Thank you, whoever you are

One year when I was small, my parents took my brother and me on a Halloween haunted train ride at the Portland, Oregon zoo.

Everything went well until the time came to get out of the train and go on a haunted house type of tour. I don't remember much, but I think it must have been a haunted mine theme. I'm not too sure. As I said, I was pretty young and didn't really grasp what was going on.

We got into carts and started on our ride. Of course, people dressed up to look scary started jumping out at us. I didn't understand this was all make-believe, so after a couple of "Boos" I was scared silly.

The climax came when a man jumped out at us and I crouched down in the cart, whimpering, "Don't hurt me, please don't hurt me!" He stopped, pulled back a little, then waved solemnly at me. At this change I started to calm down. I sat up and looked back at where he now stood behind us. As we pulled away I waved back at him, watching him until he was out of sight.

I don't remember the rest of the ride. I vaguely remember finishing it and getting back on the train, but that's all.

That was such a very kind thing to do, not to mention a pretty quick witted response (in my opinion.) I wish I knew who he was. He turned a very frightening experience into a very good memory. It would be nice to let him know what a good thing he did that day and that I remember it very clearly even now.

So, if you happen to know someone who, in his youth, worked at a haunted house at the Portland, Oregon zoo, ask him if he remembers a small, frightened girl, and if he does, tell him, "Thanks," for me. Better yet, send him here and I'll thank him myself.

Happy Halloween

We have a Halloween party at the church tonight. The girls will also be trick or treating Sunday night, so there should be way too much candy in this house very shortly!

I made the preschooler's costume. Cinderella, naturally. The baby will be going as a ballerina in a dress up tutu I picked up a few years ago at a yard sale, a long-sleeve yellow shirt, and white knit tights, the last two items taken from her dresser drawers.

According to the neighbors we should go through about 6 bags of candy Halloween night. It's so great living in a neighborhood where there are lots of kids, again. Our old neighborhood was just that - old. It made Halloween rather joyless.

I am looking forward to this weekend, if we can survive the sugar jags. Not the girls' - mine!

Old, fat, frumpy, talentless, and now not even a camera.

The baby broke my camera today.

I was in the kitchen, cooking dinner, when I heard banging behind me. When I turned around I saw she had my camera and was pounding it enthusiastically against the floor.

I'll gloss over the bloody details. The short story is that I can get clear pictures only if I let it automatically focus. If I try to control the focus myself all I get is blur. So much for anything creative.

It's my own fault. I had it out last night to try to get some photos of the lunar eclipse. I didn't put it back properly, because I was tired and not thinking very clearly. Ironically I didn't even get to take any photos last night. It was foggy and I couldn't see the moon at all.

I feel so sad and brokenhearted right now. This was a $400 digital camera, a Christmas present from the husband the one year in our married life that we actually had cash. He got it for me because he knew how desperately I wanted a good camera. It is irreplaceable.

I feel like a piece of my soul has been ripped out and shredded. I've been playing with the camera, taking photos and dreaming of making a career in photography. Looking at some of my photos I think I've maybe got some real ability. It made me feel like I could be more than a fat, frumpy woman yelling at her kids in Walmart.

I know I probably sound melodramatic and silly. I know that this is only a camera, that there are more important things in life, that it could have been something much worse and I'm lucky to have my children. I know that it was my own fault for not putting it out of reach, and at least it wasn't completely destroyed.

It's just that, right now, I really hurt.

Maybe it's a plot by PETA?

The grocery store ads came out today. Now, meat prices have been going up for a while, but I noticed something today that made me blink a few times.

Whole pork loin roast - $1.99/lb
Boneless, skinless chicken breast - $1.99/lb
Hamburger - $1.99/lb

Remember when hamburger was the cheap meat, what you fixed because you couldn't afford a roast, much less steak? Of course, if you're talking beef, $1.99/lb is still cheap. I just find it horrifying that chicken breast and hamburger cost the same.

At this rate we're all going to wind up vegetarians by default. Who can afford to be a meat eater anymore?

No, really it's not spending money, it's saving money.

Going to Walmart is dangerous for me. They have fabric department, and no matter what my best intentions I somehow always wind up back there, leafing through the piles of clearance fabric. It doesn't matter if I have no idea how I'll use it. It's $1/yard! I'll find a way!

Look how cute this print is! And it's a kids' print, too, and you know how hard it is to find things for them that's not priced in the stratosphere, I mean, I really can't pass this up, can I? I could make a shorts outfit next summer for the toddler, or hey, I know! There's about seven yards here, and I could make them some foam rubber playroom furniture. I have a pattern for that at home, the one I bought at the 99 cent patterns sale. Yeah, yeah, that's what I'll do!

And this would be perfect for covering the dining room chairs. Only four yards? Well, I'll piece it together with this cream fabric over here and together I'll have enough. It's only 5 chairs I need to cover, after all.

Oooooh. Oh, this is beautiful. And so soft! Mmmmm. I just can't stop touching it. Such wonderful vivid colors. I have to have it! I'll figure out what to use it on later.

Yesterday, despite all my best intentions I walked out of there with $14 worth of fabric. OK, so we're talking two matching dresses for the girls (I've never done that before, I swear, but I caved. Just this one time, though, I promise! And I also promise I will never make a matching dress for myself. So help me, I will not do that evil thing!), covers for the kitchen table chairs to protect them from sticky fingers, and one yard of fabric just because I liked it and I'll find something to do with it.

So, I saved money, see? And we won't discuss that I currently have more projects in mind and fabric in boxes than I could use up in the next three years. Because the husband thinks I'm impressive.

So there.

A Worthy Cause

I'm subbed onto this recipe list, so I can vouch that I've never had problems with spam from them. The recipes are sometimes so-so, sometimes pretty good. I highly recommend this list, especially for this cause. Try it out, even if only for a little while!

RECIPE E-MAIL FOOD DRIVE

Until the end of October, people from around the world have a unique
opportunity to help out Manitoba Food Banks without spending a cent. For
every person who signs up for Peak of the Market's free recipe e-mail
service at www.PeakMarket.com, Peak of the Market growers will donate 50
pounds of fresh vegetables to Manitoba Food Banks via Winnipeg Harvest. Not
only can you help out those less fortunate than yourself by signing up for
our free recipe e-mail service, you can also help by forwarding this
information to the people in your address book. There are only a few days
left. We've had almost 4,700 people sign up so far this month, which means
235,000 pounds will go to the Food Banks. However, we would like to make
this number a lot higher. With your help, we can send even more vegetables
to those in need.

Take care and please don't forget to eat your veggies!

Larry McIntosh
President & CEO, Peak of the Market
email: larry@PeakMarket.com

Nanowrimo

I did this for the first time a couple of years ago, when all I had was one baby who went to bed early, and the husband was gone for the whole month training for a new job. It was fairly easy to use my evenings alone to get my book done. It was a great experience, because I got my novel done - the first time I'd ever managed to accomplish that.

Soooo, I'm going to do it again this year. I've got a couple of ideas but I think I know which one I'm going to do. It will be considerably more complicated this year, but here's hoping I can pull it off again! I'd love to be able to say I have two books under my belt. Even if they're lousy.

I don't think I'll download any of the icons this year though. I really hate them. Cutesy. Yick. I hope the winner icon is better, but I don't have high hopes.

Christian Dior me from my head to my toes

My birthday is coming up. I sent the husband an email with a list of things I'd like to have. Books, a pedometer, stuff like that. Oh, and a link to my Amazon wishlist, which could backfire. The last time I did that he got me a copy of Sink Reflections, which, yes, I wanted, but maybe not for Christmas? (Although, to give the husband credit, he does give me good presents. It's just that sometimes he also, well, you know. Gives me books on cleaning. Or a hair dryer. Or nothing at all, like my last birthday.)

Anyway. Getting back to the topic at hand, tonight I was watching What Not To Wear and I thought, "I want a makeover."

The woman in the show was a redhead, like me. We didn't have anything else in common. She was short and curvy and just all around really cute. I'm tall and curvy in all the wrong places. I won't comment on my overall looks.

She was real, though, not model-looking, but a real woman, with a few bulges where she doesn't want them, not looking as young as she used to, and of course, the red hair. It was enough to make me identify with her.

They made her look so good. They played up her figure, camouflaged the bulges, put her in shoes and skirts that showed off her fantastic legs. More importantly, she looked so happy. She was having fun and really enjoying herself.

I saw her having so much fun and I wanted that so badly. I want to feel good about the way I look. I want to have clothes that are fun to wear, things that are pretty and make me feel pretty. I want a hairstyle that doesn't scream "Mother of little ones, who has no time to blow dry!" I want someone to take time on me, fuss with my hair, tell me I can look pretty again.

I keep thinking, "When I lose weight," or, "When the girls are older," or, "When the husband isn't working so much and I have more time and we have more money."

But I'm tired of waiting. I don't know how to get out of this hole, but wow, I'm tired of it.

Braced for impact

I used to have this friend who always used to say, "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me." That's what I'm feeling like tonight. After everything that happened last school year with the teen how could I have let it happen again?

We finally got the teen's teacher on the phone. The school has a website where you can look up the homework each teacher has assigned for each class. The teen, when we asked him about this homework, has been claiming that he was doing it in class. Well, that was a big fat lie.

He hasn't been doing his homework, he hasn't made up the quizzes he missed from when he was sick, and he's been giving the teacher the run around when she gets on him about it. (He told us that he'd gotten everything made up.)

So. He has a school function tonight, and the husband has some church stuff to do, but when everyone gets home we're going to have a serious talk. Which should get very loud (on the teen's side) and involve much slamming of doors. He's going to be going to school early every day next week to make up some of the missed work, and we're going to have to start aggressively monitoring him.

I feel really bad that it happened again. I feel like I should have been able to keep this from happening. I don't know how I could, but I still feel like I should have. Hopefully I am learning and will be able to keep this from happening again. We'll see.

Off to put in my earplugs!

Must sell, gd. cond., $75 firm

I have become addicted to the classified ads in my new local paper. The Misc. For Sale section is huge, much larger than anything else, even the Sunday want ads, filled with everything you can imagine. And I'm hooked. I read them while I'm eating my breakfast, tantalized by the story fragments behind each ad.

There's a velvet brocade couch that's been listed for the last month. Only $100, a year old, it looks like a great deal. Why hasn't anyone snatched it up? Is it really only a loveseat, masquerading as a couch? I wonder what color it is. Could it be so hideous as to make the couch unsalable? Or maybe it's something more basic. Do the owners have 13 poorly trained tomcats each trying to outdo the other in marking their territory? We could use a new couch, but do I really want to find out why no-one else wants it?

Industrial Forklift, 10 ton, gd. cond. That's a new ad. I'm curious to see how long it stays there. Is there really a market for 10 ton forklifts in the classified ads? Is this a farmer's forklift, or is it being sold by a local business? I imagine a family farm, upgrading their machinery to a bigger and better forklift, with onboard computers and a digital control panel. Or are forklifts something that has stayed basic, electronics-free?

There's a collection of Beanie Babies for sale, 200 of them, asking price $2 each. In the next column over there's another collection of 200, this one of vinegar bottles. The Beanie Babies have been there as long as the velvet couch. I have higher hopes for the couch selling than the Beanie Babies. I don't know anything about the market for vinegar bottle collections, but I'd be willing to bet it'll sell before the Beanie Babies, too.

Like the vinegar bottles, some of the ads offer windows into worlds with which I am completely unfamiliar. What is a plumber's bench? Is it a luxury that it comes w/ access., or is that a basic necessity? Baled orchard grass seems easy enough to understand, until I start thinking about who would buy it. Do horses especially love orchard grass in the middle of the winter? How does it compare to hay, anyway?

And what is it with all the graves for sale? Cemetary lots, mausoleum crypts, 2 lots, 4 burial plots, 4 grave lots, 4 cemetary plots, new section, old section, section B, section G. They're always sold in even numbers by people who say they're leaving the area. I can count nine ads for them today, without even trying. I can't help but wonder if someone is buying up cemetary plots and trying to resell them for a profit. They average about $500 a plot, which adds up to an absolutely ridiculous amount per acre. Or is this the cemetary owners, trying to sell their product without having to use direct sales calls? "Hey, someday you're going to die! Why not be prepared?"

Wedding gown, Lady Eleanor, sz 12, never worn, says one ad. 1/2 carat engagement ring, appraised $1800, says another. But wait! There's another just a few columns along, 3/4 carat, $2500. It seems like it should be bad luck to buy a used ring from a broken romance. Not the most positive symbolism to start your own marriage, is it?

What's a French Open Hole Flute? Would I enjoy learning how to play one? Well, maybe not at $950. I'll stick with humming, I think.

Too bad we don't have any room for that free mahogany grand piano. I'd like the girls to take piano lessons. I did when I was a kid and I'm glad. I wouldn't mind getting back to it in fact. Could we possibly move things around enough to make it work? Don't be silly, Jennifer. What room do you feel like giving up entirely, the living room or your bedroom? Oh, well, I hope whoever gets it has fun. And a very big house.

Something short ...

... since I'm tired tonight.



You appear to be a Knitting Adventurer. You are through those knitting growing pains and feeling more adventurous. You can follow a standard pattern if it's not too complicated and know where to go to get help. Maybe you've started to experiment with different fibers and you might be eyeing a book with a cool technique you've never tried. Perhaps you prefer to stick to other people's patterns but you are trying to challenge yourself more. Regardless of your preference, you are continually trying to grow as a knitter, and as well you should since your non-knitting friends are probably dropping some serious hints, these days.
http://marniemaclean.com

What Kind of Knitter Are You?
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There's only so much.

Several years ago, an older woman with whom I worked turned to me and said, "Have I ever told you my list of people who have wronged me?"

"Uhhh," I said. "Ummm, no?"

"Well, when I was seven," she said, "my twin sister ..."

I tried very hard not to hear the rest of her list. It took a lot of concentration. Since she was in her mid-sixties it was a very long list.

There's something horrifying in that. For nearly sixty years she'd held that grudge. In all those years hadn't she ever looked at a seven year old and thought, "Wow, kids are dumb sometimes! Why am I still mad about something a child did?"

I wonder sometimes about stupid things I've done in my life, about how I might have hurt people and not even known about it. It bothers me to think that there are people out there whom I have injured without realizing. I'm sure there are many, to my shame. I have been known to do some incredibly dumb things.

I wish I knew who they are so I could apologize to them.

Some actions I don't need to wonder about. I remember them all too clearly and I cringe at the memory. There are things that I have done that I was too ashamed of to apologize at the time, things for which I was too dumb to realize I needed to apologize, things that I was too busy being angry about to apologize. I wish I could go back, find those people, and apologize to them, too.

One of the best things my mother ever did for me was to march me over to a friend's house, after I (in company with a group of other girls at church) had made the incredibly bad decision to mock her new shoes. Mom drove me a half hour out to this girl's house and made me apologize to her parents and to her, face to face. It was humiliating. It really affected me. I hadn't thought about her feelings, just my desire to be part of the group. Mom's punishment shocked me out of that, and I'm so grateful to her.

Wanting forgiveness from others, how can I not extend the same? At least, that's what I aspire to. I tend to hang on to my anger way too long sometimes. Learning to forgive hasn't been an easy thing for me. I don't want to wind up in my mid-sixties still counting the offenses, though. What a huge waste of my time and energy, of my life. I don't have enough of any to waste.

Success!

I think we can consider the preschooler officially potty-trained. She has stayed dry while awake for several days in a row now, with only two accidents. She still has to be reminded to go, but she will use the toilet when placed on it.

I am so happy!

The other night we were out of pull-ups. The problem is that I switched her over to the Feel and Learn pull-ups, the ones with Dora on them. I was hoping it would make it more uncomfortable to be wet and she'd stop resisting being trained. No such luck. All that I accomplished was to get her jogged out of her insistence on only wearing Disney Princess pull-ups and get her insisting on only wearing Dora pull-ups.

Soooo, that night I went to the store to get another package of Dora pull-ups. They didn't have any. So I went to a second store. No Dora there, either. I headed to a third store. Finally! I headed home victorious, but unhappy.

I decided then and there that I'd had it. The next day she was going into the Dora underwear I'd been trying to coax her to wear and if she wound up in a psychologist's office at the age of 40 complaining about being prematurely forced to use the toilet, well, that was life. I'd just go ahead and pay for it.

She fought me determinedly the first day. I took her pull-ups off in the morning and refused to let her put another pair on, so she spent several hours in the air. But, we had no accidents, so I felt reasonably successful.

A week later she still needs pull-ups while she's sleeping, but she uses the toilet during the day and doesn't fight having her pull-ups taken off.

Whoo hoo! One down, one to go. Next time has got to be easier. I know what I'm doing now!

Delicate Negotiations

The problem with not blogging for a couple of days is that I wind up with so much to say that I can't figure out what to say first and wind up not saying anything at all. Which is how I'm feeling now. Where to start?

The husband and the teen are off getting haircuts and probably picking up a soda or lunch or something while they're out. We had a big fight with him last night and this is a repair-the-relationship kind of things.

We got a letter from the school. The teen has not been doing his homework or handing in his assignments for one of his classes. He's been doing very well in his other classes, so this was a surprise. Although I suppose it shouldn't have been, since the same thing happened last year with one of those classes.

So, two things to do here. 1) Talk with the teen and get his side of what's happening. 2) Call the teacher and find out what he's missing and what he can make up, if he can make up anything.

The teen, when we broached the subject, blew up all over the place. I suppose it's not strictly accurate to call it a fight. That takes two, right? The teen yelled, stomped around, slammed doors and complained that we weren't fair and that it was all his teacher's fault. We stayed calm, stayed seated, and stuck to our guns. Certain privileges that were contingent on getting at least a C in all classes will not be happening. It's nice that he's getting a couple of A's and a couple of B's. We're proud of him and glad for him. Nevertheless, the F from this one class can't be ignored.

He's very anxious that we not talk to his teacher, which makes me feel fairly certain there's more going on than we realize. We'll have to handle this carefully so that he doesn't just decide to hate his teacher and quit putting any effort at all into the class. It's a pattern he has followed before, when he was living with his mother.

Just a few years ago I was thinking, "Oh, he's growing up so fast!" Now I tend to think to myself, "Oh, please, please hurry up and grow out of this stage!"

I'm married? When did that happen?

The husband's schedule has been so crazy these last few months that I've hit a point where I hardly feel married anymore. We're more like roommates with privileges. The whole "Gosh, you're so much fun to be around and I can't wait 'til you get home!" thing has kind of faded, which has left me feeling sort of disconnected and floating-in-space-y.

But! He has 4 whole days in a row off and I have plans to spend time reconnecting. We might even go on a date if we can work it out. Wow. A date. A real date with my husband. Get the girls put to bed, leave the teen to minimal child-watching responsibilities, and maybe get a late-night meal.

Dreaming ...

Ooh, it gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.

So, if you don't see any new entries here, that's why. I'm trying to feel like a married person again. Wish me luck!

Great News!

The teen has been sick off and on for a couple of weeks, so we took him to the doctor. Of course, while he was there, they weighed him.

He's lost 30 pounds! At least. It might be more, because I'm not sure exactly how much he weight when he got here in April. He was 280 at Christmas time, though and he's now 250. Which is just so utterly fantastic. He shrugs off the weight, but I know he feels bad about it.

So, 30 pounds in 6 months. That's just over a pound a week. Not bad considering we haven't precisely put him on a diet. I've been doing my best to keep sugar out of the house (which led to some real tantrums at first) and give him healthy snack options. Healthy meals, minimizing his opportunities for outside snacking, and then since school started he's chosen to walk home instead of riding the bus (which has probably done more than everything else combined) and that's all.

If only it worked on me! I have NOT lost 30 pounds in six months, but I would love to have!

Oh pot, thou pot, thou ebon pot

The teen made himself some macaroni and cheese for lunch today. In the process he discovered I'd forgotten to put the margarine back in the fridge this morning. It's been a warm day and so the margarine was, not soupy, but definitely too soft. This made it difficult for him to get it into the macaroni, and he very seriously started lecturing me about the inconvenience to him. He even pointed out that the lid wasn't anywhere near the margarine tub, being on the counter while the tub was on the table.

Of course, when I went into the kitchen later, I found the milk and ketchup still on the counter, the empty box and cheese packet, as well as his dirty pan, bowl, spoon and cup.

He did, however, remember to put the margarine away.

I was warned as a child of 13 ...

Things I was told as a teenager about dealing with men:

Always put on a dress and fresh makeup before your husband gets home.
(He might leave you if you look less than perfect, right?)

Eat before going on a dinner date, and only nibble in front of your date.
(You wouldn't want him to think you actually have something as unfeminine as an appetite after all!)

Just accept the fact that men have "needs." All men look at porn and visit prostitutes. You can't do anything about that and he'll leave you if you try to stop him.
(Hmm, let me see. Oh, yes. "Your clothing is on the lawn and the locks have been changed. My lawyer will be contacting you about child support.")

Don't be:
Too strong
Too smart
Too independent
Too assertive
Men don't like women like that and you'll never get a husband that way.
(Thanks for the advice. I think it would be just hunky-dory living my life pretending to be someone I'm not!)

"I can tell you're a strong woman, like me. You need to marry a man you can control, like I did, because you'll never be happy unless you're wearing the pants."
('Cause, y'know, it would be just horrible to have a marriage of equals.)

"No man wants a wife who's fat or a bad housekeeper."
(Unconditional love? Wuzzat?)

Any women reading this who remember getting similarly stupid advice?

Task for Today

So, when we went to the orchard to buy the $7/bushel apples, it turned out they used the honor system. And all we had was a $20 bill and a few coins. The plan was to buy two bushels, but we couldn't make change. So, I, overcome in the enthusiasm of canning and cheap apples and how easy it was to fill up the bushel boxes with great big red Rome apples said to the husband, "Oh, let's just go ahead and get three bushels!"

As my mother would say, I had eyes too big for my stomach.

The first two bushels went easily enough. I got them done that weekend. The last bushel is not going so well. Even the girls have gotten tired of eating apples. They will have a few slices if I peel and slice the apple and beg them to eat it, but not otherwise. ("No tank yoo, Mommy," the preschooler tells me, shaking her head gravely. "No tank you.") I made my spiced apples and another batch of apple butter, but that still leaves me with half a bushel that I am desperately trying to pretend doesn't exist.

My kitchen looks like a cooking store exploded in it. I have cases of jars everywhere, the surfaces are sticky in unexpected places, the pressure canner has taken up roots on my stovetop and the dehydrator is stubbornly refusing to go back to its home under the counter. Not to mention the baby thinks the apples make great balls and, if she can reach them, will throw them vigorously all over the kitchen, trying to make them bounce. Which is why I have apples under the table right now.

Today I clean up and take a breather! I will decide what to do with the rest of the apples later.

Letter to my daughter

I wrote this a year and a half ago, after quite some time agonizing over what to teach the preschooler about her birthmark. After reading AGK's essay about beauty, confidence and her daughter, I decided to share this.

Dear one:

Some day, you are going to come to me, upset over the way you look. It might be because of your birthmark; it might be because of your chest measurements, or your weight, the color of your eyes and hair, or even just the fact that your hair is really fighting you that day. You'll want so desperately to be beautiful, to have people look at you and admire you, to have men want to be with you because of your overwhelming beauty. At least, I'm guessing you will, because that's what I've felt on more than one occasion, and most of my friends have felt that way too.

And when that happens I'll tell you that you are beautiful, that your hair and your eyes, your figure and your complexion are all lovely, even though right at that moment you are only seeing your flaws. And you will then say, "Oh, mom, you have to say that, because you're my mother." Or you'll say, "Of course you think I'm pretty. You love me," as if my love for you annuls my judgment of your appearance. You might think that I am not being honest with you for fear of hurting your feelings because I love you so much.

You know what? That fact that I love you, and therefore see you as beautiful is the whole point, and part of one of the greatest truths I can ever teach you.

You see, the people who love you are always going to see you as beautiful. The people who hate you are always going to see you as ugly. What that leaves is all the people in the middle - the people who don't know you yet, or the people who are too shallow to see past your outer surface to your heart. Those are the people who will judge you by the way you look. As they come to know you, though, they will find their opinion of you changing. Some will like you, even love you, and they will see you as a lovely woman whose company they enjoy very much. Others will dislike you, and nothing will ever convince them to see you as beautiful, even if you were Miss Universe.

The secret to all this is the inner beauty you cultivate. You need to make yourself first and foremost beautiful on the inside. As you choose to act in ways that are true and kind, with virtue, honor and integrity, showing forth kindness and compassion to those you meet, your true nature will shine through, and those who meet you will not be able to help being charmed by you. They will not notice your appearance flaws, might not even be able to give a good physical description of you, except to say that, "Wow - that girl there? Isn't she something else?" And they will smile, because it will give them great joy to have met you.

The exception will be those that are for some reason offended by things of virtue and beauty. There will plenty of those, I'm afraid. There are many people like that in the world, people who prefer the safety of shallow judgment and petty malice, who try to destroy what they can't control. Their rejection and cruel treatment will undoubtedly cause you pain. You might want to change to try to please them, trying to find some way to look or act or be that will win their approval and smiles.

You will never gain that approval. If you try, you will only twist yourself into knots, and eventually they will lead you so far away from your true self that you will wind up not even recognizing who you are anymore. Those people are of a world that uses our human desire for approval and acceptance to destroy us. No matter what, they will always raise the bar. Nothing you do will ever be enough to please them for more than a short time. So don't try. Run away from their snares, and avoid their traps by staying far away from them. Stay close to those who love you already, and you will be happy, because you will be free to be your true self, and will be loved for the beauty of that true self.

It's hard writing this to the woman you will be. I don't know what you'll be like, or what our relationship will be. I probably sound preachy. I hope not - I hate it when people preach at me. If I do sound that way, please forgive me. I was just reading some things tonight written by people with birthmarks about growing up and coping with the mean and dumb things people have said to them, and I was wondering how best to handle these situations when they come up in your life. I thought of what I wrote down, and decided I'd better record it, because I will have forgotten it by the time you're old enough to be worrying about all this.

I worried about my appearance for years, afraid that I was too unattractive for any man to find me desirable or to love me. I thought I'd probably never get married. As I thought about this, though, and worked out over the years how I felt about that and how I wanted to react to it, I came to the conclusion that I didn't want someone to love me because I was beautiful. I didn't want someone to love me in spite of the fact that I wasn't beautiful. I wanted someone to love me, and to see me as beautiful because of his love for me. Not long after I worked that out is when I met your father, who did love me before he ever met me in person, and who still thinks I'm beautiful because of his love for me. I hope you meet someone like your father someday, someone who is good and wise and gentle, capable of seeing the heart like he does, who will love you and see you as beautiful because of that love.

I love you so much. I'm sending you a hug across the years - now go and collect a real one from the current me.

Your loving mom

i miss my mom

I got an unexpected card today from my father. He sent me some photos of the family, taken when my youngest brother was getting ready to leave on a trip. The first picture I saw was my mother, standing next to youngest brother.

She looked so old. I was on the phone with the husband when I opened the card, and I stopped talking, lost track of the thread of our conversation, so shocked by the difference in her that I couldn't think of anything else.

I haven't seen her since my sister got married. Four years now. We talk on the phone all the time, and it's given me an illusion of being there with her, but, no, it's not the same. I remember her with hair dyed a light brown, a youthful face, a brilliant smile. The photo showed a woman who's stopped coloring hair that has gone mostly white. Her smile is a beautiful as ever, but the skin of her face is sagging, hanging a little too loosely over her cheeks and jawline. Deep grooves capture her mouth like parentheses. She looks ... old.

When her father died, I cried and cried, not so much for the loss of my grandfather (although I mourned for him) but for what it meant for the future. It was like the lives of her parents were supports, foundation stones keeping her alive. With Grandpa gone, Mom was somehow more vulnerable to death and that frightened me.

This photo has been a repeat of that realization. Being around my mother is like being around a warm fire on a cold day. I have supported her through her divorce, through the years before that. She has guided me and advised me, calmed me when I couldn't stop crying. She told me once that she can't count how many times I, or one of my sisters, has called her, only to start sobbing as we say, "Mom?"

She's Mom. When I little, it felt like I'd explode I loved her so much. I remember the force of that adoration, like a supernova inside me, streaming love like light from my eyes and mouth, my fingers, my skin. I see that same love now, in my daughters, in the way they follow me from room to room, touching me every so often.

I saw that picture and it brought all that into my mind in one painful flash, and I thought, "What am I doing, so far away from her while she grows old?" I saw a future where I see her only in strobe-like flashes, older and frailer with each blink, with me never getting to experience the times between, confined to slices of her life.

I miss my mother. I miss my sisters. I want to be with my family again, so badly. They're my best friends, and I'm so lonely for them tonight.

Two bushels down, one to go.

Completed:
12 quarts of applesauce
12 half-pints of apple butter
6 half-pints of dutch apple jam
6 half-pints of caramel apple jam
10 quarts of sliced apples

Still to come:
More applesauce
Spiced apple rings
More caramel apple jam
More apple butter
Dried apple rings
Apple jelly

I need to buy more half-pint jars tomorrow, as well as more white sugar, more brown sugar, find a store around here that sells red-hots, and pick up some cheesecloth. Oh, and a stockpot. I just don't have a really big pan and that would have been so useful this weekend.

The girls have been eating apples nonstop for three days now. I haven't been interested in eating any, for some strange reason.

But I will be gone this weekend, as I'm canning a bushel of apples.

Hah!

Betcha thought I was gone for the next few weeks, dintja? Huh, huh, dintja? Well, fat chance!

The husband is off and that makes it hard to find time to get online. Especially right now, we always have so much to catch up on. They've got him working 12 hour shifts right now. Since his commute is an hour and a half each way, that means he is home long enough to sleep and and leave. He doesn't even eat at home the days he's working. It's not fun at all and the overtime and 4 day weekends just don't make up for it.

The good news is, he applied for another job in the same company and it looks like he's going to get it! Not only does it come with a raise, the hours are much saner and honestly, he'll enjoy it more than what he's doing now. This job turned out not to be as advertised. It's really mostly just answering phones. This new one involves doing actual analysis and looking for trends, which is what he really wants to do, so life is looking much better.

I'm very excited about the raise, as our furniture is starting to fall apart. And I mean literally fall apart. The springs are almost all gone from the couch, the kitchen table chairs are dropping pieces and wobble alarmingly when you sit down. You have to sit rather carefully to keep from falling, in fact. Now I can start looking for someone to repair our couch and buy new chairs! Yay!