Electricity, E-lec-tricity...

In case you might be too young (or too old and forgetful) to catch the reference above:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8iahHwEfNg

I have learned, in the last week, to appreciate the little things. Like light switches that actually work, toilets that flush, and water pumps that force water to flow from a shower head. In my sister's words: "It would suck to be Amish."

Winter weather in Waverly forced us to hunker down with long sleeves, sweatshirts, blankets, flashlights and firewood to survive during a four day power outage. We knew it was coming on Friday night, as we drove home from the Black Hawk Rollerdrome (ahh, sweet memories of my youth!). The ice started, and didn't stop until Saturday. Sometime around noon on Saturday, we lost power.

I was iced in- the major roads leading out of Iowa were closed by the DOT. Not even plow trucks and wreckers were allowed out. Sunday afternoon I called work, told them my circumstances, and that I would not be in on Monday. Finally Monday afternoon I was able to go home. Tuesday they got power back.

Adventurousness aside, it was really not that much fun. It was cold enough that hot food was what our bodies wanted, but not something that was very feasible. Unfortunately, today's cookware does not double for hearth usage. Same goes with frozen pizzas. Not a good idea.

However, the trip wasn't a complete loss, as I got to spend time with my sister, and I got to get my hair cut. I am a huge supporter of Locks Of Love (you can visit them here: http://www.locksoflove.org/#item2). I have donated three times in the last 5 years - my hair grows really fast - and this time was another 10+ inches. While the long hair is nice, it's pretty cool to be able to just wash, run a comb through it, and go.

And finally, I leave you with a couple of flowers: roses from Valentine's Day, and a gerbera with alstromeria, just because!

Beauty satisfies the senses completely and at the same time uplifts the soul.

- Franz Grillparzer

Every silver lining's got a touch of grey..

Rather a pensive mood the last few days. February's are hard. Last February I was in a completely different place than I find myself this year, and it jolts me to the realization of how quickly our lives can change, almost before we can reconcile ourselves to the idea. I had a different job, [almost] a different car, and a number of loved ones, and suddenly this year, I'm without them. I'm richer in life, in material goods, in years, yet poorer in rays of sunshine, comfortable Sundays, and family history. I had pretty much summed up 2006 as a terrible year by the time we ended last February, and I truly feel I hit the nail on the head. The negatives far outweighed the positives.

Yet tonight, as I was driving home from the gym, I honed in on a song playing on the radio. I knew the song, but didn't know what band sang it, so when I got home, I Googled it. I never thought I would align myself with Grateful Dead lyrics, but, hey, if it's one thing I've learned in the past year, it's that you never know when life is going to throw you a curve ball...

Touch of Grey - emphasis mine

Must be getting early
Clocks are running late
Paint by number morning sky
Looks so phony

Dawn is breaking everywhere
Light a candle, curse the glare
Draw the curtains I don't care 'cause
It's all right

I will get by / I will get by
I will get by / I will survive

I see you've got your list out
Say your piece and get out
Yes I get the gist of it but
It's all right

Sorry that you feel that way
The only thing there is to say
Every silver lining's got a Touch of Grey

I will get by / I will get by
I will get by / I will survive

It's a lesson to me
The Ables and the Bakers and the C's
ABC's we all must face
And try to keep a little grace

It's a lesson to me
The deltas and the east and the freeze
The ABC's we all think of
Try to give a little love.

I know the rent is in arrears
The dog has not been fed in years
It's even worse than it appears
But it's all right.

Cows giving kerosene
Kid can't read at seventeen
The words he knows are all obscene
But it's all right

I will get by / I will get by
I will get by / I will survive

The shoe is on the hand it fits
There's really nothing much to it
Whistle through your teeth and spit
Cause it's all right.

Oh well a Touch Of Grey
Kind of suits you anyway.
That was all I had to say
It's all right.

I will get by / I will get by
I will get by / I will survive
We will get by / We will get by
We will get by / We will survive

SUCCESS!

The garage sale went well on a number of levels. Most importantly, I succeed in getting rid of a lot of stuff. Secondly, I was able to make a little bit of money. So what does this all mean: people paid me for the privilege of cleaning out my closets! :) Who says the world isn't fair?!

So tonight, supper at my dad and stepmom's, with the brothers, and a minor celebration of sorts.

Signature of a Life

A week ago, my great-uncle Willis passed away. For most kids, a great-aunt or -uncle is a relative on the periphary, someone seen only occasionally, and whose presence inspires a sort of curious dread (like you want to go see him/her because he/she is someone different than the usual, but you vaguely remember the last time you saw Auntie Em/Uncle Mel he/she had a nasty mustache that poked you every time he/she kissed you, and he/she kissed you a lot...).
Willie was not this way.

Since Willie and my Grandpa John lived on the same farm, Willie was another grandpa of sorts, and his house was another place to go searching for special treats, or favorite toys. Willie's basement was creepy/cool, a place to play with the handmade wooden blocks housed there, but only during the brightest daylight hours. It was a place to grab a snack of a mini Snickers bar (conveniently "hidden" in the lower drawers of the kitchen), as long as never strayed past that room, or occasionally the living room. (It wasn't until we started renovating the house for my brother that I even knew how many bedrooms were in the back).

Willie's house was like an odd musuem, full of strange head mounts of caribou, elk, and deer, whose eyes seemed to follow you wherever you went. There were momentos of countries Willie and my Aunt (his sister) Onita pledged allegiance and remembrance to, but to which my cousins and I were only partially familiar. There were books and toys that had the look of age to them, and the marks of many hands they had encountered over their lifetimes. And of course, there was the still, musty air, the frail, transluscent look, and fine sheen of dust that all things, and people, of antiquity seem to have. To this day I walk through the front door and get an instant flashback of how things in the house were when I was a child; how they continued to be, until Willie was too unsteady to live at home alone any longer, and the renovation of the house sent its varied treasures into Rubbermaid tubs, closets, and dressers for safekeeping, or to new homes among relatives.

But as much as these hallmarks of the distant past shape my memories of Willis, the one thing that brought me to tears at his funeral last weekend was a relatively recent recollection. My family has been lucky and blessed enough to celebrate a number of weddings in the last few years - there have been five such gatherings, and one funeral. At each one, Willie would, as regularly as rain, show up in a blue suit, white shirt, and tie. The tie was a red silk one, slightly stained, fairly faded, and completely careworn from use during all Willie's formal-dress occasions. I can tell you from my personal experience of cleaning his closets during the house renovation that it wasn't the only one he owned, but it was the only one he wore. And it showed. But the beauty of that tie was the way in which it mimicked Willie's life - not always the most fashionable or attractive, but steady and constant; performing the required function without showiness or ostentation; fraying slightly over the years, but still showing up regularly and being presentable about it; bringing a flash of color and humor to an otherwise bland ensemble; classic enough for a funeral, yet not afraid to cut loose and have fun when warranted.

A red tie. Simple, direct, traditional, yet still the color of love, fealty, and family. Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves; Willis wore his around his neck. Good journey, Willie; we'll miss you.

Mindless Fun!

Actually, this takes a lot of concentration! Something quiet you can do at work, instead of working! ;)

http://members.iinet.net.au/~pontipak/redsquare.html

Way much fun! My record was 20.969, until I had to give up and go back to getting ready for the garage sale...

"On a mission to make somethin' happen..."

I am gearing up for a huge event. I have spent the last two weeks preparing: sorting, cleaning, scheduling, planning. Right now, I am so anxious for it to arrive, I can hardly stand it. I need an end to this seemingly never-ending buildup! So what could possibly illicit this sort of frenzied response?

A garage sale.

But, as you laugh about the silliness of my excitement, know this: mine is not going to be your average garage sale. First, it's in February. I am banking on all the hard-core summertime garage salers to be frothing at the bit for good sale after a winter of "sale famine." Second, my booth is going to be one of about 35 in the Barron Area Community Center on Saturday, at an event that historically brings in approximately 1500-2000 people. Location, location, location. Third, I am ready to get rid of some STUFF - no reasonable offer refused, full out inventory reduction, no-holds-barred Sale-a-bration. (In case you can't picture it, just think of the most obnoxious radio ad for a car dealership you've ever heard, then imagine the announcer screaming "SATURDAY, SATURDAY, SATURDAY ONLY!!)

Christmas was the breaking point for me. As I was getting out my Christmas decorations, I was cataloging the sheer amount of useless/unused things in my basement, and I finally snapped. I went on a cleaning frenzy about a month ago, sorting out a ton of things to take to Goodwill. That is, until I heard about the Sale. I figured this: a lot of my stuff is "leftover" stuff from combining households when B and I got married (an extra set of steak knives - when we have 3 already -, 15 wedding albums, etc); a majority of it is in new or like-new condition (unfortunately, quite a number of things are wedding presents that just didn't "fit..."); and of the things that are extra, everything is of better than usual quality (kudos to the givers for picking out good stuff). So rather than haul it all off to Goodwill right away, I figured a sale would be an opportune time to make my basement less full, while providing a treasure trove of "finds" for the garage sale inclined. Perfect solution.

So tonight finds me not (currently) with the one I love, but rather tagging items left and right, boxing up my merchandise, and getting ready for what I hope will be the SALE OF A LIFETIME!

Still Ringing True

Sometimes I wonder at the serendipity of the world. Today, looking through a lifetime's worth of pictures taken by my great-aunt Onita (some of the many small treasures discovered during the cleaning out of the house blogged previously), I saw one which instantly caught my attention. It was a picture of Turtle Creek in winter, with the water still open but the shoreline covered in what appears to be a moderately heavy layer of snow.

While the picture caught my eye, it was the inscription on the back of the photo that captured my heart. Onita was famous for writing bible verses, quotations, and everyday thoughts on the backs of her pictures, and this time, in this situation, the statement on this photo summed it all up:

"In the midst of everything, take time to love, and laugh, and pray. Then life will be worth living, each and every day."

Hungry, harmonic, happy, huggable

How cathartic is it to cook! After a day of downs, all it takes to elevate the mood is a chopping block and fresh ingredients. The preparation of food for the sustenance of friends or family is, when you get down to it, a remarkable honor and privilege. Yes, I know, at times when we are harried by jobs, schedules, and the assorted curve balls life tends to throw our way, cooking and meal preparation seem like just another chore - time most of us never seem to have. At those times, my previous comment seems romantic and oversimplified. But there are those other times, when we realize that the food we are making will provide joy to someone else, comfort to the ill, or a portrait of plenty when spread on a banquet. It is at these times that we realize why we cook - it is, at its basest level, a true labor of love. If you still don't believe me, look at all the holiday family get-togethers you've ever been to - if there is an overabundance of food, chances are it was lovingly prepared by someone there for the express purpose of sharing it with others they care for.

Or perhaps you have been the recipient of a bowl of chicken noodle when you were sure that nothing in the world would ever taste good again. Preparation of comfort food is the theme for tonight's culinary adventure. Lasagna and homemade chicken noodle for a friend who had her gallbladder removed today. The hope is it allows her a little extra time for recuperation - not thinking about feeding her husband and two rambunctious little boys!

Anything worth doing has a soundtrack. That said, I personally do my best cooking when alone, accompanied only by strains of classical music. I love the stimulation of a melodic line complete with counterpart, fugued continuously, each repetition a more complex, deeper interpretation of the previous one. Currently listening to a Horn Concerto by Mozart. Nothing beats a galloping French horn!

Another source of joy in my kitchen is flowers. Especially during the winter (for reasons previously discussed in this blog) the fresh smiling face of a daisy can do wonders for one's mood, not to mention serving as a reminder that there is a positive side to the thermometer! Look at this face! Can you not help but smile back?!

My "shadow" in the kitchen, taking over the roll of a Swiffer WetJet is Beatrice, canine maintenance engineer. Upon hearing that she is going to be a regular feature of this missive, Ms. Beez posed for her official portrait. Evidently, the right is her better side, judging by her predisposition towards mugging in that direction.

By identifying and cataloging the things that make us happy, I think we give ourselves the key to unlocking even the sourest of moods. It doesn't matter the size, the silliness, or the seriousness of our day-brightener. It just matters that we acknowledge it, and allow it to work its magic on us. Imagine: funny looking little dogs wearing leis, cooking coq au vin and baking pavlova...the world's looking better already! :)

Brrrr, it's cold in here...

Definitely frozen in Northern WI the last couple days. What I didn't mention in yesterday's blog was the reason (read: excuse) for all of my cinematic laziness: IT WAS TOO COLD TO DO ANYTHING but HUDDLE UNDER COVERS AND LET ONE'S MIND WANDER!! To illustrate my point, and to prove the cold, hard facts (pun intended) to all readers, today's high:

That's 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit ABOVE zero. Now, for a current temp report (as of about thirty minutes ago):
Your eyes are not deceiving you. The thermometer does say NEGATIVE 14.6 degrees. As in below zero. The kicker to all this? Current temp (I just ran out to the entryway to check) is NEGATIVE 19.7. Last night's low was -32.5. Yeah, some days Wisconsin just rocks.

Today started with such promise... :)

Today, I got up early (but not earlier than 8:30AM - that is the rule for the weekend) and went to do a little painting. Once upon a time, I used to be a painter. Not a exterior painter, or someone who does portraits, but an interior painter and finisher. Summers between high school and college terms I would work with a neighbor, doing painting, staining, refinishing, varnishing - you name it, we did it. So I like to paint. However, unlike my previous employer, I enjoy painting with colors (he was, sadly, from the school of "white is best.") As my brother is going to be moving into my great-uncle's old house, we have been doing quite a bit of remodeling and redecorating. I'm going to try my first attempt at attaching pictures in the blog:

It's not much to look at yet, but progress is being made:

The final product will be a retro mix of red, black, grey and chrome, complete with chrome Formica kitchen set.

The transformation of the house has been a fun project, but a long, drawn out one. My step-mother and I first started cleaning out the house in late August/early September, sorting, cleaning, and cataloging 40+ years of accumulation. So finally being able to GET to painting is a huge step, and it makes us realize how far we've actually come...

However, the downside of painting is the waiting between coats. So after 4-5 hours, most of what we were able to do today was done. I decided to come home for lunch, and in the mean time ended up becoming an absolute bum, all because of our local library.

I love the library. I was an English major (British Literature Emphasis) in college, and I still can spend hours in the bibliotheque. Well, it just so happened that I did spend about an hour there last Wednesday, and came home with four movies and four books. This afternoon, the allure of the movies scattered on my countertop became too overpowering, and I succumbed to an afternoon of cinematic laziness.

Last night's feature was Elizabethtown, with Kirsten Dunst and Orlando Bloom. THIS MOVIE WAS TERRIBLY UNDERRATED! Also has a great soundtrack - it is on my list of things to pick up from bn.com one of these days. The greatness of Elizabethtown had me stoked for today's showings, and they didn't disappoint.

First off was a bit of a frou-frou movie: Mean Girls with Lindsay Lohan and Tina Fey. Not really a big fan of either, but had heard the movie was funny. It was okay, but it was one of those movies you watch because you KNEW people like that in high school, and you can totally identify with the characters.

Next came one of my new favorites: The Seagull's Laughter. Laughter is an Icelandic film about how women in a small post-WWII fishing village band together to protect themselves from love, life, and the opposite sex. It is so very funny, and terribly dark, but the actress who plays the main character of Freya (Margret Vilhjalmsdottir) is spectacular - one of the most expressive faces I've seen in a movie in a long time. They characterize it as a romantic comedy on IMDB, but it is nothing like the drivel synonymous with most American movies of that category. Freya is paralleled by her younger cousin Agga. The way they both manipulate the males in the storyline suggests that Agga is following the same path that Freya did before her.

But enough of my amateur criticisms - Good Luck and Good Night calls to me from the DVD player!

Explanations Due...

First, a caveat. I love sunglasses. I cannot exist without them. After more than a decade of wearing contact lenses, I find my eyes more sensitive to light than ever, and sunglasses are therefore essential to my day-to-day living. Also, on a more conceited note, every beauty column I've ever read about wrinkles says the number one culprit for those fine, telltale age lines around the eyes is our continual squinting on sunny days. That said, I wear sunglasses religiously. I am hardly ever without a pair, even if the weather is predicted to be grey or clouded.

And I am nearly as fanatic about the style of the sunglasses as I am about their presence. They must be:
*tortoiseshell
*WITHOUT nosepieces (otherwise when one pushes the sunglasses back on one's head, one inevitably finds them hopelessly entangled in one's tresses)
*rectangular in shape (again, the conceited part of me wants a shape that will flatter my round- to heart-shaped face)
All other colors, shapes and styles are "verboten." Case in point: a family friend and employer once made me a [terribly and inappropriately personal and exorbiantly expensive] gift of a pair of grass green metallic Oakleys. The buggy-eyed shape and the color made me look like an extra from the Broadway production of "Lord of the Flies." I know it sounds old-ladyish, but with sunglasses, I wholeheartedly subscribe to the notion of "if it fits, buy it in every color," so long as every color is tortoiseshell.

But true to the Aquarian character I've touched upon in my previous post, my need, my constant desire for sunglasses, is sometimes ummm, interrupted by my slightly scattered nature. While I may need them constantly, sometimes the pairs I own are a little hard to locate.

Such was the case today. It was the first sunny day we've had in nearly two weeks, and the snow was blindly white, which was made all the less tolerable by the dry, blowing crystals spinning through the air. My job involves a fair amount of windshield time, going back and forth from our main office to various customer locations over a four county area, so I usually have an extra pair of "Sonnenbrille" in my (COPIOUS) bag. Murphy's Law, however, was in full effect this Groundhog's Day, and I found myself without proper UV protection. All the way to my afternoon appointment I was glancing furtively in the rearview mirror, squinting, mumbling, and cursing the wrinkles I could see forming each second I was subjecting my delicate eyes and surrounding skin to the ravages of a sunny Wisconsin February day. Some irrational part of me "knows" that every line my face will ever sport is going to be a result of today's ultraviolet assault. And they thought teenage angst was bad: try pre-thirtysomething complexion complexes!

Thus, my previous post: "Never underestimate the importance of a good pair of sunglasses."

Sunglasses

Never underestimate the importance of a good pair of sunglasses.

Tentative First Steps

With trepidation I enter. Wow, quite a tone to that, isn't there? Thus begins my first blog entry. A bit of excitement, a bit of apprehension, the aforementioned trepidation, and of course, the hope we experience at all new beginnings, I jump into the deep end of the pool with only water wings and a prayer to keep me afloat. I have watched friends and family members make in-roads to the blogosphere, and I have finally summoned the courage/moxie/total disregard for others' opinions to start my own. A favorite junior high teacher once told me we should write something every day. This is my beginning.

I'm not sure what finally pushed me to make the decision. Perhaps the start of a new year, the birth of a baby (not mine, but of my inner circle), a birthday, my current desire to leave a mark - whether short or long term makes no difference -, the bubbling up of thoughts/emotions/opinions that have no other logical outlet. Who knows. A family member's blog noted "create" as the word she'd chosen to describe her 2007: it would serve me better as a description of my life. I've other outlets for other parts of my psyche: kitchen, piano, sewing machine, scrapbook, walls, but no other place to write. Here I hope to assuage the need, and find some peace.

But first, a frame of sorts, to hold the canvas. I am, as I have found and others have told me, truly Aquarian in nature. I tend to flow, as the water sign, but can have the rushing torrents or gentle wearing that characterize my element. I am a starter, but not always a finisher (hence my trepidation at this blog); intense and focused in times of need or crisis, but typically a procrastinator; deeply loyal, yet constantly looking to see what's new; a fierce lover and protector, but conversely (and sometimes to my detriment) as fierce a hater; a champion of what's just and fair, but still human and fallible enough to find those stringent stances compromised. My frame is, like the canvas I create, a work in progress, shifting, ebbing, flowing, mutable, worn and fashioned by forces internal as well as those of the world.

I'm primarily small-town, but with just enough urban touches to make me stick out from the crowd in my rural corner of the world. My work helps with this: I'm in sales (which is itself a slick/fast/high octane career) in the telecommunication field, so I deal with the newest in technology, and usually my company finds itself breaking new ground within the communities we serve. Sometimes the disjointed, weirdly funny juxtapositions of my job serve as the best analogy for my life: have you ever tried to sell wireless networking, voice-over-internet-protocol (VoIP) phone service, and an enhanced centrally-controlled key service unit (KSUs) to a business that sells trailer houses? Such is my life here among the cows, corn and countryside of Barron County, Wisconsin.

I'm married, no children - unless you count Beatrice, the four-legged child whom I'm sure will become a fixture of this daily missive. Both the husband and the dog are my anchors and my entertainment, each bearing their label depending on the day and the circumstances. Due to conflicting work schedules - he, a farmer, works incessantly, while I work days - there are days we hardly see each other. This would be an issue, were it not for the four years we spent in a long distance relationship while I was attending college. As with many things in this world, we know it could be worse.

So, brief outlines aside, I begin. No promises, no hard-and-fast rules of engagement, just a medium waiting for my creation. May it be worthwhile, fruitful, and satisfying.