So yesterday after my half-articulated rail against FB, I actually checked it twice. That's improvement, in my opinion. You won't make me think less of myself for having done it, okay?
Here's my routine: Since I moved inward, I have not had the internet at home or through my phone or any other device I possess. Well, at least no internet I'm going to pay for. (Of course, ATT would allow me to access it through my phone at a "modest fee." Of course they would.) Friday night about 5:30 through Monday morning about 8:30--no problem. If there is an urgent need to be online--check a banking issue, order concert tickets, find out some info--well, I live two blocks from the office. Problem solved. Monday I come in, catch up on the email, scan Twitter and done--off to do the work I get paid to do.
Being so FB-needy has led me to spend more time at work than I care to admit, checking up on things. Why? What things? Instead of using FB as a tool to appreciate other people's family pictures, and catch up on life news, and exchange witty banter with friends, I've used it as a tool of self-flagellation. Why didn't I think to say this? Why didn't I think to post this? Why don't my pictures seem to get as many comments as XY&Z's? Ruh-diculous. Seriously.
Although saying this aloud may actually prove the opposite, I once thought I was a reasonably self-actualized person. Not that I didn't have moments of quavering or second-guessing. (And I'm pretty convinced even Gandhi had one or two.)
What happened and why did I let it? Huh.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
"The time has come," the Oyster said
...to talk of many things." Like saying goodbye to Facebook for a little while. See, I've been thinking about making this experiment, wherein I determine if I could be a happier person, a richer person as it were, without the constant news stream. The constant comparison between my life and the lives of others.
I do not desire to live my life as Comparative Cathy and that's what I have been turning into lately. From a very early age, I always felt that distance between myself and others that comes with...well. I don't know. I think this explains it. Maybe.
Arrghh...I can't say just what I mean.
I do not desire to live my life as Comparative Cathy and that's what I have been turning into lately. From a very early age, I always felt that distance between myself and others that comes with...well. I don't know. I think this explains it. Maybe.
Arrghh...I can't say just what I mean.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
I Have a Dream
That I live in a small, four-room house with a tiny bathroom and a half-finished upstairs combo attic/bonus room. You walk up a small stone walkway through my tiny but lush yard, past the bottle tree, and up onto a brick-walled porch with small groupings of tables and chairs. Curtains are hung if you want the privacy, but are usually tied back to let air and light in. Open the front door into a wide center passage that runs the full depth of the house. And from the front door, you can either walk into any room you choose (all doors open into the passage) or you can join the rest of us on the back screened porch. Of course, the screened porch is also used occasionally for sleeping, so just be prepared for that.
If you choose to walk into the living room, you will make a left inside the door. On a rainy day, your umbrella will go into a big ceramic pot that probably looks like a cactus or something naturalistic Layla made for me in her after-school pottery class. You can hang your sweater on a hook in the wall. Feel free to throw your shoes off. Come in and browse the built-in bookshelves, flop down on a pile of big fluffy pillows on the floor and appreciate the atelier-style art arrangements, or lounge in the wide seat attached to the picture window with leaded panes.
After some time talking or watching a movie or listening to music, you will need sustenance, so I invite you to step on into my kitchen, which is through a small door in the back of the room. You probably almost missed the door because the bookcases go across the top of the door, and there are things hanging off of them. But the kitchen is through there, with checkerboard tile floors in white and black, and cool grey walls. You can sit at my red & white hoosier table while I fill the coffeepot from the enamel sink and I will tell you the story of the chair you are sitting on. It came from a Memphis brothel. If that creeps you out, you are welcome to move over to the faded green velour chaise. Make yourself at home. Please excuse the trashcans lining the back wall. Recycling doesn't come easy, sometimes. Nor does composting. Or cat care, for that matter.
We will drink much coffee, so just help yourself to the bathroom that opens off the central hallway. It is a little small, but the pedestal sink and tall linen cupboard in the corner help things fit more comfortably. The tile floors get cold in here, so I hope the fluffy bath rug will help.
I like a little private time in my office, so make yourself at home upstairs in the bonus room while I finish writing my masterpiece. The tiny windows at the front, sides, and rear of the big attic let in a little light, and you can see the moon and stars through them at night. But you will be very comfortable up here in the guest bed and you can put all your things away in the chifferobe. There is a record player up here, and records, so you will not be alone. Don't trip on the toys lying about that are supposed to be in the toybox and the dress-up bin. The nieces and nephews forget to put things away! Be careful on the stairs when you come down because they are wooden and quite steep. The original owner must have been shorter and skinnier and much stronger of leg than I am!
Join me in my office, and we'll talk and then go outside to enjoy a nice dinner around the fire pit. We'll watch the stars come out and the moon rise and watch the neighborhood kids catch fireflies. You can help me weed the flowerbeds, since I do a really bad job of it. In fact, I'll turn it all over to you if like. I get so ambitious and I like to have a nice view from the bedroom windows.
We will talk and laugh and discuss and reminisce and listen to music and eat and drink and be silent. Then we will go into the house and I will go to sleep in my bedroom where the bed is practically never made and clothes are hanging on the back of the vanity table chair. But the quilt above me is warm and snuggly and my family pictures are on the walls and a pile of books is on the nightstand waiting to be read. The cat's claws tap-tap on the wooden floors of the hallway and I hear him knock over some books that were sitting on a table. As long as he doesn't find the knitting and pull all the yarn off the needles--fine.
Good night.
If you choose to walk into the living room, you will make a left inside the door. On a rainy day, your umbrella will go into a big ceramic pot that probably looks like a cactus or something naturalistic Layla made for me in her after-school pottery class. You can hang your sweater on a hook in the wall. Feel free to throw your shoes off. Come in and browse the built-in bookshelves, flop down on a pile of big fluffy pillows on the floor and appreciate the atelier-style art arrangements, or lounge in the wide seat attached to the picture window with leaded panes.
After some time talking or watching a movie or listening to music, you will need sustenance, so I invite you to step on into my kitchen, which is through a small door in the back of the room. You probably almost missed the door because the bookcases go across the top of the door, and there are things hanging off of them. But the kitchen is through there, with checkerboard tile floors in white and black, and cool grey walls. You can sit at my red & white hoosier table while I fill the coffeepot from the enamel sink and I will tell you the story of the chair you are sitting on. It came from a Memphis brothel. If that creeps you out, you are welcome to move over to the faded green velour chaise. Make yourself at home. Please excuse the trashcans lining the back wall. Recycling doesn't come easy, sometimes. Nor does composting. Or cat care, for that matter.
We will drink much coffee, so just help yourself to the bathroom that opens off the central hallway. It is a little small, but the pedestal sink and tall linen cupboard in the corner help things fit more comfortably. The tile floors get cold in here, so I hope the fluffy bath rug will help.
I like a little private time in my office, so make yourself at home upstairs in the bonus room while I finish writing my masterpiece. The tiny windows at the front, sides, and rear of the big attic let in a little light, and you can see the moon and stars through them at night. But you will be very comfortable up here in the guest bed and you can put all your things away in the chifferobe. There is a record player up here, and records, so you will not be alone. Don't trip on the toys lying about that are supposed to be in the toybox and the dress-up bin. The nieces and nephews forget to put things away! Be careful on the stairs when you come down because they are wooden and quite steep. The original owner must have been shorter and skinnier and much stronger of leg than I am!
Join me in my office, and we'll talk and then go outside to enjoy a nice dinner around the fire pit. We'll watch the stars come out and the moon rise and watch the neighborhood kids catch fireflies. You can help me weed the flowerbeds, since I do a really bad job of it. In fact, I'll turn it all over to you if like. I get so ambitious and I like to have a nice view from the bedroom windows.
We will talk and laugh and discuss and reminisce and listen to music and eat and drink and be silent. Then we will go into the house and I will go to sleep in my bedroom where the bed is practically never made and clothes are hanging on the back of the vanity table chair. But the quilt above me is warm and snuggly and my family pictures are on the walls and a pile of books is on the nightstand waiting to be read. The cat's claws tap-tap on the wooden floors of the hallway and I hear him knock over some books that were sitting on a table. As long as he doesn't find the knitting and pull all the yarn off the needles--fine.
Good night.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Today is the day
And baby, isn't this your chance
To make a break with circumstance...
Today I declare No News Day. Today I declare No Politics Day. Today I invite 5 incredible people to my house for dinner and laughs about how a vegetarian just put 5 types of meat into one cassoulet that is going to be served to at least 2 other vegetarians. Today, I call the 'rents just to say hello. Today I read SACS compliance reports and type up minutes from the committee meeting and introduce a student worker the beauty that is PastPerfect. Today I have coffee with Lisa and laugh and gripe about work and all its idiosyncracies. Today I pet Beezus and go to work. Tonight, I will eat Leah's caramel apple sticky buns and laugh at Tom's oddly-appropriate-but-slightly-vulgar-sounding blog title and think for the millionth time how pretty Vanessa is and wish I was as well-versed in medieval literature and technology as Allen and hold Will.
It's going to be a good day.
To make a break with circumstance...
Today I declare No News Day. Today I declare No Politics Day. Today I invite 5 incredible people to my house for dinner and laughs about how a vegetarian just put 5 types of meat into one cassoulet that is going to be served to at least 2 other vegetarians. Today, I call the 'rents just to say hello. Today I read SACS compliance reports and type up minutes from the committee meeting and introduce a student worker the beauty that is PastPerfect. Today I have coffee with Lisa and laugh and gripe about work and all its idiosyncracies. Today I pet Beezus and go to work. Tonight, I will eat Leah's caramel apple sticky buns and laugh at Tom's oddly-appropriate-but-slightly-vulgar-sounding blog title and think for the millionth time how pretty Vanessa is and wish I was as well-versed in medieval literature and technology as Allen and hold Will.
It's going to be a good day.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Rejoicing when others rejoice
Kim McMillan is running for governor. Good for her. Tennessee recently came in 49th (that's forty-ninth, folks) in women's government participation. In 2000, we were 46th, and in 2004 we were 47th. Only South Carolina has consistently come in below Tennessee in this very important category. Please. Let me just stop you before you get there--No. I do not believe every word of these reports. Yes, I'm quite sure the IWRP has some sort of agenda that I would not subscribe to 100%. I do believe they uncover a larger trend that is worth looking at. Most of all, I'm just glad that at least one woman in TN is giving it the old college-try!
So...back to Kim. I met her briefly at an event Union University hosted in April to bring the (then) three Democratic gubernatorial candidates together. Ms. McMillan is cordial and down-to-earth and seems to listen when you talk. I look forward to her campaign with interest and will be eager to see if she can keep her focus on politics and carry herself with intelligence and integrity throughout the campaign, without degenerating on us, a la Sarah Palin.
But this post isn't even about Kim McMillan. It is about her campaign video.
McMillan held a contest allowing people to submit names for her first campaign video. Someone who could describe, in a few words what her campaign is about and what she represents. How to do this without being terribly cliche and slogany, but being honest and refreshing? The award goes to (drum roll) Will! Of course, you and I know that he is talented with words and is passionately commited to Democratic politics in Tennessee, but now Tennessee knows that, too. I admire his ability to be a particpant in the political process in ways that are only productive and grounded in principles. Not loud, aggressive, fact-bemused, angry politics. Just...politics.
It's nice to see the side of a person you enjoy daily validated by others, to see those people shine at their brightest, to see how they shine when someone else turns a light on them. (And I'm not even the least bit envious that his mother gets to go with him to the big celebratory shin-dig instead of me...)
So...back to Kim. I met her briefly at an event Union University hosted in April to bring the (then) three Democratic gubernatorial candidates together. Ms. McMillan is cordial and down-to-earth and seems to listen when you talk. I look forward to her campaign with interest and will be eager to see if she can keep her focus on politics and carry herself with intelligence and integrity throughout the campaign, without degenerating on us, a la Sarah Palin.
But this post isn't even about Kim McMillan. It is about her campaign video.
McMillan held a contest allowing people to submit names for her first campaign video. Someone who could describe, in a few words what her campaign is about and what she represents. How to do this without being terribly cliche and slogany, but being honest and refreshing? The award goes to (drum roll) Will! Of course, you and I know that he is talented with words and is passionately commited to Democratic politics in Tennessee, but now Tennessee knows that, too. I admire his ability to be a particpant in the political process in ways that are only productive and grounded in principles. Not loud, aggressive, fact-bemused, angry politics. Just...politics.
It's nice to see the side of a person you enjoy daily validated by others, to see those people shine at their brightest, to see how they shine when someone else turns a light on them. (And I'm not even the least bit envious that his mother gets to go with him to the big celebratory shin-dig instead of me...)
Monday, August 24, 2009
Words are my love language.
Your words run through me like the blood in my veins
I could swear I knew your love Before I knew your name
Before I knew your name.~Lucinda Williams
Conor Oberst's cover. My insides sort of want to explode violently.
I could swear I knew your love Before I knew your name
Before I knew your name.~Lucinda Williams
Conor Oberst's cover. My insides sort of want to explode violently.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Happy anniversary
Monday, a man from the local community stopped by my office to ask my advice about caring for some photos he found in his late wife's...
Now I stopped counting after 15 minutes, but it took several more minutes before Mr. Cook recovered his voice and resumed speaking, apologizing because it "had only been a month" since her death.
The day Will and I left for Washington, I was with a group of senior citizens on an outing to historical places in West TN. At one stop, several people got out of the bus but I did not, nor did the two couples in front of me. The two women were exchanging news of people they had gone to college with (cause everyone, just everyone, in this town goes to one college). Mrs. R mentioned one man, and how he had finally retired from his second career at the age of 80. Mrs. M asked Mrs. R if he and his wife "were still together." Only half listening, that statement jerked back my full attention. What would an 80 year old man accomplish by getting a divorce? Surely at 80 you would know to stay single if you couldn't pick the right person to live your life with! 80 years ago, the divorce rate was much lower than it is today. Our generation may be spoiled for lifelong marriage by the example of our peers and our parents, but really? He's 80?!
Is his wife still living? That was what Mrs. M meant by "still together."
After 38 years, my folks are "still together" both in the modern and antique sense. They have their ups and downs. Kids, job losses, chronic health conditions, financial burdens aside, they are still together. I've been using the expression "human endeavor is bound to fail" a lot lately. While it's true that my folks' marriage isn't perfect, it hasn't failed. Maybe one function of marriage is to show that despite human endeavor's proclivity for accidents, obstacles and imperfections, it doesn't have to fail. Maybe marriage can be good for things not related to marriage at all. Maybe this is the one place where we are supposed to see that it is possible to accomplish most things. Because my folks' marriage can last 38 years, then I can do the job I was hired to do. If Mom and Dad can stick it out this long, then I can tough it out too, in my job, my place of residence, my church, my financial situation, my relationships.
I reject the idea that this encourages or fosters a spirit of passivity or mediocrity. Accepting a less-than-best partner or fostering a sense of submission to what is an untenable situation is misguided and ought to be avoided. You fight for a marriage because you believe, on the atomic level, in the person you took those vows with. Failure is off the table. It just means I will work a little harder. To undertake serious things less lightly. And to stand ready to reap enormous blessings and to be part of a blessing for someone else. I want to marry, but more importantly, I want my life to stand for what marriage means.
A little anniversary present for Mom & Dad: At their wedding, my grandparents refused to let Mom have an Elvis song in the wedding. Something about "the sobriety of the event." So here it is Mom, 38 years later.
Now I stopped counting after 15 minutes, but it took several more minutes before Mr. Cook recovered his voice and resumed speaking, apologizing because it "had only been a month" since her death.
The day Will and I left for Washington, I was with a group of senior citizens on an outing to historical places in West TN. At one stop, several people got out of the bus but I did not, nor did the two couples in front of me. The two women were exchanging news of people they had gone to college with (cause everyone, just everyone, in this town goes to one college). Mrs. R mentioned one man, and how he had finally retired from his second career at the age of 80. Mrs. M asked Mrs. R if he and his wife "were still together." Only half listening, that statement jerked back my full attention. What would an 80 year old man accomplish by getting a divorce? Surely at 80 you would know to stay single if you couldn't pick the right person to live your life with! 80 years ago, the divorce rate was much lower than it is today. Our generation may be spoiled for lifelong marriage by the example of our peers and our parents, but really? He's 80?!
Is his wife still living? That was what Mrs. M meant by "still together."
After 38 years, my folks are "still together" both in the modern and antique sense. They have their ups and downs. Kids, job losses, chronic health conditions, financial burdens aside, they are still together. I've been using the expression "human endeavor is bound to fail" a lot lately. While it's true that my folks' marriage isn't perfect, it hasn't failed. Maybe one function of marriage is to show that despite human endeavor's proclivity for accidents, obstacles and imperfections, it doesn't have to fail. Maybe marriage can be good for things not related to marriage at all. Maybe this is the one place where we are supposed to see that it is possible to accomplish most things. Because my folks' marriage can last 38 years, then I can do the job I was hired to do. If Mom and Dad can stick it out this long, then I can tough it out too, in my job, my place of residence, my church, my financial situation, my relationships.
I reject the idea that this encourages or fosters a spirit of passivity or mediocrity. Accepting a less-than-best partner or fostering a sense of submission to what is an untenable situation is misguided and ought to be avoided. You fight for a marriage because you believe, on the atomic level, in the person you took those vows with. Failure is off the table. It just means I will work a little harder. To undertake serious things less lightly. And to stand ready to reap enormous blessings and to be part of a blessing for someone else. I want to marry, but more importantly, I want my life to stand for what marriage means.
A little anniversary present for Mom & Dad: At their wedding, my grandparents refused to let Mom have an Elvis song in the wedding. Something about "the sobriety of the event." So here it is Mom, 38 years later.
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