February 8, 2000

"Relieved"

The chill's left my emotional climate. Worry doesn't do any good. As Serena wrote me, "I try not to think about it too much, it only hurts more to do it. I was just writing Laura that I try very hard to live in the moment - not worrying too much about the future for it will come or it won't. Nothing we can do here but treasure every moment we have and enjoy them all to the fullest." That's certainly the truth. So I'm just going to treasure each day with all the people I love.

I read Laura yesterday's entry and it was good to talk about it with her. We even joked a little. She said, 'You'll thank me later for the laughter' and maybe she's right. Each thing we share just makes us closer. So I'll collect those memories day by day, and let tomorrow take care of itself.

Today has had many good things to recommend it. I've feeling positively relieved. I got those MATTRESS COVERS done! Yes, a price has been decided upon, the customer's been called, and I'm feeling so relieved. I didn't know quite what to charge, for I'd been so late. Laura suggested figuring out a fair price and then deducting ten percent because of the extreme delay. When I was scanning the receipt for the fabric purchase, I noticed I'd bought it just the day before Shayna died. For awhile there, I just couldn't make myself think about it. It wasn't an alteration job that I've done zillions of times before. It took math and calculations and my brain would start to throb whenever I'd contemplate it. So I put it off and put it off some more. I'm so glad they're done.

I not only got that taken care of, I got some bills paid and a card ready for Aunt June. I had a dream about her last night. She called me on the phone, and was giving me all the news about her grandchildren. This would be an ordinary enough subject for her. She told me my cousin Sharmon's youngest was fourteen years old already. This one was born after I moved to Arizona. Oh, I did all the usual oohing and aahing, being amazed at the time gone by. But the dream wasn't totally accurate. Sharmon only had two kids. When I awoke, I remembered she has five. Also the child would have to be less than thirteen years old, for I'd moved to Arizona in 1987. It's curious I should dream of her, for today is Aunt June's birthday.

I chose a card I had on hand with flowers in a vase and a perky yellow bird. I knew the bird would make her think of grampa, who watched birds. They don't have much flowers there in Illinois now, except the ones at the florists. Not so here. Not only the aloe vera has bloomed, I saw a tiny red bloom on our hibiscus bushes. I rushed to it with the camera. But I was a little bored with the results, for I'd already done better with colored pencils. So I played around with the image, and got something pleasing.

February 10, 2000

"Additions and Revisions"

I've been steadily adding to my music collection, and at last the small tan cardboard package arrived with the two CDs I'd ordered. I tore into it, expecting to find the countertenor music I'd sent for. But an album of Scott Joplin rags and one of the male choral group Chanticleer singing spirituals puzzled me. This was the sort of thing I'd like. I'd long considered sending for the CD of the old Joshua Rifkin vinyl I'd had back in my college days. And anything by Chanticleer that I don't already have is a draw. I hunted for the catalog, as I keep them in a drawer with the items circled, and found it below two other catalogs, with these two items circled. Yet I couldn't remember ordering them. In just what foggy state had I been?

Strange, that. As I shortened a deep purple full crinkle skirt, the familiar rag tunes delighted me, however.

The need to clarify and organize is again with me. As if it had ever left. Anyway, soon I'll be at the numbers, adding and subtracting, figuring out tax matters for the past year. Have I ever told you all how I hate math? I despise it. Numbers and I have an uneasy truce at best.

There'll be lots of revisions as I correct figures. Pure dread of that, I have.

I had nothing creative and new yesterday. In lieu of inspiration, I revised a couple old Weighty Matters sections from about a year ago. It's some mental exercise, at any rate.

Mental exercise is usually not the problem, and Laura and I have been doing better at the physical exercise, getting three sessions in a week at the health club. My knees do seem less rusty for it. But, oh, have other health matters been on my mind. After another large restaurant meal last night, I again 'belched with the wolves', this after trying to chew more thoroughly. Maybe it's the AMOUNT of food I down as well. Those of you who've been reading for a long time may remember my complete logs of what I'd eaten each day. I've never eaten like the delicate females. I shove huge mountains of food down me with no thought at all, but pure sensory gratification. Part of me is still rebelling at my extremely weight conscious family. I feel the anger still, after many years of no longer being at home. Vanity hasn't been enough to curb my appetite. Distant thoughts of future clogged arteries haven't been enough to curb my appetite. Present realizations of weight-stressed joints haven't been enough to curb my appetite. But contemplating belching for three hours straight might just do it!

So I must revise the way I eat. This middle aged digestive system just can't deal with the old way any longer.

February 11, 2000

"Weakly Glowing"

I was dumbfounded this morning to find myself belching again, this time after not having had anything since 5:30pm the night before. What gives with this gut? Laura and I even had the medical books out, trying to solve the mystery. It can't be the gallbladder, because that's been gone nearly four years now. Could it be, in addition to too much rich food eaten too fast, just plain stress?

Much has been made in new age circles of intuitional healing. It couldn't hurt to sit down with that space within and see if there was any message.

Oooh, I'm weak. It's dark here in the cave. I'm cold, but with a sweaty dampness. Bleah. I need patience, patience with the weakness of self and soul. How weak am I? Can I trust? Can I have the strength to trust in what may be an uncertain future? What will be my rock, that will always be there, no matter what? I need to find it. It exists. I'm sure of it, and I need to find it. That hard-line, hard-gut strength, how can I find it? Just knowing that it exists somewhere helps. My eyes are adjusting to the darkness. I sense my strength is near. I think I see it weakly glowly, at the other end of this damp cave. I can get there.

Well, considering the kind of depressing rubbish I've been getting lately from 'station muse', this is downright uplifting.

February 13, 2000

"Crystalline Caves"

froggy, happy in his crystal cave
© Susan Allen

I'm happy today. This little froggy was at the Gem and Mineral Show yesterday. These ''hollowgraphics'' are carved inside a piece of polished quartz. A tiny hole is made through which a flexible-shaft grinding tool is inserted. On its end is a cutting tool. Howard Friedler of Lake Oswego, Oregon does these detailed, fanciful sculptures. Starnet featured an article about him yesterday, which said the prices for the simpler carvings start at $350 dollars and can go as high as $45,000. A picture accompanied the article, illustrating a $45,000 item. ''The Infinity Wizard'' is eight inches high, and features a long bearded wizard, complete with staff, and floating bird like creations he's possibly summoned to his crystal cave.

The froggy was done by Susan Allen, another hollowgraphic artist, and I'm not sure what it costs. I don't care. I'm happy to own the pixelated version, courtesy of my little Mavica.

More ''Joyous Jewels'' are at the latest chapter of A Tale Told With Time.

February 15, 2000

"Hearty Truths"

"Between whom there is hearty truth there is love." Henry David Thoreau

I found that quote at Interlude, one of my favorite places to gather good things to think about. HEARTY truth implies a special kind of truth. It is in the sharing of secrets deep from the heart that makes this kind of love grow. In these pages I would like to share what are HEARTY truths.

I had no entry yesterday for Valentine's day, but the day before, at ATTWT, I placed a special poem of Rumi's called Transparent Tree. Scroll down to find it. There's romantic sentiments enough, and I love the imagery this poem evokes in me.

I had plenty of Valentine's special treats. I even heard from my Mother, who did receive her latest packet of journal print-outs on Valentine's day, as I'd hoped. She's glad I'm not so distressed anymore. But she did have a small bone to pick.

"In the entry where you said part of you is "still rebelling at my extremely weight conscious family.", I'm not part of that 'weight conscious family', am I? "Even my Mother has bought into that one", you said?"

She wanted to assure me she wasn't judgmental, and was horrified when I told her how when I came home for my Dad's funeral and Gramma told me, "I almost didn't recognize you, you're so heavy!" I was about 160 then, and looked like this. Look at that picture, and see if you think I was 'so heavy' then. Okay, I wasn't by any means THIN, but . . . you can see where I'd get the urge to rebel. "No, Mother, I know you're not like the rest of them!"

She, however, has always been thin. That's probably enough, when I'm on a rampage, though. She has told me how she cuts back for a couple of days if she has a big meal one day. But it's not a struggle for her, and that's probably enough, when I'm on a rampage. But I didn't mean to include her with those who regard thinness almost as a moral imperative.

After assuring her she was not in that camp, we shared lots of news. She told me how she drove home the other day, all the way behind a white Pontiac Sunbird, and thought of the tragedy we'd recently endured. She's glad the days are getting easier for us, and had been really worried. We talked for over an hour, and we could have talked some more. We covered many 'hearty truths' in that time, though.

I wish she lived closer.

February 17, 2000

"Frustrations and Satisfactions"

I was making good progress on skydiver uniform repairs, halfway through the bag of uniforms, as I'm eager to prove I'm not a slacker. Stitches were being made quickly, holes were getting patched, and then SILENCE. The big roaring motor roared no more. I clicked the switch, and nothing happened. But the big 1/2 horsepower motor was extremely hot to the touch. That's assuming I could touch it. Did it smell faintly of burnt wire? I called the repair shop in Phoenix that had been so helpful with the last machine crisis I had. ''Don't try to force it to go, it will only catch fire,'' I was warned. The old motor was toasted.

So I arranged for Laura's son James to take me and the huge sewing machine table up to Phoenix yesterday morning. The man I talked to said the sewing machine itself wasn't necessary. So I left it at home.

The traffic was terrible. The highway from Casa Grande to Phoenix really needs to be made into a three lane highway. And, of course, the traffic in town was awful. It was nearly impossible to change lanes. But we got to the shop and gave them the table. The man said it would be done by noon.

We had some time to kill. James went to the uniform shop of his company and picked up some new pants. But we still had time to kill. So we stopped at the Fashion Square Mall in Scottsdale to look around. In early fall of 1998 the three of us went there before the stores opened and couldn't get in. James and I didn't have that problem. I needed a restroom and found one at the Nordstrom's. It, however, was called a lounge, and before the room with toilets and sinks, there was a beautifully decorated room with sofas, paintings on the wall and piped in music. It sounded rather like live piano playing. It was. I've been to some swanky places with Gramma and Aunt June in my life, but never a place which entertained their customers with live piano music while they shopped. The prices, of course, were commensurate.

Another of their stores, often nicknamed Needless Markup, had tall crystal vases for five hundred bucks. Fancy beaded purses were there to accompany fancy beaded dresses. The dresses were in the three thousand dollar price range. And not a one of any of the garments came any larger than a size twelve. The few customers floating around looked like they'd been face lifted and liposuctioned into conformance with strict fashion requirements. I, in my size sixteen aged, slightly stained items from reasonable mail order and outlet stores, felt indeed like a visitor from another planet.

As we passed a Williams Sonoma store, even it looked forbidding to lowly me. Even though I have ordered things from their catalog, such as a heavy stainless steel bucket, the store had an intimidating presence about it.

We were in that world briefly, and then back to the sewing machine repair shop. The first guy I'd talked to had told me wrong. It would have been better had the machine been brought in, for then they could have adjusted the belt length for us. He assured us it wasn't a difficult job. Laura has always tightened the belt when it loosens, and she could figure it out. But if we had problems, they could mail us a belt.

After a visit to a day-old bakery shop, James loading up on cheap breads and pastries, we at last headed home. I arrived home to a frustrated Laura. She'd been installing new programs without success. Her new amusement, an online role playing game called Everquest has been so satisfying, she wants Julia and I to be able to enter it with her. This requires several things. An additional account with our ISP is only one. She got that set up and running, but, alas, the game program wouldn't, for this computer lacks the proper accelerator card. We're rather spent up on those credit cards, so Laura's thinking maybe she can sell items we're not using to get enough to acquire the cash for such a card, or a computer which has it, as we're fairly certain nothing can be added inside this computer. It looked like a sealed unit when we tried to put in the internal CD writer earlier.

But we do have a second account, and now while Laura's playing Everquest, I can at least go online for longer than five minutes, which is as long as I could sneak on line before the ISP sensors detected multiple users on our account. So THAT is satisfying. And, yes, along with that, we also get another ten megs of server space. There is room for expansion!

February 18, 2000

"Even More Frustrations"

Laura called the car repair shop this morning before we left to take Julia to work. Our new red car has been having problems. We've taken it to the shop three times, and each time upon getting it back, it seemed to be running worse than before. Last night it stalled even when the air conditioning wasn't on and on the highway it positively rattled. So we told them we'd bring it in Tuesday.

That appointment taken care of, we headed off to take Julia to work. Then we'd finally go exercise at the fitness center. We hadn't been there all week, owing to car troubles. It would be good to get the muscles and joints moving again. Then we'd come home, and I'd alter those bridesmaid dresses and do more patching on skydiver uniforms. Yes, our day was all planned.

But, of course, fate had to stick its ornery finger in our plans. We were headed south on Trekell, after we turned off of Kortsen, and got a few feet down Trekell, when we heard that, by now, familiar sputtering sound. It died on us, again. Laura tried several times to restart it. It acted like it would, but it just couldn't follow through on the attempt. Each time it sputtered out. Julia wasn't too far from Cottonwood, so she started off walking to work, and I headed to find somewhere I could call the repair shop. They gave me a number for the tow trunk, and I was told it would be an hour wait. I walked back to the car to find a shivering Laura, for she hadn't brought a coat, so I tried to cuddle her into warmth during that long wait. An hour and fifteen minutes went by, and still no tow truck. I walked back to the business that had kindly let me use their phone and inquired. "Ten more minutes," I was told. But by then, they'd finally came.

The car is now at the dealer's repair shop, we're at home, and we anticipate a quiet weekend in. We'd had big plans of going to the Renaissance Festival, but that can wait until another weekend. They are still here until mid March.