Think of yourself as a Chicken...

Yes, a real chicken - the kind that lays eggs or fries up so neatly. Essentially, what few of us realize and all of us experience is that curious moment, in the coop, when the cannibalistic nature of the species comes to light.  And while you have been happily wandering about in the belief that everyone you encounter is honest and without agenda, with your rose coloured glasses - you fail to see that you are leaking blood from every orifice, and the natives are restless.  


There used to be ( and perhaps still is - I'm not up on my chicken facts ) a large market for 'Rose Coloured Glasses' for chickens.  This is real. 

It's a real photo.  It's a wooden chicken.  But yes- they are quite "hot" items for collectors of the 'oddities' of farm equipment. But, most importantly - it keeps the chickens from devouring themselves, and each other.  Because they are cannibals, and the sight of blood sends them into a frenzy, and the rose tint removes the 'red' contrast.  


It's not so easy on the internet.  While it is a wonderful tool, and can connect you with people from all over - it also can, and does, create a wonderful sense of 'remove'.  Those who ascribe to the theory that the person behind the words you read is little more than a cardboard cutout, with little value and lesser emotions than the displays at the liquor store you find hurt feelings, improper impressions, and callous words. 


See - this is not my first ride on the merry go round of blogging.  Those of you who read back see that I have blogged before - both in a similar venue to this and ( be prepared to be shocked here ) at a sex site.  No - I wasn't offering hints and tips on what position or technique will help you 'keep the excitement' - I was writing what felt right at the moment.  What amused, intrigued, angered or even needed to be said.  And there is feedback there - lots of feedback.  Which makes it addictive, because at heart I like the attention.  We all do when we sit down to write.  


And I entered the fray being over confident in my ability to sort out the 'fakes' and 'trolls' from the legitimate people.  Those people who were looking for another outlet or venue where the F-word was not taboo...


Fortunately, after many stops and starts I found that key group - those people who you just know that were you to sit down for coffee the conversation and discussion could last for hours.  


But what few talk about honestly is those people who are there for a single reason, and since it is integrally tied to their ego and view of their place in this world, everything, literally everything is wrapped up in your walking lock step with them, affirming their every move ( even the horrendous ones ) and for this writer the worst offense: making thoughtless comments that neither relate to what has been written or add a damn thing to the conversation.  


What we often fail to realize as readers is that while it does feel like a conversation with the writer, we are not privy to those oh so intimate tells that we have in real life, tone, facial expression, body language, even whether or not someone will meet your eyes.  While the words may bring you to tears at the horror of the scene, you don't know if the intention was simply to retell a story OR to create a sense of sympathetic openness in the readers one is cultivating.  Because in the mind of some, any attention is positive - keep them patting me on the head and I can continue to behave abominably because 'I've had it rough'.  I don't want to sound harsh or even dismissive of the natural and real ( and in my mind  GOOD ) stirrings of empathy and perhaps pity and even admiration. 


And yes - there is a point...


We all, those who blog; imagine, dream and fancy ourselves as facile and competent with our manipulations of the written word.  We read, see, relive and even imagine scenarios and scenes in our daily lives with a mental note ( or perhaps a jotting with a real pen to real paper ) "I must develop that idea".  And sometimes we do it extraordinarily well.  Exhibiting skills to rival Shakespeare in his facility with setting tone, scene and emotion.  Bringing you in, and making you see as we do.  Other times it's a near miss, and still others litter the floor with crumpled bits and half formed ideas. 


I'm just expanding to spend more energy in this exercise called writing in spaces where the coop isn't so crowded and the chickens don't require the rose tints.  

That tiger is only partially housebroken ...

This post has been 'brewing' for a couple of weeks.  And recent events where I live brought it all into a focus that I hadn't had previously. 


A seven year old girl was abducted, raped and bludgeoned to death after being snatched between her apartment's playground and the apartment in which she lived.  A playground that is, mind you, in full and complete view of at least 50 residents.  A playground.  Full of children.  Most without supervision.  Because really, you expect that your child, of school age, is going to be safe a few steps from your door.  With other children present.   


As is the norm in Georgia - the first instinct is to persecute the parents.  What prior history of abuse or neglect, was this child alone frequently, did anyone notice the parents who may or may not have failed to 'watch' their children.  And you know what?  It's all not important.  Not in this situation - because there were 5 or 6 girls of the same age at that playground the moment that child disappeared.  The predator just took one.  A random one.  And whether or not the parents were watching, or cavalier in their attitude is not and should not be the concern.  You do not, as a parent, expect that an hour on the swings is dropping your child into the shark tank.  Yes, we all know that bad things happen, and can happen.  But none of us should be preventing our children from socialization and fun and play because of 'what could' happen.  


I say none of us.  Which brings up the next piece of this set of thoughts.  The reality is that some of us, because we were never protected in the smallest ways as children do always have that moment of pause, where the imagery and memories of being alone, being vulnerable, being 'hung out to dry' with no one to protect or cherish us; what can go wrong is the first thought.  


How do you overcome the blows to your psyche when those who should have protected you, should have kept the bogeyman away were the bogeyman.  Or at least complicit by leaving you there to be damaged, alone and unprotected?  How do you learn that everyone isn't that way? And, more importantly, how do you recover. 


See - I know what it is to not be protected. To not matter enough to those who should care, should have some concern where your well being and safety are endangered.  One turned a blind eye, one played the bogeyman for years.  


While the bogeyman went all maudlin and tried to 'apologize', the continued demeaning manner and dismissive approach, including abusive language and threatening gestures were far more representative of the 'real' reasons.  It is said that everyone has their 'come to Jesus' moment as the end is near, and when that end is not so palpable - it is situation normal.  Or whatever the 'new normal' in that mass of dysfunction has deteriorated to become.  


Yet, the one who failed to protect - has yet to even acknowledge a complicity in the mess that I was to become.  And, in some ways still am.  I don't believe in the 'apology' - for it won't rewrite history and years of ignoring, retaliatory acts or even the words spoken in anger.  But - it would be nice to see that they at least made the attempt to see where they were wrong. 


And I won't hold my breath.  


See - I realized that the only person in all of that family dynamic I can count on is myself.  I cannot necessarily overcome the pile of garbage that smashes down my esteem.  I can revel in the good things that are said and that I accomplish.  And I can learn.  Learn to control that  tiger that is buried within, who can fiercely protect hers.  And the "hers" is really not important to list - because like a cat, I have made a marking, a claiming on things that strike a chord with me. Things that are important to me.  And I shall, will and do defend it.


Sometimes that defense is all on me.  It's my feelings of impending loss or readjustment to the way I see things, the feeling that something is 'missing' and the desperate struggle to regain that which I thought I lost.  What I most often realize is that I never lost it in the first place - I just failed to see that things were changing.  And one day I woke up.  And panicked.  Thus started the scramble.  And the obsession with my role, my part in the change.  And you know what?  That sort of stuff is what sticks with you, and can colour the 'having' from that point forward.  Even when things are lost there is something that I learned.  I think.  I hope. 


Other times, I am just a tiger.  There is no thought involved, everything is running on pure instinct and reacting to all of the piles of stuff in the backroom of my life.  The pieces that most days I leave unexamined and sorted neatly into the piles it took years to create.  Reacting not being proactive.  Defensive and scared, backed into a corner and lashing out and forward.  Forgetting my boundaries, both physical and mental, and trying to take back something that may not have really been lost in the first place...just in case. 


It used to be the 'usual' reaction to all things.  Not even remotely attractive, and as I look back, I see just how much it hampered my life. Then, I learned about measured risk, and boundaries.  I learned that defensive and offensive are nothing more than saloon doors that allow all the good to slip out when you are otherwise occupied.  


And I haven't yet been able to totally control that tiger.  Some call it ego and superego and self esteem all roiling together for control. Control of reactions, actions and moods. Mine is now far more a paper tiger that is full of sparkly bits and dark shadows, not yet balanced but not so scary.  And, funnily enough, even less important to the who I am now, and the who I have yet to become than I ever thought possible.  


Is it because I acknowledge it that it has become less scary, less shameful to have and struggle with?  Or, has my growth and time spent sorting that backroom of psyche and 'what came before' into manageable piles of 'dealt with' and 'yet to touch' made my control much better?  I don't think I have an answer for that yet.  And maybe never.  Because that's how the gods work.  It's not important that you know the why, but that you can manage the what, and function in ever improving ways each day.  

My Label? Comes with a Surgeon General's Warning ...

In reading the comments to the last post on labels, I learned several interesting things.  Apparently, as a general rule: people don't want to be labeled.  I don't see them as a bad thing, not until you are tasked to create one for yourself, or if that is the ONLY measure by which you quantify and define the people you meet. 


For me, the labels are simply a shorthand.  It's not perfect, never was meant to be.  But just as some surnames come as a result of professions of forefathers ( Cooper, Baker, Smith ), sometimes a label can carry something positive forward.  


I think that we tend to rail most against the 'idea' of being labeled, as if that simple word or set of words will then define who we are and confine our possibilities to a little box.  That in some way, a label will haunt you, or discourage you from exploring options.  And, when one is given a particularly heinous label, it can ( and often does ) make you rethink your approach.  Or it does for me.  


Lately, what amuses me is the "troublemaker" addendum that has been added to references about me by different groups.  See, you get those sorts of additions when you either refuse to play the reindeer games, or are questioning an opinion that someone holds so clearly as a spoon fed belief that their little brains explode from the contradictions.  And the fact that I, as most sentient beings should do, am able to and open to reevaluating my position and ideas about any one thing am not above saying "I was wrong" or "I never saw it that way" is somehow an anathema to their views on the world, so much so that my admission of my mistakes is a personal and direct attack that somehow will send their world spinning into oblivion.  


It's amazing to be so powerful and omnipotent. I assume dictators get that same rush.  Then I realize, I'm really NOT that important.  I am someone who simply enjoys learning and evaluation and discussion.  And I like people who enjoy the same things.  I understand that ideas simply are - and that there are no crimes committed when people discuss ideas and options.  But, things do break down and go all pear shaped when people start to dissemble and deny, or start to judge and limit ideas, behaviours and people simply because they can't engage in a similar manner.  Oh - and when they can't remember what they did or said a week, a month or a year ago ... and how it directly conflicts with what they are saying now.  And get angry when that simple issue is pointed out. 


See - labels, to me aren't the issue.  It's the people who are all too involved with or concerned with stuffing me into that little box covered with their determinations and labels.  I don't think that you can neatly package anyone, tick off all the boxes that is them, in a single adjective. 


And, somewhere in there - if you are all to concerned with rebelling against being labeled rather than seeing if those labels can somehow, in some small way, effect the way you do things or approach people ....maybe they could be seen as something helpful?


It's how I'm trying to see them. 

Label you, label me

I've been dancing with this idea for a few days ... lots of people have had different ideas and questions.  But really - it all comes to labeling someone or something.  See - I think that we have a need in our lives to have some neat little package that explains just what something is.  We have a word that both describes and others are able to understand for things:  when I use the word 'table', everyone has an idea of what a table is.  


But then we get into people.  And the labels become more like a loaded die, there are many connotations and emotions tied into words that describe what a person is.  See - I can use mother, woman, lover, blonde, caucasian, short-ish, slim-ish .. the list goes on.  But, just what those words mean to everyone else - what you get as a 'mind image' and your reaction to that image are all going to be different.  


Then we can talk about that famous phase in our lives where we used things to express our 'individuality':  the teen years.  How some cloaked themselves in long bangs or black, donned 'shocking' ( to our parents ) clothing and accessories, maybe even wore our underwear on the outside.  And if you looked around - you would find at least one, and usually several other of your peers expressing themselves and their individuality in exactly the same way.  


So, if there isn't something that truly just defines WHO you are - how is it that we are all often far too comfortable and content to try to fit the labels others give, or strive to emulate the ones that we find are most comfortable for us to adopt as some sort of personal mantra? We've all seen the people who seek to convince us of their superiority and good fit to a label .. those who are constantly and consistently telling us how wonderful, sexy, smart, enlightened, researched, open minded, whatever positive you find.  And we have seen people who truly are those things, and they are far more content to just exist quietly - letting their actions and selves just BE the word. 


It all sprung from a set of posts from the Urban Dictionary - put your name in, and see what comes up.  But, mine - wasn't there.  Oh sure - sound the same but spelled differently .. and about seven million entries for Ashley and all of it's spelling variants - but none for mine.  So a suggestion was posed - that I write my own.  And you know what - it's damnably difficult to do.  Because it means either completely expounding on every word so the connotations are removed, or accepting labels as they come - with connotations.  And then - what about the pieces that aren't so wonderful - those pieces of me that I am still trying to organize and either change or decide how their outwardly negative feel ( to me ) can actually be something of use and value?


And - overcoming my initial knee jerk reaction to being labeled in the first place.  


I know they are handy.  I know that we all have this internal shorthand that puts people we encounter into little outlines - that we sort them into 'not interested' to 'has potential' to 'impressed' and all of those other little spaces that keep our need for having some sort of communal language to define one person to another.  It's my table theorem.  That someone can say of me ____ -- and immediately everyone understands.  Or at least is close to the same idea. 


And, it's far easier to admit that while I don't like being labeled - I want to have one that is so accurate and feels so right that everyone who hears it has a similar idea.  


And then - it dawned on me.  I had one of those.  A few simple words that said it all. 


I am human. 

Fuzzy teeth?

Groggily he awoke to the announcer exclaiming the perfection of a ball landing. Rolling toward the table, he picked up his dentures which prtially obscured the cover of a National Geograpic with some large cat featured.  A puzzled look crosses his brow, as he thought he had placed the teeth next to the Pepsi glass.  Slowly arising, he places his teeth into their intended orafice, runs a hand through his rumpled hair and heads toward the voices he hears in the next room.  From around the corner she spots him, t-shirt untucked, chinos in a state of dishabille guaranteed to make a plumber proud.  His eyes scan the group, noting that the sheltie pups were piled in various states of sleep, their mother watching over them.  A conversation revolving around the lesson just completed, the control and flexion work necessary for the coming week; was under way.  His daughter, clad in black riding tights, with little flecks of horsehair over her legs, was listenting intently.  Her hair showed signs of being captured under a helmet, an overly large t-shirt, hole in the shoulder due to an errant pair of Morgan teeth searching for snacks, was curled on a chair, drinking water.  Her instructor (and owner of 3 of the 4 pups, and their mother) was demonstrating with her hands; drawing concentric circles on the table with her fingertip in an ever-increasing radius. The only person to notice him was his wife, who quickly picked up her coffee cup, masking all expression.

He clears his throat, then states "my teeth are furry. I know I put them by my glass, but when I just woke up, they were moved, and are now furry".  To this he recieved no respose, had he been more awake, or focused, he would have noticed the quick glances exchanged by the three at the table.  The girl quickly reached for her glass, ducking her head and concentrating on the liquid contained wthin. He repeats the first statement, sounding not ulike Sherlock Holmes without the accent, and adds "would anyone know how they came to be this way? Or, better yet, who is going to tell me what happened?".  Three pairs of human eyes turn toward him, and Follie (the mother of the pups) raises her head to look at him as well. The pups, alerted into movement by the new voice in the room, lift their heads sleepily, first to their mom, then to him, then proceed to chew on each other, as puppies will. The only voice to break the silence was Sue, "I'm sorry Larry, what did you just say?".  Perfect combinations of concern, politeness and innocence captured in her voice, impressive demonstration of control.  His wife merely glanced up at him, over the rim of her mug. As the pups were stirring and venturing in search of more trouble, as  one went to the girl, and proceeded to pull on the ankle of her sock, smelling as it did of horses.  The girl, avoiding all eye contact, leaned over to play with the pup, goading the others into displays of one-upmanship and jealousy.

Hitching up his pants with a loud sigh, and some muttered comments to which the clear words were collusion and liars, he bent down to the Follie: "anything you have to say about this Fee dog?" he asked her.  Her response, in the way of Shelties, was simply to huff out a noise sounding faintly reminiscent of 'hamburger'. "I am going to get to the bottom of this, and one of you will tell me how this happened" he stated in a sharp voice. Instant images of deerstalker caps and magnifying glasses popped into my head, and a small giggle escaped my lips. He immediately turned to me, the full force of his inspection and anger centred on that giggle. "I'm laughing because you asked the dog for an answer; not only is that laughable, but futile. Perhaps if you rethought your part in this, leaving your teeth out which is just so totally gross", emphasizing this point by a complete look of disgust "you too would find it funny".  "Just what part did you play in this?" he asked in an ever-increasing tone.  

The interrogations continued, similar to those performed by the SS or Gestapo in wartime, his focus so narrow and intent that each denial was treated with increasing disbelief and scorn.  The only props missing were a blinding light, manacles to tie the interrogated to the chairs and the constant "thwack, thwack" as the riding crop hit the side of the tall boots.  Neither Sue nor his wife cracked however, and the whole display of his dominance and logical methods of dedcution were reduced to nil. A pathetic display of a man, shabbily clad, circling in his own incompetance and impotency.

Horses cared for, I returned with the pups to find him again, napping on the sofa, teeth next tothe Pepsi glass.  Immune to his constant displays of disgustingness that only a thirteen year old can see, I sighed, reached down to scritch Magoo  behind the ears, coaxing him back to the room in which Sue and my mother sat.  A decision was made to load up the car, and the three of us would head over to the ice cream stand, with the dogs.  Loaded up, dogs in various positions over and around me in the back, my mother and Sue in the front, Sue driving the car erupted with hysterical laughter as we left the driveway.

Sue catches my eye in the rear-view mirror, "well Watson, shall we break down the chain of events?"

Not three hours before, after a very long and protracted play session involving snacking on horse manure, chasing brooms, and running in circles during my lesson, the pups were settled into a nap.  We were going over the same lesson, drinking water and coffee, and discussing the work to come. Into the room entered Magoo, the mischievious pup, withe the largest smile known to dogdom.  He marched in proudly, head held high, tail wagging, a little spring in his step, and a complete pair of dentures dellicately grasped in his teeth ...smiley side out.  After smothering the laughter and recovering the teeth, my mother gently placed them back on the table, not near the Pepsi glass, but on the National Geographic.  The mystery was solved, and I can still laugh like a fool when I picture the puppy smiling at us. 

I am a thief ...

Oh not of anything interesting.  No, I don't have the missing millions from Iraq, or the paintings from the Gardiner Museum.  I don't even have a real grasp on where Rick Perry's brain cell went to die.  


But, a thief I am nonetheless. 


Emotions, phrases, experiences, trials, tribulations.  All of these I steal from those I know and encounter.  Not to take them away - but to stash them into this little box of "fodder", to be mulled over in quiet times.  Perhaps to include in a story or an idea, that moment of triumph that spurs on a coincidental fearless jolt of energy within me.  


See, I am a writer. Sure, at the moment I am using the word, unadorned and perhaps a bit softer than the other I am's that I could announce.  


But, despite it's being smaller, and somehow "less" it is none of those in import or investment from my perspective.  


As I come to grips with using that as one of the many labels that I can whip out at any moment to give a small descriptive of "who I am"; I also have learned that thief is possibly the one thing that best fits that new me, as it can fit any who have been "writers" before or since. 


The sum total of everything I read, hear, see and do is also somehow, somewhere informing the words I put down here that you, hopefully, read.  And, when something seems familiar, a turn of phrase or the outlines of a situation you encountered you will look back and realize that writers of fiction and fancy are, 
above all, 
thieves. 

Stepping from ennui

It is a curious facet of this thing, this drive to write.  Ennui does raise it's ugly head far more often than it should.  Ennui.  Great word.  That 'meh' feeling with everything.  Funny that it is only a 'meh' feeling with writing.  Writing something worth committing to paper.  Writing something that makes me understand better the compulsion to put it on paper.  For it is a compulsion for me sometimes I think.  There are multiple times a day I think 'that would be good to write one'.  Mull it over for some time, create a line that encapsulates the feeling.  


But then comes the time to commit.  To take that thought and run with it.  Not a huge fan of the 'edit' or the prewrite - often my first step in dancing with a topic is to open the "Create a Post' window and tap away at the keys.  More often than not, of late, the window was just as quickly closed for lack of interest after a few paragraphs were tapped out. 


Tapped out.  That is exactly how it's felt of late.  No interest.  No real sense of purpose. Putting it all down and out there feels so self pitying and attention seeking.  But - it's real. It's there.  That who cares and why should they. 


Then I realized.  The who, well - it has to be me.  That if I want to make something of an idea, that the process, the thought, the writing, the taking the step is what is really the important bit. 
The rest will come. Or maybe it won't.  But, I'll never know if I don't take that step...


Away from Ennui

Can I please complete a thought?

Yeah.  That's a real problem.  Over at the other space - everyone is rehashing their justifications, pointing fingers and well ... enjoying their not being in the spotlight.  Truth for all of them seems to be a malleable concept.  As long as their "truth" is not in the spotlight - or bits are uncovered that conflict with their portrayal of self ... they are silent.  Or behind the scenes gleefully rubbing hands and cackling.  


What's the most interesting part of all of this is the idea of persona.  We all have to agree and recognize that we are only portraying and sharing a part of the essential who we are in our writing.  That as true to ourselves we try to be, and as descriptive and concise with the words we choose - everyone, literally every person who reads this has a different opinion of who I am. 

Some are quite close to who I actually am - but, my dirty secret is that I am ( and always have been ) far more focused and well-spoken in the written word than in person.  Sure - there is editing, but I don't use it that often.  I like the shape and the flow of words in the written form, that connection and focus of just getting the thought out there, without interruption, that allow me to stay focused and optimize my time.  In person, I am quite quiet, and oh so easily distracted, one thought leads to another - or I can pick up a word and have a whole parallel and completely unconnected series of thoughts, words and sentences about that.  So the written me is the 'best' version of the spoken me - the thoughts are the same - just better organized. 


It's this dichotomy that has led me to toss away more ideas than I have kept. Or to stall out midway through the idea, and since I am one who doesn't often spend time writing before I log into my blog and write - I have to have my idea pretty well flushed out and thought through before tapping away to the keyboard. 


So - take this as a small placeholder as an "I am thinking" and will have something worth writing about soon.  


I hope. 


Perhaps when my muse returns from her world tour. 

It's a trend ... or something REALLY important

I say that as if I were the arbiter of 'importance'.  But really - just how many times does the average rational thoughtful human being need to see the same behaviours repeated almost 'to the template' by a group of others before they speak out? 

Today I hit my "critical mass".  One more time was once too often.  See - there are a group of 'self appointed' masters of the other space I blog at.  Funny - on a sex site one would only expect to see master in terms of the dom / sub relationship.  But not here.  These twits are helpfully providing their superior popular half baked opinions on who one should interact with, how one should interact, what you should write on, and *gasp* all you needed to know ( including personal information ) about the 'people' out there.  

The old  .. I know better and the 'whole story' so trust me - coming from someone that you only 'know' from the internet.  Really?  Umm .. can anyone say school days lunchroom anyone?

See - the joy of a site like that is the persona you can create to show the better parts of yourself, or a side that isn't exactly 'ready for primetime television'.  But - there are more who actually are just being themselves - learning from the interactions and discovering a place where you can get advice and be heard.  It strokes that little place we all have that needs stroking and you know what?  It feels GOOD.  Yes - I said it .. it feels GOOD when people appreciate what you think and how you express it.  

But - to every silver lining - there is a cloud - that thick miasma of agenda and jealousy and liars and control.  And they are omnipresent.  They even can, and do, ruin the whole tone and tenor of a space if left to run rampant.  Mud ALL over the place.  And - you could be next.  Because - they can.  If someone doesn't speak up and say - ENOUGH. 

Today I spoke.  Not because I particularly care about any in the game.  I don't.  I just find it completely ironic that the same ones who said it all would be done when they dethroned the 'former queen' are now hot and heavy again.  And the targets - the same - dredging up the old stuff - and throwing in some new for obfuscation.  Just because they are not exactly repeating the story - just adding details.  

I'm tired of being one of those on the sidelines - or one of the 'collateral damage' victims.  Thinking that I haven't a need to speak out is akin to watching the neighbours rousted out of their house at 3 am in 1939 Berlin.  Just because you aren't on that list today -- you could be tomorrow.   There is much being said about kids who are bullied today - and I bring you the genesis .. 

Those who are old enough to be their parents, may be their parents - and should know better.  Wasn't it Christ who said "Whatever you neglected to do unto one of these least of these, you neglected to do unto Me!" ?   

Yeah.  I thought so.

Yeah yeah yeah ...

It's a curious phenomenon for me - I have literally tons to speak on- yet I can't find the thread that makes things actually feel right.  Perhaps this is all somehow woven into the overwhelming cat with cream on it's whiskers that is exactly HOW I feel right now. 

Things are good - no - better than good.  Solid and settled in this relationship at home.  Not in the "oh it's you again" thing, but in that reveling in the enjoyment of each other.  Laughing at bad and slightly ok WHOLLY tasteless comments, listening to him sing, and just being.   Stupid people don't interfere much in those days.  Not really participating in much reading at the other space.  I see some 'highlighted' and have an automatic list in my head that gives me possible 'options' for their posts. 

Oh - and the 'queen' gave up her crown.  **pausing to hand out the airsick bags**  Another pathetic ploy to remain relevant while denying all culpability for the fact that she just isn't a very nice or worthwhile human being.  OK - perhaps harsh.  But - that's me.  I'm not alone in my thinking. 

So - this is little more than a placeholder - there will be more - as I find the words.  Perhaps I just put up a stream of 'thought bubbles' ...   Oh wait.  That is just what this was 

I've been joking

That my muse went off to Euro Disney and didn't even send back a pair of ears. 

I just haven't had the yen to post.  Comment, sure.  But the overall tenor and tone at the other place has made me rather *meh* on the whole process.  I do that far too often .. let the overwhelming attitude of a few miscreants ruin my space..or hamper my desire. 

And well, there isn't alot of interesting stuff happening there.  Sure - there are those I like to interact with, but the majority are in the same August doldrums that hit me like a semi rushing downhill with no brakes. 

Yesterday I actually had the desire to write- to share.  And, of course, my internet and phone and connections all went poofy.  Some node issue.  Fortunately - I am an NPR addict - and love podcasts .. so I had the Apple TV with podcasts loaded and ready for a listen.  So I did.

I discovered the real joy in listening to ideas and learning new approaches.  I learned that there are people who can clearly define an idea that is truly complex, but make it attainable.  I found links to blogs and books and information that I, the true information junkie, had never before seen or explored. 

And - I found out that my inherent distaste for some in the 'public forum' is far less based on my thinking they are idiots, but really do have a root that is tangible and logical. 

And - I know that listening to more podcasts on a near daily basis will become part of my regular routine....

I am a throwback, and I am just fine with that...

So, it's the end of July and I am knitting.  I also have an embroidered piece I am working on, a piece of cross stitch and always have some recipe or another going, for dinner or for treats.  And, I realized something curious: each and every "home maker" type thing I do, be it cooking or handcrafts or even 'how' I clean has some association with wonderful memories of special women in my life.  Women who meant everything to me at one time or another. 

Knitting is an easy one.  Growing up, every woman I knew knitted.  My great aunts, their kids, my mother, and the one who first taught me, a neighbour at my parent's house - who actually was more an additional grandmother to me, and mother to mine.  She was always knitting, mittens, sweaters, hats..you name it she knit it.  It was fascinating to me to see this string become something warm and soft and comforting.  And, the fact that she would let me do it too - magical. 

Embroidery and cross stitch was something I learned from a great aunt on the other side of the family.  Her entire house was laden with needlepoint and cross stitched pillows, and she always sat with a hoop in her hands, working on the next pieces.  I learned on a very small piece, and have completed many, even using the skills to decorate my daughter's clothes when she was little.  I still give pieces as baby gifts and wedding presents: including a linen tablecloth and 10 napkins stitched with cherry blossoms for a friend.  There is something both relaxing and structured, leaving time to think when working a project..and there are always pieces in the works. Less so of late, but I have floss and cloth, so there may be a set of bookmarks and other bits coming from my fingertips soon. 

Cleaning was another thing just learned at a knee.  My grandmother always allowed me to follow along and 'help'.  I learned how to use simple things like vinegar and newsprint for shine and coarse salt to lift stains.  I still prefer to wash my floors 3 times, detergent the first, detergent with water the second, and a third water only ( or with some simple scented oil - usually tea tree ) to take up the last of the soap, make it really clean and add a nice scent to the house.  I still can use paste or liquid wax too - and use blutcher's wax on all of the wood here.  

Cooking is where I most notice the connections.  Not only can it be the most obvious example of nurturing and caring FOR someone, I have tons of recipes directly from my Grandmother that I just 'know' and several more copied from her, or on small cards in her hand.  I was just about 2 years old, sitting on the floor of her kitchen as she was kneading bread dough before the final proofing and bake, when she realized that I was reading her recipe book.  Up to that point, since I was always around underfoot, she would read the recipe aloud, pointing to the words, and gathering the ingredients, often allowing me to "help" by mixing.  That day, by the third ingredient, she realized I was reading her molasses cookie recipe, pages away from the bread she was baking.  From that day onward, I was the designated "reader" for the recipes, as I learned to measure, mix and create the wonders that were to be found in her kitchen.  To this day, there are some recipes of hers that I use, and I can actually hear her voice, instructing, guiding, encouraging.  

Not a bad trade off for my time.

The life of an idea ....

*again, taking from the other site, but a universal .. my apologies to those of you who are getting both**

Or, How I choose what to write on.

Read my blog and know one thing, it is very rare that I expand on ideas that I cannot find some way of making them 'relate' to a bigger picture. The best topics are ones where I can bring a different spin on ideas that everyone has some frame of reference on, or can see how I make connections from idea to post to a conclusion.

At any given day, I can toss off ideas into a file that functions as a "seed storage" for the patches in this garden: see the previous post to find the original analogy.

I then work through my emotions about the issues, because writing without passion or emotion is like writing a technical manual: as nitpicky and plodding to do as to read. Once I have settled my feelings about the idea, I then go to the logic. Finding my examples, drawing my conclusions. Even researching for facts and quotes.

All of this happens while I am mentally composing the post, it's look, it's tone, it's need for facts and examples.

Then, I open the "Add A Post" tab, and write. Editing as I go. Adding in quotes and facts as they fit when my writing starts to take shape. And yes, it is rare, exceedingly rare, that I write a post in word, edit and revise, then post. Most of what you read here is written in minutes, despite the hours I may spend researching.

Then, I hit "post" and read the finished product. Make any corrections needed, and then make a copy for my personal archive.

When I choose a topic, I really don't look to add to the "why's" that have no answer. I rarely write on things that I can't find some logical connection between act and intention, or some guidepost that actually gives hints as to why something is happening, or did happen. Perhaps there are patterns that foreshadowed a conclusion I have recently made, or a question that I have thought about yet still haven't reached a real decision and the unease about the "not knowing" the possible reasons why has me sitting at the keyboard.

It's all a process. And, it's my space so I write what moves me. What I can relate to, and bring my own individual sense and spin to.

And while, I am acutely aware that what I choose to focus on for a post may not hit your requirements of "topical" or "important"..it's all apples and pears to me. Because it is ONE of the myriad of seeds I can put in this garden, it just happened to be ready to sprout.

Thoughts on a Garden

**please note .. this is most of a post that I had at the other space, and think it is relevant to all blogs**

A friend of mine in the blogs, once made a comment about blogs being like your garden.  Requiring careful tending and attention to flourish and bear fruit.

I'm taking the seed of the idea one step further. Because it was an idea that spoke to me in a near perfect analogy of the styles one can encounter with a touch of perseverance and patience.

There are those who are purely ornamental, full of flowery nothingness but contributing to the visual.
The grassy plains - solid, nurturing, feeding the need for information and understanding, basic things but so integral to a well-ordered experience. 

Maze gardens, full of twists and turns that make little sense but always bring you back to the writer when they don't lose your interest with the layers of detail. 

Small kitchen gardens - spice and herb and beauty intermingled to give succor, zip and pleasure. 

Landscaped lawn decoration - a tough rigidly planted and limited in scope - they are unique only for the colours that compliment or contrast to the more wildly exotics. 

Wildflower gardens: less a structured garden but a wild profusion of flowers and butterflies. Open and free allowing nettles to grow as openly and honestly as violets.

English gardens, of the stately homes. Multiple layers and thoughts leading from one to another, encompassing all that one sees, ornamental flowers and shrubs, topiaries, mazes and wildly profuse colours and groupings all set to a theme.

Every blogger has a garden, that needs careful tending where comments and readers serve as fertilizer. Each writer here has the ability to build a garden that pleases them, and helps them to randomly or precisely set forth a path. If you look at your self and memories and reactions as the foundation of you - a house as it were, the garden is the space in which you both invite others in and use as a "testing ground" for new ideas, experimental thoughts and reactions, a place to nurture the seeds of growth and thought. Bring them to flower or just discard them when they aren't fitting in the overall scheme of the seeds you are planting for the results you wish to see.

Some days, it does pay for you to look carefully at your garden...

Why here. Why now. Why?

I could just say that I wanted to blog - that's true.  And I could say that the time was right .. also truth.  The realities of the situation go far deeper.  This is not my first ride at the rodeo, at least where blogging is concerned.  I was on a wonderful site for nearly 5 years, until some corporate yo yo noticed just how wonderful a place it was, bought it, and destroyed the things that made it so good.  So I was blog-less for a while, and opted to other interactive forums for an outlet.


After some dithering about with sites, I ended up stumbling upon a sex site, that offered many different things.  But although I read some blogs, I really wasn't partaking of the offerings there.  What I did find there was a group of people that were in my area who were fun, offbeat, and friendly.  The sex, for most, was an individual thing - and the interactions with people they wouldn't otherwise encounter was the best thing.  It was through that site, and chattering in different areas of the country, and even the world that I started to communicate with A.  Everywhere else I refer to him as the Love Muffin, so LM will do.  

Time came that the relationship for the two of us was more important than any life I was recreating up north, with my daughter in University and spending most of her time either at her school or traveling about the world visiting friends and relatives, the house being sold, and well - work is something I can do anywhere .. I moved.  Still is, was and will forever be the best opportunity taken where that site was concerned.  So - here I am in Atlanta, and rediscover the blogs at this sex site.  Because I have always been one who appreciates what someone thinks, how they think, and how they express themselves far more than any other trait.  About 2 years ago - I started a blog there. 

And I learned.  Much.  My writing improved. There was amazing skill and talent exhibited in many of the bloggers there.  There were topics that went from topical to fantasy to simple jokes to highly personal and often tragic revelations.  Heart warming and heart wrenching stories of personal triumph and tragedy.  And interaction.  Most of what I saw was positive: people finding a commonality and bonding with that, answering questions from perspectives of "having been there".  Then, the ugly side of people, or some people, started to show through the butterflies and flowers.  I don't know how many of you are True Blood watchers, but the point where Sookie sees beneath the faerie exterior to the ugly 'what lies beneath' was as shocking for her character as it was for me.

Because, essentially, some of the things I saw happening, things that were cheered on like Romans watching gladiators waiting for the killing blow was so far beyond anything I could comprehend doing to someone, it was as if I was watching some bad telenovela. 
And, it's not because I haven't dealt with the seedy underside of human nature, but to see it so focused and concentrated, and so relentless was shocking.  And caused me to retreat. Because being associated with that sort of behaviour, because you CAN cause people hurt is just not something I was comfortable with. It's not that I avoided it, some I stepped into not knowing all the sides, others I was dragged into ..but knowingly behaving like a spoiled 12 year old girl who is being challenged for the seat at the popular table, when the school owns all the chairs is really not my thing. 

So - that behavior does ebb and flow, pockets of it never cease, but it's easy to avoid pockets.  Sadly though - the miasma of who was worth trust, belief or even a read rather sucked the fun out better than a dyson. So - I set up house here, different, exponentially more functional. No real concerns about some halfwitted reviewer changing words, eliminating words, removing content, or (my personal favourite ) reporting you for abuse since you talk to xyz and they don't like x so you must believe everything x does and you speak for x.  Yes. It does get that childish. 

But it also does show some of the best things. The people that are admirable for the trials they have endured, those who will make you laugh out loud with a new spin on the word idiot, the interaction and play you can have with the responses and comments.  The few good do outweigh the few bad, but like all things - there may be a time where that space isn't comfortable for me to be me anymore.  It's happened to several, people who have moved over to write here - sharing with a select group the spaces where interaction is appreciated and, because of the history at the other space - comfortable. 
I won't let the few overrun what I do anywhere - especially not at the other blogging space ..but I think that is more an apartment where this is feeling more like a home...

Is it ever really this simple?

I read a line today that simply stated, "he didn't love me like I loved him. Now I look for that sort of return always".  I wondered if anyone would actually distill something as complex as love in a relationship down to measuring just how much you are loved in return?

Apparently they do.  And that makes me sad. Perhaps because I really cannot determine just what would lead someone to make all decisions based on the equality of feeling felt, and just how do you really make those sorts of measures.  Is it as simple as just declaring I love you this much, while spreading your arms?

 
What about who says it more? Do you ask? Do you demand? 

Who determines who is more "committed" to the idea of love, and for that matter, do both people actually HAVE the same idea of love? 

On the whole, the entire idea of being equal in love is rather sad, even after thinking on it.  

I'm not saying that unrequited love is something to throw yourself into, but if I were to measure all of my friends, lovers, relationships into a bowl then one by one decide who always returned my effort equally.  Well, let's just say I won't do that. 

Because I know that I will come up short.  And I know that others will too. 

Because love, to me, is not measured it is felt and freely given.  

Imagination

It's less what you see - but what you 'think' you see. Imagination enables you to form pictures in your head, to project expectations of reactions from those you read, even to create bonds. But, without really meeting someone and being in their sphere, are you really able to form a solid opinion of who they are? 


It's been a series of discussions in many places, with opinions varying depending on how people view themselves, how they have experienced others in their interactions, and perhaps most importantly, how honestly they portray themselves in their interactions. 

This forum is limiting in it's 'exposure' of self only to the degree that I allow it to rein in my wild exposures.  But you never really will know me like the one who lives with me daily does, or like my daughter does, or even as people I work with do.  There are pieces that will only be served by your imagination and perceptions of the me I present to you. 


We are all real people - blogging and writing still must have that human element at the keyboard.  Sure, perhaps we are a better version of self - polishing off those rough edges that we aren't willing to show, even changing our persona to fit what we think will gain popularity.  It's all a defense, like maquillage and  airbrushing - trying to present the best sides for first impression. 


But, as I have extreme difficulties with describing me or my goals in a limited set of words that will always hold true no matter what; I also don't think that my 'telling' you with a series of descriptives the who I am is particularly useful or helpful either.  Because it is up to you, the readers, to decide who is or isn't worth your time to read.  It is your interaction that will be unique with any of the writers you encounter, and then it is primarily just that series of interactions on which you should base your initial impressions of any blogger you read.


Of course, as you become more familiar with the writer, you find things ( like in every relationship ) that don't always sit comfortably, or things that you can admire, and sometimes even that there are commonalities that transcend distance, age, experience and even toughies like politics and religion.  Because, after all is said and done - we are all looking to find those connections, to learn, explore and perchance to grow ....

 

And you thought this would be a regular thing ?

Guess again my pretties ..  I suppose the easiest way to explain would be to tell you that I forgot my password.  Which, in the grand scheme of things is truth. 
Because I have about 12 million of them.  And since A is such a techno geek - all of my passwords are "random generation".  It keeps people out of your stuff.  It also keeps you out of your stuff if you, say, forget to mark them down at the last change and then you do something incredibly brilliant and you erase your history - including your keychain that has all of the 12 million passwords stored there.

But - that would be the simple explanation, for my levels of paranoia and my fascination with technology and having alternates and backups for my backups weren't a habit of longstanding. See - I have 2 gmail accounts - one that I use almost excessively for everything, and one that I specifically designated for use with things that I assume will generate spam.  That was a lesson I learned with an old mindspring account when you weren't allowed multiples and most of my stuff went through there.


So - not only do I have 2 gmail accounts - but the lesser used one was the one under which I created this blog.  And, it never dawned on me ( even after trying to access this space with the wrong account - that it was NOT a password issue, it was a blonde moment. 

So - now that I have found this .. I am back.  And will undoubtedly start to move things about - get clearer formatting and deal with all that.


But - for the moment - it's good just to be. 

The first, but surely not the worst

I have had blogs at other places, but when something is good to you, why not hit repeat? 

Welcome to this little corner of my world.  I will be bringing in other bits from other places, reworking and rethinking ideas

Until next time ~