…I almost got back into the car, thinking it might be best to wait for them to fly over, but I figured I was just being silly, and surely I could get into the store without incident. That’s when I felt something wet smack my cheek. Oh Gawd. You have to be kidding me. I reach up to wipe my face with my hand, expecting that tell-tale sticky white goo, but instead it seems there is only water. Seriously? I tell my sweetheart, “I think I just got pissed on!” I then grab my phone and immediately text my dear bird-fearing friend, and this is what I wrote: do birds piss? I think I just got pissed on.

A few minutes later, I received this: I don’t know. But I almost wrecked my car laughing.

Later, she sent me a photo her husband found of (what appears to be) an Eagle peeing. Since I can't find the photo online and give proper credit I've removed it from this post.

I’m sure there is some Karmic reason for the relationship birds and I have, but really, haven’t I served my time yet?

Blog #1. Have a nice day.