Finding Balance

I miss my blog.

Have I mentioned that I have a fear of boredom?  A need to be productive?  A compulsion to find validation for my efforts? . . . Yes!?

Well, it's true.  

With me it's either feast of famine.  All or nothing.  Black or white. . . actually it's never really black or white with me, clearly.  Scratch that--which is probably good, I was beginning to seem a little bipolar.  

Currently I am in the "All" phase.  Which would explain my lack of prolificness here.

Oh, I have been writing. . . and writing. . . and writing.  Just not here where I say what I want about what I want and to heck with the tone or mood or implied implications.  All my time has been spent writing to prove I have read. . . about human evolution. . . about Lutheranism and Catholicism. . . about what your  text color and font choice says about you . . . about how women writers affect me as a woman writer. . . about what Shakespeare meant when he said "They that have the power to hurt and will do none,/That do not do the thing they most do show." (because really, are they only good on the outside?)  . . . 

When what I really want to write about is how the color of your hair can change your whole outlook. . . how five year olds can make you laugh 'til your sides hurt and your eyes water. . . how having birthed a clone of myself is at once extremely rewarding and highly annoying. . . how choosing the right tile for my back splash seems of paramount importance and equally as difficult. . . How being a student apparently makes me more sexy to my husband. . .

And it doesn't end there.  

I started my house remodel and New Beginnings is coming up in two weeks.  This means I spend my time either doing homework, painting baseboards and getting counter top bids, or making scrapbooks and writing talks (Our theme for Young Women Personal Progress -- a youth group organization for my church-- is "Report & Record"  which translates to making a scrapbook and journal of their year.  We are making books at New Beginnings and they will meet quarterly to add handouts they have collected, journal entries they have written in conjunction with goals, and pictures from the activities they have attended.  I am supposed to have a sample book made and a talk prepared by the 18th--and technically I just got released from this calling, but I have to see this portion through--can't leave them hanging!) .

And I miss my camera. . .

The only pictures I have taken of late are of the slow progress we are making on our house.  Which would be quicker since Rob has been home more days than not this year, if my backside wasn't glued to a chair in front of my computer 26 hours a day.   (I would say I missed my treadmill, but we both know that would be a lie -- my husband might start missing it for me soon though!)

I miss cooking. . . 

My recipe web site misses me too.  I haven't posted a new recipe since December--probably because I have been eating spaghetti and nachos and the like.  One night I got really creative and made corn bread muffins with hot dogs cut up in them and cheese on top. . . surprisingly yummy, I might add.  Rather like fancy corn dogs.  I am putting all my money towards the kitchen remodel and am trying to make dinners from whatever I have in my kitchen and pantry.

And I miss you. . .

I miss the comments I get, and blogs I haven't got time to read, the family I don't see or speak to often enough. . .    

In the end it's all about paper.  Paper means validation.  

That little paper that says I am smart because I finished college.  Hopefully twice.  And that other piece of paper that I can take to the bank.  And maybe the pack of papers that those will help me get that says, "Dang it, I am a good writer." . . . which will lead to a whole book of paper written by me. . . which will bring more paper that I can take to the bank and maybe buy a bracelet with. . .  or a car--that's up to all of you.  But I don't really write for the money.  I write because I love it, and I crave a little praise, but a check would be nice too.  

So, in the name of paper and fear of boredom, I will endure.  And hope you miss me when I don't visit as often.

Inspiration?

Have you ever:

A. Watched on of those home decorating shows where the designer gets her/his inspiration from an object, like say an artichoke?  I always thought this was kind of silly, despite the often pleasing results.  

B.  Known someone who decorated an entire room around a collection?  I,  on principle, am not a collector.  I think getting too much of something distracts from its specialness. . . plus you have to dust it. (of course, if you ask my husband he'll tell you I collect magazines, but that is entirely different.)

C.  Been the kind of person, or known a person, who collects dishes--having a set for every occasion?  I can't see storing all those dishes and always claim white is best. . . it goes with everything.

In one fell swoop I have done all three. . . for these:

Several months ago I saw some of these dishes on ebay.  They are depression era glass dishes and they are the prettiest watery blue.  I fell in love them.  I had to have them.  I started collecting them.  And hey, they go very nicely with all my white dishes. 

They are now right up there on my list of favorite things. 

I am even having my new kitchen designed with a glass doored hutch to display them. 

And now, I am decorating my family room and kitchen around them. . . I carried one into a rug store to find a rug that would coordinate.  

Am I crazy?  

And if you know where I can find more, please let me know.

 

How I Relieve a Week of Stress.

After a week of homework and house remodeling I needed a really good laugh.  Little did I know my Mac could provide!  Here is a little glance at our silly family posing for my Mac's Photo Booth.

Who knew a little computer camera could be so much fun?! 

But, for mine own part, it was Greek to me

I am officially a student. . .  again.  I started school on Monday--five classes.  A very interesting line up.  Three English classes, (Shakespeare, Women Writers, Mutli-Media Authoring) a world civ class (I apparently missed a gen ed requirement all those years ago) and an Anthropology class (a prereq for the masters in teaching program I plan to enter upon graduation). 

As an English major the first three should be fun, (and mulit-media authoring, with a focus on web authoring--doesn't that sound a lot like blogging? Got it covered! I actually have to make a web published argumentative site as a project)  and the other two are basically history and the study of people--both things I love (did I mention last time I was in school I intended to get a history minor--now it's all about getting the degree done as quickly as possible!).

Shakespeare is the only on campus class I am taking and last night was the first class.  As the teacher was giving a historical background to the world culture of the time, (mainly the 16th century) I was all kinds of excited.  I love this stuff: reign of the Tudors, Queen Elizabeth, rise of protestantism, Early Modernism and the age of scientific discovery. . . forget 120 thousand people crammed into one square mile, sewage running in the streets and a pervasive aversion to baths!)  I was all enthralled--so absorbed I didn't even take notes--I figured I sort of had this stuff covered. . .

. . . Then we start picking apart one of Shakespeare's sonnets.  I have had a decent amount of exposure to Shakespeare, but good grief that man is wordy.  All flowery prose and nearly indecipherable analogies.  But guess what?--I love it!  

Seriously, what woman would not want to hear:

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,

Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,

Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,

Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,

Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:

But these particulars are not my measure;

All these I better in one general best.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,

Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,

Of more delight than hawks or horses be;

And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take

All this away and me most wretched make.

Sure school is a lot of work--loads of reading, hours of writing, and very time consuming, and expensive these day. . . but is supposed to be fun?

You Can Find Me At Home

After a week of finding reasons to be out of  my house I have no place I'd rather be than home.  I have never been one to run errands all day while my kids are in school.  I find plenty to do while staying home. . . cleaning, writing, doing house projects, photo editing, yard work, the occasional sewing project, church related projects and other random computer related activities.  So for the past week while my floor has been refinished I have had to leave my house by nine in the morning and not come back until late afternoon, or sometimes evening.  One day I left at nine and got home at nine.  Essentially, I have only been home long enough to make messes. 

Of course, those messes have been confined to my room and the girls' rooms because the entire main level is either hardwood, or the living room--which is wall to wall piled furniture.  It has been an interesting week.  

I have learned, however, that I am truly a homebody.  I like to be home.  Maybe that is why I spend so much time decorating and remodeling (and dreaming of decorating and remodeling) my house.  It is my world, my number one environment.  I would like it to be orderly and serene.  I don't work well in clutter and chaos.  Now if I could just get all my furniture back where it goes. . .

Do you like to get out or stay home? 

It's Really All About Me!

Writer's Workshop with Mama Kat.

Prompt of choice: 

2.) Ask a loved one to use 6 descriptive words to describe you and report your findings. How well do they know you?

The prompt this week is very apropos.  Why you ask?  For the Young Women’s activity this week (ages 12 - 18) at church we had a lady come in and talk to the girls about the five love languages.  She was very entertaining and everyone had hilarious stories to tell.  It only reinforced what I already knew about myself and my husband.  

I am very much a words of affirmation sort of person, while my husband is NOT.  It took a couple heated “discussions” early in our marriage for me to figure this all out, but Rob is an “acts of service” sort of person.  So when I would lament and accuse him of not telling me how great I am, he would look at me like I had sprung an extra head and say “I put gas in your car, what else do you want?”  This is true.  He does a lot for me.  I, in fact, have not put gas in my car for 12 years.  I rarely even pay attention to that gas gauge thingie, because I know he has got it covered.  He never leaves town without filling the tank and getting me some cash.  He really loves me!  

But I still love to hear how. . . and why. . . often.  I have settled for occasionally and learned to appreciate all he does for me.

So the prompt that suggested we “ask someone to use six words to describe you” after a night of learning about love languages struck me as funny.  Of course I had to choose it. . . and make Rob answer it.

And of course he narrowed his eyes and questioned the validity of this “assignment”, but with only a little resistance and slight roll of the eyes here is what I got:

Witty -- this is actually the one descriptive word I can get out of him when put into this kind of situation, so I think he means it.  Plus he said it maybe three times while trying to find a mere six different descriptive words.

Dedicated --which he followed with addictive and driven. . .mmmm--do you think he is trying to tell me something here?  I lumped those together and made him try again.  Driven?. . .not me!

Loyal -- I think this is true. . I hope this is true, because this is a trait I greatly admire in others.  

Resilient -- This may be more due to my horrible short term memory.  I get over things quickly. . .because I forget about them.  I don’t hold a grudge well--I forget I am supposed to be mad.  I think life is too short to not get over it and move on--but then maybe I am lucky and nothing too terribly difficult has tested this theory.  

I will tell you who I think deserves the description resilient: Jennifer (She, incidentally, was the first bloggy friend I made from scratch! --by that I mean I didn’t know her before I started reading her blog -- though I found out later that she went to school with my husband. . .If you really care to know more about that she wrote it so much more eloquently than I could.  Go HERE to read it.  We met for real after that first near miss.  She wrote about that too.  And I forgave her for calling me sweet.).

Longwinded -- Just kidding.  But I am sure he thought it!

Creative -- This may be true (I like to think it is) or it may just be that he is extremely left brain, science oriented and sees my creative attempts as sheer brilliance! (or complete nonsense he diplomatically calls “creative”--diplomacy is NOT on my list, but it would definitely be on his).

Spontaneous! -- I suppose when it takes him half a dozen trips to the mall, an hour or so a pop, to pick out a $40 shirt, I seem all kinds of crazy spontaneous.  But even on my terms I do try.    (Though, again, I would venture to guess that in his mind spontaneous directly translates as rash and irresponsible (wait let me ask him. . .)

. . . laughter is now under control.  It went something like this:

Me:  If you were to replace the word spontaneous with another word meaning the same thing, what would you choose?

Rob: Unpredictable.

Maybe he meant that in a “I love surprises” kind of way, but I know something about him. . . he hates surprises.

So, there you go.  Me in a nutshell.  

But I have a secret.  I know his love language, so I will now go perform some act of service to him and all will be well.

I can do anything. . .

. . . that is what I like to tell myself.

I am a do-it-yourself project girl.  I blame it on my husband.  He is too optimistic by far and his confidence in his own abilities tends to rub off on me.  There is something really great about the phrase, "I did it myself."  All that ego tends to go to one's head.

Which is what led the two of us to rip out our carpets and lay our own hardwood floors.  I had a vision. . . and Rob was tired of staring at the torn up, ink stained carpet in his office (Thanks to a five pound ball of white fur).  After two days of installing the wood and 12 hours of sanding it plus the old wood floors, we anxiously put wood to stain.

Never mind that we had heard horror stories about how hard it is to get good results with really dark stain.  Never mind that we had never done this before.  Never mind that we could be embarking on a disastrous course that could ruin our floors. . .wait, let's not never mind that last one.  

After staining a test portion (under the fridge)  we got scared.  Dark stain was hard.  We had never done this before.  We could be ruining all our hard work.  

So we called in an expert.  He arrives tomorrow.

On the upside we will still have saved money. . . a lot of money, doing what we did, but part of me feels like we failed.  We can no longer claim "We did it ourselves."  

So I went and painted my laundry room.  Painting I can handle!  

I feel more in control already.

For more pics or details of our project and plans, go here.