I can totally *feel* myself covering the same amount of ground in so many fewer strides. Here, I am a giant. I go league by league.

There's the house where we babysat and, finding a mortar and pestle, told our parents there was drug paraphernalia.

That was the house with the trampoline...there, they had a pet skunk. I know all of these houses, and I know their histories.

I can identify the authentic from the imposters. I hear all the quiet mysteries.

My best friend lived here, her mother lives here, still. The split rail fence that never made sense to child me appeals to adult me.

I finally, as a grown adult, fully understand what the punks always said about the suburbs, though I thought I always did.

When everthing is pristine and clean, the old and dirty and out of place is obvious. The lure of a packaged serenity.

I camp out in the wet grass of my mom's back yard and hold these moments slightly, gently...before I let them go.

So it was nice when friend stopped by today to rescue me from my self-inflicted state of doingness. It popped me out of productivity mode for a bit (even though my productivity mode was turning into making lists and watching TV instead of actually doing anything) and it was good to relate to another human being for a bit.

I don't think there's enough of that in my life. Normally, I am not a huge fan of random "pop-ins" from friends, but I am a HUGE fan of talking to people about random things. My day-to-day life doesn't involve enough of that, I don't think. Particularly with people I don't talk to often. I would like to change that, and invite more diverse perspectives and conversations into my life. It's making me really think about an idea that my neighbor M had about possibly having weekly or monthly "cafe's" in my house. Converting my rental room into more of a gathering space for artists and craftspeople or just plain old freaks and weirdos to come and share their knowledge and have conversations and maybe coffee. But how can I do it and still get some money from that space? Do I charge and entrance fee? Do I have workshops and fundraisers? Do I leave out a tip jar and sell $1 cups of coffee?

I've actually had this idea several times over, so it's not like I've never considered opening my home up to this kind of shared, communal space. I'm kind of weird in that I really love talking to and meeting new people, but I also really need a great deal of privacy. I get frustrated with housemate situations, because I always feel like I'm being anti-social with my housemates, and I worry that I seem snooty when I'm actually just retreating to my room to be alone. And I have this huge collection of zines, great music to listen to and share...and friends who do a lot of interesting stuff. It would be so neat if I could offer a space for people to teach and share and sell their creations...and perhaps incorporate some sort of zine library into the space, as well.

This is something I'm going to have to consider while I'm gone. I could easily make that back room more of an office space, and there's still plenty of floor space for movement or creation. It's a pretty versatile space, and has it's own bathroom. What I need to do is fine one person who I can rely on to brainstorm with me and come up with ideas for how to utilize it, how to "market" it, and how to make it happen.

Maybe I can just throw in a couple more washing machines and go with the idea I had to create an anarchist laundromat called "revolutions." hahaha.

Anyway, I know it's a crackpot, hare-brained scheme...but it's worth considering. There aren't enough cozy little spaces for people to just GATHER and talk and share without any sort of intervening commercial interest. Granted, my commercial interest is generating some sort of income for my spare room, but I'm not trying to sell anything other than the space...just trying to find a way to have my space, and my privacy too.

First, I am thankful for my job, and hope it still exists when I return. hahaha. I'm thankful that I have a job from which I can depart for an extended amount of time so I can be with a loved one who is ill. I'm thankful that I have a job that affords me the luxury of being able to afford such a trip. I'm thankful I will be missed while I am gone.

I am also thankful for my friends, who will be looking after things for me while I am gone, and who I can trust and rely on when I need them. I'm thankful for their energy and creativity. I'm thankful for the friends I am temporarily leaving behind, as well as the friends I will be reacquainting myself with. I'm thankful I will be missed while I am gone, and that I will be welcomed back when I return.

I am thinking, specifically, about my friend John, with the photographer's eye that never ceases to amaze me. Mostly because I was just sitting here with another friend, getting psyched about the trip, and showed her his photos and we both were all "Awww....beautiful!...Love him!" And that made me think about John. Always smiling. Always happy. Always sweet. And how thankful I am for the ever-presence of such people in my life. People who rejoice in life completely, and still remain aware of the fact that the rejoicing is itself a privilege to rejoice in...and so we create.

And so, my goal for myself while I am away is to reconnect with that joy in living that doesn't just inspire but ENFORCES creativity. And to find new ways to release that joy...and in so doing, new ways to connect with life.

If I can do that, I will feel satisfied. And I'm pretty sure I can do it...so I'm pretty sure I'll come home feeling very very damn satisfied.

Perhaps I'll write more when I'm there and in it. :)

Key Lime Pie – Camper Van Beethoven – Listen free and discover music at Last.fm

Instructions:

Put fresh sheets on bed and sprinkle them with lavender; open the windows of your bedroom; if it’s night time, light a candle; pour yourself a glass of wine or whatever beverage you deem appropriate; hit play; lay down; relax; enjoy the first day of spring…visualize yourself “stretching out on the tracks for all of the possible places that [you] might arrive…”

♥

And, of course, when my waning desire to blog is validated, the desire to blog ceases to wane and begins to wax...so here I am waxing to all of you who still visit this space on occasion. Call it an update, of sorts. Random meanderings of more than 140 characters, unbelievably.

It's been a wonderful sxsw week so far. To think, before I became involved in the whole interactive festival, I scoffed at sxsw like every other grouchy Austinite, not wanting to deal with traffic and crowds that increase in proportion to your proximity to downtown.

This was the first year in 3 or 4 years that I did not manage to score a pass for the interactive festival. I did not witness a single panel directly, and I did not think I was going to be able to attend any of the good parties, seeing as how I have the children with me this spring break.

And yet...through the miracle of Twitter, I was able to keep up with at least the chatter during the panels, and through the wonders of children who are old enough to throw mama out of the house when her friends-she-only-sees-once-a-year are in town, I was actually able to make it out to some of the best events I've ever attended in the history of my sxsw goingness.

It's wonderful...refreshing...and altogether too rare for me to find time for a party, much less 2-3 parties within the span of a weekend. And yet, this past weekend, I forced myself to make the time, and was so glad for it.

More and more these days I realize how much my life is like it has always been. How I am the sum total of all of my experiences - good, bad, and indifferent - and I'm quite happy with the results. I can't imagine myself being any other way. And I realized this weekend that I have almost always met my favorite people in ways that some people label disconnected, virtual, or otherwise unreal. In high school, it was through zines that I made my best acquaintances - some distant, some close...both geographically and emotionally. These days, I am even less inclined to meet people cold, without some sort of technology-mitigated introduction. My life is busy, hectic, scattered, and oddly scheduled. And meeting people by chance is even more rare than the rarity of actually getting together with the people I DO know and love and, quite frankly, those people take precedence because...quite frankly...most new people I meet bore the living crap out of me. hahaha.

This is why my hackles get raised when people question the legitimacy of online relationships. Of course they are real...regardless of their scope. They are no less real than people you meet while at work, at the gym, at a bar, or in line at a grocery store. None of these situations are more organic than the other, and in any of these situations, people can lie about Who They Really Are and end up surprising you down the road by being Someone Else Altogether.

And so it is that I find myself every year - and occasionally, when I am lucky, more frequently - in the company of some of the most wonderful people I have ever had the privilege to meet. I am so glad I had the opportunity to share a couple of parties, some meals, karaoke, and a lovely adventure involving flowers, cameras, and silliness.

I know everyone thinks their circle of friends are the best. I know it's cliche to say "My friends are the awesomest and I am incredibly blessed to have them." But damnit if it isn't true of all of my little circles. And damnit if I am not blessed. But my twitter/sxswi/nerd circle is remarkable in the same way that most conscientiously selected communities are remarkable. It is a group of people who are all connected in varied and diverse ways, who are committed to learning from and teaching each other via shared experience. Each person has some unique, integral contribution to the group as a whole...and the group as a whole is a spectacular organism. A force to be reckoned with. One that I admire from the outside, and feel fortunate to occasionally participate in from the inside. I could probably write a bunch more superlatives and still not adequately articulate my appreciation for everyone...

So I will just say thank you to my sxsw/twitter nerds for yet another wonderful year of celebration. It's so timely that this event happens every year right before the start of springtime. All of the thoughtfulness, the laughter, the learning, the partying, the hugging, and the LOVE is such a wonderful way to remind myself that this season is all about renewal, hope, joy, and life.

Safe travels to everyone. I will miss your faces and the sound of your laughter, but fortunately I will still have your words...until next year!

So I found myself with what seemed to be an injury a few weeks ago. A tweak in my right foot that ran the gamut from sharp, shooting pain to dull, throbbing ache whenever I would wake up in the morning and first try standing on my foot. I have to say, as old as it makes me sound, I thought it was the freaking weather! I brushed it off, thinking I just needed to walk it out. And I proceeded to maintain my normal level of activity (which isn't terribly strenuous, but I do like to dance around a lot and I love my daily walks!)

It took me about 3 weeks to admit to myself that it wasn't going away. Ha. Hey! I never said I wasn't a stubborn old lady! And I finally admitted that I might need to modify my behavior in order to allow myself to heal. In other words...I have put myself on the injured players list, and instead of heading out with the dog at 2 AM like usual, I am forcing myself to read a book. And instead of getting up and dancing around my bedroom when Sly and the Family Stone comes up in the mix (Uuuuuunderrrrrrdawwwwwwg!)...I shake my bootie in the reclined position only, thank you very much.

And my foot feels much much better. Of course, there's always that period, when recovering from an injury, where you feel better enough to resume activity...but you really aren't. For that, I have a good friend to remind me to sit my ass down and wait it out.

And so, because I like to draw comparisons and create metaphors out of silly things like an old lady injuring her foot because she's a klutz and can't seem to be able to resist twisting ankles or stepping on errant legos...I've been thinking about all of the ways in which we refuse to recognize when we need to take it easy. And how eager we are to continue on as if we feel no pain, when in fact a little rest will renew our vigor and allow us to invest ourselves in our activities with greater enthusiasm. Not to mention how being sidelined brings the importance of our normal activities into sharp focus. I mean, I have always appreciated my daily walks, but now I YEARN for them. And perhaps the pining away is good for me. I've always said that the better part of love is the longing.

What else, I wonder, physical, mental, emotional...what else do I need to take a break from? Are there things from which a break would allow not renewed vigor, but a realization that I didn't really need to be doing, thinking, feeling it in the first place? Are there things I have taken a break from inadvertantly or unconsciously that I need to renew?

And what have we collectively been neglecting? Obviously we, as a nation, have just rid ourselves of a horrifyingly debilitating entity. How long do we allow ourselves to heal before we do in fact, pick ourselves up, put our best walking shoes on, and go forth bravely into this new era.

I'm being told that the time is now, but I feel like I am still nursing some wounds.

It's
just that for once
It's a spectacle I can enjoy.

And yet, I wonder if that's just what being a writer is all about. This endless need to reinterpret events even as they are happening. To draw analogy and metaphor from life itself. Or am I merely justifying my own insanity by calling it art in some form.

I told him "I lost my zen." He said "Don't worry. You always do that."

But I found it, and took a walk, listening to music. Trying not to trip myself from kicking myself. "I'm so freaking MAD AT MYSELF!" Was what I was screaming inside my head.

It must have been just about exactly a year ago that I last saw her. I'm finding all sorts of reasons to justify having not seen her since. Self-pitying me says that I deserved to choose my last memory of her, and wouldn't she prefer it this way? Is it egotistical or insecure to think that I did/did not matter enough in a person's life to have my presence be desired?

But it was such a wonderful last way to remember her. So the mystical me tries to convince me that it was meant to be the last time. It was meant to be goodbye. And then the self-flagellating (and perhaps justifiably so) me smacks me upside the head with the memory of her specifically saying how much she wanted company. How abandoned and isolated she had felt.

He tells me "You can't help it, babe. You are busy. You have a busy life." He tells me "It's not your fault."

But it is my fault. Because there is a choice in whether or not to be a presence in someone's life. There is a decision in that. Even if it's to not. And I have made that decision about many people in my life. And this time I was wrong. And this one I regret.

There is so much temptation in these moments to draw conclusions about my own life. I think to myself...how cliched to frame the death of another person with one's own neurotic observations about oneself, as if it had anything to do with her.

"Sick of the solemn solipsism of the first person...(I) think it would be a good idea to stop narrating," she texted.

He responded, "haha. Probably."

Anyway, I decided that I need to make a list of the good and bad habits I have developed during this break, so maybe in 5 years I will read them again and go "Oh crap! I should have kept doing that!" Or "Criminy! THAT'S when I started doing that! I need to cut that out!"

(I'll let you decide which of these habits are good, and which are bad! I'm sure I don't know.)

• laying in bed surfing the internets until 11 AM (or later, as evidenced by the time this is being posted.
  
• staying up until 3 in the morning, dancing around my room and listening to music.
  
• writing endless love-struck entries in my private journal.
  
• NOT watching news shows.
  
• Playing the Sims 2 (until my computer decided spontaneously that it can't handle the graphics, and started to blank the screen within 5 minutes of startup time.)
  
• Planning and plotting news ways of being creative in the upcoming year.
  
• Totally embracing my oddness, my kids' oddness, and our odd ways of communicating oddness.
  
• REALLY not putting up with any bullshit from people, and not pretending to be nice and happy when I'm not feeling nice and happy.
  
• Making a conscious effort to not complain.
  
• Using google task lists excessively
  
• Going out to be among friends whenever the opportunity arises, rather than giving in to my hermitude and staying home.
  
• Making plans with people, rather than waiting for people to make plans with me.
  
• Driving less, walking more.
  
• Folding clothes right out of the dryer when I go to the laundromat
  
• Using the dryers at the laundromat more frequently (when I can't hang clothes out on the line)
  
• Not stressing about work so much.
  
• Actively envisioning and articulating a "plan B" for my life.
  

I'm sure there are more...maybe I will add them as I think of them. Have your habits changed over the holidays?

And I am so mad they don't appear to have a podcast, because it was an awesome show. (More and more, as I grow accustomed to dvrland, I find myself wanting to rewind the radio.)

Anyway, the boys were unimpressed with all of this Hank Williams malarky. I tried to explain to M. that Hank Williams influenced a WHOLE BUNCH of artists that he probably enjoys to this day, or is at worst twice removed as an influence. He wasn't buying it. "Mom." He explained, "this is *folk* music."

"Yeah, and?" I pressed...and then, resigned, sighed "Oh, you will understand once you are older and get your heart broken once or twice."

I could hear him rolling his eyes at me in the back seat "I'd rather take up DRINKING than listen to FOLK music."

"Well, ha!" I giggled, "They pretty much go hand in hand, my dear."

When I finally gave up on the punch bowl, I went to stand in line at the one open checkout counter. It was a dude who was being harassed by a woman who was disputing the price of an item he had rung up. He handled the situation with such calm, sincere helpfulness, I was somewhat amazed. And impressed.

By the time I was next in line, they had opened another check out counter, but I didn't bother moving. I was kind of mesmerized by the way this dude was handling the crowds, being polite, even when people weren't polite to him...and just dealing with things in a totally even-handed manner.

When it was time for me to check out, he asked me how I was doing as he rang up my mugs. I said fine, thanks...how are you? His answer: "I am blessed."

Blessed. It's such a perfect word, isn't it? Although it is often used in a religious context, it's also delightfully secular (occasionally even seXular, as I originally accidentally typed there.) Not only that, but it's very, very true. I am blessed. And I hope I can remember that when I am faced with situations that require me to respond with polite, sincere aplomb.

I hope you all have a blessed new year.

Anyway, my idea is this...52 walks a year. It's simple. You choose a walking path that you will be able to commit to traversing weekly. The size of the path is dependent on your ability to reliably walk it once a week at least. It can be around the block, around a lake, or around an entire city (I suppose biking would work, too.) You walk the path once a week at various times of the day, changing it up a bit with each walk. And while on that walk, you document the experience in some way...whether it's photographs, sketches, musical track mix, sound recording, or actual writing of words upon return...

...and if we get multiple people doing this, it's like a huge collage of interpretations and reinterpretations of an oft-traveled path...and in creating these interpretations and reinterpretations, we end up demonstrating and meditating on the endless novelty of the absolutely mundane. :)

Anyway, that is, I guess my project for the new year. And the moral of my project is that I am going to spend 2009 learning how to be absolutely fascinated by the familiar.

I was telling K that it pisses me off that part of being a grown up is this annoying realization that there are no freaking absolustes, and you just. can't. make. assumptions that the way you perceive and experience the world around you is not the same way those you are surrounded by are experiencing it. And those rare and wonderful intersections in life where you can at least communicate or relate your experience in some abstract and approximate way with another human being are to be coveted and recognized as absolutely precious.

And I related to K a love story from my past. My distant past. And it's a story that I am sure has benefited from an age and a half of romantic forgetfullness. In fact, it's possible the actual order of events was completely fiction. I'm sure there was more strife in the relationship than what I related, but regardless, the story that unfolded was kind of beautiful, and sincere from my standpoint now. And my memory of the individual moments of the stories are all very positive ones, which I know to have been true. And I remember my exact feelings and have evidence through journals of my exact thoughts, crazy though they were. But my point is that it's amazing to me that I can still so distinctly FEEL the texture and warmth of a love that lasted for 2 years 20 years ago, and both smile and cry at the retelling of it...

And I still have all of the love letters. hee hee. I am nothing if not a total freaking sap.

I am encouraged by the existence that love is out there. That it has existed in my life in several varying shades and rhythms, and no one experience was any more or less value strictly due to his tenure or tenacity. I am shaped by *all* of my experiences, and my chosen response to them. And if I like who I am now, which I most certainly do, it is only because of that mish mash of perception, with a small dash of arbitrary reality, has made me that person.

And it's nice, because when being given the opportunity to peer into the windows of a different house of love, I learn to appreciate all that I have had in my life, and all that I have...and will have.

Forever and forever and forever.

The 12-year old birthday party went off swimmingly. Throughout the night, I was amazed and delighted by the wonderful young men all of my friends' boys are growing into. They were all well-behaved and sweet to me, and all seemed to have an awesome, fun, rocking time. I managed to capture some of the sweetness on video, which I'm glad for. Lots of video gaming, junk food eating, dancing around, noise making fun. Most of the boys stayed up all night (which I hope didn't piss off any parents...but every time I was tempted to make them go to sleep, I would walk out into the living room, and they were all having so. much. fun. I just didn't have the heart to make them stop) and I didn't even OPEN my bottle of wine. None of them drove me crazy. Not even Cole, who is known for being The Kid Who Throws The Temper Tantrum Whenever Guests Are Over. Sniff. My boys. They are all grown up.

It is cold in Austin. I can tell this because everyone is wandering around bundled up in sub-zero proof winter clothing, and wondering if stores will be closed due to "inclement weather." Seriously...Austin is like the little grandkid sitting at the knee of the grandfather who had to walk uphill to school both ways in the driving blizzard. Meanwhile, I throw on my cable-knit sweater and my arm warmers, and I am set. Of course, this makes me an awful, terrible parent because I always assume that it's much more bearable to the children than it is. So tomorrow we go to Target and get a fresh batch of hats and gloves for the kids to wear for the 5 cold days we will have, and then promptly lose on the playground when they throw them off on that day that it starts out at 37 degrees and ends up 93 degrees. Ah, Austin...

I was thinking today...there is a lot I will endure in terms of craziness to witness the genius of a true artist. I'm lucky to have some in my life. What amazes me even more are the people who don't realize that the 98% of things we love about artists are produced by the same tendencies of the 2% of things that drive us crazy about them. Fuck it...with some artists that I know, if there was 2% of truly great art in them, and 98% of the crazy...I'd probably still call it a wash. We need poets, we need painters, people. Deal with it. This world is not fit for sensitive souls.

More and more I am understanding that I am an introvert...and that extroverts have no idea how to relate to me. I'm thinking I need to write a book about the care and feeding of the introvert in your life. My housemate, for instance...great guy. Really nice person. EXTREMELY extroverted. He's always assuming that if I'm out of my room, I am up for conversation or being led in multiple direction, and I get the sense that it hurts his feelings when I'm not incredibly responsive to him. It's because I'm an introvert...and I wander around in a cloud of my own creation...It might LOOK like I am there, but I am not. And I do not want to be disturbed, but I'm too nice to tell you to go away. hahaha.

Sometimes I wonder if I am fit to live with people.

Sometimes I feel sorry for my children.

Then I realize they don't have to go to school, and that I'm basically a big pushover, in spite of my occasional bouts of grouchyness, and I don't feel so bad anymore.

I should be working right now, and I am not. I am distracted by the upcoming holidays. Yeah, that's my excuse and I am sticking to it.

I hope my boss isn't reading this...and if she is, I hope she doesn't fire me or take away my penny raise.

Did I mention I really love my job?

This time of the year makes me insanely happy. In a day or so, the kids will be at their dad's for a week, and I will spend my time wandering around Austin taking random pictures of things and pointing. Oohing and aahing.

I just yawned really big.

And loud.

I guess I should listen to myself and go to sleep.