The following is a list, written down in the order in which it occurred to me, of things that I think I need to accomplish today:
clean bathroom
vacuum
empty car at storage
take car to shop
clean and organize closet
take extranneous shelves to storage
take footboard to storage
wrap/cover bulletin board with pretty fabric
install file drawers in bookcase
empty silver odds-and-ends bin
design/install jewelry storage solution
hang lights in closet
paint masks
make cute hair things for nieces
finish various UFO's for various belated birthdays
hem Jules' jeans
melt & pour beeswax thread conditioner for etsy shop
melt & pour recycled candle wax for etsy shop
stuff hams for etsy shop
re-photograph everything in etsy shop
photograph everything else for etsy shop
cover and install switchplates
plan meals and make grocery list for work week
laundry
blog
get eyebrows waxed
finish frame for a/c units & weatherstrip
organize tool closet & clean pantry
plants
go to Upholstery Fabric Outlook to look at upholstery fabric
buy crochet hooks
learn to crochet
crochet cute washcloths
reupholster office chair
hang shelves in various places
buy a new bra
plan my new career
teach myself how to spin
paint the sink cabinet in the bathroom
install tip-out shelves in kitchen and bathroom
go to Lowe's to buy tip-out shelves for kitchen and bathroom
Considering that at least 30% of these could be all-day projects (hell, considering that just going to a fabric store could be an all-day project!) I'd surmise that I probably can't accomplish all of the things on this list today.
No wonder I don't know where to begin.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
36 and a half years
On December 27, 2009 My Gram passed away. She was 94 years old. I had known her all my life - 36 and a half years.
When I was a little girl, I don't think anything in my life was as exciting as packing my suitcase to go spend the weekend with her and my Grandpa. I called her "Nana" then. She would have been about 63, and was still working as the Curator of Special Collections at Weber State University.
There is so much about who I am today that I owe to her.
From her I learned magic. I learned stillness. I learned an appreciation of the natural world. She taught me to be at ease in a variety of situations, and always expected me to act my best. She introduced me to writers and painters and architects. I awoke to the smell of coffee and peanut butter and oil paints. She brought me breakfast in a king-size bed with a satin comforter, and I sat there like a princess, with my cloth napkin and heavy wood bed tray, watching the ballet of Romeo and Juliet on PBS. I sat breathless on her porch, overlooking a canyon, waiting as patiently as a 4 year-old can for hummingbirds to visit one of the feeders she had dangling around her back patio, and we picked tiny, juicy, fresh strawberries from the front yard that I would drop into my breakfast cereal.
It was she who first introduced me to theatre, and I remember sitting transfixed at the edge of my seat in a little touristy theatre in Jackson Hole. She taught me to order at restaurants, and the appropriate way to introduce people.
I learned to dance. Not dancing in any kind of recognizable way, but twirling gloriously to music. And books -- always books.
It's not all sunshine and roses, of course. My grandmother could be a very difficult woman. The need for others to see her and her family a certain way colored her interaction with so many people, and made for some very difficult conversations at times. So from her, in a strange way, I also learned authenticity. Her lack of boldness made me bolder. Her need to rewrite history made me confront the realities of my own life.
She wasn't the grandmother who bakes cookies or knits afghans. I think she tried, on occasion, to fit into that role, but it never came naturally to her. I wonder sometimes who she might have been if she allowed herself to live without fear of what others thought of her. In her obituary, it said that she was "Always ready with a plate of warm cookies." I’ve been wondering who wrote that – probably she did! I never knew her to bake cookies. Oatmeal came from little paper packets, biscuits came from a can that popped frighteningly when you hit it on the edge of the counter, and most of her meals came about as a result of many little packages that were torn apart and put together. Still, her twice-baked potatoes were to die for, and oh! the wonderful little dishes she had to put everything in!
When I was 16, and living with her and my grandfather, I once mentioned how much I love the smell and taste of fresh-baked bread, and she went right out (well, my grandfather probably “went right out”, as I never did see her conquer her fear of driving) and bought frozen bread dough. Once a week, at least, I would come home from school to see her taking bread out of the oven.
When I look at pictures of her and my grandfather on one of their trips, I see this woman, this cultured, quirky woman. She's wearing amazing clothes, sipping champagne, and laughing with her friends. I look at those pictures and realize she's in her 50's doing these things, and wonder why, at 36, I constantly berate myself for not doing more with my life.
Looking back, I think that everything in her life was a part of her own personal "Special Collections". I don't think my grandfather would ever have had the career he had if it weren't for her pushing him, organizing his life and his work. It was this pushiness that made her so frustrating to deal with as I (and she!) got older.
I wish so much that her need to rewrite her own history hadn’t been so strong, that she could have told me stories about what her life was REALLY like, and not felt the need to embellish so much that her stories were barely discernable from those in the books she was always giving me. I wish I’d been able to get to know her better, that her pushiness hadn’t pushed me away.
I didn’t speak at her funeral. I wanted to, I didn’t want to, in the end I just felt I couldn’t. I’m still not satisfied with her life. I still don’t have my questions answered, and at the time (recovering from a horrible cold) couldn’t make enough sense of her contradictions to feel comfortable speaking to others about who and what she was.
I guess this is my eulogy for her. It remains unfinished.
When I was a little girl, I don't think anything in my life was as exciting as packing my suitcase to go spend the weekend with her and my Grandpa. I called her "Nana" then. She would have been about 63, and was still working as the Curator of Special Collections at Weber State University.
There is so much about who I am today that I owe to her.
From her I learned magic. I learned stillness. I learned an appreciation of the natural world. She taught me to be at ease in a variety of situations, and always expected me to act my best. She introduced me to writers and painters and architects. I awoke to the smell of coffee and peanut butter and oil paints. She brought me breakfast in a king-size bed with a satin comforter, and I sat there like a princess, with my cloth napkin and heavy wood bed tray, watching the ballet of Romeo and Juliet on PBS. I sat breathless on her porch, overlooking a canyon, waiting as patiently as a 4 year-old can for hummingbirds to visit one of the feeders she had dangling around her back patio, and we picked tiny, juicy, fresh strawberries from the front yard that I would drop into my breakfast cereal.
It was she who first introduced me to theatre, and I remember sitting transfixed at the edge of my seat in a little touristy theatre in Jackson Hole. She taught me to order at restaurants, and the appropriate way to introduce people.
I learned to dance. Not dancing in any kind of recognizable way, but twirling gloriously to music. And books -- always books.
It's not all sunshine and roses, of course. My grandmother could be a very difficult woman. The need for others to see her and her family a certain way colored her interaction with so many people, and made for some very difficult conversations at times. So from her, in a strange way, I also learned authenticity. Her lack of boldness made me bolder. Her need to rewrite history made me confront the realities of my own life.
She wasn't the grandmother who bakes cookies or knits afghans. I think she tried, on occasion, to fit into that role, but it never came naturally to her. I wonder sometimes who she might have been if she allowed herself to live without fear of what others thought of her. In her obituary, it said that she was "Always ready with a plate of warm cookies." I’ve been wondering who wrote that – probably she did! I never knew her to bake cookies. Oatmeal came from little paper packets, biscuits came from a can that popped frighteningly when you hit it on the edge of the counter, and most of her meals came about as a result of many little packages that were torn apart and put together. Still, her twice-baked potatoes were to die for, and oh! the wonderful little dishes she had to put everything in!
When I was 16, and living with her and my grandfather, I once mentioned how much I love the smell and taste of fresh-baked bread, and she went right out (well, my grandfather probably “went right out”, as I never did see her conquer her fear of driving) and bought frozen bread dough. Once a week, at least, I would come home from school to see her taking bread out of the oven.
When I look at pictures of her and my grandfather on one of their trips, I see this woman, this cultured, quirky woman. She's wearing amazing clothes, sipping champagne, and laughing with her friends. I look at those pictures and realize she's in her 50's doing these things, and wonder why, at 36, I constantly berate myself for not doing more with my life.
Looking back, I think that everything in her life was a part of her own personal "Special Collections". I don't think my grandfather would ever have had the career he had if it weren't for her pushing him, organizing his life and his work. It was this pushiness that made her so frustrating to deal with as I (and she!) got older.
I wish so much that her need to rewrite her own history hadn’t been so strong, that she could have told me stories about what her life was REALLY like, and not felt the need to embellish so much that her stories were barely discernable from those in the books she was always giving me. I wish I’d been able to get to know her better, that her pushiness hadn’t pushed me away.
I didn’t speak at her funeral. I wanted to, I didn’t want to, in the end I just felt I couldn’t. I’m still not satisfied with her life. I still don’t have my questions answered, and at the time (recovering from a horrible cold) couldn’t make enough sense of her contradictions to feel comfortable speaking to others about who and what she was.
I guess this is my eulogy for her. It remains unfinished.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
All I want for Christmas
My sister asked me last night what I want for Christmas. She said "Mom has no idea". I thought, "What are you talking about? I'm easy! Just look at my wishlist...
And then I looked at my wishlist. Hmm. There's not really anything on there. So I started thinking, and looking, and that was when I realized -- I have everything I need.
Now that's a scary thought. I mean sure, I always want more earrings, and more shoes - because really, what femme girl DOESN'T want more earrings or more shoes? But when I look at my life, for the first time in years - YEARS, people!! - I actually have enough money to cover my needs. This is a new thing for me. It's kind of exciting. And scary.
So the only thing I really want is more hours in the day. I'm working on some fun, exciting stuff, people!!!
I did finally finish some of these, and they are now for sale in my etsy shop.
And here are some works-in-progress:
I have miles to go on this one.
And then there's him. The red was just going to be a base color, but I really like it. I think he just needs some shadowing and a finish coat.
I also have a box half-full of overdue gifts for my family, and I must finish the four things that still need to go into that box so I can ship it -- because it has to be there before Sunday!!!
Here's a look at that pile:
The worst thing is that the person who reminds me to eat and sleep when I get like this is out of town for a week. Which means that the kitchen is a disaster and I'm out of food. So anyone who wants to come clean my house and cook me healthy, delicious meals, is welcome. I'll pay you in yarn! (must. destash.)
So... what do you want for Christmas?
And then I looked at my wishlist. Hmm. There's not really anything on there. So I started thinking, and looking, and that was when I realized -- I have everything I need.
Now that's a scary thought. I mean sure, I always want more earrings, and more shoes - because really, what femme girl DOESN'T want more earrings or more shoes? But when I look at my life, for the first time in years - YEARS, people!! - I actually have enough money to cover my needs. This is a new thing for me. It's kind of exciting. And scary.
So the only thing I really want is more hours in the day. I'm working on some fun, exciting stuff, people!!!
I did finally finish some of these, and they are now for sale in my etsy shop.
And here are some works-in-progress:
I have miles to go on this one.
And then there's him. The red was just going to be a base color, but I really like it. I think he just needs some shadowing and a finish coat.
I also have a box half-full of overdue gifts for my family, and I must finish the four things that still need to go into that box so I can ship it -- because it has to be there before Sunday!!!
Here's a look at that pile:
The worst thing is that the person who reminds me to eat and sleep when I get like this is out of town for a week. Which means that the kitchen is a disaster and I'm out of food. So anyone who wants to come clean my house and cook me healthy, delicious meals, is welcome. I'll pay you in yarn! (must. destash.)
So... what do you want for Christmas?
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