Nobody Likes Me, Everybody Hates Me. I guess I'll go eat worms.

When I was a teenager, I'd spend a lot of time at home with my parents.

I loved it.

Friday nights: pizza and the McNeil Lehr Report, (okay, I didn't love that news show on PBS, but it was the one night a week when we'd eat and watch tv...sometimes I'd convince my dad to put on a re-run of The Simpsons instead), maybe a movie afterwards. It was cozy.

I had a lot of friends, but there was something nice about staying in and not listening to them chit chat. Blah blah blah. There's only so much sitting in the smoking section at The Ridge* while watching friends eat french fries that a girl could take. Coordinating plans with 6 or 8 other people; being stuck out without a ride home; smokey clothes; tired the next day. Who needs it? I was 17 going on 56.

When the phone would ring, I'd holler into the kitchen, "Eh. If it's for me, could you please take a message?" I'd be reclining on the couch, of course, too busy to get up. We didn't have caller id and of course only Zack Morris had a mobile phone.

It was usually for me.

(I mean, I had friends and went out with them sometimes... and when I did, it was manic... 17 going on speed. Just kidding, Mom, I didn't do drugs. I was very safe. I meant it as a metaphor.)

Anyhow, I'd get the message about going bowling or something and then sigh, "Well, I'm not doing that!" Then I'd crumple the paper and throw it over my shoulder. I wouldn't call back. I'd get a bowl of ice cream, stretch my legs on the couch, and settle in to watch When Harry Met Sally or something.

However, once in a while I'd be home and the phone wouldn't ring. I'd whine, "How come nobody is calling me?!"

My mom or dad would laugh, "KD, you never want to talk to them when they do call." (They were used to seeing me ball up and toss message after message.)

I'd reply, "I know, but I want options. I want them to want me to go out so that I can say no. I want a plethora of choices." (I would have said that in the phase of practicing SAT vocab words.)

They'd laugh. I'd mope.

.....
My friend, Doc, has a great question that he asks when he senses his attitudes or actions are causing some good or bad emotion. So as not to judge that emotion, he reflects, "Hmm, what is this?"

So in thinking back to that, I wonder why the change of context would change my attitude for the whole night. If someone had wanted my company, I'd be happy to say no and do what I wanted to do; I'd be happy to be independent. However, once I stopped getting attention, I started craving it and being dependent on other people's thoughts and plans.

It's like the girl who says to herself, "I wonder if I could get that hottie to date me." And then when she does, the game is over and she's bored and dumps him. (I don't know anyone like this. I just have seen it in the movies. Probably a movie I watched with my parents back in 1996.)

Why am I thinking about this now? Although it's been ten years since high school, I have seen this scenario cycle back to me a couple of times in life. Maybe, like in this post in which Lyssie finds strength through strange and beautiful postures, I need to carry photos and words of times when I am on top of my independence and confidence game.

I probably wouldn't carry all of those portrait photos from the four proms that I went to during my junior year of high school, either. Maybe I'd write, "Take a message" on a piece of paper and then crinkle it up. Or maybe I'll just carry myself.




*When I looked for a picture of the Ridge, I found that link. It hits the tone of what stupid teenagers think of the place:

"Known to the locals as The Ridge... The best Diner on the face of the earth. This diner is known for high school kids to hang out outside until 3AM. ALso, after kids get drunk/high they flock to The Ridge.

I just had a sweet night in Bergen County and my friends and I are drunk. Hey let's go to the Ridge Diner! "



PS Mom, I wasn't drunk or high when I went there.... most of the time.

Countdown and calendar.

Next Tuesday (NC primary...) AND the GMAT

Next Thursday econ final.

Into the mix: NCOBS grants as usual. Yoga. Running. Jubilee.


Today: library and TAASC

Tomorrow: library and TAASC

Friday: library or TAASC hide-a-way (thanks to Beth and Greg)

Saturday: TAASC hide-a-way or library. Sass's birthday and Kentucky Derby.

Sunday: Jubilee and TAASC hide-a-way or library

Monday: library

Then it's full on.

Recap

AAAAAh. That's a wild, guttural call from the UNCA library. Working on grants. If anyone wants to donate to North Carolina Outward Bound or Asheville TAASC, feel free to let me know.

This little writing is a good reminder. It's like this blog post that I really liked... about what differentiates lucky people from unlucky ones. Obviously there are other factors that go into "luck" than the quote in this post, but I thought it was fitting.

................

I have 1/2 a week to fully show up for the month's assignment. I guess like stupidmommy commented on my last post, I can still have questions even after 1000 posts. By extension, I guess I can still "show up" after April...

................

This comment about "show up" seems to fit recently, too:

..............................

"If it scares you, makes you anxious, if it isn’t as comfortable as the couch might feel, if you’re not sure if you should say it, if you’re tired, if you’re not sure if you’re competent or qualified, if you’re not sure it’ll work out, if you’re not sure they’ll like you, if you’re not sure if you’re coming down with a cold, if the weather sucks…show up. Honestly, I think that may answer all of your questions."

......

Even though I know the tough lessons are important, I still want to curl up in a fetal position and hug myself like we do at the end of some yoga classes. I love that part of class. I guess I need to come out of that position, though; the achy times are when I need to show up.

..............
Show up and stand up.

.....................

It's good to have friends and pepsters in my life.

100th post

So, this is my 100th post. What has changed since the beginning? A lot really. Not much really. Details of jobs, relationships, and living situations. Even personality/behavior... maybe? Maybe I'm still learning.

Now, just listening to Norwegian Wood on a rainy Sunday after a few emotional days. This song makes me think about the Haruki Murakami book by the same title. Ironically, I was reading a lot of Murakami when I started writing this blog. His books are full of mystical realism and Cutty Sark whiskey. I always would feel like making a few sandwiches and having an adventure when I'd read these bizarre novels. It makes me think about B, since he introduced me to Murakami.

I still have many questions, even after posting 100 times.

Bon Voyage

Our friend, who is a nurse, is going to the eastern part of Congo on Sunday to work for Doctors Without Borders for six or more months. It's a tense situation over there; Beth told me that she read on the BBC online that the UN just pulled its aid workers out because it's so bad. And our friend is going there.

She's pretty tough, though. This woman flies to do volunteer in Central America almost every month, it seems like. When we did a 24 hour Run for Africa relay (in which we took shifts to run each 5 mile loop... most of us did about 15-20 miles), she went home and did another run to get more of a workout. It's common for her to run marathons training.

At her bon voyage gathering tonight, someone asked her what she expected. Her answer, "I don't really know what it will be like. There are a lot of really interesting diseases over there." (Excitement at that prospect, I guess... like a travel guide pointing out the amenities.)

G had a quick reply, "Yeah, I guess the most common diseases in the US are entitlement and apathy."

Earth Day

The library magazines and the tea kettle are a little random, huh?


This is a lazy post. These are some photos from UNCA on Earth Day. These photos are my life up until about 11am. There are more from the day, of course, but for now, these will have to be it all.... Finishing semester. Readying for GMAT. Planning and living.

OM!

One more note about that Namaste class (see below post called "adventure"): at the end of the 3 hour class, the teacher said, "Now, I know that usually at the end of these classes, there's a nice, even, 'Om' and we all feel good about ourselves. This time, we are going to scream in the worst way, 'Om.'"

We did. It sounded awful. The point was to not take ourselves so seriously.

He was inspired by the youtube video: Inappropriate Yoga Guy. It's pretty funny, especially the part about the teacher training program. This one is funny, too. This character reminds me of some people in Asheville.

Adventure

When I walked into Jubilee (the hippie dippie "church" I like to go to when I'm in town) on Sunday, the band was playing the song to Indiana Jones.

The theme was adventure. The message was basically that you need to take risks and not be afraid to fail. If you associate adventure with only being the work of superheroes, astronauts, wilderness firefighters, and folks like Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay or Indiana Jones then it's easy to feel inspired, but then close the book or stop the movie and still have your own battles to fight and mountains to summit. It's easy to keep the fear at an armlength away.

He quoted Helen Keller, "Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all." Blind, deaf, mute adventurer.

Ironically, I went to a 6am-9am yoga class at Namaste before that Jubilee service and one of the stories the teacher told was about a yogi who was attacked by wolves and had his arms and legs ripped off. He survived, but was in despair because he didn't know how he could practice yoga anymore. Another yogi told him to do the movements, but in his mind; he became so in tune with it, that he could almost beam this energy into people who studyed with him. It showed the power of energy and mind.

It's like when you are paddling in whitewater... where you look on the river is where you go. If you look at the rock, then you are going to hit it. (Or, if you aren't so great at your paddle strokes... which is another vote for actually preparing for adventure through practice and work combined with positive thought)

Obviously there is action needed in "showing up" for these goals and dreams. I need to remember that it's not only my intention that will get me to those goals. Otherwise, it'd be like some new agey kind of wishful thinking.

I think that I need to practice the sense of adventure that I usually only bring to the wilderness courses that I lead. What adventures have I been avoiding? What adventures have others avoided?

Meggies

At the right in this photo is my great friend and former roomie. I like to call her Meggies. This photo was taken in Cancun last year (I think? Time slips around on me...). The guy in the pool is a firefighter from somewhere in the Northeast. They drank cocktails in the pool and chatted for a while.

The quality to engage with any random firefighter or circus performer or grandparent is one of the things that I love about her. She is now an Outward Bound instructor. The other thing I love about her is her style. The mohawk in that photo is no longer, but she's still kickin' it... perhaps shaved? Perhaps some suspenders? Mmmmh. Love her.

Passover

Last night was the first night of the Passover festival, which commemorates the Jewish exodus from slavery in Egypt.

This is a gross simplification of the holiday, but if my memory serves me, it is called Passover because when all of those plagues were happening, G-d told the Jews to put lamb's blood on the doorway-- a sign to "pass over" that house-- and protect their firstborn sons from being killed. Matzah is to remember that there was no time for bread to rise when fleeing Egypt. Bitter herbs, gefilte, and horseradish serve to symbolize how hard life is? (I don't know about that one... help me out, friends.)

When I was younger, my family would go to our close friends' house for Seder dinners during Passover. I mostly remember trying to sing the prayers in Hebrew, drinking grape juice, and saving a seat for Elijah (and maybe looking at the door for him?).

I remember these Seders in images and smells. I was warm and curious, and I sat up straight. While we had many pizza nights with these friends (who are pretty much family, really), these nights during Passover felt different. The ceremony, story, and tradition were clear; the mom in this family was a wonderful teacher, and it felt so special.

We had religious traditions at church, but it was different to have this shared religious tradition in their house. It felt like being in the family. I send my love out to all of you who are asking questions and telling the story tonight.

Heavenly Report

In this post last week, I mentioned how my horoscope said that I'd learn some major lessons as if I were having a private g-chat with the big G.

The advice that I gave one of my TAASC buddies is what I think I needed to say outloud for myself. Roomie, introducingSweetSarah, and Lyssie all gave me this advice and it seems to circle around and around. It was strange to say it to a ten year old. Here it is:

"You can choose where your boundaries are, how you define friendship, what kind of person you want to be. You have that power in your life. You can't change other people or their behaviors, you can just tell them how you feel and make a decision to change your patterns with them."

He had some tears that didn't well over.

My voice did not quiver.

*****



There are another couple of lessons... I'm still figuring out what other words need to be said outloud.

Quotes from April Notes

I have an macroeconomics exam tomorrow so in between my jobs and jaunts, I typed up my notes from the last couple of weeks of class.

Unlike other activities in my life, I can usually sit down and do this schoolwork without procrastinating. However, Alyssa is doing a series on her style throughout the years (complete with class pictures) and it is really funny. My Sassafras sister actually just mentioned it to me... I think she's doing schoolwork, too. I especially like Lyssie's hairdos and the part when she spelled the name of her junior high school wrong after counting her 48 friends.

Roomie knew I wasn't looking at notes about our Marginal Propensity to Consume when I was cackling.

...
However, I had to laugh at my econ notes (not as hard, though) when I typed about assets; I couldn't stop thinking about that song, "I like big butts and I cannot lie."

For example, Higher interest rates make our assets look more attractive. But this implies that American goods are less desirable from the rest of the world's perspective.

I think I need to go to sleep.

Bloom

"If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. That makes it hard to plan the day."

--e.b. white.



.......
As I mentioned, before, Roomie and I are focusing on a theme each month and doing small experiments and projects to explore that term. March was "focus." April is "show up."

Of course I have my own interpretations of this phrase based on my busy schedule and plansplansplans intentionintentionintention; I almost manipulated my theme this month to fit my life. I have been asking around about what the phrase "show up" means in people's lives. It was refreshing to have a few different views.

I signed an email about this topic, "With dogwoods (and snow?)" because it has been Spring for the past week or so, but snowed/sleeted yesterday.

One friend wrote back not about being proactive or active or polished or present in vague terms, but rather about dogwood winters and blackberry winters-- those strange combinations of what is expected and what is happening.

He took my offhand comment and wove it into these images that served a couple of cool purposes. This reaction served not only as his way of actually "showing up" to read the detail in my email, but also as a metaphor for "showing up" and taking what is real, even if it's snowing when you expect to wear your sassiest dress.


I hope to show up when the world is both challenging and seductive.

Weekend Photos Part II

We went with the little TAASC kids on a climbing/exploring adventure. Here are just a few photos from the weekend:

This is "Uncle Peaches" who helped us this weekend.

This one is actually washed out and from the weekend before, with the scarf...

On coffeebreak...

View from coffeebreak.

Skinny legs.

Coiling rope.

Connor the protector.

Look at the broken arm on the left.

Accessorize

Alyssa gave me a HUGE box of clothes when she came to visit. Along with various belts, shirts, and shoes, she also gave me glittery jewlery and scarves. I loved them so much that I wore one (that is more formal than this occasion) on my foggy TAASC trip last weekend. Here's me on back-up belay. (See the pink?) Also, Roomie lent me those rain pants, which saved me that weekend...

Rambo, aka the Arbitor is rappelling in this picture. When he looked down/out, he said, "Geez Louise!"

Here's Rambo rappelling.

This one is for my Mom. She always loves to hear about cliff edges.

Fortune

The Freewill Astrology column in the Mountain Xpress said that as a Leo, I'll have little secrets slipped to me this week. Also, that the "Divine Wow" will be listening to me more carefully than others.

Sucks for all of you who aren't lions or lionesses.

Just kidding; it also says that I should use these gifts to help people in need. So I want to share a little secret that was slipped to me after I read that.

I was washing the dishes when (all of a sudden!) I started singing the theme from The Facts of Life. For all of you who scoff, "I never watched tv when growing up."

I reply, "Sucks for you... you must not be a lioness like me." And then I take a breath and remind myself that I am here to teach you, not scorn you.

So here are the lyrics:
(By Alan Thicke, Gloria Loring, and Al Burton)

Seasons 2-5 You take the good, you take the bad,
you take them both and there you have
The Facts of Life, the Facts of Life.

There's a time you got to go and show
You're growin' now you know about
The Facts of Life, the Facts of Life.

When the world never seems
to be livin up to your dreams
And suddenly you're finding out
the Facts of Life are all about you, you. (all about you)

It takes a lot to get 'em right
When you're learning the Facts of Life. (learning the Facts of Life)
Learning the Facts of Life (learning the Facts of Life)
Learning the Facts of Life.

One interesting thing: the first season had a different set of lyrics with a line about "When the boys you used to hate you date, I guess you best investigate the facts of life..." That season's lyrics didn't come to me at the sink.

So take these words and apply them to your life. Go forth and do great things.

Tuesday

These really are random. The one below is at a Unity Project art opening in the Flood Gallery.

This first one features Tucker, Sunny, and Cosmo, waiting for something.

This one below is from Spain... near Barcelona... I forgot the name of the town. B might remember. We were waiting for a train.

The one below is one of my favorite friends in one of my favorite places.

Red Write and Blue.

I just read on The Writer's Almanac that today in 1935 Congress passed the Works Progress Administration to get the economy going during the Great Depression.

This was the last sentence of the Writer's Almanac entry: It included the Federal Writers' Project, which gave jobs to writers such as Nelson Algren, Saul Bellow, John Cheever, Ralph Ellison, Zora Neale Hurston, Margaret Walker, and Richard Wright.

Wouldn't it be cool if there were a Federal Blogger's Project? I wonder if bloggers would have to write propaganda, though... it would be like the Fox News Federal Writers' Project.

Fun Run

Today, my running partner who is in her early 40s said, "Damn, it's about time for me to get one of those boob x-rays."

I asked, "You mean a mammogram?"

She said, "Yes."


I guess boob x-ray is the technical term.

Overheard Tent Talk

When students are in tents or tarps, they seem to think that no one else can hear their conversations. Because of the rain and wind on last weekend's TAASC trip, we went into our tents shortly after dinner. Here's part of a conversation I overheard:

Players: S and B, 12-year old girls
Setting: Rain, wind, sleeping bags, etc at a campsite near Table Rock
Prior conversation to this: Included musings about the ages of their parents and the age difference between B's mom and dad, "It'd be like us dating a kindergartner!"


S: Oh my gosh, you know what I just realized?

B: What?

S: You have a brother and two sisters. There are four of you!

B: So?

S: That means that your parents did it four times!

B: Gross!

Not much changes

I read this post about food choices while I was eating lunch today:

Yes, that is fake chicken. Yes, that is Ranch dressing for dipping. Yes, I cut up those carrots only after reading about Levi only eating a hot dog... wanted to look like I had better food choices than a four year old.

Lyssie and Tex and Caves and French Toast

I woke up at 5am this morning to see Alyssa and Tex off. Roomie always gets up at this time (and when we looked out the window, Neighbors were up, as usual, too). I never knew how happening this time of the morning could be, and I am contemplating doing it again sometime.

Roomie, Tucker, and I will miss their quips, their insights, their humor, and their dog treats.

Soon after they left, I went to Evergreen Community Charter School to take a fourth grade class on a caving exploration trip in Tennessee. Details about this trip and yesterday's adventure will follow in a later post...

From there, we zoomed over to another school to run a TAASC meeting. The kids made French Toast (or as called in certain circles, "Freedom Toast;" does anyone say "freedom" fries, toast, kiss, braid anymore?). While some of their creations looked mutilated, the TAASC students seemed to enjoy the cinnamonny delight. As an extra touch, Greg and I added a swiggle of maple syrup on their individual pieces of toast, which they brought to us in their hands.

While that last sentence wasn't super clear, I would like to make one point and one tangent stemming from it:

1. A swiggle is a technical term for just a smigen. To all of our parents: I have no idea why your children were hyper when they got home. To the parent who is a pediatric dentist: we brushed our teeth immediately after licking the syrup off of our sticky fingers.

2. This french toast was easily handled in their hands, but I'll never forget a student who lost her bowl on a longer TAASC trip and wanted us to serve steamy mac and cheese in her hands. She stood on line with her cupped hands extended. When we gave her a cooking pot to use as a bowl, she still protested, "It's fine... I don't need it... just serve the mac n'cheese in my palms."

From there:
* home for a run with Tucker to lose the restaurant/dog treat pudge;
* a walk with Roomie to scope out the neighbors;
* a drink with a lovely lady (and then a lovely gentleman, too) to debrief the week;
* an email check to see that no one loves me;
* a blog comment check to feel just a smigen
(swiggle would not work in this case, by the way) better;
* a time sitting and staring at the screen to think of a response
or a comment to add to others' blogs;
* a time sitting and staring at the comments that others posted
on my blog to try to think of a response to their responses;
* some more time staring as one gets super sleepy.

Then, I began this blog entry, just for Rebekka (who can pay me back with free science-like advice when she finishes her dissertation and has a dr. in front of her name) and I stared at the screen some more.

I didn't come up with a comment for tinytim or stupidmommy or even a response to a comment on this blog.

Nothing. Staring.



OH! Here's one: Deb commented about thinking 12:52 referenced a Biblical passage. It doesn't in this instance, but when I googled 12:52, the first website was about a restaurant in Germany, I think (ah, the power of deduction and photographs).

The second one was about Luke 12:52; I skipped the 'merican Bible interpretation and went straight to the King James, you know, so as not to die...

The third entry was about Isaiah 51 and looked like this:
א שִׁמְעוּ אֵלַי רֹדְפֵי צֶדֶק, מְבַקְשֵׁי יְהוָה; הַבִּיטוּ אֶל-צוּר חֻצַּבְתֶּם, וְאֶל-מַקֶּבֶת בּוֹר נֻקַּרְתֶּם.

Okay. That's the best I could do for now. I'm falling asleep.

12:52?

While visiting stupidmommy et al (see one post below), she asked how my blog got its name 12:52. Just like explaining my Outward Bound name, Cowgirl, I didn't have a great story to tell Deb about the name of my post. Feeling stupid, I muttered, "Uh, it's the time in the afternoon when I started my post... back in 2006." I was never clever at thinking of band names, either.

I posted about three blogs in that year and then didn't pick it up again until late last year with the support of Alyssa. (In 2006, she wasn't me emailing in caps, "WHERE'S TODAY'S POST?" like she does these days.) Because it's 12am and I have to go to work in a few hours, I thought it'd be the perfect time to see if there was a witty story associated with 12:52.

I looked back to those first few posts and didn't find any witty stories about 12:52pm. However, I had a post about some kids visiting my West Asheville house on a rainy Saturday. It brought back a great memory. I realize that I wouldn't do "three strikes" anymore, but would try Love and Logic. Here a couple of the first posts that I just re-read:

Day One 12:52
I'm on my way out to get Man and The Twins. Raining with tornados in the air.


Saturday Visit
Man and the Twins are students from my after-school program. The fourth-grader has a real name, but his family calls him “Man.” I prefer to call him T-Bone. The twins, who are in kindergarten, also have individual names for their individual personalities, but their family dubs them “Twins.” Singularly, each is called “Twin.” For instance, I heard a neighbor yell at one of them, “Twin, quit messing with my dog!” I wonder if the boys’ sisters will be called “Girl” and “Baby Girl.”

On a rainy Saturday, they walked with me across the highway overpass from their house to mine. I grasped the twins’ hands as tightly as they grasped brown-bagged lunches. While I was alerting the twins to the bocce-ball-sized dog poop in front of the defunct Mexican restaurant, T-Bone shouted, “Twin! You’re losing your lunch.” He looked down at his ripped bag, and we turned to see a Ziplock of Oreos and sealed cup of applesauce spaced down the sidewalk like Hansel and Gretel’s crumbs.

When we arrived at my house, they ate bologna on white, cookies, and applesauce. The twin whose lunch was scattered on the sidewalk realized that his Capri Sun was missing. “It’s okay,” I told him as I looked in the refrigerator, “we have milk… uh, water…”

I saw the old bottle of pineapple juice and offered him a glass.

“Apple?” he asked hopefully.

“No. This is pineapple. You might want to try a little bit to see if you like it.”

He liked it. The boys sat at the table and ate until they were hyper. My planned afternoon of baking cookies, watching a movie, and making popcorn changed as they hurtled over the couch and threw my books at each other. I lost my calm arrogance and turned into some poor dupe on Nanny 911.

I took a breath and turned to the one jumping over the couch, “That’s strike one for you.” He looked at me with wide eyes, not believing that I would use the after-school lingo of three strikes and a time-out on this special weekend visit.

Not missing a beat, however, he went into his usual teary melodrama, “Just one more chance, please. Just one more chance,” before I suggested we all go outside and play a game. The “game” started with sprinting races across my narrow, ten-foot lawn.

Next, I suggested we have a jumping jack competition. After a few pushups, T-Bone was onto my ploy and asked if I had a football.

Nope.

Frisbee? Broken.

A weight-lifting bench? In fact we do have a weight machine in the dirt-floor basement.

After they bashed the weights for an hour, T-Bone asked if we could have a scavenger hunt. I thought about my idea of a scavenger hunt and said, “Well, I haven’t made clues and our yard is so small…”

“You can just hide something and we have to find it.”
Obviously.
T-Bone suggested candy or chocolate.

All I could find was a box of garlic Triskets. Each time they found the treasure, they’d get one Trisket each. After discovering the garlic crackers in places like the mailbox, the woodpile, and the back of a pickup truck, the twins decided to hide them for T-Bone and me to find. We searched for forty-minutes before they unearthed the bag from a flowerpot which was full of dirt.

I didn’t want a prize Trisket after that.

On the way home, I suggested we stop at Family Dollar to get a wiffle-ball set. Only one of them had a temper tandrum and sprawled himself on the floor when I wouldn’t buy Batman toys.

His mood changed when he found his missing Capri Sun (straw and all) on the sidewalk.