Like sand through the hourglass...

Oct 25, 2009 at 4:24 PM
Yesterday, I saw an album in a second hand shop; embossed, engraved, embellished, with an ivory front cover.

"Floral Album" it was called, hand-painted flowers on most pages.

Carefully preserved photos of a family - tintypes through 1930s.

Absolutely lovely.

I was struck with sadness at an entire family history sitting in a second hand shop, no way to discover the identities of portraits or surviving kin.

Someone dearly loved these people, these memories. Now, I think it likely that this someone is dead. Probably their family moved away, no longer caring, or didn't collect their grandmother's treasured things from the old-folks home after they died or some other such.  Why do we even stuff our old people away now? When did that become acceptable?

This was like finding someone's family Bible in the library. It is a symptom of a lost culture of treasuring family. It is why places like facebook need to allow you to own your intellectual property, archive all photos and your own profile locally for safekeeping, or archive the dead's profiles instead of deleting. A sort of online gravemarker.

 There needs to be a preservation society for these pioneer days online. I don't want to think how important it might be to my grandkids to have access to my ramblings on this blog, or to the descendants of miley cyrus to read her famously-deleted tweets later on.

Just thoughts.

No more easy way out

Oct 24, 2009 at 4:02 AM

I've decided to stop using my camera's automatic features. Manual as a digital camera can get.

Here are two shots.

One is the neat flowers coming off my Isabella plant.



Another is the cute as a button Clementine sleeping below the rubber tree on my desk. I love that she won't sleep unless its on a piece of paper or her favorite - the grocery store shopping bag.




My fondest desire

Oct 18, 2009 at 3:44 AM
I want to matter so much to someone that it hurts them when I hurt, my absence is felt as a keening loss, and my hopes are his hopes. I want to have every breath I take matter, every smile I make lighten his heart. I want to matter that much to someone else, and I want to care that much for someone.

I just felt like maybe saying it out loud would help.

I jump readily into caring about people. I'd have no trouble upholding my end of that deal.

I simply have never had anyone care about me as much as I'm willing to care about him, as much as I was happy to throw myself into it.

If I've ever said that I jump into things too quickly, I wasn't saying that I thought that was a bad thing. I think it's a positive, not a negative.

You cannot live or love too deeply.

My Dear Aunt Sally

Oct 2, 2009 at 5:16 PM
Random non-sequitur thought:
I recently learned a brand new phrase for my monthly cycle - "A visit from my Aunt Flo" - oddly annoying and circumspect. Why not simply say "on my period"? Or "monthly cycle"? or anything. It's very antiquated, as though one must avoid such delicate subjects in any kind of company still in today's world. We no longer live in Victorian pristine envelopes of perfume and silk. This is the world of Jackass and WTF and avoiding meth-heads at the supermarket. But still, the longer I mull this new idiomatic darling around in my lexicon, the less I hate it. "Aunt Flo" - I don't hate at as long as it's Aunt-rhymes-with-taunt not ant-rhymes-with-pant - calling your parent's sister an insect just chafes my hide - I hate it.

Back to the point, and what I was planning to write about.

I have never had as packed a schedule as I've lately had.

Since the beginning of August, my schedule has been so packed as to literally require writing it out on a planner.

I've got things to take the girls to, such as martial arts lessons and horseback riding lessons and the Library (add at least 1.5 hours for travel time), I've got trips planned, I've got cats to get fixed, and even a hair appointment. And I think November looks to be no different. Or December. Come to think of it. January's packed, too. I think things only will start to calm down in February. Maybe.

I know this seems like a normal thing to all of y'all who live by your day planner, but I've never been this organized or busy in my life. I'm working just as much as usual, but I'm slowly cutting out my everything else.

Hence the 'no time to blog' problem.

I feel even more like a grown up than usual. And I'm gonna miss you, but I have a book to start writing and work to do and children to educate/entertain.

It's crazy but I actually like it. I like being this busy, this productive, having this much happening. I thrive in highly random environments. I'm more productive. Remember last year when I complained that my life is too static here? Well I've been adding more into it little by little to make it more interesting and I honestly don't think I can stuff in even one more thing right now.

Maybe I'm starting to bring the city out to me?

On yet another tangential aside, having no relationship to anything previously said, Miranda was petting the kitten in front of the fireplace yesterday, after just starting the fire going. She put the kitten down and said "Off you trot!" just so. It was so very old fashioned. She didn't learn it from me. And I felt a stinging burst of pride for raising a child so obviously fond of disappearing culture. She definitely gets that from me.

It reminds me of Libs' "Oh-Dear" stage. Everything my little sister said that others would have used a cuss for, Libs just said "Oh, Dear!" - must have been eight years or so of it. She got it from somewhere else - I'm not one to say that. I say "For the Love of Pete" or "For Pete's Sake". Always have. Not in honor of my regular commenter Mr.Pete - just cause I have. Had to come up with something when the girls were little... Other than "the FUCK word" (as Aurora accidentally called it the other day while complaining about movies), of course.

I think I killed it by being so very fond of the times I overheard it. One has to be careful not to tread to heavily - either fondly or in reproach - on the things you hold most dear that children choose to do. Especially if your reaction is not quite the one that was desired. I think that is what happened to the "Oh-Dear" stage.

All right, enough for now.