ImPerceptibility

Archive for September, 2007

My Dearest Husband,

I am writing to you today to let you know that we may have to become a lesbian couple. I know what you are thinking but hear me out.

The all mighty Michael Pearl, grand poo-bah of all that is right and good and supreme ruler of homeschoolers was recently interviewed and according to him only lesbians protest his methods of disciplining children. I have given it some thought and realized we only have two choices.

1. Start hitting our children with plastic tubing and yanking the hair of nursing babies.
2. Become lesbians so we can object.

I thought about it and I find beating (aka spanking or chastising) my children into submission or pulling the hair of innocent infants vile, repulsive, repugnant, disgusting…Well, I’m in a hurry but you can get the thesaurus and add a few more adjectives.

The only other option is to become lesbians. I know this may take some getting use to. I’m sure we can make this adjustment with the love and patient understanding we have always had for each other. I’ll see you when you get home. I’m running out for a burn permit so I can burn my bras and some nice stationery to write up our gay agenda.

Love you,

“Sweet potato pie and I shut my mouth.”

Ok, they weren’t sweet potatoes and I’m not planning on shutting my mouth any time soon. But, that’s the song that came to mind and sometimes you just have to go with it. Even if it doesn’t work.

Today was ‘Tater Harvest Day. The vines of my potato plants have died back and that is the sign that harvesting must start. Harvest we did.

This year our garden center didn’t have seed potatoes so I bought them on-line from Wood Prairie Farm. They arrived quickly and were in great shape. I followed the directions that came with them.  The potatoes started growing like crazy almost as soon as they hit the dirt in the bottom of the barrel. It wasn’t long before they reached the top and all I had to do was water them and wait.

Today we went to harvest them. Harvesting is a two step process. Step 1 – dump out the trash can. Step 2 – listen to the kids giggle and scream as they dig through the dirt and earthworms to find their treasures. It’s kinds like an Easter egg hunt. Just very dirty. We enjoyed it.

We planted both red and white potatoes this year. The red did better than the white by about 4 to 1. I’m looking forward to fixing some of each for dinner tonight. The blue potatoes we planted last year were delicious.

Here is my potato plan for next year.

1. Instead of planting several plants in one large container, I think I’ll drill holes in the large drywall buckets, left over from the addition, and plant one in each.
2. I’ll convince my husband that having a row of drywall buckets full of potato plants along the side fence is not a sign of white trashdom.
3. I’ll start them just a few weeks earlier so they can get more growing time in before it gets really hot.
4. I’ll remember to water them more often.

Happy ‘Tater Harvest Day to everyone.

I woke up naked in a pile of cookie crumbs and wondered why I didn’t have a headache. I actually felt pretty good. Today, as every day in America, the sun rose over the Atlantic and it would set over the Pacific. I’ve seen both. I prefer an Atlantic sunrise. In my mind, the sunset is better viewed from the top of a mountain. That’s where it looks the best.

I skipped breakfast and sat down to work on Anthony’s birthday card. Bits and pieces have been tumbling around in my head for a few months and it seemed like the right day to start on it. I never told him that the day I read his post about not waiting for the sunrise was the day I realized I’d always have tender protective feelings for him.

I am standing in the desert and I realized two things.

I should not be there. Everything I have ever been taught by people with more education or life experience or money tells me that I should not be standing drunk and alone in a desert as the sunrises on a Friday morning. I should be sleeping or getting ready for work. I should have finished school. I should be making a family. And I am doing none of it. Amongst my friends there is always talk of anarchy and practical application of it and blahblahblah. For those twenty minutes this morning I was doing it. I was alive. I was experiencing “space” in a new way.

I am impatient. I stood there, alive, and between my breaths all I could think was that the sun was taking too long. I had things to do, or beds to crawl into, or something else. Nothing important, nothing meaningful, nothing as beautiful or exciting as what I was doing.

I didn’t want it to end, but I couldn’t wait for it to be finished.

I am not happy with what I’ve written for him. I’m not a writer. I don’t know what I am. I’m OK with that. I have a few more weeks to get his card right. I hope I can.

Have you ever had blueberry wine? It not the finest of wines but it tastes sweet and good. I bought a bottle at a roadside market. I wanted strawberry wine but they didn’t have any. Strawberry wine is the elixir of my teenage memories. Blueberry is apparently what I drink when my cat dies and I want to get drunk. It worked well. The wineglass full of Absolut Vanilla I chased it with worked better. They should have told me earlier to mix it with Sprite.

Due to the fact that my lips were numb and I couldn’t protest properly, I was forced to watch Blades of Glory because I made fun of Balls of Fury. It was terrible. I may never get over the bathroom scene towards the end. I wasn’t in the mood for everyone’s crap so I grabbed a handful of chocolate chip cookies and stumbled my way downstairs.

I crawled into bed and missed my cat and worried about my kids. I wondered when my life had become so pitiful. I’m drunk and alone in bed eating cookies at 11:00. Had my descent into pitifulness happened all at once or was it bit by bit. I wasn’t sure. I wondered if I was too old to ever have any fun again. I was pretty sure I was boring and worthless and I felt sorry for myself. Really sorry for myself. I cried myself to sleep.

I woke up several hours later when my husband came to bed. I listened as he brushed his teeth and got ready for bed. I pretended I was still asleep when he crawled under the covers. I was thinking about being mad at him. It might be his fault I’m so pitiful. Then he gently brushed my hair from face and kissed me lightly on my forehead. He sat there a long time with his hand on my cheek. He whispered I love you before he rolled over and went to sleep. Things didn’t seem so pitiful anymore.

We took a brief intermission from our vacation to drive the four hours back home and take care of something that we weren’t expecting to happen. At least not today.

There is a certain therapy in driving mile after mile through patches of clouds and patches of sun. The white lines flicker by and you are left to the sound of the radio and the sad sound of the end of new memories. I could have done without it.

They called last night with the news. I called my brother to take care of the details. The cooler is in the garage. Get some ice. Trash bags are in the cabinet downstairs. We’ll be home tomorrow. It’ll be OK until then. I wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t my area of expertise. I guess we got it right.

We stopped and got a toy and some treats. We got a box and decorated it as MyHusband dug a hole. In the front yard by the trees. Where the crickets are. She loved chasing crickets.

A neighbor joined us for her funeral. We said nice things about her and shoveled dirt over the box. My youngest ran around the yard and picked some flowers for the top. “This is too sad. I’m not dealing with it now” she said. The oldest went and did the same. Her eyes were red and swollen from tears.

I realized the only thing that hurts more than your own sad tears are the ones on the faces of your children. They’re 1000 times more painful.

We left a few hours later to drive the four hours back to the beach. Life goes on. Even if you are sad. I think my youngest said it best.

“It was her time to go and I respect that. You can’t hang around here forever. I’m going to miss her. She was a good cat. ”

I wish my kids didn’t already know so much about coping with death.

It rained today. Rain at the beach can be an annoyance. Today it wasn’t. The rain came down in large warm drops. The girls and I ran down the beach with happy screams and the wind blowing in our faces. It felt good. It felt like childhood. I miss that feeling.

Out of breath I sat down to watch the girls jump over the waves. Their giggles faded into the background as I watched the dark clouds passing over us. I looked up to the sky and tasted the rain drops. They were warm and wet. Mixed with the salty spray from the ocean. The wind blew my hair and rough bits of sand exposed the rawness of my lightly sunburned skin.

Something about the push of the wind and the salty wet spray on my face made me think of things. Things that I won’t type here. I’m not that type of girl. This is not that type of blog. I don’t want to make you jealous. 

I don’t like going in the tunnel much. I feel like a big snake is eating me. Then we’re pooped out the other side. Except we don’t get digested. We’re like corn!

Be back in a week.

These are the latest clay creation lovingly sculpted by my youngest. She was alone when she made them. She was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor with her tongue sticking out of her mouth and a look of concentration on her face that would put to shame ‘The Thinker’. If I had taken a picture, it might look like she was lonely. But she was content and happy. Lost in her own imagination. It was a beautiful thing. I dare anyone to say otherwise.

She was alone when she made these, but she wasn’t alone when we went and bought her clay. She discussed the clay choices with the person she calls ‘the pretty potter’ and decided she wanted the buff clay.

She wasn’t alone when her friends stopped by and oohed and ahhed over her small masterpieces.

She won’t be alone tomorrow when we take her sculptures to get ‘all fired up’ in the kiln. They might give her a tip or two and she’ll add it to her already large bank of pottery knowledge.

She won’t be alone when we walk around the studios and look at color choices. Nor will she be alone when she finally picks the perfect color.

After her pieces are glazed and fired she won’t be alone. She will give them to any number people that look forward to her little packages wrapped in hand decorated tissue paper.

She will be proud of what she has made and she won’t be alone in that either. I’ll also be proud because on her first week of school she

• Learned to ask more experienced people for advice
• Got all the supplies she needed for her project
• Gained more knowledge in something she loves
• Made decisions
• Interacted with people from age 4-64
• Became more confident in her own abilities

Not bad for a seven-year-old huh? That wouldn’t have happened if she didn’t have the chance to be alone. Being alone is important.

“All men’s miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone.” -Blaise Pascal

“For when a woman is left too much alone, sooner or later she begins to think; -And no man knows what then she may discover” -Edwin A. Robinson

“Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person.” -Mother Teresa of Calcutta

“None of us will ever accomplish anything excellent or commanding except when he listens to this whisper which is heard by him alone.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

“If you are alone you belong entirely to yourself.” -Leonardo da Vinci

The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be. -Anne Frank

The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind. -Albert Einstein

One of the greatest necessities in America is to discover creative solitude. -Carl Sandburg

I recently found myself with some time on my hands due to the lack of my husband. This was due to both business travel and the start of the college football season. To offset my boredom I decided to create a Facebook account. It turned out to be a rather interesting adventure.

I created my account, sent friend requests, and went to look at my profile.

Then before I knew it, I had lots of friends. I was happy. My fear of being a Facebook social outcast was unfounded. It was good. Until I was bitten by a zombie.

I’m not much of a flesh eater. I eat meat occasionally but I prefer a more vegetarian meal. It looked like good clean fun so I accepted. Little did I know, I would now be attacked while I slept peacefully. It’s OK. I enjoyed it.

The next day I decided to add a movie application. It seemed reasonably safe. I started rating movies then I mistakenly marked Balls of Fury as a movie I’d like to see. It’s embarrassing enough that people would think I’d like to see that. I didn’t realize until later that it put out an announcement on my feed saying “ImPerceptible want’s to see Balls of Fury. Anyone interested?” I guess it’s safe to say no one was. I didn’t get any offers. I blushed the most amazing shade of red when I saw that. So much for good clean fun.

I’ve been having fun looking through the applications and trying to get my movie quiz score higher than anyone else. I have a long way to go. I would like some more friends so I can turn them into zombies socially network. If you have an account, Can I be your friend? If you don’t have an account, make one! It’s lots of fun. I can make you my underling. We can see if our movie preferences are compatible.