ImPerceptibility

Archive for June, 2007

The wind picked up and the temperature dropped. I saw darkness approaching from the south. I saw the lightning and heard the thunder. My body was a mixture of excitement and fear. I waited for the shouts of anger and frustration as the rain poured down and soaked us. The storm was coming.

Just minutes before my little girl had been playing football with some other little kids. I smiled as they tossed the ball and chased each other in circles. I laughed as they tripped and fell on each other and rolled in the grass. He reached down to give her hand getting up. I watched as he awkwardly put his arm around her and patted her on the back. I watched very closely when she grinned at him with an awkward smile and his cheeks turned red.

“I think they are flirting with each other!” I told his mom.

She said, “Yeah” and we stared at other in disbelief. We heard the thunder. It was loud and clear. We both looked at the ground and sat for a few minutes in silence.

A dark cloud was making its way toward my peaceful existence. It was honing in, moving slowly but steadily, waiting for the right moment. It isn’t here yet but it will be. I am not welcoming it but I am not fighting. Fighting would be in vain. All I can do is sit here and wait, and hope she’s a lot smarter than I was.

I had an interesting conversation with my seven-year-old daughter a few days ago. She asked me what part of your body is the stick.

I stood there staring at her and thinking of a word that might be confused with stick. You know the one I thought of. It ends with Cheney or Clark.

“Where did you hear that?” I asked.

“The drywall guys said it.” she said.

I was not sure what to say. I try to be honest about stuff like that, but only if I have to.

“What did they say?” I asked.

“They said, ‘I want to kiss you in the stick.’ They were singing” she replied.

I was dumbfounded and started to sweat. Then I remembered the song.

 ”Ohh!” I laughed. “The sticks means back in to woods. It’s not a part of the body.”

“That makes sense.” She said.

“Yes, it certainly does.” I said as I stopped sweating.

She ran off to play with her sister. I was glad I didn’t have to yell at the drywall guys.

Now for the question that keeps going through my mind: Is checking someone for ticks really all that sexy? I can understand what’s being implied.  What if you found one? Wouldn’t that kinda kill the mood? I had to remove a tick from my daughters armpit once. Let me tell you, it is not something I like to think about. I’m sorry Mr. Paisley, ticks are not sexy.

[Update: I’ve been thinking about it. It might be a little sexy…If your not busy, Brad, stop by. I’ll pack a lunch. We can go for a drive. Bring your guitar…]

‘Those boys aren’t worth gettin’ all worked up about. But he sure gave me a good price on drywall’

I’ve spent years getting rid of my accent. It’s an odd mixture of the accents from English, Irish, and German settlers. If you put all those accents in a remote area and blend them together for 200 years or more, funny things happen. Sounds change, vowels soften, and unusual sounds take on meaning. Words seem to move around in sentences and find themselves in the most unlikely places. This happens you may have noticed in my writing. It didn’t take me long to figure out no one would take me seriously with my accent. I did a good job loosing it. Mostly. I thought.

Some guy’s are in there hanging drywall right now. Country music is playing on their radio and the sound of drills and hammers are echoing through my house. I’m sitting here at my dining room table with a smile on my face. It won’t be long before I’m buying paint and hanging curtains.

They showed up yesterday to drop off the supplies. My doorbell rang just after 9:00. I ran to open it. They weren’t sure if they could deliver the drywall today. Looked like they could.

“Hello! I’m glad you made it. How are you today?” I said opening the door.

“I’m all right. The truck will be here…” he continued after that but I didn’t hear what he said. I was stuck on the all right.

He finished up with, “How are you today?”

I took a breath and responded with my own ‘all right’. It was the same as his. It starts out slow and soft and ends up quiet but sharp. The vowels change slightly and there is a sound in the middle. I don’t know what that sound is, but I’ve only heard it in one place. The place I grew up.

While we waited for the truck he talked about his son, I about my daughters. I heard all about his sister-in-law. I confessed I was glad my kids weren’t babies anymore. It may seem odd to discuss your life with someone you just met. But I knew him.

He was rough around the edges and soft on the inside. It wasn’t hard to notice his attractive but not too pretty face or the real muscles in his arms. I’m pretty sure he grew up he spending his summer evenings beside the river with beer and campfires. Telling big lies to impress the summer visitors or trying to scare them with stories of killer eels. I can imagine he spent his teenage years back in the woods or down at the beach trying to be sweeter to the girls than he knew how to be. I’m positive he has spent the last 25 years earning every dollar he has ever made. Of course he would have been complaining the whole time, even though he was happy he wasn’t sitting behind a desk.

I watched as he drove away. Off to another job. It was a few hours later I realized I had misplaced some things. I have to get them back. Have you seen my g’s?

Enough of all this melancholy and quiet introspection that is taking over my favorite portions of the blog world.   I hate to say it but we’re getting a little too deep around here guys.  It’s time to stomp out the virus with a little sunshine.  I want to laugh, giggle, or even open my eyes wide in shock or horror.  The first person to make me spit out my diet coke or choke on a roasted soybean will receive… I don’t know. What do you want? 

 I know you can do it.  I have the utmost faith in you.  Now man your keyboards and get to work. 

This might make you smile.  Or it might be one of those things you had to be there for. 

Way back before I had a husband I had a fiancée. Before that I had a boyfriend. I’m a conformist like that. One night a boyfriend, my last boyfriend, asked me to marry him. This is the point most future wives get all teary-eyed and gushy. I know this because I’ve seen it on TV. I however didn’t.

I said, “Are you serious?”

He nodded his head yes and told me how much he loved me. Then asked me again. I had a second chance.

I said, “Really?”

He told me that yes, he really wanted to marry me. I hugged and kissed him over and over. After about five minutes of hugging and kissing he interrupted me. “Well, are you going to marry me or not?!”

I finally said yes.

It was the right thing to say.

If you find it difficult to move on, consider that just as people in your life may come and go, your role in others’ lives may also be temporary.

 I am currently working on a really good post. It’s thoughtful, insightful, humorous, and well edited.

Do you think if I type that a bunch of times it will come true? Probably not. I’d get tired of typing and just cut and paste it over and over. That’s the problem. I like a lot of things. When I get bored with one I just jump to the next. It’s a constant cycle of mediocrity.

I was reading an article and one sentence stuck in my head. The sentence said something like – find what you like to do and just keep doing it. That sounded great to me. Except I like to do a lot of things. There is really no one thing that I really love to do. I enjoy many different things in many different ways. I am very open-minded like that.

In high school I took a test that was supposed to tell me what type of occupation I was best suited for. I was thrilled. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and was really looking forward to a little guidance. The guidance counselor met with me to discuss the results. She showed me a chart that listed my strengths. Anything in the shaded section is an area in which you have a strong aptitude. Almost everything was in the shaded section. I was mad that I had wasted so much time taking the stupid test in the first place.

The guidance counselor had a big smile when she told me I could do anything I wanted. My mom had a big smile when I told her I could do anything I wanted. I was depressed. I didn’t know what I wanted. I still don’t.

So I’ll just sit here and wish that I had one all consuming passion that I could focus on at the exclusion of all others. Something that would prove right all the people that told me I had an amazing mind and prove wrong all the people that underestimated me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll figure it out. Or maybe the next day. Right now I am currently working on a really good post. It’s thoughtful, insightful, humorous, and well edited. (Yeah, Ctrl C, Ctrl V) I’m off to bake some bread and draw more eyes in my sketch book. Then I might knit a baby sock and weed my flower garden. I’ll enjoy all of it, be kinda good at most of it, but I won’t be exceptionally good at any of it.

I wish someone had told me I would never be any good at something. I think that would be the one thing that I could be passionate about. I can be defiant like that. But really, what would be the point in that. Being passionate about proving someone wrong doesn’t seem like a good thing to be passionate about.

What do you think? Is it better to be really good at one thing or kinda good at many things? Does enjoying what you do make up for the lack of skill or talent? What would you choose, a great passion for one thing you do very well or the ability to enjoy many things you do adequately?

I heard a song on the radio. It was a sad song and I ended up crying. I didn’t cry because I understood the song. I cried because I was happy I didn’t. Then I made a mistake. I went and found the song on Youtube.

I watched it several times. Then I made another mistake. I dug down deep into the directories on my computer. About six levels deep I found what I was looking for. Six levels deep is too deep for a chance encounter. You have to want to go there to find those files. Those are the files that contain the things I don’t want to see or remember but can’t delete. The file I was looking for sat there.  It has an unassuming name. It’s the same as the first name of my uncle. Mike.

Mike is my uncle because he fell in love with my mom’s sister. They married and the rest is history. My childhood memories are ones of a tough guy, a Vietnam vet, and a heavy drinker. I know him now as a tough guy with a huge heart, a Vietnam and Iraq vet, and a former heavy drinker that knows better.

I opened the file and read the first few e-mails. They were light hearted and up-beat. Here’s one I sent him.

10-29-2004 Since I figured you wouldn’t send me a list of things you needed, even under threat of camel attack, I had [my husband] ask some people over there what they would want. They came up with quite an interesting list. After removing everything that was illegal or immoral I narrowed it down to one thing. It is on it’s way with a full box of snacks and such. I hope you get it soon.

From his e-mails I read about the dust and dirt. He described sandstorms and gave me links to pictures for the girls. We joked about camels and goats. My youngest warned him not to get sand in his underwear. My oldest started her first of many warnings about camel spit.

Shortly after that the war and the tone of his emails changed. I stopped watching the news.

we can not tell where we are over the web. you would not believe how poor the people are here. it`s really sad. i hope we do some good for this country.

we have move back down the country and it is not too happy a place. we have been getting hit off and on but that’s part of the job. i will be glad when the job is over haha

this is going to be short but we have been catching some stuff here

the wound in my hand is better. a piece of shrapnel went thru it. It’s hard to believe that i walked away from it. it hit 40 ft from me. my pants had holes in them and my soft cap had a hole thru it and the only thing hit was my hand

I read through those e-mails as fast as I could. Later I read about the attack on the mess hall. He described the service for the men that had died. I remembered how badly I wanted him home.

It was a few more months before he came home. They were long months. Months where everyone worried and obsessed and tried not to watch the news. I tried not to think about what I’d tell the girls if anything happened. I tried not to think about his mother at his funeral. I tried just at hard not to think about him being over there for hers.

Just before he left we had a party. His mother was there. She was not well but as fiesty as ever. She scolded him for being too old to fight in war. He grinned like grown men do when they are scolded by their mom. Then he went out and jumped on the trampoline with the kids.

“When he left for Vietnam I gave him some coins. I told him to call me. I never thought I’d have to go through this again. He better get his behind home in one piece or I’m gonna kill him” she said shaking her cane.

We all laughed. It was a sad kind of laugh.

He was over there for Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Then finally, he came home. The last e-mail in my file tells it’s own story.

Dear Uncle Mike, I am glad that you are back home almost, even if it is in New Jersey. Are you glad that you are back in the United States? Did you see Aunt Deborah yet? Grandma is glad you are back home. I can’t wait to have Christmas with you. It will be so fun. The camels can’t get you now as long as you don’t go to the Zoo! Ha ha Hurry Home Love [my oldest]

Dear Uncle Mike, I have a new best friend her name is Marla and she is my age. She is really nice and a little sister like me. She is going to visit tommorrow. Her uncle is going to Afghanistan near Iraq. I told her about the camels and goats so she will tell him to watch out. I am glad you are home. Love [my youngest]

It always makes me sad in so many different ways.

My laptop and I have had a falling out. When we first started we could spend hours together. Me typing away. Telling it all my hopes and dreams. It would blink its lights thoughtfully as I expressed my fears and weaknesses. He made me feel like a natural woman. It was the sweet start to very promising relationship. Just as most things that are new there was excitement and great desire to be together. Unfortunately, recently, things have not been the same.

The same keys that I loved to press seemed distant and cold. The touch pad that my index finger gently caressed didn’t seem as bright as it had once been. I worked hard to keep the feeling. I struggled with a laptop that did not feel for me that way I felt for it.

I tried to make it jealous by snuggling up with my sketchbook and a few freshly sharpened graphite pencils. We had a great time. I drew pages of hands, pages of chibi, a few mouths, and Cathy. I think her name may be Cathy. But I’m not sure. I’m going to work on her a bit. I think she has a story to tell. I’ll let you know how it goes.

So if you don’t hear from me as often as before – don’t worry. I’m sitting cross-legged on my living room floor surrounded with colored pencils, charcoal, ink pens, and a glass of ice water. There are singers in cowboy hats serenading me from my radio. I am happy. I had forgotten the comfort of an old relationship. I tried to replace my pencils with pixels. Don’t let me do that again. All right?

You may be aware that I am married. You may not be aware that last month we celebrated our chicken nugget anniversary. Traditional anniversary celebrators may not understand but it works for us.

We were in bed getting ready to go to sleep when my husband reminded me our anniversary was in a couple of days. Half asleep I made a tactical error.

“What anniversary is this?” I asked.

“You don’t know how long we’ve been married?” he snapped.

“Of course I do. I was wondering which one it was. You know, like paper, wood, oatmeal?” It was a good save. Then for good measure I added, “As far as I’m concerned we’ve been united since the beginning of time. My soul is only complete when I’m with you.”

He groaned then told me it was the chicken nugget anniversary. I was impressed. He’s an engineer. I didn’t know they had a sense of humor.

We made up a whole list of anniversaries. The first is the chocolate anniversary. Because it’s so sweet. The one immediately after our first daughter was born is the frozen dinner anniversary. Who had time to cook? We worked our way all the way to this one. After a small disagreement we decided that this is in fact our chicken nugget anniversary. Next year is the frozen waffle anniversary. If I hold out a few more years I’ll make it to the boxed wine anniversary. If I survive 50 years then we can get into hard liquor. Anyone that can stay married 50 years is probably extremely fond of hard liquor in the first place.

So we celebrated in style. I not only bought him the big bag of frozen chicken nuggets; I bought the dinosaur shaped ones. No one can tell me I don’t know how to treat my man right.