Here’s some stuff I did this week around the Evilverse and elsewhere:
At A Picture Worth 1000 Words: Multitudes
And here on the blog: full of stars
Dreams- they do come true.
January 20, 2012 – 2:56 pm
As a kid, I spent many a Saturday morning at my great-grandfather’s knee. We would share an orange, or maybe some crackers and hoop cheese. He would pat my head and give me a gentle smile, and then we would settle in for our favorite bonding ritual- an hour of laughing, yelling, and shaking our fists at the TV as we watched professional wrestling.
And now…well, let’s just say that eight year old kid is laughing, yelling, and shaking her fists in triumph.
Tomorrow. Noon. Motorco. LUCHADORAS!
full of stars
January 18, 2012 – 9:28 am
Occasionally, I come across some old essays that I never posted. Sometimes, the reason is immediately clear: “Wow, this is crappy.” Sometimes, I’m still uncomfortable with the subject matter. But sometimes, I feel like letting past me step up and have her say. This post was written a few months after Mama died, at a time when I was just starting to let myself be happy again.
(written 6/1/2010)
About a year ago, I bought a cheap, silver star necklace at Target. I’d had the idea of a star necklace on my mind for a few months, with no real reason why. It just felt right, it felt like symbol for something indefinable, it felt like metaphor waiting to be written, it felt like it would be cute, too.
I never had a particular interest in stars before, but now all of a sudden, I wanted one on a chain around my neck, badly. I looked at all kinds of star necklaces- silver, gold, encrusted with diamonds or citron and even orange sapphires- what the hell? I looked on Etsy at dozens of hand-crafted, beautiful star necklaces, some with clean, simple lines, some with intricate old gears and other steampunk paraphernalia attached. I couldn’t decide; nothing I saw felt just right.
I wanted something I could wear on a dressy night out, though Lord knows I wasn’t having many of those at that time in my life. I wanted something I could wear every day with my t-shirts and jeans. I wanted something that I could sleep in, wear in the shower, run 26.2 miles in. Something pretty and sturdy and strong and comfortable.
In the end, I found that something while distractedly perusing the jewelry counter at Target on a rare and brief moment away from my child and 98-year-old charge. In a frantic rush to pick up something semi-important and get back to the car (and the kid, and the old lady, and the dog) in less than five minutes, I decided for God knows what reason to glance over their tiny jewelry selection. And there it was- sterling silver, simple but sparkly, and durable. Once I glanced at the price- marked down from $25 to less than $2- I was sold. I grabbed it, checked out, and have been wearing it ever since. The chain broke the first week I had it- no matter. I exchanged it for another chain that also, to my surprise, held another star charm that I had forgotten about. I had selected that charm because it was amber, one of my favorite materials. The shape barely registered until I was scrounging for spare chains.
Ever since I bought that star and put it on, I’ve seen stars everywhere, in significant and symbolic places. In a poem. In a picture. And of course, on me, everywhere that something significant has happened this year. I’m sure the stars are just showing up because I’m finally seeing them. There’s nothing magical about that. But maybe the fact that I’m finally letting myself see them again is the magic part.
A Week In Evil
January 16, 2012 – 11:17 pm
Here’s some stuff I did this week around the Evilverse and elsewhere:
We began our second annual St. Baldrick’s campaign over at A Picture Worth 1000 Words:
St. Baldricks Fundraising Campaign Begins!
Also at A Picture Worth 1000 Words: I Hate Boats
And…in other news…well, I’m just going to leave this right here.
LUCHADORAS. Saturday. Motorco. RAWR!
For all you crazy cat ladies and/or gentlemen
January 5, 2012 – 12:59 am
Whew, it’s been a little heavy around here lately. To lighten the mood, I suggest you click on that cute kitty there to your right. It will take you to a page of adorable cat photos and stories, if you like that sort of thing.
Once, Before Sunset
January 5, 2012 – 12:27 am
The first time I saw “Once,” I was in the student theatre at NCSU, gripping handfuls of scratchy napkins and trying not to bawl too loudly. The story of two people connecting almost instantly, recognizing something familiar and amazing in each other, falling in love quickly, and then parting far too soon tore at my heart. By the end of the movie, I could barely contain myself. Tears streaming down my face, I wanted to stand in my chair and shake my fists at the screen and shout at the main characters, “No! What are you doing? Why are you running away from love? You are going to regret it the rest of your lives!” I was so invested in the characters, so identified with where they were headed and why it was such a mistake. My best friend laughed at me while she passed me napkin after napkin, shaking her head at my emotional display. It was 2007.
Now it’s 2011. I just watched “Before Sunset,” a movie about two characters who have made that same sort of connection and separation who are reconnected by chance (and a bit of work on their parts as well.) You would think I would be on my chair, rooting for these two to pick up where they left off, uproot their lives, be brave and give it all for love, right?
Apparently, I’ve become much more cynical in the last four years.
I wanted to believe that Jesse would write a book all about Celine for the express purpose of perhaps running into her again. It’s such a romantic idea, with a side dash of arrogance, sprinkled with stalker tendencies. If you’re a closet romantic, plus avid reader, I can think of no more compelling fantasy. (Well, there’s the one that I have involving reading aloud in bed snuggled up between Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer, but you don’t want to hear about that.)
The dialogue in both movies is very good. I understand from reading about both that the actors largely improvised the dialogue to give it a spontaneous, natural feeling, and it works. (Although I hope that Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke are not quite as faux intellectual and pretentious as they come off at times. They strike me as aging hipsters that really should know better.)
But as good as the banter is, and as much as I long to believe in this kind of story, I found myself angrily poking my keyboard to close that damn Netflix window at the end of “Before Sunset.” It’s not that I didn’t like the movie or its ambiguous ending- you don’t know exactly how things turn out, but you’re very strongly pointed in a certain direction- it’s just that I don’t really believe in those endings anymore. I can’t say I can root for those endings anymore.
In “Once,” the girl goes back to her family and the guy goes back to his ex, both trying to make something out of relationships they felt (and maybe still feel) are lacking deeply. Why? Maybe because it’s easier than taking the risk on a new and frightening love.
In “Before Sunset,” I’m supposed to believe that the main characters will take this risk, leap into it, away from their long-term, comfortable, if not exactly exciting, relationships for a person they’ve only met once before. I’m not doubting that people would take the risk- indeed, I personally know a few that have- but although I know it happens, I still can’t make that leap here. Is it a failure of the storytelling?
No. It’s a failure of my imagination.
Years go by. You see friends, acquaintances, and family in relationships that don’t work, that they constantly worry over, but they never take the leap. I doubt that they would even if they fell deeply in love with someone- again, something I know, as I’ve seen a couple of friends in long-term clandestine relationships with someone who was not their partner, someone they loved deeply, but someone who they would not make the leap with for reasons of duty. It’s been my experience that duty wins out over love almost every time.
I don’t necessarily think this is a bad thing. A long term relationship is not a steadily increasing line- it’s more like a sine wave, if you’re lucky. You stick out the boring or sad or lonely parts because you know the person you chose is good and true and lovely and sooner or later, things will move back up again. So you work at it, and you wait it out, and all that effort is completely worth it.
But what if you’re unlucky, and it’s more like a bell curve? Things peaked a long time ago, and no amount of pulling and pushing together (or on your own, depending on your relationship) is going to help? What then? I think most people shrug their shoulders and stay right down there on the x-axis. Whether it’s for the children, or because of the time invested, or because of lack of imagination, they stay.
There are some extenuating circumstances in which I could completely understand taking on the mantel of duty- a child with special needs or an ill partner come to mind, but there are many more. I don’t think duty is always a dirty word. Indeed, we sign up for quite of bit of necessary duties when we commit to someone. But what I’m referring to is the duty of remaining with someone you know is very much unsuited for you, who you may even love but who you don’t desire in any way, who does not require and deserve your help in an exceptional way (like the prior examples), simply because you feel obligated.
I’ve been there.
And I don’t ever want to get in that mindset again. I might not believe that Jesse and Celine would make those choices, but I don’t want to believe that I wouldn’t, or even more horrifyingly, that my partner wouldn’t. I don’t want to be someone’s duty. I want to be someone’s friend, lover, partner. Those roles change and grow and change again over time, as they should, but I always want to believe there will be a core of love, whatever form that takes over the years, there in the middle. Not obligation. Love. I want to believe that people would take the leap not necessarily into the arms of another, more exciting lover, but into the arms of a possibly more fulfilling life.
As I rapidly approach middle-age, I’m mostly excited about growing older, becoming wiser, less bewildered about the world around me. But I’m worried that becoming wiser means losing that sense of wonder, that belief in romance, that belief that passion and love are attainable ideals and should be. I’m worried at what it means that I’m losing the suspension of disbelief necessary to enjoy a thoroughly romantic and totally fictional story.
I’ve always hoped that experience would bring with it wisdom. Now I’m wondering if it just brings knowledge- a tired, beat down sort of knowing. I hope that I’m wrong.
Waiting for You in the Sun
December 25, 2011 – 2:30 am
We don’t do a whole lot for Christmas in our house.
I mean, we celebrate. We put up a tree, we get excited, Santa comes. The years that I have Noah on Christmas Eve, like this year, we make a big supper, we open presents, we watch silly holiday specials (this year, the silliest of all) and most importantly, we hang out together all day long and relax, just the three of us. We have a real good time.
But it’s not like the holidays of my youth. My childhood Christmases were all spent at my great-grandmother’s house. The whole family (all nine of us) descended upon the tiny house, delivering unbelievable masses of presents, which added to the unbelievable mass of food that my great-grandma had cooked. From 6pm Christmas Eve night until sometime on the 26th, a cycle of grazing and unwrapping and arguing and napping repeated itself over and over again under the cover of a blizzard of holiday cheer. It was exhilarating and exhausting. But under all the flurry of Christmas tradition was one rock solid truth for a small child- this is family; this is forever.
I’m not a small child anymore. My great-grandparents and my grandparents are gone. The house we had so many Christmases in is empty. I have new traditions for my child.
And I know that child will grow up, move away, have new traditions for his kids. But one thing will remain a rock solid truth. One thing is forever.
Noah, wherever you go, whatever you decide to do, I will be here waiting for you, drinking white wine beer in the sun.
Love,
Mommy
Thanks, Tim Minchin, for reminding me what the season is really all about.
Mind Over Matter
December 21, 2011 – 2:35 am
You know, I’m right there with those people who say mind over matter and all kinds of hippie, New Age shit like that until they intimate that really, you got cancer because you were too stressed out, or too selfish, or too self-absorbed, because you know they’re all the same thing. The molecular state of your body is your own goddamned fault. Your body is sending you a message, asshole.
It makes me angry, and not just because this line of thinking is ludicrous and ridiculous but because the mere suggestion makes me reframe my body’s breakdowns as my own personal failings. And I love to blame shit on myself.
My father once told me that there are two kinds of people in the world: neurotics and psychotics. Neurotics think everything that goes wrong is their fault, and psychotics think that it’s all someone else’s fault. I’m pretty sure that my dad and I don’t agree on everything, mostly because I can count the number of times I’ve seen him in my 34 years on my fingers, and my criteria for Father of the Year include knowing your child’s address- however, I agree with him on this one. Sure, personality is far more subtle than this- humans are not binary beings- but, in general, everyone falls into these two camps. When the shit hits the fan, what’s your first thought?
Mine is, “Oh, fuck. What did I screw up this time?”
Currently, I’m not ovulating and my feet go numb with no warning. So obviously, I assumed this is my fault, and I spent some time asking myself, “What message is my body sending me?”
your a frigid bitch that doesn’t deserve another child!11
oh god. hold me.
Wait, no.
NO.
You know what? Fuck that shit.
Fuck it. That’s some victim blaming bullshit, and while we’re at it, I’m not a victim- I’m someone whose body isn’t working exactly perfectly right now, but it’s working, damn it, and I love it, and there’s nothing wrong with my character that’s the cause of this. Shit happens. Go to a doctor. Again. (And believe me, I understand that I’m lucky to be able to do so now, after 3 years of no health insurance, and I cannot understand why other people are against some form of universal healthcare, seriously, wtf?) I have so much to be grateful for, and I am, and I refuse to blame myself for the bit that I’m not grateful for and I cannot fathom why anyone would want us to feel guilty for our random health issues. It’s bullshit.
Some health issues you can fix. Some you cannot. You should not feel guilty for any of them. It won’t get you anywhere. Fix what you can. Accept what you can’t. And love your body anyway.
And besides, if my body is sending me a message, it’s probably
Put on wool socks and take me out for bourbon, sweetcheeks.
Done, darling. I love you.
A Week In Evil
December 18, 2011 – 6:00 am
Here’s some stuff I did this week around the Evilverse and elsewhere:
Here on the blog: Bender
Over on nie:photography:
Love Knot
Collage
Look Behind You
Reaching
At A Picture Worth 1000 Words: Featured Image
Also at A Picture Worth 1000 Words:
Holiday Charity Spotlight on two Triangle rescue groups important to our family- Marley’s Cat Tales and Second Chance Pet Adoptions.
Bender
December 17, 2011 – 1:57 am
The other night, I stumbled out of bed to the bathroom. I was dizzy and my head was pounding. It was a miracle I made it to the toilet without passing out. I lay my head down on the adjacent sink, which was cool, so very cool, against my burning cheek. I contemplated sleeping there upright all night. I finally managed to heave myself into a semi-standing position again and lumber back to the bedroom. I flopped down towards the bed only to discover mid-dive that I was a good eight inches away from the mattress. I barely caught myself in time to avoid cracking my head wide open on the nightstand. I slid under the covers, shaking from my little adventure and from the sudden onset of chills.
I know what you’re thinking. “Damn, girl, what were you drinking?”
It’s true. I’d been swilling all day- for the last several days, in fact. The hard stuff, the stuff that tastes terrible, burning your taste buds as well as your throat on the way down, but you toss it back anyway. I could barely get out of bed in the morning without it- in fact, some days, I couldn’t get up even after drinking two or three shots of it. I skipped it one morning and woke up hours later as a sweaty, feverish mess. I had to have it. It was my lifeline. I couldn’t cope without it.
My name is Gabrielle, and it’s been one day since my last sip of Mucinex.
Pairs well with fever, headache and stomach-cramping cough, but not with balancing upright, thinking coherently, or operating heavy machinery. Hey, that’s sort of like whiskey!
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