Firsties

Topic du jour: Firsties

They really stick their claws in you, don't they? Perhaps they should.
I guess the topic now is first kiss and first love, and if they're separate, which mine are, discuss both.

I sort of assumed I'd be like Josie Grossie from Never Been Kissed, and have to back my way into it at the ripe old age of 30, I guess. I'm not sure why I thought this, but high school did nothing to soothe this fear, as I was the weird sheltered girl who came from the Christian school and as such had no idea if I could date someone without being a)cool b)experienced or c)any combination therein.

So it was a bit surprising when I not only found a guy who was my best friend and I had developed massive feelings for, but I also got a slightly sweaty note in gym asking for a date, from a tall, lanky guy who reminded me of Ashton Kutcher. I didn't know much about him, and on my way to English class I contemplated the possibilities.

Well, I accepted, and thus began a storybook high school romance, in which we rode in his classic car, I wore his letter jacket and class ring, we went to corporate picnics with his parents..we even accidentally decided on Secretary as a movie to watch with his stepmom without knowing what it was about. Our first kiss happened in my kitchen. Of all places, my kitchen. The house where my super strict parents lived. I don't even know why or how they weren't around. But I remember it was sunny on a weekend afternoon,and I knew ahead of time the first kiss was coming. So naturally, I was seven shades of nervous, wondering if I'd end up missing and propelling myself through the kitchen window into the front yard or biting his nose or some such other disaster. But it worked! He, much taller than I, leaned down and kissed me.

First love? Well, that had claws, and it's better left in the past. It crept around in the shadows and did unspeakable things and blamed me for them. I thought first love was *the* thing, but it turns out, later on, it's not. In fact, in my case, it's sweeter, longer lasting and more based in the simplicities of friendship than first love. It's the person you just can't lose, and these days, that love and that certainty that I won't lose him are starting to heal the wounds those claws first ripped open.

Blanket Statement

When I was a kid, people sort of got into "First Memory" contests.  One friend would claim they remembered something from when they were 2, and another would brag that they had an encyclopedic memory of their life from age 6 months on.

Though I still don't know when, scientifically at least, is the earliest our brains let us store real, formed long term memories, I was always somewhat a skeptic of these super specific, super early memoirs some seemed to have stored with their pin numbers, most embarassing moments and local commercial jingles. I can't say I know for sure how clear and accurate first memories can be, and perhaps...I could be a bit jealous. If it was possible to remember back to those first months, then a whole world would open up to me, and I could know so much more about the missing third of this picture.

As it stands, my first memory takes up one fraction of a sentence. It's simply an image in my head of almost unnaturally bright colors. Cobalt blue, sunflower yellow, carrot orange- the whole rainbow represented, against a backdrop of 70s wood panelling.

I can't recall whether it was in mentioning this memory to my mom or in stumbling across a picture in my baby album that I realized what all the colors and wood panelling were about.  My first memory, it turns out, is of a blanket.  A bright blue quilted blanket with a rocking horse on it, and a big rainbow stretched out behind the horse.  The rocking horse wears a cowboy hat, and in the picture, the blanket hangs on a crib in a room with wood panelling.

We still have that blanket, packed away with a number of baby things that made the journey with my mom and I from Colorado to Illinois after my dad passed away. That blanket was in both places. It was mine when mom and dad both were mine, when I was breathing mountain air.  It was part of a life that could have been, and part of a life that was instead later.

Maybe I don't remember his arms, or his voice. Maybe I don't remember what it was like to live in the foothills or be held in the strong arms of my father. Maybe I just remember the rainbow blanket. I like to think the blanket remembers for me. That maybe some mountain air is trapped in the pillowy quilted squares. Maybe a stray soft scent or even the echo of some time when there were three. And maybe that's why the very first thing I remember is a link between us that I can touch and hold today.

What Is Wrong Here? Five Things I Don't Love About Social Media

Hello.
New month, different location, hello people whose eyeballs are currently converting images and translating symbols to make words. Hello. I'm in Door County on vacation, largely disconnected from the internet, and now that I am, I've got a little breathing room to dissect it some. Timely, since this is also my first writing prompt for an April exercise I have going with friends.

So...social media. I was around before it was even a thing, and now companies have entire teams and executives who ONLY take care of it. Even still, they bork it so majorly sometimes that one wonders how an entire team could make such a huge mistake.

Which, I guess, brings me to something that might be our faults, but social media doesn't help.

5. Mistakes are public. Sometimes, I crack an egg directly into the sink and throw the shell in the bowl. In fact, I did that this morning while trying to make a romantic wake-up breakfast for the boyfriend.  It's dumb, and if someone had been around to see it, I'd have felt dumber. With social media, people are always around, and many of them love a good bit of schadenfreude... so if you make a mistake, you're never alone.  As mentioned, sometimes, we bring this on ourselves by airing that which doesn't need to be aired. In other cases, we just...have a bad day, can't spell a word, or get excited about something before we have all the facts. But once it's out there, it's out there. Somebody happens to catch you falling face first into Denny's at 4 am while being overdramatic, you're forever Denny's Girl. If you're lucky, you'll make the talk show circuit and get a few dollars from it.

4. Expression- There's a lot of ways being on the internet lets you express yourself. But especially with social media, there's a lot of policing too.  Too much baby pictures, they say to the new mom who can't believe this kid just actually came from her and all the wonderful things she's experiencing. Too much boyfriend, they say to someone who finally has a stable relationship. Too much of your cats/dogs. Too much of what's important to you for me to enjoy as a reader.  While I do think there's levels of restraint to show, I also think social media does a great job of quashing real passion and expression for the "acceptable for the average reader" level of enthusiasm.

3. Hate breeds. Sometimes I wonder if anyone will ever agree to disagree agreeably ever again.  Ad hominem is the law here, so much so that if you and I love the same show, say, Gilmore Girls, but you're Team Jesse and I'm Team Dean, and we start a discussion arguing who's the better boyfriend, give it about ten comments down the list and someone's saying someone else is a terrible mother who should die. It's out of hand, and it's how people fight in real life, often, now too. See: Trump as a prime exhibit of someone who can't disagree with a point with any amount of civility.

2. Speed Kills.  I'm pretty open about it, so I have no qualms saying it here. I love Twitter. I grudgingly participate in FB to keep up with family and some friends, but Twitter I am 100% in on. I love getting to interact one on one with people and companies I couldn't otherwise, I love the bite size pieces and links to great articles...but blink and you miss it.  When I lived out West, I finally slowed down some. I realized not everything has to be now.  Back in the burbs of Chicago, I've picked up that "now" freakishness I thought I'd lost.  Add to that the speed of twitter, and I'm buried in my phone trying not to miss the next article I can pitch or cool story to tell or friend hurting.  I'm glad I have it, but not so glad when I'm tempted to glue my face to it and not miss anything. And the struggle can be real.

1. One Up? Sometimes, Facebook especially just seems like a one upsmanship. It was a long time ago I decided my theme song was "Taking The Long Way Around," so trying to win at fashion/dating/housekeeping/whatever is really not my thing.  I just want to keep my head above water and enjoy life. There are neat things I get to do, and places I get to go. Right now, I'm more spoiled than usual, what with this being our annual vacation and whatnot.  But I don't want to feel like I have to impress anywhere, especially on facebook. But even I have to admit there's times when it feels like everyone's in a competition for the better holiday, better relationship, better whatever. It's good to celebrate our own life, it's good to be able to celebrate others, but I dislike when it breaks down into a competition.

And there you have it. For all the good it does me, for all the help it's given me...these are things I could do without.  And in retrospect, it's probably because people. And people? They're the same everywhere, social media or not.  So maybe the answer is less nose in phone, more politeness online, and more willingness to scroll on down past what we don't feel like looking at.

A Beautiful Distraction

Herein I shall no longer give lengthy excuses about my absence from my personal blog or resolve to do one thing or another. I simply state that I need to be writing more, and that means here too. So, with the ol' fire lit under my posterior, with Spring arriving, and having stuff to share that I unfortunately couldn't share via Chicagoist, I'm back!

Some of you will know of my love of the Chicago Botanic Gardens. They're fantastic. Ever since my mom got a gift membership and started taking me along, I've been taking advantage of every opportunity I get to go explore them.  They're beautiful in every season, and there's always something going on, from the Wonderland Express fun around Christmas to the Orchid Show, which I attended midway through its monthlong stay.

I've got to say, the orchid show really wowed me. Wonderland Express and Butterflies and Blooms are both great, but they always seemed to end just a little too quickly for me.  The orchid show is home to 10,000 different varieties of orchids, and what you see in the first two rooms is only a sampling of what you'll find packed into the tropical and semi-tropical rooms.

This really hit the spot in a time when I was aching for spring, color and the outdoors. But really? It's a show-don't-tell sort of thing. With that in mind...check out my Flickr album. If you're anything like me, it'll pull you out of the doldrums and into an artistic state of mind. :)

Dia De Muertos- Death, Where Is Thy Sting?

I'm a firm believer in adoption. Whether that's adopting friends who are like family or adopting traditions that you really believe in. It's a good thing, to see the beauty and good in something or someone else and to bring that to your life and to your world.

I've adopted Dia de Muertos. It's a holiday and a perspective that I need in my life. 

I didn't know much about it until I moved to New Mexico, where it's much more celebrated. I got to see so many more people (of all colors) celebrating it. Right after Halloween, there was this explosion of food, color and community, and I started to want to know more. 

I think I've mentioned it here before, though not often, but my dad passed away when I was extremely young. Sometimes I hesitate to mention it for fear people will dismiss the deep hole that it left. It's a different grieving process, too. I think I've spread out the stages of grief through my whole life. The sadness for what I never had--it's persistent. Denial? Anger? I could pinpoint times when I went through that, too. 

For me, though, Dia De Muertos helps me reach acceptance. 

Death, the dead and dying? They're scary, right? It's instinctive to fear that, and to fear losing people. There's a time and a place for crying, for that darkness to settle in around you, and for you to not fight it, and just...grieve. 

But what if we could turn that on its ear? What if we could take something that everyone fears naturally, and...change it? And that's what this does. Skulls get roses and daisies and are splashed in bright colors, hung everywhere cheerfully. Altars or ofrendas are put up with beautiful sweets, mementos of the person and what they meant, and treats they loved. Big family meals are made, and stories are told to remember the people that have passed on. Every.year. Every year with laughter, music, color and celebration, you remember. What a beautiful way to do things. Doesn't that seem like the way to remember someone you love? Isn't that what you'd want to see, if indeed you could look down on those you loved after you were gone? A big, bright beautiful party full of food and laughter? It's what I'd most like to see, and a way I think I can honor and remember my dad. I choose this over dark days and tears. I choose to remember, but not just remember, to celebrate. 

I painted my face as a Catrina for fun and because I think it's beautiful.

I did this because I choose to remember this way.

And if you're interested...here's what everything on my altar is about. There are pictures of my dad and me, my whole family, and just him on the left. The license plate behind it is there because the word on it (which I won't disclose for internet safety reasons) is the single most important word that I have been gifted with, because it assures  me just how loved I always was and am. Next to that is the poster my dad left when I was born. It lets people know that he was off to see me, but there was coffee on in case they wanted a cup. I love it because it speaks to his character, and his honest desire to be kind to people. The journal is because he was a writer (a beautiful one) and he loved music. It runs in the blood.  

The small chest held letters I wrote to him at various points in my life and mementos. The crown is there because it reminded me of how little girls want to be their daddy's little princess, and how much I wanted to be his. Some of the traditional ofrenda fixings are there too, like the skulls, candle and flowers. I made sourdough bread, which was my dad's favorite, in place of the pan de muertos, to make it more true to who he was and who I am today.  I put a bowl of chili out, because he also loved chili, and it's traditional to leave (and also eat) the foods that your loved one loved on this day. 

There was still moments of sadness, even as I set this up, and even now as I type this. It sucks growing up without your dad. It sucks to have that hole in your life, and it sucks to not feel like you can talk about it and be understood. It sucks to just hear stories about someone who makes up half of who you are, and for there to never be enough stories, never enough words or pictures to fill the ache. 

But today? It's for remembering. It's for celebrating what someone meant to you, and choosing to be happy they existed. So that's what I'll do.

Happy Dia De Muertos

May we all remember the beautiful people who went on before us.

Time to Face The Change

Well, here I am. Blog land again. It's October 1st, and I am in my "new" bedroom in my "new" town. I've actually been here lots before, and so on the surface, it seems nothing has changed. But in fact, lots has.

My address is now different. My family is now relocating to Minnesota. My stuff has been sorted, tossed, packed, stored, and some hauled here.

It's weird when you look at yourself one way and then, when you get right down to it, look in the mirror and see a contradiction.

For example, I like, at least in my head, new things. I like spontaneous trips to weird places and interesting events. It's part of what makes me love Chicagoist work so much. Zelda symphony? Sure! Yurts at Union Station? There! Dia de Los Muertos walk? Cool beans! If you caught  me on a day I wasn't working (now I'm a freelancer so that's easier to do?) and you said "Hey, hop in the car, let's go somewhere! adventure!" I'd probably do it.

But...I also like routine. I get a little neurotic if I don't know the next 3 turns. I hate when there's weeks on end where I don't have plans. If there needs to be food in the house but I'm not sure when we're going grocery shopping, it's gonna drive me just a bit batty. I'd rather say "tomorrow" and then cancel tomorrow than say "when we get to it" and wonder. That's not everyone, that's me. And it's weird to me, because I loathe feeling like I'm in a rut, too, though I rut myself sometimes.

But here we are, and nothing is the same. The family I've shared a house with for the past 6 years is going 7 hours north, I'm living in the town I lived in for my high school years again, and...what?

I need to find a new path. I'm starting to freelance write, but I need to figure out how to spin up enough to live.

I'm in a serious, adult, long-term relationship. I...am not sure how to serious, adult, long-term relationship. People think I'm joking when I say that, but it's true. I know how to be marginally important to a liar, I know how to love with all my heart and have blinders on to reality, but so far I haven't done exactly this before. I don't know how to be flawed, be accepted, improve, partner except for things I parrot from those people I feel like have it together. And it's hard. And it's weird, and I fail more than I wish I did. As I said last entry, way more last month than I wanted.

I want to stop adulting right now, put on my super beat-up Up pajama shirt, my snowflake pants, get some snacks and watch my tornado shows for a few days. Like I've done after breakups or hard times. Just pull in to the shell and hide from life for a while. Is that weird? This should be a happier occasion, right? I mean, to everyone else's eye, what's the issue?

I guess it's having nowhere to go. It's removing safety nets. It's knowing you have to make this work because if you don't...well...you're kinda screwed. I always drove myself everywhere when me and my friends went out so I had an escape route, and if I felt uncomfortable I could just leave. This is me putting the keys on the table and giving that up, I guess. And it's a little scary.

That's not to say I'm not happy. It's not to say I don't feel good about the decision. I feel like I really have an other half. We can dance in the kitchen, and we did today. We can create a themed month, like "Scary Movie October" and then go for the gusto. We can carefully create a list of all the shows we want to watch and then use a random number generator to pick what tonight's flavor is. We can make creme brulee because it seems like something we feel like doing at 2 am because we're bored. My cat can stick her coned up, silly face in his face and meow at him loudly, and he'll meow back. It's a good thing.

I think I just need some time to put the books back on the shelves, is all I'm saying.
Maybe friends don't understand me to be an introvert, and that term is so overused now that I feel like eyes are rolling out of faces, but I really do need "me" time to recharge and feel safe. I need escape routes. I need quiet voices sometimes, and places I can run to.

I loved that L shaped bedroom I just moved out of. The queen bed tucked away around a corner so I could sleep in privacy, even with the door open. I loved the big third floor windows, east facing, and the way that on weekends, the sun would warm me awake sometimes. I loved my stupid overstuffed loveseat and my 330 lb monstrosity of a big screen tv. It was like my own studio apartment, but I also had family I could count on downstairs. I had my mom to talk to and ask for advice from and my grandma to adventure with, hug, and who would hold my hand when things sorta sucked.

So as much as I look forward to the new, and I'm excited...knowing that's all different now? It feels a little scary, if I'm being honest. And right now, I am.

And if that sounds childish, or insecure or stupid? Well...so be it.
I'll be out of the cocoon soon enough, and hopefully my wings will dry and I'll be a whole new animal.

52 Card Mess-Up

Well hello.

This cat has the face I think I might have right now, but she's actually doing things more or less the right way to get the results she wants.

I...am not this cat.

I suppose that's why I'm online and on the blog right now.
I need a space, I guess? I need the mysterious someones out there to hear me, because the less mysterious someones...well, right now's not the time to rely on them.

I am moving. My mom is moving, and my grandma is moving. The mom and grandma will be moving 6 or 7 hours north to Minneapolis. I will be returning to the town I lived in from 10-19. My cat will be meeting this gremlin and several others, and I will be attempting to make life with my love and a few friends work.

By now (September 26th with October 1st looming) I should have had everything all set to go. I shouldn't be up now worried.

For part of the time, I was crazy resisting change, and maybe denying it. It's childish and stupid.
For another part of the time, I was trying to focus on my love's birthday and make him feel like the most special person on earth. That worked and I think it was important.

After that, when stuff got hard, I more messed up.
I managed to have the exact opposite effect on the people I love than I wanted. I seem uniquely able to go in with the most loving of intentions, and in the end, have people on the verge of hatred. I accomplish this through second-guessing, indecisiveness, emotional asshattery, and a healthy dose of scatter-brainedness.

I feel like moving, especially since it was what seemed like such short notice (I knew on Labor Day, in retrospect) is stressful.

I feel like, though I've lived away from my family before, very far far away...I feel a bit afraid to see them go. I feel like it's an amazing chance and change for them, so I'm glad they're going, but I also feel like I have great potential for turning everything into a nightmare (which trust me, I've been doing) and thereby screwing up the good things I do have til I don't have those things anymore.

I thought it wouldn't take me as long to get boxed up and junk all the stuff I didn't need, but I still have to finish off the tail end of that tomorrow.

I thought I was splitting my time between my family who needed my help and my love who really, really needed my help, in a way that would take care of them and still allow me to sleep and write and even job hunt.

I felt crazy overwhelmed and stressed, but there's no logical reason for it, I'm told. It shouldn't be that bad. I'm not moving that far and I don't have that much stuff, and why has it taken so long?

When I'm there, boxing and junking, I'm feeling like I'm doing great. I'm getting organized, trimming the fat, knowing what it all is and where it goes.

But why aren't I done? Why is it I'm letting people down left and right?
Why wasn't I where I should have been when I should have been there?
Where's all my sleep going? (here, right now...)
Why can't I seem to control my emotions?
Why am I so damn worried about my cat, who just got fixed, and her introduction to the house?
Why am I so damn worried about things not working?
Why am I so damn worried about being hated?
Why do I feel like I've really, really failed my family and my love?

I wanted to be able to take my time, sort through things, and do it in a relaxed manner, then help my mom with the things she needed.
I wanted not to be gone all the time, so I could support my love through hard times, and not leave him feeling alone, no help, no support.
I wanted to get sleep and still take care of myself.

None of that has happened, I've damaged relationships, I've not been able to keep up with the things I needed to for Chicagoist, and instead of being sure of my decisions, things have eroded by the power of me enough that I'm not sure I'm not going to polar opposite of the direction I should be going.

I feel like a colossal screw-up.
I feel stressed out, and simultaneously guilty that I do feel stressed out, because everyone else around me has *more* than I do. More stuff to move, more sad, more stress, more issues to work out.
I wish for support, hugs, time with friends, but I feel guilty about that too since I've so severely seemed like a self-centered ass to anyone who needed me or mattered.

I wanted to move forward into the next phase of my life gracefully. Put together, calm, happy...excited to add to people's lives, help other people be free to do the things that will make them freer, less financially burdened, and happier...
but it's not like that.

Instead, I'm trying to put everything back together and keep it together for the next four days knowing it could all fall to pieces at any moment.

I...will risk seeming selfish saying this, but I want to, when this is over, either lock myself in a room for a day and just...never come out. sleep and watch tv and eat cookies and let the world continue without me...

Or I want to go somewhere. Alone. For a night. Just...me, a stupid cable tv, maybe an indoor pool, some stupid, awful junk food, and nowhere to go the next day. Continental breakfast. I don't even care if it's in Gurnee or something. i'm not looking for a superb destination. I just...I want to clear out my head, process, figure out how to undo the damage, if there's a way, and come back stronger.

I don't know. There's no conclusion to this. I should just go to bed, because there are 5 hours before I start another day in this hellish September and hope to get through it without dropping more balls.

At least I've rigged a bootie for the dog I'm dogwatching. That's something.