I am a(n)...?

When my kids were younger, one of the things they enjoyed doing was water painting. On nice days, I'd set them up outside with a bucket of water and some cheap, long-handled paint brushes, and they could paint and paint to their hearts' delight all over the sidewalk and the patio. The fact that their creations evaporated within minutes (or seconds, depending on if it was May or August) was part of the fun...it was like magic, and you instantly had a clean slate to work with.

After finishing NaNo early-early Sunday morning, and being in the midst of several holiday projects, I got into one of my reflect-about-my-life funks Sunday night. And so, as I was caught up in all kinds of thoughts, I walked out of my studio to do some laundry and as I did, the corner of my eye caught sight of one of those long-handled paint brushes the kids used so long ago. I picked it up, and with a jar of water, I commenced writing out my thoughts -- most in keyword form -- on the basement's concrete floor. The floor was warm, as the wood stove was burning not too far from where I was, so, just as the August sun did for my kids, so the stove did for my words...allowed them to be for a moment and then wiped them away for me to start again.

I only played at this for a few moments, feeling kind of silly yet enjoying the freedom to write whatever I wanted without any lasting effect. But it was good, cheap therapy because I found the same words kept dancing off the end of my brush...the words that answered the question I kept pondering that night: who am I?

I kept wondering, in the wake of NaNo, am I a writer? Really? I used to be, but am I still? I have nothing to show for it these days other than my blog, my journaling and a lot of unfinished fiction. Do I still qualify?

I kept wondering, amid the scads of stamps, inks, paints, papers, fibers, metals, adhesives and other supplies that surround me everyday, and with my cameras sitting nearby, am I an artist? Really? After all, I could be sitting in a roomful of surgical equipment and that would not make me a surgeon. However, I do enjoy creating -- immensely -- but I am so ready to take that to the next level, to do it with more intention and more purpose, but I am unsure about what that might be. So, does simply sitting here playing with this stuff really qualify me as an artist if I never get any further than I am now?

Honestly, most of the time I'm fine, fine, with myself as I am. These questions do not plague me day in and day out. It's just sometimes...because sometimes I wonder if I'm really living my purpose here in this world, or am I somehow missing the whole point?

I Remember...

I did this LO in response to the current weekly challenge at 2Peas, the theme of which is "I Remember." (Emily Falconbridge posted it, and she also links to it from her blog.) (This also fits in well with the theme of Love Thursday, which I've not participated in before but I will today since I've got something for it!)

For some reason, as soon as I read the topic of the challenge, a picture and a story came to mind. The weird thing is that they don't actually go together chronologically. The picture is from 1970...I was four. The story in my journaling, however, describes an imaginary game I used to play with myself, and I'm certain I didn't do that until I was significantly older...probably in elementary school some time. Both things had to do with Halloween, though, and this picture is one of my favorite Halloween pictures of me as a kid. (Come to think of it, it is one of the only Halloween pictures of me as a kid!)

My mom has always disliked Halloween in a major way, even as a kid, she's told me. But my mom is also a very good seamstress, and she used to sew a lot of my clothes when I was little (until I got old enough to realize store-bought clothes were far more cool). There were a few years where, despite her disdain for the holiday, she sewed some very detailed costumes for me. One year I was an angel, another year I was a devil, and one year -- the one above -- I was Little Bo Peep. This fluffy, yellow tulle dress was itchy as all get out around my neck, but it sure was cute, wasn't it?

My dad, also a creative type in his own right, was often in charge of props. For Bo Peep, he formed the crook for me out of a long plexi-glass rod. When I was a devil, he fashioned a pitchfork for me out of wood and painted it black. It didn't matter that we lived in the middle of nowhere and I had few places to actually go trick-or-treating. (I can still remember my dad driving me around, in rain, snow and cold, up and down our country road and to various friends' houses around town just so I had the opportunity to say "trick or treat"...and he had some candy to pilch. LOL) I still always had a really nice costume to wear for my preschool party or whatever place I did have to go. (That said, I believe I was actually an angel for two, maybe three years in a row. Mom clearly decided recycling was a good option, even in the early '70s!)

Later on, my costumes got a bit less elaborate, and I don't remember the ones from my later trick-or-treat days very well, the years when I'd go to a friend's house, someone who lived in a real neighborhood and we could walk around, by ourselves, and get candy door-to-door. I know there was a cat in there somewhere...also recycled a few times. But it is those early costumes that hold such fond memories for me. And though I didn't realize it then, they were tangible signs of how much my parents loved me, that they'd go to the trouble to make these costumes and props when they just of easily could have skipped the whole thing.

Love manifested in tulle and plexiglass. How cool is that?

My great, great, great...

"He said, I've been to the year 3000.

Not much has changed but they lived under water.

And your great-great-great-granddaughter,

is doing fine." Year 3000, Jonas Brothers

My daughter has discovered Radio Disney in our digital cable line up and has it playing every chance she can. I find it both endearing and a little frightening that she's already interested in listening to popular music. She's only ten, and that seems so young. But I guess I'm comparing her to me, and that isn't fair because I was an only child (no older siblings to benefit from musically or otherwise) and a total dweeb as a kid. I didn't realize there was anything other than AM talk radio (which my parents listened to) until I hit junior high.

Anyway, I don't really have a problem with my daughter's musical interests. Long ago I established my reputation as The Parent Who Will Listen to Just About Anything and May Also Know the Words and Sing Along. (Miraculously, my oldest son didn't seem to mind this, and his friends thought I was cool.) I figured, if nothing else, it was one way I could be in touch with my teenage son, and I think it served me well.So now I get to go through it again, this time with a girl. (The middle son isn't so much into music yet, though he does enjoy my Gaelic Storm CDs...I'm thinking it might be time to try and get him into some Stones or Doors or Zeppelin or something before my husband gets him sucked into country.)

My daughter...she is a tween girl, one who is all into the world of those Disney-esque shows aimed at her demographic, such as "Hannah Montana" (which I have to say I find absolutely hilarious) and "That's So Raven."She's been asking for every Kid's Bop CD on the market for the past few years now, and I dutifully listen to them in the car with her. And sing along. (Then there was the day I was playing a Sheryl Crow CD and she realized that "Soak Up the Sun" was done by someone other than the Kids Bop singers. Too funny.)

In recent weeks, I've come to notice that a version of the song quoted above, "Year 3000" by the Jonas Brothers plays on Radio Disney about once every 18 minutes, or so it seems. It's a catchy little tune, if not the most brain-bending lyrics on earth. But I don't know what it is...whether I should blame it on hormones or what...but every time I hear this song, I get teary. Weird, huh? It's the chorus, wherein the neighbor is telling him (the singer/narrator) that he's been to the year 3000 and, among other things, his (the singer's) great-great-great-granddaughter is doing fine.

Now, realistically speaking...if we're talking about progeny that will be living approximately 1,000 years from now, we'll have to add about thirty more "greats" to that relational title, as the singer's literal great-great-great grand daughter will likely be living sometime around the year 2,136, figuring a new generation approximately every 30 years. But this is a teeny-bopper, boy-band song, so we'll just pass by literal, mathematical accuracy and jump straight on into the emotional and relational implications this song offers us.

Say wha...? It's a BOY BAND...!!

Yes, I know, but hear me out on this....

My first thought upon hearing that line of the song was, "How cool is it that some GUY, who managed to build a time machine in his backyard and went 1,000 years into the future would TAKE THE TIME to look up his neighbor's future relative and then report back on how she's doing?" Pretty cool. I mean, I'd expect a guy to report back on cars and sports and such, but relaying messages? In my experience, not usually their strong suit, regardless of the millenium.

But beyond that, it made me think about my life. Thinking forward...some day, God willing, if Armageddon hasn't yet claimed us all, I will have a great-great-great grand daughter. Or son. That is wild. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around what life will be like in another twenty years, let alone when my kids' kids have great-grandchildren. You know?

But this song makes me wonder if they'll even know about me...will anything of me survive that long? I think of all of the scrapping I do and the pictures I take and the journals I've kept through my life, and how so much of it is for that very purpose...so there is a record of my life, the here and now, for the there and then. Who knows if today's archivally-safe products will really hold out that long, but I want there to be something for those kids that far in the future to read and see and know of me if they're so inclined.

And I have to think they will be curious. Why? Because I'm curious. You see, I own a sword. A Civil War sword that belonged to my great-great-great grandfather. And I have his discharge certificate from the Civil War, dated June 21, 1865. And that's all I have. But I yearn to know so much, much more about him...more than the basic family history I've been able to trace down to more recent generations. I wish I knew him, his life, his experiences. What was his life like in the 19th century? What did he enjoy and what did he do after the war? Or before? What was his favorite thing to do in his spare time, and his favorite meal? Did he have a sense of humor and did he show his wife how much he loved her? Did he go for walks with her and how did he feel when he looked into her eyes?

And while I'm sure he had other things on his mind at the time, I wonder, if at any moment during his days in the 15th Regimen of the Pennsylvania Calvary, if he ever gave any thought at all to his great-great-great-granddaughter who might be wondering about him more than 140 years later?

Sadness...

My best friend's mom died today. She'd been battling pancreatic cancer since about February of this year. Despite chemo and radiation, she lost her battle today. The last several weeks had been rough...she was in a lot of pain, thus Amy is thankful that her mom is no longer suffering. However, it is still a painful loss for her, her dad, her brothers and the rest of their family. If you pray, please consider saying a prayer of peace for them.

I will always have wonderful memories of Mrs. M. Amy and I have been friends since third grade, spending much time together and sleeping over at each others' houses. Even into adulthood, whenever Amy and I were together around her mom, she always referred to us as "her girls." I loved that. She was such a sweet, good-hearted person, always ready with a hug and a smile. She always made me feel like I was a valuable part of her family's life, just because I was her daughter's friend.

Amy's parents invited my family to their house this past winter, before she was sick, to watch the Superbowl with them. Their whole family are huge football fans -- Steeler fans -- and so it was such fun to watch the game (and to watch the Steelers win it!) with them. I am so thankful to have that fun, joyful time with Mrs. M. to remember.

I only got to see her one more time after that, after her diagnosis, in late summer. It was clear then that the disease was taking its toll on her, and I felt even more special for her welcoming me into her home at such a time as that.

When I think about Amy's mom, I'm struck by the sad irony of what happened to her. Because of her dad's job, Amy's family moved frequently. Her parents were so looking forward to her dad's retirement when they planned to move back to enjoy time with two of their three children and their only grandchild. And so they did get to do that for a few years, but I find it so sad the time was cut short in this way. It seems so unfair.

I truly believe that God can bring good from all things, no matter how bleak they may be. I don't know how He'll use this sadness in other people's lives, but I know He will. I'm so thankful already that Amy's job allowed her the flexibility to be with her mom almost constantly these last several weeks, so that she could have this sacred time to be with her and to be there for her dad, as well. That is such an immense gift. And throughout it all, I've been so encouraged by God's faithfulness to Amy through the incredible circle of friends she has had around her. She may be single, but she is definitely not alone in this world. Far from it. God is good.

And that is the prayer in all of this, isn't it? God is good. And, as Amy has reminded me in some of the bleakest moments of my life, God is God, and that is all we really need.

Blessings to you, Mrs. M. You will be missed. May you be dancing in His presence until we're all together once more.

So, the actual birthday itself...?

Not too impressive. Before I explain why, let me preface this by saying that our family doens't really go all-out for birthdays and anniversaries. We celebrate them and acknowledge them, but unless you're a kid in the family, chances are it's going to be with minimal fuss.

However.

Last year, when my husband turned 40, I made an effort of recognizing it in a bigger way than usual. With the help of a friend, we threw a little surprise party for him. Cake, cards...nothing fancy, but it was more than he was expecting, I'm quite sure. I wanted him to know that I knew this was a special birthday. After all, marking four decades of life doesn't happen every day.

But you see, I realize now that I broke one of my cardinal rules of life when I planned that party. How? I had an ulterior motive. I'm not sure I even realized I had it at the time. But I'm pretty sure it was there. I'm strongly against ulterior motives in life...I sincerely believe in giving without expecting anything in return. I think I live by that fairly well most of the time.

But the party...yes, the party was genuinely for him and I wanted him to know how much his friends care about him and that I care enough about him to go completely outside of my comfort zone to plan a gathering of that sort. But. I think I may have also thought that by giving him a little party, he would GET THE HINT that I might like to have my 40th birthday similarly acknowledged this year. Nothing extravagant. Just a small gathering of friends, some cake, some cards...a time to laugh and have fun. To celebrate life.

And then, as luck would have it, just a couple months ago, one of our friends threw a surprise party for his wife's birthday...not even a milestone birtday, but her 42nd. Just because they'd never had a special party for her before. I thought that was the sweetest thing in the world, and I commented on that to my husband a couple of times. And I thought...surely he's PAYING ATTENTION and is GETTING IT that I might really appreciate something like this for my birthday.

So. Yesterday. Birthday. 40th birthday. I got a couple e-greetings from friends and my mother-in-law wishing me a wonderful day. Talked to my mom on the phone twice...she remembered it was my birthday on the second call. With all that's going on in her world right now with the move, I couldn't really get upset at it slipping her mind. My kids, however, said nothing. My oldest is usually pretty good about calling and remembeing, but he didn't call until today. And the younger two? Ok, I thought. They're kids. It probably isn't the first thing on their mind.

So we went through our day yesterday...went to soccer, went to the library...ran into a couple friends when we were out and about, both of whom wished me a happy birthday IN FRONT OF MY KIDS. Did they pick up on this? No. No they did not. Not one utterance of birthday wishes from either of them. Fine. Whatever.

On the way home from soccer, we stopped at McDonald's for a snack. When we got home, I attempted to snag a few of my son's French fries since I didn't get any for me. He, channeling the attitude of a greedy little piggy at that moment, would not share. So, feeling beyond miffed at this point in the day, I said, "You know, it's my BIRTHDAY and you didn't wish me a happy birthday, so the LEAST you could do is let me have some of your FRIES!" At that point, both kids chimed in with a happy albeit remorseless chorus of "Happy Birthday!!!" (But he still wouldn't share his fries, the little twerp.)

Now, I've been on the verge of weepiness all week long...mostly due to life transitions happening in my life and that of a close friend, not really about the birthday at all. However, this obvious lack of any caring whatsoever by the people in my life who are SUPPOSED to love me had really gotten to me. So when my husband came home from work -- after having NOT called me ALL DAY to acknowledge what day it was -- and the first thing out of his mouth was, "So, how was your day?" he was lucky I didn't skewer him with a pitchfork then and there. (Not that I keep a pitchfork in the kitchen, but you get my drift.)

I didn't answer right away. I waited. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt. A chance to THINK and REMEMBER and not completely blow it. So, he asked again. "How was your DAY?"

I have my limits.

"You mean OTHER THAN NO ONE IN THIS FAMILY REMEMBERING THAT TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY?" BWAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaa....

Despite how miserable I felt and how big a pity-party I was throwing for myself inside my head, I almost felt sorry for him because he truly had one of the most convincing deer-in-the-headlights looks on his face I've ever seen. "I'm sorry..." he started, but by then I was a full-blown mess and retreated to the bedroom. I mean...I accept the fact that when it comes to this kind of stuff, he has always been clueless. Downright CLUELESS. He's the first to admit that. And for 14 years, I've made the best of clueless. I've put up with it.

But.

For 14 years, my birthday has fallen exactly FOUR days after his. His is the 23rd of September and mine is...one, two, three, FOUR days later....on the 27th. Every year. No deviation. He used to joke that it was a good thing his was first otherwise he'd never remember mine. Clearly his early alert system failed. What about using Outlook reminders? Writing yourself a note? PAYING ATTENTION to your WIFE who has been YABBERING ON AND ON FOR A YEAR about how much she is totally, genuinely looking forward to her 40TH BIRTHDAY?

:::sigh:::

So, that was how my birthday went. Not at all how I'd anticipated celebrating that day. I'd really love a do-over. :::sigh::: Of all birthdays...I can't remember ever looking forward to one as much as I was this one. Not 16. Not 21. This one was supposed to be special. And I guess it still was. It was special to me as I spent an entire year looking foward to it and ruminating about it and reflecting on what it means and truly being happy to have gotten to this point in life. It really does feel like a milestone to me. I just would have really liked someone else to share in the celebrating. I'd have liked my family to GET ME enough to know how much it would have meant. I think that's what is bothering me the most. That they didn't. And that makes me feel kind of lonely.

I know this post sounds really whiny and oh-poor-me...and that really isn't my style. I don't tend to go this direction very often. I try not to let myself get consumed with self-pitying issues because really? Life is bigger than this and it's too short to waste time being bogged down over a forgotten birthday. I wasn't even going to blog about it because I was worried that people would come away from reading this thinking, "Man, what a self-centered b*tch she is." I've been trying to just put it all out of my head and forget about it and get on with life. It's just silly, I tell myself. But it's still eating at me. And that tells me that it isn't completely silly and I need to be honest with myself about how I'm feeling instead of doing what women do so often and just brush the things important to them under the rug lest they seem selfish.

So, I'm being honest. Yesterday really was not a good day. My feelings were hurt more yesterday than I can recall happening in a very long time. I know it's not the end of the world, and I will get over it. Already today a good bit of the sting of it all has left. (I probably couldn't even have written this yesterday, frankly.) And tomorrow will be yet a better day. And then on Saturday, we leave for Florida, where a whole new leg of this life journey will begin, and the lost birthday will not seem so hard. Time is a good friend.

Happy birthday to me...

I'm 40.
I'm content.
I (mostly) like who I am.
I'm optomistic about the future.
I feel like I'm in the midst of life-changing transitions, but I have faith things will work out fine.
I think I finally feel like an adult.
I am who I am, and that's ok.
I don't have to fit anyone else's mold for me.
In some ways, I think I'm just getting started.

Happy birthday to me.

Theme parties, rhymes and infernal gods...

I'm neither big into theme parties nor Shakespeare, but I've long thought that -- as opposed to the stereotypical toga parties one might think of when considering these two topics in the same sentence -- it would be really kind of fun/quirky/literarily geeky to throw an Ides of March party. Come March 15th, everyone could dress up as a favorite Shakespeare character and go around quoting bits from plays appropriate to their character so that other guests can try and guess who you are. And we could drink wine. And have people feed us grapes. (I'll be the one wandering around in a daze randomly shouting, "Out, out, damn spot!" which I realize is actually a mis-quote of the line, but it's what everyone knows and loves, so we'll go with that.) (Did I mention the wine?)

Anyway, I was looking at Cathy Z.'s blog today and admiring her 12 on the 12th layout. Ever one to try and think up new twists for other people's ideas, I thought to myself, "What about doing an 'Ides of...' layout series? One layout on the 15th of each month!" Sure! Why not? But then I realized that I dind't know if the 15th of every month was really considered the "ides" of that month, or if it was specifically a March kind of thing.

Off I went to visit my best friend, Google, who took me next door to see my other friend, Wikipedia. And lo and behold, Wiki had all kinds of things to say about ides (traditionally the day of the full moon) and nones (traditionally the day of the half moon) and the ancient Roman calendar in general ("ancient" being considered pre-46 BC...at that point you enter Julian territory and that is just too modern to even talk about).

Seems that ides fell on the 15th of long months and the 13th of short months. You see, depending on the time period, months started out having either 31 or 30 days, and then later moved to having 31 or 29 days, with February having 28...but that was only after they added January and February to the calendar, thus avoiding that long, uncomfortable and undoubtedly cold period during the winter that had no months at all. And with only 10 months in the year, they had to toss in intercalary months every couple of years (which usually usurped the end of February, but it was all rather arbitrary) to keep up with the actual solar year. It's a wonder the Romans ever knew what the date was, if you ask me.

But I digress. (Can you really digress in a post categorized as "random"?? Hm.)*

I've never, ever been good at remembering which days of the current calendar have 30 or 31 days until a few years back when a friend taught me the little trick of keeping track of it by saying the months while counting your knuckles and the dips between your knucles in order to keep track. I remember my mom trying to teach me the little sing-songy ditty of "Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November. All the rest have thirty-one, ..." but then I totally forget how the whole February part goes and it inevitably loses it lyrical benefit for me. Anyway, Wiki shared with me that even the old Romans had a way of remembering their ides and nones and whatnot.

"In March, July, October, May
The IDES fall on the fifteenth day
The NONES the seventh; all besides
Have two days less for Nones and Ides."

Ok...not sure that the ancient Romans actually said this to remind themselves of how their days were ordered, but it sure has a lot more going for it than that other little ditty, doens't it?

So, September being a short month, we've already missed the ides of it. Bummer. But! To help alleviate your disappointment, allow me to share yet another twinkling tidbit of ancient Roman calendrical trivia for you. Seems the ancient Romans despised whole numbers, superstitiously dreading them, which is why they preferred their months to have uneven numbers of days. The month of February was given over to the infernal gods, though, so it was completely ok for it to have an even number. Besides, at that point, the twelve months added up to 355 days, an uneven number, so it was all good in the end.

Fascinating, no? No?? Oh, what's that you're saying? You weren't looking for the Geek-of-the-Month party? So sorry. Try the room down the hall...the one where everyone isn't wearing a toga.

*[Edited: my old blog had a category called "random"...here it is basically the same as "odd bits," from which I imagine it is just as impossible to digress.]