Perfect Pair

Today my thoughts drift to the beloved pillars of poetry and parasols ...

A delicate parasol and summer sunshine make a perfect pair.

Courtesy of vintage ftw

The parasol is the umbrella's daughter,
And associates with a fan
While her father abuts the tempest
And abridges the rain.

The former assists a siren
In her serene display;
But her father is borne and honored,
And borrowed to this day.

-- Emily Dickinson



Goal: Organize Myself

I have a goal.

Get Organized.

It's very sneaky.

Just when you think you're getting close,

Life happens and you have to start all over again.

So I've got it down to 2 easy to follow parts:

1. Bankers Boxes

2. Throw Away

That means that you buy Bankers Boxes,

Label them,

And keep stuff in them.

And once a month, you throw one away.

Repeat.

For life.

Then enjoy the loveliness of simplicity.

Getting What You Want

Yeah, let's talk about being happy. Let's talk about what it means to "get what you want" and the struggle to get. Let's talk about materialism, in all its glory, and let's talk about the meaning of life.

I will open the discussion.

I ate expired soup today. Why was it expired? I have no idea -- apparently when you stuff your face with anything and everything for a two month period you skip over 100 calorie soup. Then it just sits in your pantry and goes bad. But I ate the soup, and I ate it with the looming date of November 29th 2009 heavy in my belly, and I started thinking about my life. I have so much food in my house that we literally NEVER run out. Even when we have "nothing to eat" there is PLENTY to eat. Plenty. This abundance of food makes me ponder the relevance of being on a diet, because to me, being on a diet is essentially waste. I eat smaller portions, true, but I also have to let rampant amounts of food go bad because I just didn't have the caloric allowance to eat that cantaloupe or eggplant or cheese pizza. And apparently, 100 calorie soup.

What is the point of dieting, anyway? I'm a small person. I look fairly decent clothed and not too scary naked. But to our current society "being on a diet" is like saying "I'm cool." Because it means you have self control and a life good enough that you can complain about eating TOO much. And in my mind dieting is synonymous with materialism. Even though you're doing the exact opposite (saying "no more" as opposed to gathering more and more objects) you are showing a certain lavishness, a certain type of fabulosity that only translates to being thin=more clothes=fashionable. It's a strange cycle that in a natural world could not exist but we live in a world with 9 year old twinkies and cheese from a can and diabolical corn breakdowns.

I'll tell you why I diet. Because I want to be thin and because I want to be healthy. Way healthier than is really necessary for my desk job, but nevertheless, I strive towards seeing a beautiful model-thin self in the mirror. This is not to say that I'm not happy with myself; I am. I'm truly thrilled with the way I turned out. I was a very insecure tween but somehow I blossomed and never looked back. I learned at a young age that mistakes were forgivable and that changes could be made and you could rise triumphant as whatever you wanted. I accept my flaws as challenges -- something to continuously strive to make better. And also, something to laugh about with my friends and commiserate with them. Flaws, after all, make us human and not divine. Who wants to be perfect? It's probably dreadfully boring. What do you DO each day if you can't work towards a better life and a better self? And it's fun to use your inner-eye and speculate on the future; the future can't be different or better if everything is already Utopian.

But when does the "fun" striving-for-change switch to "my life isn't good enough" and crushing waves of inadequacy? I'm not really sure. I'll be sure to let you all know when I get there. But I can see how it is easy to start thinking more about the getting and not about the here and now. Life, to me, is a two act play happening simultaneously. Act One is now, Act Two is the future. You can't enjoy the story, the journey, the plot, unless you watch Act One -- because otherwise you won't know what the fuck is going on. You won't know the characters, you won't understand their development, you won't, basically, like the show. And if the show is YOUR LIFE ... don't you want to like it? So in order to like it you've got to watch Act One.

My Act One consists of struggling with my weight and my puppy and my marriage and ballet and my career and my family and my mind and my writing and ... so many things. But. The point is -- I'm enjoying the NOW and looking forward to the future, the impossibly bright and hopeful future that will be everything it's supposed to be if I can just sit still through Act One. So I'm not going to become too bogged down by my inadequacies, and I'm not going to obsess too much about the sugar cookie I ate for breakfast yesterday, and I'm not going to worry about the job I don't have and the money I don't make, and I'm not going to stress about the people that don't like me.

Scarlett said it best: "I'll think about that tomorrow."

And today I'll think about all the good things in my life:

A family I love,

My husband and best friend rolled into one,

A puppy to cuddle,

Friends I can rely on,

New challenges,

And a full pantry.

Discontinued

I am one of those people who become hideously attached to things. And lately the world has done me a disfavor by trying to discontinue many products I consider vital to my existence. It started in the fall when I wanted to buy a duvet cover from Ikea...

"Do you know when you'll be getting anymore of these in?" I asked the sales girl (I say girl because she was younger than me)
"That line is being discontinued."
"No!" I shriek.
She nods her head in sympathy (false sympathy, I am soon to find out), "I know."
"Where can I get it now? Anywhere?"
"I guess you could look online, sometimes there are discontinued items there. Have you seen what is replacing it?"
Then she walks me over to a not-even-close-to-what-I-want duvet and says, "This is nice."
This is when I ask her if I can buy the floor model and when I begin to hate her.
"No, I'm sorry. I almost lost my job because I sold someone the floor model. We can't sell it if it's already been opened. Because, like, I don't know what could be on it, like blood born pathogens, you know?"

See? No sympathy. And, excuse me, Ikea, you sell opened shit all the time; it's called the "AS IS" section.

Anyway, so that happened. And sucked.

Next, I happened to notice that my particular brand of mascara was sometimes out of stock. But I didn't panic because it would be on the shelf next time. And then I would buy 2 of them, for good measure. However, now for the past couple months I CAN NOT find it. What am I going to do? I tried some new kinds, but I need the kind that curls your lashes because mine are pin straight. I'm almost out. I'm going to die.

And then there is this air freshener we like to use after the puppy goes number two. It's the best air freshener because it smells like green apples and fresh grass -- not like flowers and potpourri and old ladies. I snagged it the first time on a whim. The second time I noticed it was on clearance ... OH NO! ... and grabbed another bottle even though the other was still relatively full. And now? Gone. Never to be had again.

Don't companies realize that picky people like me need things that they like to be around FOREVER? (By the way, I do know that I will probably turn into an insane old lady.) There isn't always something better to replace it and then I'm stuck with mediocre crap that I don't like and dreaming about the good old days when stuff I liked was in stock.

Where is My Avis?

I wish I had a penpal.

When I was younger I was a TERRIBLE penpal. But now I'm grown and I think I would enjoy the old fashoned-ness of it. I have a typewriter that my husband has tried to throw away several times. But I continue to protest. I cite here my many uses:

Poetry comes out better on a typewriter

I enjoy the hum of the motor ... or whatever makes an electric typewriter run

I like the deliberate process of typing on the keys
I like the crooked letters

I like to press the shift key

If I had a penpal, I could write lovely letters and then sign my name at the bottom. In pen.

Typing on a computer is not the same. You can backspace, you can type nearly as fast as your thought process, you can delete entire sections and paste them somewhere else. When you type on a typewriter you think hard. You can't just spit out pages and pages of garbage because a: you're slow, garbage doesn't come out AS MUCH when you're typing slower and b: that would be a waste of trees. My granny had a typewriter and I would practice typing on it, playing secretary when I was stuck at her house for weeks at a time during my summers off of school. When Grandpa died and I found his old blue typewriter, I lunged for it. Old Blue comes in its own carrying case. It smells dusty and delicious, like thoughts and fingers and years of words. How could I ever throw it out?

But I should take advantage of it. I really just need to plug it in and start writing letters. Just boring stuff, the day to day of life. In Jane Austen's time letter writing was like an Olympic sport. It's time for me to participate. I'm going to pick a random address in some nice town in Anywhere, USA and mail a letter. I will describe myself and tell my new friend that I am searching for my own Avis. If they want to be my Avis, all they need do is respond. Avis was Julia Child's penpal. She accidentally mailed a letter to her and they started corresponding. They became such good friends; Avis was the one who helped Mastering the Art of French Cooking get published. The best thing about a penpal is the waiting. Waiting by the mailbox in hopes of a letter coming. And getting to know someone a little at a time. I tend to get so excited when I meet someone that I just go BLAH and tell them everything about me in two point eight seconds. Then I become the bore I really am and they don't want to talk to me ever again. With a penpal, you have to go slow and they probably won't find out what a snooze I am for at least a year. Wow. I am so excited. Now, I know that it will probably take several tries before I receive a response and actually GET a penpal. But this is as good a start as any.

Next, I'm going to work at bringing back formal dinner parties. Who's with me?

Tree Saga

I fake moved to China which caused me to give away my Christmas tree. I moved into a new apartment and wanted to have a tree. I borrowed an extra one from my parents.

It sits in a box.

Every day I plan on putting up the tree. Every day I plan on decorating it. Every day goes by without tree or decorations.

Christmas is coming soon. I hope I get it up before Christmas or I will hate myself.

Burds Nesting

Our new apartment is lovely.
And we're filling it with lovely things:
Our old bed which is my old bed

Classic loveseat

Modern chair
Beautiful soap dispensers
Soothing garbage cans
Method handsoap

Packed pantry
Square plates
Interesting glasses
The best pots and pans
Fuzzy rugs
Glass-handle shower curtain rings
Leafy curtain
Dove soap
Color-coordinated closet
Folded pants
Rows of shoes
Piles of blankets
Burd table
Love

Welcome Home.