So my 1985 looked a lot like this: wake up with music. Go to school. Come home. Do homework with music while watching TV. Babysit. Go to bed. Some weekends I would be at Paulette's house and it would be a lot of the same, sans babysitting but with the Atari and HBO interlude with maybe a dash of eye rolling while her and her sister Tammy, drooled over the Tiger Beat teens of the week. If the trip to Paulette's included cruising downtown I was hugging the floor boards in the back seat hoping that no one could hear the way she and Valerie were screaming and hooting at the boys... or that they would not recognise any of us. Oh. 1985 is also the year I discovered Dragonlance and borrowed both of Wayne K's books (Volumes I, II) to devour in a weekend... while drooling over their lender. That was 1985.
So my 2009 is looking a lot like this: wake up looking forward to seeing current crush to music, go to work. Work while listening to Police, U2, Depeche Mode, Human League, Thompson Twins and A-ha. Tease the crush while trying to avoid some tickle torture. Eat lunch with crush. Punch out. Run errands including a trip to Aroma's with an Internet TV interlude while eye rolling myself over my giddy teen aged and hopeless more than infatuation and not quite unrequited drooling. Go to bed.
Today though 2009 and 1985 collided in a bewildering flashback. After work I went home, changed clothes and wore my heels out to run to Michael's, praying that something my friend Michelle was absolutely art-geeked about wasn't as cool as I suspected. I sooooo do not have Spenser's detective skills. It was cooler than cool and surrounded by the absolute coolest stuff she didn't mention in her blog. It was totally 2009 when I got into the parking lot except that Soft Cell's Tainted Love was on the CD at the time and I am a 12 that can wear heels without her ass dragging her earthward. So I'm casually moseying around the craft aisles, knowing I can not buy anything because it isn't fiscally responsible... breaking in my calves/shoes and thinking about the way things have intensified with the flirty Sir Knight at work. I hit the "COOL" stuff and all I'm thinking is that maybe the GM won't mind if I dress up the laundry room for Halloween. I mean I spend 8 hours a day in there and after the incident with one of "Steve the Fruitbat's" congregants the MS bat stuff would be a Hoot and a Holler. (Any one know where I can get a realistic plastic/vinyl fruit bat for a practical joke?) I plot my future purchases carefully, leaving only with a chocolate bar and a $1.00 rubber stamp about balanced diets and chocolates in each hand.
While I am wandering around, ACG calls. As I am talking him down from the edge of his own romantic frustrations some woman gets up close to me and waves in my face. I know her. And her expression is all "cheerleader meets her bestest friend ever in the store and like OMG". I wave back with some aplomb... since I don't recognize her. I know her. I know I know her. But I know so many people in this town and she's lost some weight that I can't immediately place her. Within 15 minutes I'm pulling out onto Division/US 31 North and hear someone frantically and cheerfully screaming "Sherry! Sherrrrrr-rry!" like my sister and her bestest friend ever used to do when they saw their friends from our car and nearly deafened my mom in the process. So I call my supervisor, "Did you just yell at me?" No she didn't. We laugh. Guess who it could have been and call it good.
"There is always something there to remind me" comes up next. It's 1985 and I have a crew.
This is the craziest place I have ever been.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Knave of hearts
The prodigal knight returns with promises of glory. Iwonder. This week he is all affection and wild ideas. We've run through the building tickling and avoiding tickling like a couple of elementary school kids. Well... run is an overstatement. Both of us being much older than school children. But he had returned to the flirtatiousness of youth. I feel so much younger around him than I have in a long time. And that is saying something since I still sit cross-legged at every oportunity, despite my body's protests.
He spoke of something I dare not repeat for fear of the Cosmic jinx. But he spoke in front of others who have not seen his behavior to so blatant a degree. The one says that the sincerity in his face erases all doubt in her mind of his intentions. The other stared in wide eyed amazement at his bold intrusion into my personal space. Moreover, that I would allow so gross a transgression. I've had back and neck rubs all day. I could not be more happy if I were a cat curled up in the sun on a thick cushy quilt.
My greatest hope is that this turns into something that will generate more art of the quality that I have achieved and intend to surpass. I fear that the work that has garnered the most interest comes from the period of my last great relationship. They remain largely unfinished... as the relationship was. This explains why I am loathe to sell. It isn't that I can't. I won't.
There I said it. I ma emotionally attached to the work because I made it when someone was in my life. I don't wish to remain connected to him. I simply do not understand what went wrong therefore I don't know how to finish them.
By Riker's beard! What a connundrum.
Please pray that he figures out that he isn't too good for me. I don't know how to reassure him of that.
He spoke of something I dare not repeat for fear of the Cosmic jinx. But he spoke in front of others who have not seen his behavior to so blatant a degree. The one says that the sincerity in his face erases all doubt in her mind of his intentions. The other stared in wide eyed amazement at his bold intrusion into my personal space. Moreover, that I would allow so gross a transgression. I've had back and neck rubs all day. I could not be more happy if I were a cat curled up in the sun on a thick cushy quilt.
My greatest hope is that this turns into something that will generate more art of the quality that I have achieved and intend to surpass. I fear that the work that has garnered the most interest comes from the period of my last great relationship. They remain largely unfinished... as the relationship was. This explains why I am loathe to sell. It isn't that I can't. I won't.
There I said it. I ma emotionally attached to the work because I made it when someone was in my life. I don't wish to remain connected to him. I simply do not understand what went wrong therefore I don't know how to finish them.
By Riker's beard! What a connundrum.
Please pray that he figures out that he isn't too good for me. I don't know how to reassure him of that.
funky funky doo
Yes, I am stuck. If you've noticed I've been in the process of moving for like the whole Summer and haven't said anything... thank you. I'm stuck. Right now I am at the point where the things I love most are left to pack. My two studios: art and food.
The Art Studio is rather self explanatory. I love these things. They are an extension of who I am, the soul behind the work. The Food Studio is a bit more difficult. But here goes:
One of the things that I loved most about my gramma Olive was her inability to cook. What? Yes. If it was out of a box it was okay. From scratch? Well she left that kind of cooking to Grampa. But Gramma Olive was the soul of hospitality. Her goulash wasn't the best but it was made with love and served with joy. So from the time I began learning to cook and serve at the age of 5, it was in me that this was a way to show love and affection. This concept rooted itself deeply when I was 14 and Grampa was is the hospital. The sibs had sports things after school and I was left home to cook dinner to be redy when they got home, mom got home from the hospital and to keep my hands and mind busy. Those were not the best roasts of my kitchen career. Then when we moved into the new house and Dad and I started a steady diet of Saturday morning PBS shows, the Frugal Gourmet and Martin Yan took over my education. Surprisingly, this is also where and when I met Martha Stewart for the first time. She wasn't quite a household word yet.
Dad and I started to play with the recipes that he'd begun to teach me. We tried leaf herbs under the skin of our roast chicken with fruit in the middle... WOW! Glory days in the kitchen indeed. And that is all it took for me to think of food as art and another way for me to show people that I care.
I've begun collecting the tools of a food artist. My pride and joy, a 5 qt. Kitchen Aide stand mixer that makes the smoothest batters for my cheesecakes. I have these tools left to pack. And my heart bleeds when I look at it. I know I have to pack it. But it is going into storage and I don't know when I will get to use them again. Just like I don't know when I will get to use my art supplies again.
My heart hurts because I finally have tons of people upon whom I can lavish these gifts. I've been isolated for ten years working 7 days a week and through the long nights. In all that time i practiced and honed my craft. Now... my tools are to be put away indefinately. I don't know how to get passed this and get the move on. I need to before someone decides to pack for me. And yet...
I want to make a cheesecake, Grampa's holiday loaf and roast a chicken. Why is this so hard to do?
The Art Studio is rather self explanatory. I love these things. They are an extension of who I am, the soul behind the work. The Food Studio is a bit more difficult. But here goes:
One of the things that I loved most about my gramma Olive was her inability to cook. What? Yes. If it was out of a box it was okay. From scratch? Well she left that kind of cooking to Grampa. But Gramma Olive was the soul of hospitality. Her goulash wasn't the best but it was made with love and served with joy. So from the time I began learning to cook and serve at the age of 5, it was in me that this was a way to show love and affection. This concept rooted itself deeply when I was 14 and Grampa was is the hospital. The sibs had sports things after school and I was left home to cook dinner to be redy when they got home, mom got home from the hospital and to keep my hands and mind busy. Those were not the best roasts of my kitchen career. Then when we moved into the new house and Dad and I started a steady diet of Saturday morning PBS shows, the Frugal Gourmet and Martin Yan took over my education. Surprisingly, this is also where and when I met Martha Stewart for the first time. She wasn't quite a household word yet.
Dad and I started to play with the recipes that he'd begun to teach me. We tried leaf herbs under the skin of our roast chicken with fruit in the middle... WOW! Glory days in the kitchen indeed. And that is all it took for me to think of food as art and another way for me to show people that I care.
I've begun collecting the tools of a food artist. My pride and joy, a 5 qt. Kitchen Aide stand mixer that makes the smoothest batters for my cheesecakes. I have these tools left to pack. And my heart bleeds when I look at it. I know I have to pack it. But it is going into storage and I don't know when I will get to use them again. Just like I don't know when I will get to use my art supplies again.
My heart hurts because I finally have tons of people upon whom I can lavish these gifts. I've been isolated for ten years working 7 days a week and through the long nights. In all that time i practiced and honed my craft. Now... my tools are to be put away indefinately. I don't know how to get passed this and get the move on. I need to before someone decides to pack for me. And yet...
I want to make a cheesecake, Grampa's holiday loaf and roast a chicken. Why is this so hard to do?
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