incapable of loving…

No, not me, just all of the people I’ve chosen for partners over my short 61 years.  It all began way back when, the day I was born. Well, maybe earlier.  I have never been sure if my mother wanted a child — or children.  She certainly didn’t like men, and neither stayed with the first three to whom she married, nor was truly able to commit her love to them, or anyone else for that matter.  My first feeling of major rejection came when I found out as a child that there was such a thing as breast feeding.  Having never experienced it, only having witnessed it, I was devastated.  What a bonding between mother and child.  It was at that moment I decided that if I ever had children I would certainly breastfeed if possible.

I must interject that this writing is partially due to the movie that’s on in the background.  ”Gaslight” is trailing on softly.  I recognize the insincerity of Charles Boyer as the men to whom I’ve been attracted my whole life.  Total incredulity as I watch my own life with my own Charles Boyers.  My enthusiasm shrouded by their manipulation and deceptions.  I know that sounds quite dramatic, but the story is quite unbelievable even in pieces.   Within a few months, I will begin writing that story.  A lot has been forgotten; a lot has been intentionally blocked.  It must, however, come out soon.

Incidentally, I have been joyously pouring out the creative spirit for several weeks now, firstly with a black and white fabric piece, and secondly with a white with red, orange, gold and purple piece.  I know that there will be a deep blue and white piece next, using some of the Japanese prints that have been in my stash for years.  It would have been turquoise, but I haven’t found the countless turquoise pieces that I will use for embellishments.

I must say, I have never enjoyed attaching beads to fabric as I have over the past few days.  At least in my memory, I have never enjoyed this so much.  Oh dear, Boyer is starting his antics.  Only 28 minutes into the movie and I already despise him.  You know what?  It is this beading with abandon that is so invigorating.  I might insert the creation of a clay piece after I finish this white one.  I must say, using what is in the apartment and not going to the shops to purchase anything is exciting and even fun!

And now I must leave you, as the white silk is calling me.  Charles Boyer is into his despicable behavior.  I am curious to see whether or not I feel this way at the end of the film.  I do so love Ingrid Bergman.

Later………

 

 

hum…

dinger.  That’s how I feel about this here life I’m living right now.  I just got out of bed — afternoon nap that didn’t happen — in order to check communications online, but most of all to work on this fabric project that has the best parts of my mind.  Don’t get me wrong, I love this piece, and have only a couple of days’ work to finish it.  The plans are set in a plaster of Paris mold — which means nothing! — and could undergo massive changes prior to completion, but I’m well on my way.  The next piece is already started.  All of the designs are basted, and awaiting embellishment.  Someone said to me the other day, “Those are not embellishments, they are part of the piece.  Without them, it would not be unembellished.  It would be unfinished.”

Ok, ok. So the beads, stones and other objects attached are a major part of the piece.  I see that now.

My son and I (mostly my son) looked through boxes and restacked a few in search of the items formerly referred to as embellishments.  After moving many, many boxes, finally found the ones for which I was searching.  In the time, we found several boxes marked ‘clothing.’  He put those in the hallway so that I could go through them and eliminate some things that I had kept the last time I had a discard unwanted clothing day.  The irony is that there are many things I don’t even remember, have not seen since Washington or before, and now have no closet space to hang them (boxes and pottery in closet and on closet shelves).  I’m in a pickle.  The small bedroom closet contains my chest of drawers — I’ve removed the sliding closet doors that are also in my big closet.  So I guess it’s bye-bye clothing, unless it is something dear to me.

It was a grand luxury to sleep until I could see the light outside today.  Usually, I get up before dawn, and get ready to go to the pool for my morning deep water exercise.  I can’t imagine how incredibly un-exercised I would be if I hadn’t made that commitment back in August.  An hour a day 5 days each week is a real boon.  Even my son noticed that I was much more energetic and willing to help with the box moving the other day.  He said that recently, I would just wait for someone to do it for me, but that now I get right in there and help out with whatever I can do.

Wish I could stay and write more, but the fabric and red cube beads are calling me.  Perhaps I’ll return to inform you of the progress.  It’s a joy.

Later…….

Hello dears…

Once again, this writer has taken time away to assess the future content of  this little message to whomever.   It is quite possible that not only was my heart on my sleeve, but also that too many know too much about my actual feelings, movements — of all kinds, and even some secrets that are now no longer secrets.  There are a few who read these words diligently for insight into my psyche, those who do it looking for weakness, while others do it out of habit.

What do YOU want?  Should I end my sojourn on this site?  Obviously, my assessment is not complete.  I would appreciate input, which means one person will comment, while others will sublimate and let me decide for myself.  That’s ok, too, however a comment or two wouldn’t hurt.

Ok, that’s it for the moment.  I think coming back here and baring all might be good — for me.  Cathartic it has been.  Amusing at times, perhaps.  A good exercise in not only keyboarding, but also grammatical challenges that constantly thwart me.  I’d like to share musical memories — as they are just that… memories.

Right now, my life is full of discovery.  Space, time, friends, acquaintances, things that are important, things that are necessary, living, loving, being loved — all of those and more.  I’m beginning to do what I’ve really wanted to do, to be that person I’ve really wanted to be for such a long time.  It’s revealing — almost as much as writing here again.

So, dear ones, have at it and let me know.

Fascinating how we move on, isn’t it?

Later……..

malasadas in Sacramento… update

Well, friends, imagine my disappointment yesterday, when my son and I trekked down to the L&L Hawaiian Barbeque on Broadway to get what we had been fantasizing about for months. I ordered a fish dish, then said that I would like an order of malasadas. I could hardly believe my ears when the order-taker said, “We don’t have the dough to make any.” I just looked at him with a stare of horror, to which he responded, “The boss hasn’t ordered any dough. We won’t have any until we get the dough.”

My son and I were crestfallen. I even cancelled my fish order, being inconsolable. I was hoping to update my blog entry of two years ago — the one in which I heaped praise on L&L for their very good malasadas. Never as good as Leonards in Honolulu when last there in 1999. So, always phone before you go, if you choose to go. We are thinking of making the 47 mile trip to Suisun City to try the highly acclaimed doughy heaven at that establishment. It will, however take some time to recover from yesterday’s experience.

After all, one does not make for the malasada place on a daily, let alone monthly or annual basis. It was indeed a soul-wrenching occasion… to have waited for so long and to have had the result we did.

That’s it, friends, except that my consolation was to get up this morning and make a lovely vegetable stock with veggies in the fridge and on the counter to which I have just added some lentils. Later in the process, I will add some rice for volume and taste, since it is Basmati. That will be later this afternoon. Maybe then my popsicle toes will thaw sufficiently to apply some much needed lotion. And before you ask, yes, I am wearing socks, and will be wearing slippers as soon as I find them!

Later…..

sincere apologies…

to all of you who have wondered where I have been over the past two months+. I’ve been everywhere and nowhere. Fascinating the things that trigger other things that cause one to do other things. Suffice it to say that I will return to more frequent writing on 11-10-11. I continue to be amazed and horrified by daily happenings, and have mini-revelatory moments once in a while. Life……

fallow…

shallow, sallow, mallow, callow, and so on.  Rarely has it been a month between writings on this page.  Also, rarely has it been so long between completion of fabric pieces.  Clay seems to eek out, but glazing and returning to a kiln takes ages.  So, I am fallow.  Just the other day, I made the grand realization that space or lack thereof is a major factor.  Until the weekend, I was crowded into this itty bitty living room, things piled hither and thither both on the floor and on shelves, table and all flat surfaces.  No room for the activity I crave.

Realization is usually followed by resistance.  Immediately after I realized that there was a lack of space that was having a severe effect came the ever-present resistance to all that would not only soothe my ills, but also allow me to get stuck in to my precious activity.  The issue?  Look at the mess, and get through it to find that much-needed space for creating as well as for living.

I decided long ago that since there were few demands upon my living room as a social space, I would use said space for fabric and clay work.  Actually, the clay has been happening in the dining room.  I do truly dislike this space, but after having made the decision to stay here at least until the lease runs out in April 2012, might as well get with the program.

Today brings the first day of a clean table — fabric table — in the living room.  No longer do I have a couch on which to languish away my days… there are but two sort of cushy chairs and one uncomfortable rocker in there.  And now, there is the redeeming feature of space.  I can walk safely and easily across the area on my way to the patio door… opened every morning to allow in some cool air before I go to the pool.  It’s sheer bliss.

Speaking of the pool, today marks the end of the 5th week of doing deep water exercise Monday through Friday.  I have two short days on the weekend for rest and recuperation, then it begins again.  Also, I have made the commitment to put at least as much time in on my apartment as I do traveling to and from the pool and in the pool — roughly two hours each day.  May sound like very little time to some, but to me it is a very large commitment — work on the place daily?  Never heard of it.  Don’t get me wrong.  I desire cleanliness and order, but when there is too much “stuff” and a small apartment with very little storage the order tends to go by the wayside for me.  The cleanliness is always there, but the order suffers.

Well, writing this short note must draw to a close, as it is getting near time to leave for the daily water experience.  Now I must think of getting another bathing suit — have two, but one is getting stretched out — for a daily bath of chlorine on the fabric doesn’t help it at all.

Life is good.  Grateful for what I have.

Later……..

men my age and then some…

Why, oh why is it that men my age — 61 — and older have a need for people to know their political views both in general and specific? Do they not realize that people like me, those who are relaxing into their dotage, frequently and usually don’t give a damn? Or is it all men?  Perhaps it’s because for a big part of my life, I had a life where I didn’t have to listen to the fervent boastings of men who needed to tell others exactly how the world should be run.  Wait.  It could be a desperation subject about which most women have definite opinions, but have no desire to air their opinions in public, especially with an overbearing lout.

Don’t get me totally wrong here.  There are some men my age who have other favorite subjects, that being the self.  Not the self in the psychological sense of the word — just themselves.  Generally, the first words uttered are something like, “Hi, I’m George…,” followed in rapid succession by, “I am diabetic, have high blood pressure, all my money will go to my grand nephew when I die, because no one else in the family has spoken to me since July 1998.”  If I had a nickel for every man who has told me of his ills and pills within the first 5 minutes of meeting, I’d have a lot of nickels.

Then there are the ones who want you to hug them right away, so they can start by getting some of their jollies, or maybe because they know that a parting hug will be out of the question, since you will have decided that another meeting will not materialize after conversing over that ubiquitous cup of coffee.  Starbucks, I’m sure, earns much of their profit through these one time meetings — oh wait, I almost forgot.  It might be a fraction of the profit I originally calculated, as one reason for going to Starbucks is that it’s a cheap date.  And if they turn away to look at something for a moment, the date will shoot her eyes toward heaven and pay for herself.  They don’t care.  That’s another couple of bucks left in their pockets for the next hug-me-first, then we’ll sit and drink something so that I can bore you to tears “date.”

Now you realize that I am not being specific about any one man, don’t you?  This is an amalgamation of many men over many years of meeting, writing, dating, traveling, eating, drinking and decision-making.  I should not be so picky, should I?  However, there are times when I really do wonder whether all men are created from the same cloth.  Of course, being a woman doesn’t help things, either.  Such a chasm between us would be near impossible to imagine if it didn’t actually exist!

So, who better to ask about men, than other men.  My step-dad has certainly had opinions about my male friends throughout my whole life.  Most times, though, it’s after the fact that he told me of his thoughts on the subject.  I guess he figured that I wouldn’t hear him when in the full flush of friendship, or whatever it was.  Then there was the period when neither he nor my mom knew anything about what I was getting in to in my luck-filled life.  Considering the fact that they were horrified to know what I had been doing between the ages of 57 and 61, they should well have been horrified.  But that’s a story for another time.

I have still not answered all of the questions to myself about this whole mansearch business.  Possibly, I never will do.  Yes, I met a grand cross-section of men, all of whom were either having fun looking for a woman, or desperate to find a woman with whom they could live out a peaceful existence for the rest of their lives.  What was I looking for?  Why did I reject so many?  Can you tell me?

And it seems my picker is broken, for the one I enabled to achieve his dream last year got his.  And I’m back in Sacramento, right where I’ve been for so many decades.

I think my son brought a good point to me the other night when we were talking of the reasons why I still have difficulty completing the task of unpacking after being here over 4 months.  His mental exercise for us was to go through just how many different places I had lived since his birth back in 1985 — places I lived at least one month.  We did this separately.  He came up with 14.  I came up with 16.  Good heavens!  Even one or two would be sufficient when you’re not involved in something like being in the military.  I didn’t have that for a reason.  Incredulous, you say?  I wish I could laugh, but  oh no.  It turned out to be 15 or something like that. An average of a move every 1.5 years.

This little ditty just made it’s way into my little ditty brain.

I guess it could be my theme song today.

Enough about these ruddy-faced, self-centered old men.  Let me live my life as I choose.

Good day, my dears.  I feel this will not be the last missive of the day!

Later…….

a fish out of water…

Well, friends, it seems that I am among the swimming again.  I thought I had lost the drive to do something daily after leaving the north country several months ago.  On Monday, I resolved to go to the pool where I do water aerobics, and do some form of exercise 5 days each week.  This week I made it 4 times, as I only made the decision on Monday.  I won’t do weekends, though.  Those are mine for me.  What a feeling!  When I told my water aerobics teacher, Andrea, that I was planning to do that, she encouraged me. The woman standing next to us said, “I’ll come, too!”  So we did just that.

We were there for an hour on Wednesday — our class is Tuesday and Thursday — and another hour + on Friday.  We were joined by two more subjects, making a foursome — almost like a golf group!  We are hoping that our group will grow (in number only!) so that the management might consider getting our teacher for at least one more session, but this time in deep water.  So, Monday will begin a 5-day run in earnest.  I am hoping that I’m not too tired, taking it all on at once.

After all, it is only an hour or so each day.

I have a lot of glazing to do this weekend.  A good movie, a good space, and I’m off.  Perhaps this will be the weekend I venture back into listening to books on cd.  I “read” a lot over the past few years doing that, but I must go to the library, for I have exhausted my supply of cds.  Random choices have brought me pleasure and information during those listening hours.  Yes, the library will be a destination for today!

Nice explanation of why he wrote this song.

I’m away for the moment.  Some breakfast is called for… part of the new regime.

Later….

 

life is so fascinating…

Here I am, once again, my dears, 9pm in Sacramento, midnight in New York, 6pm in Honolulu.  Of course, I am still in Sacramento, thinking I’d like to be zizzing in my bed.  However, if I do retire at this hour, I shall be up and ready for the new day sometime around 3-4 am.  That won’t do.  At least not today.

Tomorrow, I will begin a self-imposed regime of going to the pool each day for an hour in the morning.  MW and F bring some deep water swimming and exercise — this one on my own, unless joined by classmates from TTh aqua fit exercise class.  It is a commitment I have made to myself for at least until mid-September.  Then, I hope the routine will have taken hold, and nothing will be able to stop me.  After all, doing exercise is not all enjoyment, is it?  Rather like going to work for an hour daily.

If I leave here at 9 am, I can be in the pool at 9:30 at the latest.  I’m quite chuffed at the possibility!  The first few MW and Fs will be sort of experimental.  Now, you might think I’m crazy, but I really already don’t want to go tomorrow!  I have just completed four weird pieces… small clay pieces… and shudder to think what my pottery classmates will think of them.  I have no idea what they are, what they will be, nor how I will use them.  All I know is that I woke up one night with their image burned into my brain.   And there are now four of them here on my work table, along with the large pot made the other day.  I will take them to be fired tomorrow evening.

Cleared up a bit of the living room today… at least I can walk through to open the patio door without having to mind my step all the way.  It is heartening to see what can be done in so little time.  Now… what to do with those file boxes needing sorting.  I suppose the answer is to sort them!  I know I need very little of the contents, and have plugged in the shredder — paper, not cabbage — to complete the job that needs completing.  All of the excess daily mail has either been shredded or thrown out.  Bravo, Peg.

One step closer to closing the doors on excess.

It’s past 9:30pm so I can think about sleeping soon.  Tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to look at several fabric pieces that I haven’t seen in quite some time — maybe 6 months.  Hoping to rejuvenate my grandmothers for some input.  I’ll talk of the grandmothers another time.

Why is it that one can find interest in oneself, while unable to trace anything in others.  That happens from time to time.  Does this mean I’m self-centered?  Are we all self-centered?  I find I’m hankering after the 3 times daily water aerobics classes available at the public pool in Bellingham, WA.  Oh, get over it, already!

Time for bed.  Bathing suit ready for the morning.  All I need is sleep to get me through to the morning.  I suppose breathing would help me along, too.

And with that brilliant comment, I will say good night, my dears.

Later….

renewed…

After a week of energizing activity, my heart, soul and body are lifted to new heights.  I am still firmly grounded, my dears, don’t get me wrong.  It was almost a fantasy week preceded by weeks worth of poop-on-a-stick.  There were very few beacons of light during that time.

Today, I will continue a clay piece that has only a final destination.  I will merely create and see what comes of it the way I used to create.  Non-judgmental self will appear.  That self has been hyper-critical of late, suppressing any possible surge of creativity such as those in my past few years.  Now, to get off this computer and get to the clay.

Outside, a child cries with instructions being shouted in an Asian language with which I am unfamiliar.  That was the dad.  Now I hear the mom also speaking in harsh tones.  What could this little, tiny girl have done?  She responds through her intense crying as they leave the complex through the gate near my apartment.  No child should cry like that in response to chiding.  It certainly wasn’t praise.  Let it go.  I’m sure it isn’t the first time for her, and daresay it isn’t the last.

Now, there is the sound of a very large dog barking. Within the last year, the new management has allowed pets of a certain size to accompany their adults who live here.  I found out not long ago, after asking a long-time resident why there were so many large dogs here.  Her response — Ya pay an extra five hunert dollers, and ya can bring just bout anythin in here.  Great!

A big cleansing breath — I used to call that a big sigh — and I’m off to the races… the clay races, well a painless marathon.  I have 25 lbs. of a lovely, red clay to work with.  Let me go do that.  I will leave you with this:

Lovely mom and son video!  My mom sang this when I was just a tot.  I like remembering those songs.

Later………