backwoods barbie

I turned on Rhapsody and happened to glance up as the scroll for new albums passed over Dolly Parton's new album, and if you didn't know this about me, surprise:

I love me some Dolly Parton.

Was it the cross country road trip with my family, being stuck to listening to only the cassette tapes my step dad had, forced to choose from a limited selection, the same way I came to love Neil Diamond? Both loves endure to this day.

Was it her rascally performance as a rebel secretary in "Nine To Five"?

And lord knows, that had one hell of a catchy tune.

Is it because her smile could light up a room in a subterranean cave?

Or is it her humble beginnings, lack of arrogance, and her ability to make jokes at her own expense?

I read an article in some magazine, years ago, and if I hadn't already loved her to smithereens I would have then. The person interviewing her was asking her about her penchant for plastic surgery, and if she was willing to admit it. She just laughed and said something close to, "I'd love to tell you this (her body) was the result of good, clean, country living, but darlin', I'd be a liar."

She's a riot. She's an inspiration. At sixty two years old, I hope people are actually interested in my sex life, and I hope I haven't lost my sense of good old fashioned silliness.


And the new album? Mighty tasty.


She's sixty two. In a trailer filled with hay, dolled up in some outfit I couldn't pull off at thirty three, and making a rather amusing play on her looking like a redneck Barbie doll.
What's not to love?

deep in thought

There's a lot on my mind right now, and in the meantime, I've made massive parts of this blog inaccessible to you, the reader. Deleted it all, no. But unpublished it is and may remain so, I'm currently undecided.

*heavy sigh*

I really wish I felt able to write about the things on my mind, but even that could have some drastic effects in my relationship with my husband, and that is not something I take lightly.

I will say this much: we're in counseling together. Our marriage is not in danger, nothing so serious as all that, but suffice to say we have some serious disagreements about healthy sexuality, and when a topic like that becomes heated, it's best to take it to an objective outside source to mediate.

There's just so much on my mind, and so much I could release in writing, but... there is a golden gift in silence. Both of us have much to learn right now, although I do distinctly feel that he is the one feeling more of a sense of introspection and discovery about it all. I think it's normal, in a way- I've spent years, decades even, deep in contemplation about such things. That's not to say I know all, by no means... I am having a difficult time keeping my face carefully expressionless when he talks to me about it. There's too great a risk of making him feel alienated or judged, and so for now, I offer the greatest gift I know: attentive listening and understanding.

Usually I stash my opinions about everything in my writing, but for now, no.

I could use some emotional colonics.

And so, in my current state of silence, I clean, I arrange, I pay attention to the little and great voices in my head. Even when doing seemingly nothing, I am hard at work maintaining emotional and thus physical balance. A tightrope? No. That implies a beginning and an end. A common theme lately has been the lack of gradients in my husband's view of the world, or the way he feels other people view him. Some days I feel like my new mantra is, "It's not all black and white. It's not all good or bad. There is a middle ground." That sounds lovely in print, but it doesn't sound so peaceful when it's being shrieked out of the face of a frustrated and hysterical woman.

I do not enjoy being a frustrated and hysterical woman. And so, for now, I am the silence, the wind, the invisible state of a being in motion, effecting the world around me, sometimes gusting, sometimes standing still, but an ever present element of nature.

It sounds so good when I put it like that.

My therapist has been talking to me a lot about visualization and manifestation, things I already know but seem to forget about on a regular basis. Therefore, I am wind. *nods* I have deemed it, let it be so.

swoosh
whisper
whisper

flux

Eventually I'll feel computer friendly, but for now our house is in constant flux, rearranging, the thing I didn't have time to do when we moved in. I'm spending a hell of a lot of time focused on being selfish, really. That is, taking care of myself, my body, my personal space, my surroundings, my boundaries, and it's energizing and exhausting both. I've spent the last I don't know how many days in and out of the blazing hot, fragmented world of a migraine, even when I think I'm lucid I realize later I'm not, so communication is best kept to a minimum. A lot of the things I'm busy pondering are not things I'm comfortable sharing, since they involve my husband and his own family history, something I don't share with the blogosphere. I know, it's hard to believe I'm not telling you simply everything, but it's true. Even if I had the time and energy and willingness to write, I'm finding it difficult with the switch in computer areas. This new laptop is rather a bitch to work with. The screen is tiny, compared to the one I'm (admittedly spoiled and) used to. The new wireless keyboard that goes with THIS computer is all ergo-friendly and what not, but of course is not the same as the other ergo-friendly keyboard, and my fingers are learning new places to be, and switching back and forth between the two is still irksome. Until I figure out this LAN business, I have some stuff on one computer and some stuff on the other, much to my annoyance. But all in all, things are good. I think they are good because I consciously chose for them to be so, for it would be easy enough to look at various situations and see them as the steaming piles of camel dung that they subjectively might well be. What I'm saying, in essence, is that it's all about perspective. Attitude. Preferably not delusion. And let's not forget acceptance.

So I offer you this bit of nonsense, in honor of all that:

one naive mother

I had heard of such things, read snippets of writings about people trying to access MySpace from school or work, or even trying to access places that whole countries block, which is somewhat, you know, insane.

But, being the liberated American shmuck that I am, I take my freedom for granted and don't think much about it. Also, I have free time to look at anything I want online, being a housewife extraordinaire. If I wanted to look at look at hard core porn or just watch endless idiotic videos of teenagers doing dumb shit in front of webcams on YouTube, I could sit here eating bon-bons and do just that. I don't, because I have a life.

And so I found myself rather surprised today, while looking for open source virus protection for a friend of mine, when one search yielded the site listings for "anonymous proxy" so blocked sites could be opened instead.

My paranoid self immediately thought of my ten year old son, his friends, and whether or not this anonymous proxy stuff can go around what may be blocked on their home computers, and furthermore, whether or not the viewed sites show up in the history that way.

I could do some testing of my own, but I don't want to sit here all day so I'll just ask my computer ninja husband later on. He's like... a computer info Wiki, but tall and delicious. Total bonus.

two steps forward, one step back

Ugh.

After feeling awesome (comparatively) for almost a week, I fell off the bandwagon or some shit. Maybe I felt good and I did way too much stuff. Maybe I just felt good and did a bunch of stuff, only to cycle through "flares" and feeling like dog shit again. I don't really know, but even the taste of something better is enough to keep me totally focused on finding the balance. And keeping it.

One of these days I'll get around to actually giving out the details of this new plan for health I'm undertaking. The bare gist of it is this:

I'm cleaning out my pooper.

Yah, that's about as classy as I could manage that. It's not the pleasant of subjects, although it doesn't bother me much, I know some people only want to hear so much about colon health and words like "impacted fecal matter" tend to leave some a bit squeamish.

There's a lot more to it than poop, dear god, but that's where this current journey began. I started reading a book, my mind said, "AH HA!" and I'll have to tell you much more about it so glorious other time that is not currently now.

Now I have to go run about town and look for a kitchen table. Sa-weeet.
Victory is mine.
But that is another story, as well.

*winks*

twitter tweet!

*happy sigh*



I used to have the computer facing the window, looking out over the water, watching the birds and enjoying the sun on my face.

Then we moved, and the computer was situated in a poopy dark corner. And when I put up my bird feeder, the guy who had been rooting around in our attic trying to figure out what all the crunchy. munching, something is eating the beams over our head sounds were, he told me it was probably roof rats and I should take down my bird feeder. I told him I had been hearing the sound for over a week and had literally just put up the bird feeder the day before, but nonetheless I took it down.

Dismayed.

Then the weather turned beyond lovely into something resembling magnificent, and while on my house cleaning-rearranging-I probably shouldn't be doing this spree, I cleaned off the back porch, and decided then and there that the roof rats be damned, I'm having a bird feeder. If I have to outsmart a roof rat, so be it. I've taken on the squirrels before.

Did I mention I have never heard of a freaking roof rat before? Yes. Apparently they are common around here. Totally weird. No weirder than jellyfish or sharks, but weird.

As I put it up I was wondering how long it would take the maintenance guys to notice it, or wondering if the place we live has rules against that sort of thing. It usually takes birds quite some time to find a new feeder, and one must be patient.

And so I was utterly surprised and delighted to look out this morning and see a little finch just hanging out, taking a quick peck, looking around. I swear I could hear it thinking, "Hey... this is a little bit of all right, yessiree." I just stood in the doorway, trying my best to imitate a statue (preferably not a gargoyle) so as not to frighten it away, but utterly unable to stop myself from grinning maniacally.

The little critter had it's fill, looked around, cheeped a little, and took off. And I suddenly realized that despite my lack of sleep last night, despite the various concerns and things bothering me, despite all the problems of the world, I felt overjoyed.

As a matter of fact, I had to stop typing that last sentence midway, because another little bird landed on the chair right outside the window, chittering away. I tried to silently pull my camera out of it's bag, but the velcro cannot be quiet and the bird flew off.



Birdies.

They make me happy.

in motion

Things are in motion, most noticeably, I am.

My health seems to be improving, and although I'm not willing to put all my emotional eggs in the happy basket just yet, I will say I am without a shadow of a doubt that I feel better. Various pains of varying magnitudes, but I am IN MOTION.

I'm busy. Doing stuff.

This weekend we drastically altered the layout of both bedrooms, and part of that alteration was to pull the computer in our bedroom, so I can once again look out a sunny window at water and birds. Oh, sure, my husband thinks it's so that he can have privacy to concentrate on a home business he's daringly started, and while I am very proud of him for taking the leap of confidence and support his ability to concentrate, I also feel like the computer and I can be friends again.

Bonus points: he won't be hovering around the living room while he's trying to concentrate. It's like having a rutting elephant in the room and no one wants to mention it. He even got a laptop, with all the bells and whistles, a cart it can move on, a lap desk to just sit on the couch or wherever with, wireless keyboard and mouse, the whole shebang. While he feels guilty and unjustified about spending so much on the laptop, I just tell him to shooshy. Because really, it's for the home business, sure. But also, I want to be able to write from wherever I damn well feel like, too.

The DVD drive doesn't hurt, either. I pondered taking it to the beach today, it's a gorgeous sunny day here, the kind of winter day with the windows open that make the blistering heat of summer worth it. I thought perhaps I would just take a blanket, an umbrella, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail along, and just lounge about the beach and listen to Frenchmen in castles taunt the silly English persons.

Daydreams aside, I wouldn't be comfortable anyway, but it's still nice to dream.

And dear God almighty, it is SO nice to sit next to a window and type.

*huge heaving sigh*

The thing that's been keeping me busy is just simply keeping busy. The longer I remain in one position, the stiffer I become. Even the occasional blessed cat nap can be ended with a happy moment of waking up, stretching, and realizing my nap carried a heavy price, the payment being going through the pain of waking up and everything hurting all over again, stretching, grimacing, trying to pull the pain out of my body.

Still, it was worth it.

Mostly I'm just running around doing stuff, running errands, and mostly catching up on what feels like months worth, in some cases, years worth, of Things That Could Wait. One of the most massive undertakings is rearranging our home.

When we moved in, things were in utter chaos, and I was very distraught about the possibility of my grandfather dying. The whole move was last minute, and things were placed wherever we could fit them. For the most part, it looked ok, but it's never looked... right. But when I returned from the trip I was in more pain than ever, both physical and emotional, and had no "spare" energy to waste on rearranging furniture, puh-lease.

Last week I suddenly shocked myself, and my son along with me, by simply walking into the store and speeding down the aisle. My son, who is sweet enough to rot your teeth, has gotten used to walking slow for me, frequently turning to make sure I haven't lagged behind or stopped in pain somewhere. Instead of the usual slow amble I'm so used to, I had a head full of things I needed and just took off. I strode the old pace I used to stride, which is what you would expect from an energetic and occasionally obsessive, rather tall woman; I walk fast, big steps, and just stream through the pedestrian traffic as if it were of no consequence to my royal self. And that is precisely what I did.

After about five seconds, I heard my son make a startled noise from behind me. WAY behind me. He scrambled quickly to catch up and said, "Why are you running?"

I looked at him, baffled, and started to say, "I'm not running..." when I realized what had just magically occurred. I shut my mouth and kept repeating the phrase in my head, over and over, "I'm STRIDING. I'm STRIDING." That and "Wow."

What caused this magnificent change? I'm not entirely sure, but I think it mostly has to do with the shoe inserts I got. They're really hard plastic and look more like a medieval torture device than something soothing, but after using them for a month and talking to my doctor about it, he looked at my feet and realized my ankles tilt slightly in and that my arches were fallen. I found that odd, since I don't look flat footed to me, but obviously something is not right, because I hate taking my shoes off. I told him that and he told me to wear them more. Um...ok... but we're really a shoes off kind of household.

*thinkity thinkity think*

So I went out and got some soft fuzzy slippers, not the squishy clog style I had before, all white and pillowy, sort of like these:

Except mine all all ust soft white fuzziness, no doggies or what have you.

The thing is, they can't hold in the shoe inserts. And as I quickly discovered, very few of my shoes can.

Now, I'm attached to shoes. I have a serious shoe fetish, and would build a small house with a revolving trolley, remote controlled, of course, and I could watch my shoes spin round and round, the possibilities dazzling my shoe stricken mind... I would if I could. Justify it, that is.

As I started to look at my slippers, I started to look at my shoes. The arch supports can't go in flip flops, duh. And high heels, another no go. Most of my vary causal or very fancy shoes are, at least for the time being, unwearable. And I'm ok with that. I'll trade walking, nay, STRIDING, through a store for shoes that make my feet feel worse and worse with each passing day, as if I were standing on sharp gravel under which occasionally runs an active lava stream. It hurts, it hurts, and sometimes it even burns.

So what do you think my smarty butt did? I went out and bought another pair of the shoe inserts (who wants to pull them out and in again all day? Not me) and a pair of soft mary jane styled slippers, soft and fuzzy with little bits of skid proof padding, and put my shoes inserts inside. I either have those on or my shoes now, and now I'm striding, and now I take them off at night and tell my husband, "I feel like I'm taking off my feet." It's a weird sensation, and what's weirdest of all is that I had no idea that could be part of the problem.

I have even made some new friends recently, and that's been a lot of fun. We had a couple over for dinner this weekend, and although it was exhausting, it was fortifying somehow. We haven't seen them for quite a while, maybe last spring, and seeing my husband spaz out at the joy of being around a pal that isn't a coworker was a delight. I made them pesto pasta cheese shells, of which I'm consuming the next to last half of the leftovers now, and then we all went bonkers with marshmallow roasting and massive smores consumption. My husband cannot seem to grasp why it is that he might still have some heartburn from this weekend, but I just chuckle.

There's more to tell, but I have to stride off and get things done.

That's what I do now, you know.

*grins*