More Thoughts on Imperfection

"If you look closely at a tree you'll notice it's knots and dead branches, just like our bodies. What we learn is that beauty and imperfection go together wonderfully."

~ Matthew Fox

My first thought when I saw this vintage pyrex cinderella was gorgeous! She had that sublime turquoise/robin's egg blue color which I adore. And she had a pattern I'd not seen before. I picked her up, intent upon bringing her home, then hesitated. She wasn't perfect. Though the pattern was intact her paint was scratched and mildly stained. I wasn't sure.

I consulted Mr. Peculiar. "Well, she's a little beat up," he said, "I don't know." And I hesitated again. I almost set her back down. But she drew me in. You see. Despite her imperfections she was delightful. How could I not? I brought her home. I figured if nobody else rejoiced in her beauty then she'd be mine, all mine!

After a bit of research I discovered she sported a rare embroidery pattern. Then I had to get on with my day. You see today was the first day of school. There were groceries to buy, children to transport, snacks and meals to prepare. Busy as I was, this bowl, thoughts of this bowl, kept churning in the back of my mind.

And finally it hit me. This bowl wasn't beautiful despite her imperfections. She was beautiful because of her imperfections. Her paint was scratched because Aunt Mary used her to bake cookies after school. And she has that little stain on the top because she sat at the Thanksgiving table and Grandpa Joe put her a little too close to the roast pan. This bowl has had a life. She has been loved.

And, honestly, the same holds true for you and me. Those liver spots on my hands? Kisses from the sun. The wrinkles around my eyes? Years of laughter. Those strands of hair that are a little less blond and a little more gray? Wisdom.

You and I and this sweet bowl are all alike; perfectly imperfect and well well loved.

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It doesn't feel right keeping this gal to myself. She needs to go out into this world and spread the love. So she's listed here, in the shop.

Now I have to tell you. Though it's not a matching set she looks awfully good with this cinderella butterprint bowl. You can see them together above. It almost seems like destiny.

Separately the bowls are $18.00 a piece. If you wish to buy them together I'll combine shipping and give you a discount at $28.00 for the set. Simply add a note to the invoice or send me a convo and I'll refund you the difference. This is a special deal for you, my friends, here on blogger and facebook.

This evening I find myself in a peculiar place. The kids have been dispersed. The husband is fishing. I am alone. Sort of. With me are two dogs, one cat, four chickens and a bothersome yellow fly. I have things to do. Items to list on Ebay. Dishes to unload. Laundry to be done. And yet I am perfectly content to sit here and watch the chickens have a dirt bath. To listen to neighbor's wind chime sound a deep and peaceful melody. To watch the black and white cat stalk the black and white chickens who are twice his size. To relish the evening sun flitting between the pine branches. To drink "recession buster wine" and read knitting tales from the library. This evening is, in one word, lovely. Tonight even the chain link fence is attractive. Life is good.


I hope you are also having a wonderful weekend. Here's to the beauty of the every day!

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What a girl wants ...

My cup is half full (or half empty depending on the day). But that’s not what I want. I want my cup to swish and swash. I want the contents to splash down on the saucer below. I want it to runneth over.

I do not want fancy. I’m not hoping for bigger, better or more. I’m not looking to increase my material possessions (well not by much ... I do dream about a set of bagpipes. Seriously.). What I really want is to be debt free. I crave security, prosperity, abundance and freedom. I want enough to share.

And yet the question remains ... how do I get there? This morning the answer was hollering at the children for leaving the lights on. Tonight it is being grateful for bedding that hasn’t been shat or vomited upon. Tomorrow it will be dinner and a movie with a friend.

Each day is a balancing act; tempering frugality with desire, pitting long-term bounty against instant gratification. Often I feel like the hamster on the wheel -- running and running. Getting nowhere fast. Why do I work so hard? For what end?

But we are moving forward (though at a snail’s pace). We are ever so slowly chipping away at our mountain of debt. So I will continue to visualize the life I desire. I sincerely hope to be sucessful. In the meantime you can find me here spinning my wheels. That I know I can do.

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“Abundance is, in large part, an attitude”
~ Sue Patton Thoele

What's Up?

Chicken Butt

You may have noticed I've been quiet lately. I am in an unfamiliar place ... the waiting place.  I am waiting for my shift to be over, waiting for the weekend to come, waiting for yarn to be delivered and waiting for paint to dry.  Just waiting. 

We are experiencing record heat and our a/c is still broken (it'd help if I'd call a repair man). I have little motivation.  I don't want to cook or clean or create and I most definitely do not want to exercise. I don't even feel like reading.  I am not depressed, per se.  I am not unhappy. But I'm merely going through the motions; my body is living life without me.  

I find myself looking forward to fall ... cooler temperatures, apple cider, football in the background.  I feel guilty for not enjoying the here and now.  I tell tall-tales like ... if only I didn't have to work then I'd be motivated. Then I'd have time to appreciate.   I know this is not true (though I'm not turning down those lottery winnings should they come my way). 

So here I sit.  Waiting.  Yet I have faith.  In the sage words of Dr. Seuss: 

Somehow you'll escape

all that waiting and staying.

You'll find the bright places

where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,

once more you'll ride high!

Ready for anything under the sky.

Ready because you're that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!

There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.

And the magical things you can do with that ball

will make you the winning-est winner of all.

Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,

with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don't.

Because, sometimes, they won't...

And that's it really.  Some days will be better than others.  

The Rookie Kitchen

Over the hill and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go.   This week all three kids are gone.  The boy is at lacrosse camp and the girls are with their grandparents.  On top of that I only have to work one out of the five nights they'll be gone.  

What in the world am I doing with myself? Not what you'd expect.  You see when I got home I realized how horrific the carpet was in my son's room.  Old cat + carpet = not pretty.  So on a whim I decided to rip it out.  My initial plan was to replace the carpet with cork.  Well it turns out cork does not fit into my budget.  As such I went with plan B -- painting the sub floor.  Thus far I've cleared the room of furniture, ripped out the carpet and padding, hauled them to the dump (thanks to the hubbie for help), pulled up the tacking strips, removed all the padding tacks, filled in the cracks with wood filler, sanded and wiped the floors clean and painted with primer and an initial top coat layer.  Whew!  Why am I not lounging in the yard while being fanned with palm fronds?  Isn't that what normal people do when their children are away?

I still have to paint additional topcoat layers, add a Steeler's logo (because I am a crazy person) and polyurethane the whole deal.  All this only to do the girls' room next.  

And tonight, while the paint was drying, I began yet another project ... Novellino Cucina (The Rookie Kitchen).  This is my new cooking blog where I intended to cook my way through Italy ala Julie and Julia.  

And that is what I've been up to. Whatcha doing with your summer?  

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I have a dirty little secret ...

Yesterday we went to a birthday party. Friends and neighbors gathered to celebrate Nina Bee’s first year of life. Small talk was inevitable as not all attendants were intimately acquainted.  As I refilled my wine I became privy to one of these space-filling conversations; an enticing discussion about clover.  Enjoying my fly-on-the-wall status I feigned activity and listened in. 

“Well,” said one person, “ the clover in this neighborhood is really the fault of so and so up the street.  She’s all organic.  Not that there is anything wrong with that.  But her grass is full of clover and now it’s migrated to our yard.”

“Oh that’s terrible” said another, “no one wants a yard full of clover.”  They went on to discuss the various merits of herbicides used to eradicate this evil invader from their lawns. 

I quietly slipped away.  You see our yard is blanketed in clover.  Initially we were going to eliminate it as removal seemed the neighborly thing to do.   But then we read the ingredient list on the herbicide bottle.  We quickly decided we’d rather have clover than odd growths on our children or an eight-eyed school of fish downstream.  And so we went against the first suburban commandment and simply let the clover be.  

And here’s my dirty little secret ... I like the clover.  

It’s green. It doesn’t die off when the dogs pee on it. Were it not for clover our lawn would be entirely yellow/brown (I’m not joking).  Instead our lawn is peppered with little white flowers that attracts bees.  These bees, though they come with stingers, are good for environment.  Shoes are a good idea when playing on our “grass”. It’s a fair trade; shoes for environmental friendliness. 

When the kids are bored I can send them out to search for four leaf clovers. I’m willing to bet families with “perfect” lawns can’t get their kids to go out and pick through the grass as a form of entertainment.  Besides these kids would probably contract some sort of mutagentic disease if they were to do so.  

And there you have it.  Perhaps I’m lazy.  Perhaps I’m a hippie.  Perhaps I’m the dredge of the neighborhood.  Or, perhaps, I’m all three.  What I do know is I like fish with two eyes, children without growths and my blanket of clover.    

Missing in Action

My brain is missing in action. With each passing year I grow increasingly forgetful and fear this is the beginning of the end. Gray matter, once solid, has turned to mush. I suspect it’s pouring out my ears as I sleep. It’s caught up in the wash with the sheets and pillow cases, spun about and sent forever down the drain. Where else could it have gone? Because clearly portions of my intellect have vanished.

It’s those moments when I pick up the phone to call home and forget my own number. It’s the days when I write the word “world” and then stare at it incessantly wondering if it is spelled correctly. It’s the two weeks in a row I forget ballet lessons; weekly lessons we’ve been attending for six months. It’s the absolute blank when I’m trying to recall names of people I know, people who are familiar.

I can feel it; the little man in my head sprinting down neuronal pathways. He’s panicking, opening doors one by one, looking for information. But he’s lost the address. He can’t find the vault. Each successive door reveals a blank white board. Someone got there first and erased all notation. Naked in public, laughed at by others, he frenetically continues his quest. In the meantime I stand with my face as blank as the boards behind the doors; jumping occasionally as egresses are slammed shut.

Perhaps the inn is full; there’s no room for additional information. As such cerebral sanitation crews labor late into the night to gather veteran knowledge and dump it out any available orifice. This would certainly explain the knowledge gaps; the lack of recall.

My memory failure is typically chocked up to hormones and parenthood and a lack of sleep. Though, like garbage floating on the ocean, pernicious thoughts also float through my head. When skies are grey thoughts of Alzheimer’s, malignant tumors and virulent prions come crashing to shore; reminders of human mortality and the morbidity that precedes it.

Then there are brighter days when I remember Albert Einstein. He was notoriously absent-minded. He couldn’t tabulate bus fare and misplaced large checks. He couldn’t even remember his own address. And yet he was a genius. It’s then I realize my problem is quite clear. I am simply too intelligent. Yeah, right.

11:00 PM Friday the 13th

It's eleven o'clock at night. My husband is quizzing the nine-year-old on itunes. She has a wealth of musical knowledge - latest answer Siouxsie and the Banshees. I am giving the five-year-old piggy backs through the living room and she dancing on the arm of the couch. The product of after dinner s'mores, warm weather and the promise of spring. Tomorrow we will sleep in ... late. A child that sleeps to noon is nearly as valuable as one who goes to bed at 7:00 pm. We only live one life.

Tomorrow Frugal Friday, or if you prefer Spartan Saturday.

But for now g'night.

Nine-Year-Old Wisdom

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"It would be nice if the bank didn't own our house. Because, ya know, then you wouldn't have to pay a mortgage and wouldn't have to worry about the bank taking our house."

"Don't I know it!"

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Oh to be absolutely, completely and honorably debt free. That would be amazing! But then I think ... beware of The Monkey's Paw and count my blessings.

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Today I am grateful for:

• Delicious soup in a box (as compared to other things in a box).
• The perfect costume found dirt cheap three days before a school play.
• Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.
• Days off work.
• Nights where I get to sleep!
• Later days.
• Thrift store sweaters.
• Hand knit sweaters in progress.
• An email from My Pet Chicken: the chickies are coming! The chickies are coming! (estimated arrival date April 6th)
• Pepcid AC
  

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Please note: Though we feel broke and constantly worry about meeting our financial obligations we are not on the verge of losing our house (at least not at this moment). My middle child, however, is unfortunately tuned into the the world's economic strife. I hope, if nothing else, she learns from our generation's mistakes.

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Love on a Farmboy's Wages

Today I turned off the television. My children were not pleased. The poor dears had to read or color or clean their rooms. It is downright shameful the way I treat them. Shameful.

Our quiet living room was also confused. Where was the noise? The perpetual sound? It wanted, no it needed, music. How else is one to hang up loads and loads of laundry? But we're not talking just any music. We're talking vinyl. LPs. Records.

You see last week my husband found a steal of a deal at a garage sale ... a record player, with built in speakers! Now we have something on which to listen to our collection. For the past 15 years we've been hauling records from place to place to place. Yes. Records. And you know what? I love them. I love the pop and click that comes with vinyl. I love picking up the needle, sliding it over the record and gently releasing it onto the spinning surface. This action is much more satisfying than the simple push of a button. It reminds me of my brief days as a college DJ, setting a record in place and cueing up a song. And, perhaps, I am stuck in the eighties. Our collection includes David Bowie, The Psychedelic Furs, Elton John and The Sugar Cubes. Currently I'm listening to Crowded House and I just finished The Jazz Butcher.

The thing that cracks me up is my son, at twelve, also loves eighties music. He's downloaded the likes of The Clash, The Kinks, Jane's Addiction and Men at Work to his ipod.

There is a meme cavorting around Facebook that has you put your music selection on shuffle and then answer a series of questions. I thought it would be fun to do this with both my music collection and my son's collection. Strangely I found songs on my computer I didn't even know I had. Anyway - here goes ... my answers are in pink, my son's in blue.

1.) If someone says “are you okay” you say?

When I Come Around - Green Day

I Miss You - Blink 182

2.) How would you describe yourself?

Photograph - Weezer

All that I Want - the Weepies

3.) What do you like in a guy/girl?

Just Because - Jane’s Addiction

Sailor - Hem

4.) How do you feel today?

A Boy Named Sue - Johnny Cash

New Soul - Yael Naim

5.) What is your life's purpose?

I Walk the Line - Johnny Cash

Rose and Hips - Keren Ann

6.) What's your motto?

I Miss You - Blink 182

Beethoven’s Bagatelle in A Minor - Alfred Brendel

7.) What do your friends think of you?

Bad - U2

The City and the Traveler - Hem

8.) What do your parents think of you?

With or Without You - U2

Heart of the Matter - Moon Mountain Ramblers

9.) What do you think about very often?

Born in the USA - Bruce Springsteen

Veterinary Rhythm and Blues - Jonathan Hoffman

10.) What is your biggest turn-on?

When the Sun Goes Down - Arctic Monkeys

Wake Me Up - Norah Jones

11.) What do you think of your best friend?

Pigs in Zen - Jane’s Addiction

Drifting - Four Non Blondes

12.) What is your life story?

Close to Me - The Cure

Fly Me to the Moon - Jazzamor

13.) What do you want to be when you grow up?

Fluorescent Adolescent - Arctic Monkeys

All that I’m Good For - Hem

14.) What do you think when you see the person you like?

Sunday Bloody Sunday - U2

Baba O’Riley - The Who

15.) What will you dance to at your wedding?

Down with the Sickness - Disturbed

Cha Cha Cha 57 - The Tao of Groove

16.) What will they play at your funeral?

Yellow - Cold Play

My Lady Blue - Eric Serra

17.) What is your hobby/interest??

Jesus of Suburbia - Green Day

The Cruise of the Dolphin Tribe - Eric Serra

18.) What is your biggest fear??

I Stand Corrected - Vampire Weekend.

The Simple Story - Jane Birkin Feat and Feist

19.) What is your biggest secret?

Santa Bring my Baby Back to Me - Elvis Presley

On Your Porch - The Format

20.) What do you want right now?

Love on a Farmboy’s Wages - XTC

Lazyhead and Sleepybones - They Might Be Giants

21.) What is your obsession?

Sweetest Thing - U2

Funky Picante - Marc Antoine

22.) What will your child's first words be?

A-Punk - Vampire Weekend

Happiness Runs - Donovan

23.) What do you say when you look in the mirror?

I Fought the Law - The Clash

North (World) - Peter Kater

24.) What is your opinion of sex?

Unless it Kicks - Okkervil River

Crying Shame - Jack Johnson

25.) What will you post this as?

Apeman - The Kinks

Espuma Bossa (acoustic mix) - Panaphonic Feat

Thousands of Bananas Wash Up on Shore

Florence, Oregon

A woman searching for sea glass gingerly picks her way through the wanton fruit; it’s still green, taken before its time. Her feet bare she curls her toes in the clammy sand at water’s edge and discounts the waves tugging at her ankles. The bananas remind her of beached whales, one leading and others following to certain death; only now it’s fruit, a mass suicide of fruit. She spots a fleshy sea star among the green tubers and picks it up for closer examination; it’s different, there’s something shiny on one of its arms, it’s a ring, a wedding ring. Retching violently she falls to her knees. The ocean, aided by the pull of the moon, envelops her and drags the found hand back to the sea.

Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean

A call comes through the satellite - heavy storm ahead; 35-foot waves and 45-knot winds. The call’s too late, the ship is already scudding before the wind; plunging into a perilous tango with the sea in a rhythmic heave ho, water greedily licking starboard then port side then starboard again. Cloistered in the bridge the captain and first mate struggle to face the bow into the swells. A deck officer scrambles over cargo containers securing lashings, sliding topside as if skating on ice. Lashings fail on the stern and a fulminating boom reverberates across the vessel. It's silenced by the wind. Two cargo containers slip unceremoniously into the tempestuous water. The officer races lee side seeking shelter but trips in a scuttle and slams onto the deck, sliding to and fro at heaven’s mercy. He catches a cable and wraps it around his arm as a third wayward container looms over him; it hesitates, as if deciding to spare a life, then slams onto the deck and releases 12,000 banana bunches into the ocean.

Uraba, Colombia

A full moon, floating along the horizon, spawns a billowy wake leading to the harbor. Torches illuminate a path from wooden warehouse to steel ship. Paramilitary guards wield semi-automatic weapons while they monitor civilian activity. An American supervisor stands nearby scanning for bushels of rotten fruit, tossing it overboard. Dissapointed puffer fish sample the fruity fare. The cartel busily alters two of the ship’s containers, replacing insulation with cocaine. A scuffle behind the palm grove arouses little suspicion. A guard drags a lifeless body onto the beach and slices it to pieces with a machete; a warning to union supporters. The body is discarded with the rotten fruit, each piece tossed like a football into the ocean. Plum-striped triggerfish flash in the moonlight as they swarm and devour the meaty flesh; beauty and obscenity tangled in time. One hand, the left, with a gold band on the ring-finger is thrown long and far. It lands in a container of bananas. Nobody notices. The bananas continue their journey.

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I've been without my lap top for over a week now. The verdict is not yet in although it may just be the keyboard -- hopefully I'll have more information today. In the interim I've been reading a lot. I finished Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs and Simple Prosperity; Finding Real Wealth in a Sustainable Lifestyle by David Wann. The second book really resonated with me; we, as a society, need to find happiness in a simple sustainable lifestyle. What is the real cost of materialism? Money to be sure but there are also environmental and social impacts to consider.

'Tis the season of excess; I certainly don't need a new car or diamond ring or plasma television this year. Perhaps a pair of locally made earrings. Maybe some macaroni ramekins. I'd be wonderfully content knowing we were environmentally responsible and not in the poorhouse this holiday season. And yes the economy is bad. But spending is not the answer; "Go out and shop" merely fuels corporate greed. Maybe, just maybe, we need an economic revolution and a new way of thinking about our world.

"When money is plenty this is a man's world. When money is scarce it is a woman's world. When all else seems to have failed, the woman's instinct comes in."

--Ladie Home Journal, 1932

There are so many wonderful, inventive, pioneering and forward-thinking woman on the blogosphere it boggles my mind. These are the people at the leading edge of a new future; one that "...moves you in the direction of less stress, more health, lower consumption, more spirituality, more respect for the earth and the diversity with and among the species..." (quote from Paul Ray of Cultural Creatives). I continue to be humbled and amazed by this spectacular group of women who are at the forefront of the simplicity movement. These are the people who inspire me to keep up with the non-Jones as it were.

And in the spirit of keeping up ... I've continued knitting and sewing like crazy; four-felted bags, three pairs of slippers, two grocery bags and cotton ba-aaa-bbby sweater (sorry - the partridge left the pear tree). Even so I'm not yet ready for Christmas which is a mere two weeks away. So I'm back to my projects and back to drumming my fingers on the table waiting to hear about my computer. I don't need a plasma television, I don't need a fancy car but I do want my computer back. Hey - nobody's perfect!

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Addendum: I heard from the computer store.  The good news ... the computer is repairable.  The bad news ... to the tune of $450.00.  Ouch.  I am having it repaired (that was one expensive bottle of wine!).  But I'm also going to scour my house to see what unneeded items I can purge on Ebay.  Hmmm - anyone want to buy an ancient television?  ;o)