I love random titles. I LOVE them. LLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGG titles that have little or nothing to do with the actual substance of the post, or paragraph. Or perhaps they do, but indirectly. I also love fonts and punctuation and the lack of good grammer every once in a while. Virginia Woolf, baby. Toni Morrison. let's just write big old long sentences that cover anywhere from three to seven topics and are glaringly void of even a comma let alone a semi colon. People just love to throw around commas. Makes me nuts. And they love to make possessives when nothing belongs to anybody or anything! Makes me nuts again! But I am a nerd. Lion, however, is much much much oh so much better about The Rules Of It All. I wish I could just walkie-talkie her throughout my day with questions one would normally either take to a dictionary or just guess at. But none of this is really important to you guys. I'm just trying to WRITE. Because I need to. I feel compelled. And I tried to do a fake post to get it all out, but since I knew the whole time that it was fake, it was a bust. I actually had a conversation this past Friday while watching sand volleyball about the incorrect use of good and well. How one is an adverb and one is an adjective. And how I never really learned about the structure of English until I studied German. Dork alert!
In writing courses the instructor always says to just start writing. Anne Lamont, whom I want to give a big hug to and drink a beer with, says to start with a memory. I remember sitting in my grandparents' (dad's) kitchen when I was quite small. The tablecloth was white and red checked, like one you'd take on a picnic. Vinyl, I think. (Or maybe that's just my preconceived ideas mixing in with the memory. ) My grandma has given me something to eat in a fairly large bowl. She is cooking something on the stove, I always think beans cause I never liked them as a child, and my mom is there. We had a back-and-forth about my distaste for the beans. When I have memories, all of my senses come alive. I see the tablecloth, my mom, my round grandma, the screen door open to the yard, the stove. I feel warm with happiness and safety and from the heat of the stove. And I immediately jump to standing near some evergreens when it is much cooler outside and watching rabbits hop about. A man, either my Uncle or my Grandpa, is standing near me and my sister; he is telling us about how the rabbits' fur changes with the seasons. (Is that even true?) I then see myself sitting in a tan lazy boy, all alone in the living room. The grown-ups have converged upstairs to tackle The Stuff In The Attic of my grandparent's home. Or maybe it is my great-grandma's. Isn't it funny how the "important" details (I love those quotations) slide down and down and down in importance as the feelings and the smells and the lessons move up up up? I am sitting in this oversized chair considering the fact that I have been left to my own devices and listening to the chatter and the "oh mygoodnesscanyoubeliveits?" of my parents and aunts and uncles when I hear my father shout and the entire second floor erupt in really loud "ohmygoodnesscanyoubelieveits." He's found a porcelain doll. Later we will take it to be restored. This I remember as well; I think dropping it off. I was spell-bound by this doll for ages. She and her teeny tiny coin purse have been on display in a cabinet my dad bought my mom as either a birthday or anniversary present. There's still a penny inside her coin purse, and a skeleton key for the cabinet--both of which I opened on occassion just for a peek at something beautiful and old.
That cabinet is now home to a doll I bought in Germany and a few pieces of the Berlin Wall from just outside of Berlin. Still not sure how I feel about having picked them up off the ground, but I couldn't let myself leave them. That was a fantastic trip after I got over flipping out. I was going into my junior year of high school, but you'd have thought I was four. I simply couldn't control the monsoon of emotions, the anxiety, the rock sitting in my gut. But after about a day and a half I regained my composure and began to not only have fun, but open myself up spiritually. Something about all that time spent listening to an old language in old buildings in an old country just makes you feel alone with God. One day I started to slip back into the gut-wrenching-almost-losing-it as I walked around a lake town (which was infested with spiders by the way, but that is another story) all by my lonesome when a ladybug landed on my arm. In Germany, ladybugs are a symbol of good luck or well-wishing. I took it as a little pat on the back from the Lord that everything would be okay--and that I could never truly be alone even if I wanted to be. I was standing outside a souvenier shop, wearing a long (no doubt floral print) skirt and a yellow tee. My hair was long then. I must have looked very young and very lost. I remember thinking, "stupid Americans" as our group from across the U.S. visited the very churches and castles where Martin Luther preached and lived. I not only felt young, but I felt the youngness of my country.
I'm so sorry if this is boring, but I simply cannot help myself. And besides, it can't be THAT awful if you are still reading it. I mean, you've stuck it out this long......
Today was good. No big news to report. I rearranged my living room, but Punkin seems okay with it since his beloved chair and TV are still there. I played Bunko tonight. I cannot stand playing games, but this is so fast and so mindless that it doesn't really count. It's once a month with people from work. Punkin had to tag along tonight, and he did very well considering he was out way past his bedtime. He watched Nemo and only got upset towards the end. I didn't win anything, but I did enjoy two chocolate brownies--with chocolate chips.
I am selling my wedding dress if anyone is in need. =) For those of you who are internet friends, I was engaged to Punkin's dad at one time. Our relationship moved at hyper-speed, and we were planning our wedding within a year of meeting each other (before we found out I was pregnant, even). But I came to my senses in enough time to get the deposit back from the photographer and florist (very gracious of them) but not the reception hall (ouch to mom and dad). So we had a big party anyway and it was very fun, actually. We even put stickers on the wedding bubbles and put them in a basket for people! But now I have a wedding dress (with the tags still on it--never even tried on) that was purchased for a bigger, pregnant, and just different me as well as three bridesmaids dresses. So that's my project. Get my mom some of her money back. Jennie gave me a good site, so I think I'll start there. Oh, and the engagement ring? Ya, we won't go there today. Its fake self is in my jewelery box. Very pretty, but not so much real. Found that out after I ended up footing the bill for it. Young, thoughtless, stupid decisions. I won't say young, thoughtless, stupid me, even though I thought of it, because I was never stupid. Kinda like we tell the preschoolers: I still like you, I just don't like the choice you made when you punched Timmy in the nose.
I suppose I'm done now. On to Crickler!