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Life is happening

April 8, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

and it’s lovely.  I am really enjoying not having a lot of specific plans.  We did do stuff over the weekend, but we were relaxed about the timing of arrivals.  Just having fun.

Speaking of fun, who else had an adorable 8-year-old wake you up at 4:00 am to look for Easter baskets? Yep, he beat his Christmas time by 15 minutes.  I made him cuddle with me for a couple of hours and then let him wake up his brother to look for baskets.  They liked the “grown-up” watches the Easter Bunny brought them.  Water-resistant with a glowy light when you push the button.  Too big for their skinny wrists, but I’ll adjust the straps.

Church was lovely.  The boys ate a lot of food at the breakfast.  Younger son was cuddly and quiet during church and older son enjoyed the music.  I loved the song based on Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”, which is one of my favorites.

Younger son is not liking the ten minutes in the bedroom when he acts like a baby with ten additional minutes for each poor reaction to the initial ten minutes.  But it is having a slight impact.  He has still acted like a baby but it doesn’t last as long and it is less frequent.

Now oldest son has been initiating conversations (why is it always at bedtime?) about peer pressure, popularity, and self-confidence.  It breaks my heart to hear his worries and struggles and that no one hangs with him at recess.  He says he wanders around and talks to himself.  I suggested the obvious (don’t talk to yourself in an obvious way so other children may feel more comfortable approaching you) and he giggled a bit.  I wish I could build a big wall around him with a moat around the wall to protect him, but I can’t.  If I do that, he won’t learn on his own and some things you have to learn through experience.  The best I can do is hug him when he needs it, have tissues handy, and make sure he giggles by the end of our conversation.

Back to life happening while not busy making other plans.

Happy Easter!

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Wwwwhhhhhaaaattttttt???????

April 5, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

“Is he going on a crazy psycho rampage creating a raging tornado of destruction?”  That’s what younger son said today on the way to Little League.  Where do they get this stuff from?

A goal while I am on this little stayation (that’s right…I’m on vacation.  I don’t go back to work till next Thursday!  Whoo!) is to work on younger son’s conditioned responses.  Not the brilliant one he came out with earlier today, but the “I’m the baby and I’m gonna play you” responses.  He still likes to hit his head if he doesn’t get his way, he lives to change his mind 30 times in 5 minutes (I want to go with you, I want to stay home, I want to go with you, I want to stay home), and he whips up tears amazingly fast.  This boy does not like the word “no” and he’s gotta get over that.

I get to spend so much time with them for the next six days.  It will recharge me and hopefully recharge them as we slow time down and do one thing at a time and do it as well as we can.  Including having fun.  No big plans but rather living by the words of John Lennon-“life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”.  No plans being made…just enjoying life.

And most definitely sleeping in tomorrow.  The first day since December when I can truly sleep in and not be late to something.  I am giddy with antici…(wait for it) …pation.  And sleepy.

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How did I miss that one?

April 3, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

If you haven’t read the post titled It, read that one first because this one piggybacks onto that post.  If you choose not to read It first, don’t complain to me when this post makes no sense.

What an un-attentive reader I’ve been.  I usually study the cover art of a King book to predict what clues it could hold.  Yes, I am that dorky.  I make my predictions.  Only a few minutes ago I summoned up the courage to put the dust jacket back on 11/22/63 to put it back on the shelf.  As I gently wrapped the jacket around the back cover of the book, I looked at the news articles on that side.  I read beyond the titles of the articles for the first time.  I read the reporters’ names.  The name of the reporter for the story titled “Americans Breathe Sigh of Relief” is Philip.

Philip Scudder.

This time I was literally stopped in my tracks as I was walking toward the bookshelf.

Never falling asleep tonight.

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It

April 3, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

One of my favorite parts of the full body of work by Uncle Stevie is his ability to intertwine his stories together.  If you read Apt Pupil, the Nazi’s accountant is a fancy banker named Andy Dufrense before he ended up in Shawshank.  There are the many stories that take place in Castle Rock.   A fictional town that has had its share of bad luck.  To me it’s fun because I’m in on the joke, so to speak.  I get the cross-references and it usually makes me recall another character, event, or emotional response to his writing from the past that makes me smile, or grimace as the case may be.  And as I’ve written before (I think), Uncle Stevie’s books help me to sleep.  I feel comforted knowing my lot in life is not as bad as the characters.  It soothes me.  Gives me perspective.

I got 11/22/63 for Christmas.  Big bulking book from dear Stephen King.  I opted not to put this one into the reserves.  My reserves are select titles by Uncle Stevie that are unread for the day when the man finally does stop putting pen to paper.  I want to still have a “new” King book to read.  But for whatever reason 11/22/63 made it into the reading pile.  It’s not a very deep pile as I am realistic about how much time I have for reading.

The past few Sundays I have taken the book with me and read while the boys were having their swim lessons.  I’ll be honest-it took a few tries to get hooked.  What I wonder at this exact moment is did I take a while to get hooked because I was keeping an eye on my sons in the pool or because I felt the fear the book would create?

For me, there was something uneasy about the book from the get-go.  Obviously from the cover it involved changing the events of that historic day in Dallas.  I don’t know how that turns out by the way.  Because tonight I got to page 129 and was stopped dead in my tracks.  Or was it eyeballs?  Stopped dead in my eyeballs?  Even now as I checked the book to see the page number I touched it as if I would be burned.

Uncle Stevie wrote about Georgie Denbrough on page 129.  He wrote about Pennywise.  I have a picture of Tim Curry as Pennywise on my desk that one of my students gave me.  It’s of Pennywise  photoshopped into the movie for Bring It On.  You see the humor, I’m sure.  Made me laugh my ass off when I first saw it.  I enjoyed the movie version of It.  Not stellar but it doesn’t hurt to watch on a Saturday afternoon.  I love the cast, but the problem with trying to put It on film is the terror is too deep (in my humble opinion) to capture.  So while I like the movie, the book is what scared the crap out of me and continues to in so many ways.

I connected to this book instantly.  I could have joined the Losers club easily.  Probably could have been a charter member.  I held onto my faith in the belief system of childhood for a very long time.  Truth be told, I still have more of a childlike belief system than an adult one.  I love this book and hate this book.  The magic of childhood and the horror of childhood vividly live in the characters with such ease.  I see myself reflected in each of the characters.  I see myself reflected in the words typed on the many, many pages.  I have read this book several times but the most recent time I read it happened over a decade ago.  I don’t know when I will reread it.  I know I will, but I don’t know when.  Once I gave birth to my second son I knew it would be quite a long time till I could read It again.  When their childhoods are over and safely tucked away in baby books and scrapbooks, I’ll be able to read It again.  That was the plan.  I wouldn’t have to interact too closely with the horrors of It for another decade.

Then Uncle Stevie wrote about Georgie in 11/22/63.  I couldn’t even finish the sentence I was reading.  The story of It came flooding back into my mind, heart, and soul so quickly, it was, if you’ll pardon the expression, a watershed moment.  I started shaking as all the events in that book flooded my mind at one time.  I saw it coming with the first mention of the town of Derry, but thought there’s no way he could really intertwine it with any detail.  I tried to recall details, like names or places, but all I could picture were the Barrens and the standpipe.  I thought no biggie, a few passing mentions of Derry.   But I was wrong.  I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

I was sitting there on my couch, shaking, crying, trying to catch my breath because Uncle Stevie knocked the wind out of me.  After a few minutes, I walked down the hall, turned on the light with the pretty frosted glass dome, and with a sense of fear and doom went in to check on my sons.  Both sleeping soundly in the shark bedroom, both audibly breathing that deep and constant breathing of a sleep not filled with worry or fear.  I still put my hand on each boy’s chest to feel the steady rise and fall of his lungs filling with and emptying of air.

How does this man do it?  How does he summon up fear so readily in so many people?  I don’t know if I’ll sleep tonight.  I’m not being facetious.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to fall asleep.  Each time I close my eyes, I see It.  In all of its forms.  I see Georgie, Bill, and Bev.  The pharmacist-ooh, maybe that’s why I don’t care for pharmacists. Oh, gentle reader, if I could convey how frightened this man made me this evening I too would make my living putting pen to paper.

I want to know how the book ends-please don’t be an ass and write it in a comment.  I will finish 11/22/63.  But it will have to wait until it’s not dark.  And when I can hear my boys playing the whole time.  I don’t even want to touch the book to put it back in the Stephen King bookshelves.  Yes, he has his own private bookshelves in my house.

Georgie and his paper boat.  The rain.  The sewer.  We all float down here.  I didn’t know until this evening how deeply It had worked it’s way into my being.  I love that about books, a story’s ability to infiltrate your memory and linger with you the rest of your life.  The stories pop up into your daily existence usually when you least expect it, as those types of things are wont to do.  As I probably wrote before, to paraphrase Uncle Stevie from an old interview (or foreword or afterword), everyone has a filter in their brain that sorts through each day’s events.  Certain things fall through and others are too big to fit through the holes of the sieve.  The scary stuff stays in his brain so that’s what he writes about in his stories.  And I love to read the scary stuff so it’s been a long relationship for the two of us.  I just couldn’t have guessed how large It was to allow it to linger so closely to my retrievable memory.  To be able to be pulled forth in a violent manner after reading only a few sentences describing some key events in the history of Derry.

I need to know what happens next.  But during the day.  With the sun shining.  Happily I have some vacation time this week into next.  Maybe one of the days will be sunny.  I can hole up in my room, with the covers wrapped around me, and read where the storyteller wants to take me.

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Mediocrity’s not that bad.

April 1, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

I had a thought today.  I know, there’s an accomplishment right there.  I reflected about mediocrity once again.  It’s not always a bad thing.  If one is mediocre in a particular area, you don’t have to achieve anything all that amazing within that area.  The bar is most definitely lowered and the pressure is off of you.  So as I reflect about my strengths and weaknesses, pressures are falling off in all directions.

I’m not saying I’m mediocre at everything.  I can’t think of anything at the moment that I excel at, but that’s besides the point.  The point is that the extreme pressures I put on myself all the time are not necessary.  People have been telling me this for years (my hubby in particular) but this is the type of moment that one has to come to in her own time.  I suspect it will take several weeks for it to really sink in, but at the moment it’s a nice realization.

One thing I’m good at that improves my lot in life in no way is pulling obscure quotes from movies.  I can’t actually do anything with this ability, but it does give me a good chuckle when I need it.  I’m also not bad at Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.  Years of video retail does this to one’s brain.  Years of watching movies does it.  I adore movies.  I stopped relaxing when I watch them over the past few years.  Don’t know why, I suppose I’ll ponder that soon enough.

Another thing I’m good at is reading.  Is that the dorkiest sentence you’ve ever read, or what?  But I recall the stuff I’ve read, like I do with quotes from a movie.  I can recall the story, details, and characters in almost a flashback by simply looking at the book.  It’s like a quick catch-up with an old friend.

I visited some old friends today at Tookey’s Bar.  I reread “One for the Road” and actually relaxed while reading the story.  It was nice.  I love Uncle Stevie’s vernacular in this story.  The one character uses “I says” a lot.  There’s a “since Hector was a pup” in the story too.  Plus the vampires don’t hurt.

Today I reflected on mediocrity, did laundry, drove Mom’s taxi, read a little.  I embraced the simplicity of mediocrity.  Today was a mediocre day and that’s not bad.

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My Lunch with the Younger Generation

March 31, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

I want to have lunch with the younger generation.  I want them to turn off their cell phones and not text while we’re having this lunch.  That will be the biggest challenge-to convince them that they don’t have to be connected for the hour we would spend eating together.  I worry about them.  What do they talk about?  What do they text?

The classic films are lost…the movies today are okay, don’t get me wrong.  Still, do they know that the movies of today wouldn’t be possible without the classics that came before them?  The filming of yesteryear set the tone for so many of the accomplishments made in film-making today.  I think back to Song of the South and Mary Poppins…putting people into animation.  This made Who Framed Roger Rabbit possible-putting animation into live-action.  The classic musicals created so many cultural moments.  Singin’ in the Rain, Hello Dolly, Brigadoon, On the Town.

Even classic children’s literature is falling to the wayside.  My sons have read only one American Tall Tale in school.  I make sure at home that they read a variety of Tall Tales.  We also read Aesop’s Fables, Hans Christian Andersen.  Of course, we’re still in our Grimm phase.  We read “Little Snow White” last night.  The text is full of such rich words and vibrant images.  These pieces of literature help children develop their imaginations and learn about the basics of crafting a story.

Music is different too.  I know, I know, I sound like that stereotypical old person (no, I’m not old…) “back in my day” but I’m serious.  Someone said to me recently that in a class about the history of rock he had just learned about a band called The Queen or something like that.  I said do you mean Queen?  He said, yeah, yeah, that’s the name.  Now obviously I’m biased about that particular band, but how does one get to their 20s and not know Queen?  Or the major shifts in music and how each change brought about new genres.  Why do youngins need to take a class to learn this stuff?  I suppose the radio is no longer in existence in their worlds…did “Radio Gaga” and “Video Killed the Radio Star” really come to pass?

I know there are cycles to culture.  I know the pendulum will swing back again.  I know it’s ironic that I’m posting this on the internet, one of the causes in this shift.  Why and how do they feel the need to be connected all the time?  I have survived for so long without being connected 24/7.  Yet so often I sit with people of the younger generation who cannot turn off their phone or tablet or the soon-to-be archaic laptop.  Radios don’t matter, they have 8,000 songs programmed on the teeny-tiny player.

If you are a parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, friend of someone younger than 25, take them somewhere and make them disconnect.  Help them experience life with a person and not an electronic device.  I’m battling right now with my sons.  They are obsessed with the telly and on-demand.  They can’t get enough of the computer and online video games (based on the shows from the telly).  It’s ridiculous.  They get so angry when I say no.  So I say no more frequently.  When they don’t get angry anymore, I won’t have to say no as much.

Tomorrow night is the Earth Hour at 8:30pm.  Turn off your lights, phones, tablets, computers, any and all electronic devices and devices charged by electricity.  Talk to each other.  Laugh with each other.  Tell ghost stories.  Inspire each other.  Sing “Hello Dolly” or “Dream On” or “Radio Gaga”.  Go ahead, sing it with the clapping.  Or go for “We Will Rock You” with the clap/clap/stomp.  Go for it.  Turn off everything and be connected the old-fashioned way.

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I’m going to be an astronaut

March 27, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

As I was tucking in youngest son this evening, he told me still was going to follow the plan he made when he was three.

“Mom, I’m going to build a rocket.  There will be the large one with the small one attached to it, you know the way they make rockets.  The large part will blast it into space to the moon.  I’ll attach a video camera to it and get a movie of the moon.  I’ll have to weight it down, so I’ll make a space to put the concrete.  Then on Monday I’ll bring the video to school and I’ll show it to my class because I can share on Mondays.  I want to study the moon.”

“So you’re going to be an astronaut?”

“Yep, I’m going to fly to the moon and study it.  You know it’s always full, there’s just a dark side.  If you look close you can see the line.  See?  It looks sort of green.”

“I see.”

“I’m gonna study the moon and be an astronaut.  Well, for one of my jobs.  I don’t know what else I’ll be.  Besides, I’d love to go to the moon.”

“Do you know that’s a great story?  Maybe that can be your next story for writing.”

“That’s a story?”

“Yes.  All you would have to do is write it down.”

“Really, that could be a story?  Could I start it with ‘I’m still going to do the plan I made when I was three’?”

“Yep.”

“I can do that.  I’m gonna fly to the moon.”

“Promise me you’ll fly home.”

Ah, my little astronaut writer.

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Madonna and Regret

March 26, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

In the heat of the moment this evening, oldest son decided he no longer wanted to share a room with youngest son.  He wanted some space.  I agreed.  They’ve been fighting a lot, little fights, but enough of them to have become highly annoying and distracting to whatever is the true focus.  Youngest son thought this idea was great.  His own space, some independence, and he could decide things for himself without negotiations that rival the UN.  He set right to work (at 8:30pm) in clearing off the bed in the shark room so he could set up housekeeping this very evening.

We all helped in this effort.  The dioramas from several months ago were abandoned as they were taking up a lot of space on the bed.  The shark room had become the place that the boys stuck things when they had to deal with them (because I made them) but didn’t really want to deal with them.  We threw a lot of stuff out.  It felt mighty good for the mommy to purge stuff and the motivation was there so I struck while the iron was hot.  There was no new episode of House…I had forgotten it was a two hour season finale of Alcatraz (I thought I would have gotten into that show with my love of prisons, but didn’t happen).  With no boob-tube to suck my energies, I had simply put on a channel that was in the middle of a Madonna take-over.  A good beat in the background, we got a lot done.  Fresh sheets on the shark room bed and it was time to tuck them in to separate beds.

When I walked into the dinosaur room, oldest son was sitting on his bed crying.  He was already regretting his decision made in the heat of the moment of this evening’s fight.  He did not want youngest son to see the tears and hid them at all cost.  I shooed youngest son back to “his room” and told I would be right in to tuck him in to bed.  Oldest son and I then talked about how this was a good thing.  A little space is not a bad thing.  I reminded him they could have “sleepovers” and he started to look at the positives of the quick decision.  I told him had been thinking about it for a few weeks, on and off, that maybe it was time for a break again.  He felt better.  Especially when I told him I would get another nightlight like the one he has now so he wouldn’t have to give up the fish nightlight.  Though I did point out to him that the triceratops nightlight went better with the dinosaur room and the fish one went better with the shark room.

Madonna was playing in the background the whole time and damn, how does she stay is such phenomenal shape?  I know she has trainers, possibly chefs to make her yummy, nutritious food, and the time to spend hours each day working out, but damn, she’s in her 50s and looks better now than she did in her 20s.  I really liked her look in “Ray of Light” and I really liked the song.  Many of her songs make me want to get up and dance…not all of them, but many.  “Ray of Light” is one of them.  I don’t get the British accent she uses intermittently (sometimes in a single sentence) and, maybe I’m crazy, but it seems as if the gap between her teeth changes sizes depending on her mood.  The lady can certainly dance when she wants to.

Youngest son got tucked into bed and he was happy as a clam.  He likes being king of all he surveys…all 12 x 12 feet of it.  He fell asleep with a little smile on his face.  No regret for him.  I think if Madge had been hanging with me we would have discussed the looks from her past, possibly chosen in the heat of the moment, that she regrets.  There are several I would point out.  One wasn’t an outfit so much as that time period where her arms were obscenely thin…they were toned…but so thin as to look unhealthy.  I didn’t like that look.  Everyone should have a little bit of arm flab.  So yes, as Madge works her way through her 50s, I’m glad the arm flab is back.  It’s barely noticeable, but it’s enough.

So a little bit of Madonna, a little bit of regret.  A little bit of memory lane thinking of when the boys first decided to share a bedroom.  It was four and a half years ago.  I said it was time for bed and the two of the padded down the hallway.  When I went into oldest son’s room, there they were, cuddling in bed, a wee four year old and his wee two year old brother who had just graduated to a toddler bed.  That was it.  Shared a room for the next few years, with a brief reprieve when youngest son was about four.  That was short lived, as this separation may prove to be.  Or they could be growing up just a little bit more and independence is a part of that.  But there are always sleepovers, or a shark tent in the living room.

 

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Bloggers Beware

March 22, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

I read some comments on fb today about bloggers and people who read blogs and even worse people who comment on blogs. To this person I would say put yourself in the conversation and then judge.  I love how blogging lets you meet other people that you would never connect with in real life because of location, etc.  Here, on a site like wordpress, you can search for your interests and exchange ideas with like minds or dig into a fun (heated) debate with someone with views completely different from your own.

Back in the day, folks could meet at the local diner, restaurant, tavern, inn, etc. and sit and shoot the breeze.  In America, things work differently today.  Not all of America, but a lot of it.  A blog site or social networking site can easily be viewed as a virtual recreation of the old town commons, not restricted by geography.

I just like yapping.  One could say I write because I like the sound of my own voice.  I just like being able to empty my mind at the end of the day with whatever is still floating around in it.  Uncle Stevie once commented, and this is paraphrased, that everyone’s mind has a sieve and sorts out different thoughts.  Some ideas will fall right the the holes and others will stick.  In his case, the ideas that stick are the dark ones.  The thoughts that stick in my sieve are eclectic, like my decorating.

I don’t tweet and fb doesn’t seem to have enough space for what I want to express, so I blog.  Happily, if someone doesn’t like blogs, they can choose not to read them.  I like to write them and read them.  A friend started one just the other day and now I’ll have another one to enjoy.

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There’s a light over at the Frankenstein place

March 20, 2012 by pinkpigrulz

Do I dare think the light at the end of the tunnel is getting a wee bit brighter?  I really don’t for fear of jinxing myself.  I took the second small green capsule yesterday.  Still over the past three days I have found that my energy level has been more even and lasted longer over the course of a day.  Not anywhere near where it once was but still better than it has been the past six months or so.  Today and tonight in particular has been pleasant.  I actually had energy after work.  Granted, I went to work late because I visited the boys at school today (parent visitation day…makes it sound like prison).  But last fall when I went for the visit and then went to work late I was still exhausted by the time I got home.  Today I had energy and didn’t hurt.

I made dinner, cleaned up a bit in the laundry room (which I avoid still because I miss Brigs-he spent much of his time in that room),  and switched the fall/winter clothes with the spring/summer clothes in the attic.  I don’t do each season separately…don’t have the patience for that.  I did not change the light bulb in the bathroom because I didn’t feel like doing the balancing act in the dark.  I just kept the door open while I took my shower.  And now I sit, not crying in pain, but only feeling a dull roar in the standard spots (neck, shoulders, ribs,  hips, right knee, left ankle, both feet, and a little bit in the hands).

This is a good thing.  But still I won’t get my hopes up too much.  Could just be the lovely spring weather.

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