The people who are valued the most in the history of humanity are those who have had the audacity to promote hope and joy. These are the people who continue to remain optimistic when there is no logical reason for it and, ultimately, the ones responsible for moving humankind forward at all. For whatever reason, I’ve always assumed that these people were superior to me and the majority of other humans, somehow able to promote optimism without seeming naive or oblivious. But I recently realized that even with something as simple as an unsoliticed smile to a stranger or dropping all my change and a couple bucks into a bum’s streetcorner mug, I’m perpetuating this same type of pure, untainted joy. I, too, am part of the rebellious, revolutionary, optimistic, joyful elite that is vital to the survival of humanity.

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of anything more empowering.

Once upon a time, many years ago, there was a Boy who loved me very very much. In fact, this particular Boy loved me more passionately, with more unabashed zeal, attentiveness and dedication than any other man in my life ever did, right up until three years ago. This superior love far outweighed anything I’d ever experienced, including that of The Other Guy I was currently in a long-term relationship with.

It all started out very harmlessly, as these things always do. We went to tiny local concerts together and made mix tapes and wrote postcards for each other when we were apart during the summer and there was nothing romantic about it or evident of any sort of ulterior motive. We both had significant others that we loved and we talked about them regularly, although more often than not his shared anecdotes were more pleasant than mine as I was prone to crying on his shoulder, sobbing about how The Other Guy had lied to me again or had been overheard talking badly about me or was just not giving me what I wanted in general. Over time, however, his words of encouragement and reassurance became more intimate than friendly and I found that mine were following suit. Suddenly, we realized we were in the throes of very deep, very unexpected emotions.

Soon, we were spending even more time together and flirting with the idea of “where this could go” and really becoming overwhelmed with emotion and excitement of new love. And then he pulled out the stops and broke it off with his girlfriend to offer himself to me exclusively. On my birthday that year, he lined all 10 miles of the major highway route to our school with signs that said “Happy Birthday, Elle!” and planted a banner in the front with the same message. He stuffed 20 empty glass bottles with varied hand-written loveletters and gave them to me for Valentine’s Day. He adored my family, he came around whenever he could, he always kept up with how I was feeling, what I needed, what I would need… he was everything I had ever wanted and I was enamored with him.

And there wasn’t much not to like, really. He was one of those kids who came from a rough upbringing and somehow beat the snot out of the status quo. He was more determined and driven than any single person I’ve ever met to this day but, even more importantly, he kept about him this constant attitude of optimism and joy. He was a spiritual guy who always kept that at the top of his list, even though there was no parental figure holding a gun to his head to do so (This was a new concept to me.) and he was proud of that aspect of himself. He even took me to my first and only Christmas Eve Midnight Mass. He was open-minded, healthy, successful, friendly, joyful, spiritual, ambitious, creative, resilient… the list could go on.

The problem, of course, was that I was an emotional wreck of biblical, Jericho-like proportions. Usually, these stories have that pathetic theme: “Girls only want bad guys and nice guys finish last.” but this time it doesn’t apply at all, surprisingly. The truth was that I’d always wanted to be with someone like him; who doesn’t? And, specifically, I wanted him. But I - being submerged and brainwashed with self-loathing and general desperate insecurity - was positive that I was not deserving of this sort of happiness, that somehow I was going to screw it all up and only be reminded of how undeserving I was in the aftermath.

And me, never being one to pass up the opportunity to fulfill a personal prophecy, went ahead and did just that.

(WARNING: This is where the Crazy kicks in. Also, the Pathetic. I sound like a complete, psycho-ex-girlfriend-stalker-type loon from here on out. Just be forewarned.)

So, in unbelievably predictable fashion, I cowardly sprinted back to The Other Guy in the “safe” dysfunctional relationship I was familiar and “comfortable” within. (For those of you who haven’t spent years in therapy and/or 12-step meetings, this is textbook codependent/addict behavior. The more you knooow.) My heart ached as the Boy kept coaxing me to come with him and let him make me happy after I’d told him my decision, but once I’d finally settled on my choice, I transformed into something very very sinister and hideous.

From where I sit now I can only come up with one theory as to how my mind possibly justified my behavior immediately after this, but that doesn’t make it any less excusable or blatantly insane. I guess because I was genuinely ruled by the staunch belief that I was worthless, unimportant and undesirable, my mind concluded that anyone who would bother to try to romance me was a moron. I’ve discussed it before, but for years I had a very Eeyore vernacular, always thanking people for paying attention to me or thinking of me and always wondering why in hell I was included in any sort of social engagements at all. When I started dating The Other Guy in my earlier high school years I was just amazed that any male would find me desirable at all, so I settled for that and assumed that I was lucky to have even obtained that much. So, when I see the Boy continuing to go out of his way to make me feel wonderful and show me his affection and shower me with adulation, I start to think there must be something wrong with him.

Soon, I’m treating the Boy like a pathetic, lost puppy who is intent on over-romanticizing everything and must be desperate to still be pursuing me. I start mocking him and emasculating him, both to our mutual friends and to his face. I ignore his calls, laugh at his attempts to talk to me like a concerned friend, and try desperately to swat away any remaining emotions I may be experiencing.

Jesus Christ, it just seems so arrogant and ridiculous from where I am now… anyway.

When we got to college a number of months later, I found myself feeling remorseful and missing his company but, still tumbling down a slope of self-destruction, my attempts at apologies were always overshadowed by my desperate loneliness and my hopes that maybe he’d come back and try to rescue me again. Any formal apologies I initiated always turned into a weepy, clingy drama fest in which I would be torn between desire and guilt while he would just be trying to figure out what the hell he could do to escape without causing me to implode. Naturally, his resistence in these conversations translated through my insecurity as blatant rejection and sent me into even more despair. (Like I said: I. Was. In. Sane.)

Honestly, I just thank God he had the integrity and self-assuredness to get the hell away from me instead of letting me drag him into a quagmire of Crazy. It’s one of those things that’s rather admirable about him.

Anyway, I left that college after I hit Rock Bottom: Episode I in 2003. We kept in touch here and there but it was always kind of strange and stilted. Frankly, I was so amazed that he’d waste any more time talking to me at all that I didn’t care what our meetings were like, but I always felt that he saw me as some sort of charity effort and I fought not to loathe myself for that.

Presently, we’re both married to people we’re insane about. All he ever wanted was to find someone to love, get married, and start a family and, like with everything else in his life, he did exactly that right after he graduated college. We speak when we can, although conversations are always in that cordial, scripted, “Hi, how are you, I’m doing well, it’s good to hear from you.” kind of language you use on loose acquaintences and your parents’ friends. While I know there will never be any more singing or giggling or sharing absurdities, I am quietly heartbroken at the knowledge that there will never be any reminiscience - happy or otherwise - between us and the realization that this is entirely my fault.

I found myself thinking about all of this after I recently came across a friendly “Hi, how are you…” message from him in my inbox from many months ago. And I realized that, even after all these years of real, intense apologies that I’ve had to issue to pretty much everyone I’d ever spoken to before I got sober, I never bothered to give him one. Yeah, there were a half-dozen of those drunken, blubbering apology sessions I previously mentioned but I’m positive those couldn’t have been taken seriously.

So, after 8 years I sat down and wrote him a letter in which I sincerely apologize as a sober, [mostly] sane, self-realized adult. Truthfully, I really hate doing that sort of thing after all this time because it kind of makes me look like some obsessive freak who can’t let things go and needs to rehash shit that other people have obviously laid to rest and gotten over. Most of the time I feel like I’d be better off just leaving it alone. And heaven forbid if this somehow gets misconstrued as me trying to instigate trouble or something else.

But, as per my Twelve Step practice, I know it’s something I’m responsible for and, even if I never hear from him ever again, he deserves to hear at least one sober, sincere apology from me. And frankly, if I went to my grave knowing that I didn’t grow a pair and give that to him, I’d never rest peacefully.

However, THIS? THIS is what we should be talking about in those government-funded D.A.R.E. programs. “Hey kids, you shouldn’t drink because one day you’re going to have to look at all the carnage in your rearview, pull a U-ey and clean it all up.”

As if on cue, North Carolina greeted the first day of September with a nip in the air, a clear blue sky, a slight angle on the sunlight and a few yellowing leaves vacating their seasonal homes. It is exactly as I remember it.

There are very very few people, places, concepts and/or things I love as much as I love Fall. I mean that. I don’t love chocolate as much as I love Fall, I don’t love members of my family as much as I love Fall, I don’t love puppies or kittens or any animal as much as I love Fall. And Fall just seems to make everything better. A roadtrip is suddenly a magical adventure full of colors and smells, a kayak trip is now a leisurely trip through an electric canvas… it’s the one time of year I become pathetic and incessantly romanticized about everything. Hell, I even named my cat Benjamin October. And this year I finally get to enjoy it to its fullest as I’m back in a town that has lush, leafy foliage! Hooray!

Anyway, I was sitting around in anticipation of the upcoming seasonal change and realized I was just compiling a list of things that I love. So, in the spirit of the global shifting energy (although you Aussie readers are going into a different type of pretty. Except the ones in Melbourne; you guys get every season every day.) I thought I’d revert back to childhood mode and do one of those cheesy elementary school poems where you write “[Noun] Is…” and then list everything the topic conjures for you. It’s kinda fun, actually.
So herewego.

Fall is…

~ Clear, freezing, moonlit nights so bright you can see your shadow.
~ Football games and marching bands.
~ Ignoring the caloric value of caramel apples and cotton candy
~ Indulging in a little Americana at the livestock, tractor pull, agriculture, and demolition derby demonstrations at the local fair.
~ Obligatory leaps into giant piles of leaves.
~ Wearing worn out plaid flannel shirts as jackets
(without intending a Grunge era tribute.)
~ Scarecrows stuffed with newspaper sitting on front doorsteps.
~ The orange evening sun cutting across fields of late-season harvest crops and bales of hay.
~ Pumpkin, cinnamon and apple spice-flavored everything.
~ Camping trips that require long-johns, clean socks, and knit caps (what Southerners call “toboggans” for no known reason) before sliding into sleeping bags.
(Things I love about camping trips could take up another whole post but I do adore fire-toasted Brown Bears - cinnamon toast roasted on a stick- and hot cocoa in the morning like nothing else.)
~ Honor-system pumpkin patch visits and the slimy, wet bottoms of chosen pumpkins.
~ Hearing ‘Thriller’ on the radio for two weeks at the end of October.
(Although this one kind of doesn’t apply this year.)
~ Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
~ Trampling lawns and avoiding unexpected terrorization while trick-or-treating.
(I went trick-or-treating well into high school without an ounce of shame. I cannot wait to take my daughter.)
~ Canned food drives.
~ Malcolm Blue Farm
~ Om by GAP
(The only thing by GAP I have and will wear. It was discontinued 10 years ago so I ordered a bunch on eBay. Love it.)
~ Eating Halloween candy past Thanksgiving.
~ Being brunette is trendy again.
~ Buying fresh new pencils, markers and notebooks for school and spending entirely too much time organizing them.
(I’m a giant nerd and continue to do this as recently as yesterday.)
~The return of sweaters and cute hats.
~ Horror movie marathons and swearing I won’t watch any of them.
(I always indulge in the classics, though.)
~ Volleyball season.
~ Anticipating new holiday season movies.
~ “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”
~ Big, sprawling outdoor flea markets.
(My personal favorite is still the one in Athens, Ga.)
~ Dusters.
~ Youth soccer season
~ Visiting local graveyards.
(Not even on Halloween, they’re always creepier in autumn.)
~ The smell of campfires.
~ Snuggling and kissing under a blanket with someone special at bonfires, sporting events, or on the back porch.
~ Elementary school fund-raising Fall Festivals.
~ Crazy, house-wrecking college Halloween parties.
~ Rifling through old clothes to figure out what you still want and/or can still fit into.
~ Bluegrass and folk art festivals.
~ Girls dressed as skanks on Halloween.
(Say what you will about cheesy textbook slutty costumes, it’s the one time of year you’re allowed to let your inner freak fly. I’m all in favor of that.)
~ “30 Rock” is BAAAAACK!
~ Deeply inhaling the aroma of changing foliage while driving through the Appalachians.
(That one might be my favorite, actually.)

So, two gushing accounts of Bear-related adorableness.

~ It is important to note that Count von Count only makes an appearance on Sesame Street about twice a month. However, when my mom gave Chloe a book in which Grover explores colors, she immediately recognized the Count on the “purple” page and laughed in the cutest maniacal laughter ever, “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

M’aawwwwwww…

~ We’ve been showing Chloe these two specific “Disney Sing-Along Songs” videos from 1986 and 1987 because those are the only years that they made VHS tapes that didn’t have pirate protection on them so we could make DVDs of them to watch at our house. Anyway, she goes over to my parents’ house a few nights ago while I’m in town and joining my meditation group and they began to show her some of the other videos from the “Sing-Along Songs” series. Apparently, halfway through one of these less familiar videos, she turned to my dad and started asking, “Hi ho? Hi ho?” It took them a minute but they soon realized that she was requesting the “Heigh Ho” video as per usual instead of this new crap they were pushing on her. When my dad gently said, “No, honey, we’re watching ‘The Bare Necessities’ right now.” her tone turned a bit more demanding, “Hi ho! Hi ho!” Needless to say, they relented.

Pah-recious.

“Everybody come together/Free!” ~ Cat Power

I was riding through the rolling North Carolina countryside after a blissful weekend at my Gran’s when I noticed how much easier I’d been breathing since the move. I’d just assumed that this had a lot to do with my physical location but what I realized is not that I chose to move away from my demons or pull myself out of being submerged in them so much as I’d just made them leave. They don’t live with me anymore.

This is not to say they won’t visit - exes and demons are alike in that peskiness - but for now, I roam around without them on my shoulder, under my bed, tucked in my closet or crawling under my sleeves for the first time in many many years.

So this is that freedom I’ve been hearing so much about.

Luckily, there’s more going on in my life than just a weight-loss regiment. Whew.

~ The Bear had the funniest moment the other day that I think is universally funny and not just my-baby’s-better-than-everyone funny. She’s developed all these words for animals and their respective sounds (Refresher: “Kak! Kak!”= duck/bird, “Eeow” = cat, “RAAR!”= bear, “Ar! Ar!”= dog, “oooo”=cow) which she uses at every opportunity. Well, we’re eating and watching some Powerpuff Girls when a commercial comes on for Zoobooks (which I cannot believe they still make) and suddenly Chloe is going nuts trying to keep up with the melange of animals they’re flashing across the screen. She’s pointing and screaming, “Eeow! Ar! RAAR! Kak! Kak!” desperately trying to keep up and really just sounding like a crazy person mimicking a barnyard. I thought I would die with the giggles but didn’t want to interrupt the moment by trying to find the camera.

Chloe’s been picking up a new word every day and it’s getting hard to keep up as she’s still very very loosely pronouncing these things. For example, every night before she goes to bed, we settle down and watch these old Disney sing-alongs my mom bought for me when I was a kid. This one song about a train came on (Casey Jr. from “Dumbo”) and suddenly she perked up, started pointing at the screen and repeating, “Do! Do! Do!” I kind of thought she was just expressing excitement about the song until the one part when they say “Toot! Toot!” and she did it at the exact same time and then started applauding herself. It was pretty cool.

She’s also making these amazing correlations that are pretty advanced. Yesterday we were watching something with butterflies in it (I swear we’re not constantly in front of the TV) and she looked down at her shirt and pointed to the butterflies along the border and looked up at me in recognition. I was stunned, actually, as the butterflies on the screen didn’t look very much like the ones on her shirt and yet she was still able to not only recognize the similarities but remember that she was wearing something with butterflies on it. I dunno, maybe it’s only impressive to me…

Oh and despite last Sunday’s debacle, she still LOVES to be outside. If we’re not outside at least once a day she goes into hysterics, pointing at the door and sobbing, so we’ve made it a habit to go for a post-nap walk, despite the incredible heat. Yesterday we hit another local park and even though we rode the swing for a few minutes and tried the slide a few times, what she really wanted to do is walk on the mini swinging bridge. And so, for the NEXT HOUR she walked back and forth across the bridge, sometimes going down the stairs and then going back up. When the heat finally got to be too much and she was covered in sweat and had rosy cheeks, I picked her up to take her to the car. Needless to say, she screamed and wriggled around frantically the entire way.

I have to admit that ultimately this makes me really happy. She’s not going to be one of those kids who plants herself in front of the television all day (we’re not doing the video games thing unless it’s a handheld thing and we use it exclusively for road trips. That’s what my mom did and she produced four well-rounded children capable of using their imaginations and easily making new friends. That’s example enough for me) and maybe I can get her into camping and hiking when she gets a little older. This is something I know her dad isn’t going to be happy about, but he’ll get over it.

~ After writing that thing about Hunter S. Thompson I sat down and wrote a blog entry about how pissed I am that what we call the 20th century American canon contains so many whiny, privileged white guys who “rebel” against this society that their fathers have created by turning into lush vagabonds and then basically perpetuating the same selfish, racist, sexist morality they were raised in. That’s not revolutionary. The other thing is that you can see this same behavior in today’s society with bands like Limp Biskit (remember them?), and Disturbed and Nickelback and all that noise. They’re just doing the same thing that Salinger and Thompson and Kerouc did but with more profanity and a different wardrobe. Meanwhile, really talented writers are given the shaft and aren’t considered neo-classic lit because the list is dominated by these carbon copies of nothing important. Gross.

ANYWAY, I wrote a rather lengthy essay about it and when I was done I realized that, with a little research and editing, it might not be terrible. I might look in to getting it published somewhere notable, which would be new and different from me. It’s scary to know you’re going to start getting rejection letters from nationally-recognized publications as opposed to just little indie ones.

~ Also, I’m having another essay published in next month’s ‘Sasee’. While I’m glad to have the publicity and the opportunity for a broader audience, I’m starting to get sick of submitting these really self-indulgent essays that focus on my overanalyzed feelings about stuff that only pertains to me. I’ve gotta start pushing myself.

~ Which leads me to this Second City writing class I’m taking. Now, before the class started, I wrote the professor and told him to give it to me straight. I’m poor and I want to get my money’s worth, so if something I submit blows, I want to know. I told him not to worry about hurting my feelings because as long as it was objective constructive feedback, I was grateful to have it. And honestly, he’s been great about pointing out my flaws and telling me how to fix them and, even though he doesn’t have to waste time on it, he’s been complimenting my strengths.

However, it seems I’m incapable of writing for stage. After a few weeks of this, everything I’ve submitted has received the message, “Great dialogue but there’s no action or showing of these emotions or events. These could be acted in the dark and have the same effect.” Even when I try to do things bigger and more adventurously, it always comes out the same way. I guess being used to writing for text hasn’t lent itself to creating real activity for people and I always feel limited by dialogue choices in a script because it’s so stripped down. I feel like my mind is just not capable of thinking that way, kind of like how I do in math. When I’m doing/writing the problem/script I think it’s okay but when the professor points out what I’ve done wrong I’m always smacking myself in the forehead and thinking, “Yes! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?” And honestly, I have no idea.

And it’s starting to get a little frustrating, especially considering how long I’ve been involved with theatre, how long I’ve been writing, and the fact that this is just a beginner’s class.

~ I have my first audition in 3 years on Sept. 9. I’m really excited but kind of freaking out as I feel like I’m really really out of practice. I spent years upon years learning techniques and methods and all that and I still feel like they’ve evaporated from my mind over time, even though I did a lot of student scenework in my last few years of undergrad. Plus, as strange as this sounds, my voice has shifted a lot and I’m not sure where it sounds best as far as the “showtunes” sound goes. I used to have a whole repertoire from which to pull audition material but when I was trying it out this week it just sounded awful. That seems kind of weird considering I know exactly what songs I can do at any karaoke bar but I realize I can’t get up and sing “Dream On” if I’m vying for a part in “South Pacific” or “A Christmas Carol.” Although I did think about singing the first part of Green Day’s “Hitchin’ a Ride” for it as it comes across as very showtune-y.
:::sigh::: At this point I just don’t know. But I have a few weeks.

~One of the perks of our new town is that the local cable package includes LOGO! So I can finally watch Rosie’s “Big Gay Sketch Show”! Hooray!

On New Years Day, I sat down and did a New Year reading with my Tarot deck. I made sure to write down what card I received for each month on my calendar and have been paying attention to my happenings to see if they’re synching up. So far, they’ve been synchronized only in loose interpretations and retrospect.

It’s no secret that I’ve been over the moon in these last few weeks. Aside from being on a high from us finally moving forward and finally getting away from a town I loathe and finally feeling rewarded for our efforts to change our situation, I’m just in love with my new home. Aside from Sanford being a genuinely wonderful little town, I’m back in North Carolina again, which has always been where I call home, even though I was away for half of my life. (I don’t think I could ever be in South Carolina long enough to consider “Carolina” USC or automatically think that the State Fair is in Columbia. Even after being gone a decade, I still told people, “Well I live in Myrtle Beach now, but I’m from North Carolina.” Kinda pathetic, I guess.) And, although I knew all this time that there were things I missed about North Carolina that South Carolina and/or Myrtle Beach simply doesn’t have, I’m finding that there are dozens of traits about the NC that I’d completely forgotten about altogether. A part of me feels like a kid again, running around in my acre-sized backyard with my brother and sisters… it’s incredible.

Chloe and I drive out of town while Greg’s at work, riding over rolling hills on country roads and gazing out over beautiful farms that all seem hand-selected from a decorator who said, “Okay, the theme here is classic, rural Americana. But I want extra charm!” There are old farm houses pushed back away from the highway, nestled under sprawling oaks with oversized ponds and self-sustaining gardens in the backyard. After years of driving through dusty, flat, dilapidated countryside, I’d forgotten how much I missed that. (Plus, I do love the knowledge that these little farm towns are literally 15 miles away from the state’s biggest, most prestigious cities. It brings it all back down to earth, really.)

We also go on walks around our little neighborhood where Chloe waves to every person we pass and yaps back at every dog. We sometimes walk down to the waterfront of the large pond that sits at our subdevelopment’s entrance and skip stones or point at ducks. (These are days I wish I had my own kayak, even if it’s just to take her out on the water for 10 minutes.)

In the evenings I feed Chloe dinner, give her a bath, and then sit with her on our couch while she watches a Disney Sing-Along-Songs DVD my mom converted from the original tape she bought us in 1986. As she sits, mesmerized and enrapt, I enjoy the way the setting sun shines through the thick leaves off our back deck, breathe deeply in complete relaxation and always, without fail, fight the urge to sob with gratitude and bliss.

I’ve not been bashful about admitting that this is easily one of the best moments of my life. I know, it’s all painfully overdramatic and pretty gross in my gloating of how awesome I feel and how things are going wonderfully for me. I’m even kind of getting repulsed and bored with myself and my own Mary Tyler Moore cheerfulness to an extent, so I’ll be literally amazed if anyone - frequent reader or not - has made it this far. And I also know it can’t last in the ebb and flow of life’s cycles, so I’m absorbing and milking every moment while I can. Although I’m on the edge of my seat with excitement about having a real autumn for the first time in 12 years (not counting my semester in Melbourne, AUS) I know better than to waste my days looking forward to the next thing coming.

But right now, for this one moment, everything is exactly what I’ve dreamed of for us.

Anyway, as I was unpacking more boxes, I came across the calendar that had my 2009 Tarot predictions on each page. When I went to hang it on the wall of my office I flipped to August and abruptly gasped with amused surprise and recognition, feeling my heart swell with even more blubbering, gushing gratitude.

At the beginning of this year, I drew the upright XXI Major Arcana card - better known as “The World”

Of course.

————————
In case you’re not into Tarot meanings here are some good definitions in addition to the one hyperlinked above:

A Brief Description

A Longer But Less Action-and-Foreward-Movement-Based description

And the Wiki Description

It’s one of those Fridays where I’m going to share random thoughts. And I’m not in the mood to argue about any of them.

~ I’m going to visit my Gran next weekend. I’m unbelievably excited about this and the chance to watch her interact with Chloe on a one-on-one basis.

Gran’s amazing. She’s one of those women who used to be a beauty queen and still adheres to those standards of beauty, always going to the gym, always worried about her weight (and everyone else’s), never leaving the house without makeup. I kind of hate that trait in anyone else but in Gran it’s so endearing. When we go to the country club, she’s the kind of woman who’ll see her peers (or even women 15 years younger) hunch-backed in 30-years-outdated housedresses and pincurl perms and lean over to slyly state, “I hope I never look like that.” And really, she’s a remarkably beautiful woman, even at 85. She has Christopher-Lloyd-white hair that comes down to her shoulders in soft waves and these bright blue eyes that have slowly lost most of their twinkle in the 9 years since my grandfather died (the man was a dream husband, which is why I get so touched when my Gran tells me my own husband reminds her of him) and the most beautiful, unrestrained laugh I’ve ever heard in my life. She’s totally a pistol but she never diverges from her Southern, dignity-always mentality.

Alright, here’s a ridiculously cool testament as to how remarkably rad Gran has been her whole life: When she met my grandfather, she was engaged to this big Texas oil tycoon and had a rock the size of my face to prove it. Anyway, she was in the beauty pageant for the Greensboro May Day Queen and her escort was a no-show. One of her friends ran over to this group of soldiers in uniform and asked, “Hey, will one of you guys escort my friend?” When she pointed over to Gran, apparently the group was slack-jawed until one little guy from a poor little town in the mountains of NC offered to do it. That was my granddad. Like something out of a movie, she won the pageant (of course) and had Grandaddy walk her home, during which she asked him to take her to dinner (pretty forward for the early 1940’s) When he came back to pick her up that night, he was a little early and she answered the door apologizing for not being ready yet. My cousin did this amazing interview with my grandfather before he passed and recorded the whole thing that he gave to us on CD. On it my grandfather talks about that evening and he closes the story by saying, “When I got to the door, she was wearing her engagement ring, but when she came back downstairs she wasn’t. I remember thinking, ‘Well, that’s something, isn’t it?”

So yes, they were married a year or so later (she wore the dress she wore for the May Day pageant) and they had five kids and he was a wildly successful man who was loved by everyone in his county and they were at the top of their social ladder for manymany years and it was all just splendid and perfect.

But hold on. It TOTALLY gets better. After my grandfather died in 2000, we were kind of worried about Gran but knew she’d busy herself with meeting old friends (she’s been in the same bridge club for 50 years) and going to the gym, etc. In 2005 I was in Australia and was talking to my dad about how Gran was doing and he kind of got this amused tone in his voice and said, “Well, she’s kind of seeing someone.” and went on to tell me about this guy who had been sending her flowers and talking to her on the phone for hours a few times a week and was flying in on his private jet to visit her.

Yeah. That Texan she broke up with 60+ years ago to marry my grandfather called her a few years ago and is still trying to win her over. I hope to God I have game like that when I’m 85. (Although I still wouldn’t date most of my exes even then. This is not up for debate.)

Anyway, that’s Gran. She’s the kind of woman who told me to walk 2 miles and drink one cup of black coffee and one glass of wine for every day I was pregnant. (She also told me that if I gained more than 20 lbs. during my pregnancy, my doc wouldn’t deliver my child. Heh… Old people and their crazy ideas.) She offers beer to everyone who visits, unless it’s still morning and then she’ll offer a Bloody Mary or a Screwdriver.

A few years ago we had this family reunion and before she went on her walk one day, she found me and showed me this headband I’d made for her when I was in the 1st grade. (It was made out of Hot Loops. Remember those things?! And you wove them together using this weird finger-weaving method?) She mentioned that she’d always used it to work out for the last 20-ish years and always thought of me when she did. I was touched.

Later that evening, she and I sat out on the porch talking and watching the ocean. Before she turned in for the night, she mentioned how much she loved talking to me and how she always felt we were kindred spirits. I reciprocated the sentiment and told her how much it meant to me to have a grandmother who loved me so much. To which she replied (and I may never ever forget this as long as I live), “Of course I love you honey. Why else would I have kept that tacky headband all these years?”

Awesome.

~ The fact that Cathy Guisewite still has an active career with national syndication crushes my optimism for the modern human spirit more than anything else in pop culture. At least reality television is deliberately idiotic. Nobody cites the “Cathy” comic as one of their guilty pleasures.
And I’ve never been one of those angry feminists who gets mad about stupid shit. I really only get passionate about important causes like the government getting out of our bodies/relationships and women getting paid the same as men, etc. But why in hell isn’t she receiving hate mail every single day for actively perpetuating these abysmal stereotypes about the overweight, ever-”victimized”, middle-aged woman who’s adept to society and malleable to public influence? Personally, I think it’s worse than anything Hefner of Flint has ever done.

~ You know, I used to think that Peter Dinklage had to be the bravest man in Hollywood. Here’s a man who is incredibly talented and went to the most superficial place on the planet to pursue a career in which he doesn’t use his size as a gimmick. Okay, sure he’s been given roles that were written for midgets but he’s never resorted to stereotypes and cheap sellouts in those roles; he’s always portrayed as a normal person with real emotions and intelligence (Like the literary genius he played in ‘Elf‘ or the Liz Lemon suitor on ‘30 Rock‘.) However, he’s also been given roles in which his size had absolutely nothing to do with the part. For one extremely impressive example, in 2006 he portrayed a lawyer in the true story of Jackie DiNorscio (Find Me Guilty) who, in reality wasn’t/isn’t a small person at all. That, to me, is pretty incredible. So, I’ve been a fan because of his incredible talent, integrity… and smoldering eyes… and deep, authoritative voice… ::shudders with arousal:::

But then I realized that if I was to name the Bravest Actor in Hollywood (and I’m not even going to get into the absurdity of the notion that people “take risks” in roles that require them to be “brave.” Give me an effing break. Yeah, I get the concept behind that, that a poor portrayal might destroy someone’s career or the director’s vision but please… Don’t flatter yourself by acting like you conjured up some deep, ancient courage to play a public figure.) it’d be Steve Buscemi. Hands down. Think about it. That guy looked in the mirror and said, “Yeah, dammit. I’m going to be in films.” And he never got any plastic surgery, he never fixed those crowded teeth, he didn’t change a thing to try to fit into any of the aesthetic requirements of modern cinema. And now look at him! He’s, like, constantly employed and he’s practically a household name. Sure, his roles are limited to the “skeezy” category, but he’s been given the chance to move around in that field during his career. There was “skeezy renegade hero” in the dreadful ‘Armageddon’, there was “skeezy psychopathic killer” in ‘Con Air’, “skeezy drunken black sheep/broken spirited brother” in ‘The Wedding Singer’ and then there was “sensitive skeezy older-man love interest” in ‘Ghost Town’. You really have to admire the versatility there.

So, bravo Buscemi. You’ve shown us that in life you can chase and obtain your dreams if you really honestly believe in yourself. The message isn’t lost on me.

~ The knowledge that people are arguing about health care changes based on the singular fact that they’re too greedy and too selfish to help people who can’t help themselves is disgusting and heartbreaking to me. Alright, I don’t necessarily agree with the health care plans in question at the moment and I know that there are going to be people who take advantage of any system, but the idea that so so many people really believe that poor people or people with disabilities who have no way of improving their situation actually enjoy taking government handouts and being powerless over their lives is just ridiculous. Again, I know those people exist but can’t we give the majority the benefit of the doubt?
(And yes, the knowledge that all these people whining about not sharing and acting like uneducated morons in courthouses are primarily upper-middle class, white, privileged citizens is somewhat embarrassing.)

~ I’ve just sort of gotten into Hunter S. Thompson (I is a late bloomer) and, while I get that the man was a genius and a literary revolutionary and had that sort of Crazy where his thoughts were “out there” but somehow made a lot of sense, but mostly I think he was just an asshole.

The thing is, while I think everyone admires/envies the type of person who says “Fuck society!” and lives by their own agendas and sticks strongly to his convictions of idealism, when it comes down to someone who lives a life proud of his substance addictions and constantly in a state of inebriation (admittedly pretty appealing to some people), no matter how functional he’s able to be in his professional life, he’s still going to carry all the classic traits of an addict. And that’s how it was with this guy. He was unbelievably selfish and manipulative, he had nothing but abusive relationships, he treated his friends and coworkers like shit… it’s really a wonder anyone hung out with him at all after a while. Sure he was revolutionizing the media and I get that guys like Jann Wenner had him around to sell magazines, but I’m kind of astounded that there were enough people who loved him to have written an entire biography constructed exclusively of personal anecdotes from friends. (‘Gonzo: The Life of Hunter S. Thompson’ if you’re interested)

My daughter is awesome.

And even though every parent on the planet says that about their kid, I’m lucky enough to have one of those kids who inspires other people around her to say that too, even if they’ve only known her a few minutes.

She’s 19 months old now and just unbelievable. She’s always cheerful (unless I’m redirecting her from something potentially harmful that she wants to do anyway), always elated to meet and be around people, always exploring and interacting. It’s perhaps the best anti-depressant I’ve ever had.

A few days ago she picked up my camera and started taking pictures. The impressive part of this is now that she could mimic my actions but she was actually looking through the viewfinder, setting up a shot, and then taking it as opposed to just randomly hitting the button and pointing the camera at nothing in particular. She got down on her tummy to get a portrait of the cat and then, after taking a couple, she changed positions to get a different angle on him. She even took one of her stuffed animals and put him up on the couch to get a “portrait” of sorts. I was really cool to watch.

We were on vacation last week on a small island in SC and naturally, she loved spending everysinglemoment outside in the sun. She loved pointing at the seagulls and pelicans and screaming “Kak! Kak!” (this is her arbitrary word for any bird because she can’t yet differentiate between the individual types and thinks they’re all ducks) and picking up seashells - “shah-shoo”s - but what she loved most of all was being around dogs. She ran up to literally every dog we saw during the entire week regardless of size. She would always want to engage them individually so often she would come up and sit down in front of them to be on their eye-level. Sometimes it looked like she and the dog were in their own little world, actually. And there was one little dog who was a schnauzer-type mutt that the owner was carrying in her arms and was snarling and growling until the Bear came up and petted her nose. I was starting to wonder if she’s going to inherit Cesar Milan’s gig when he’s ready to retire.

She has a whole arsenal of words and she’s so so excited to be able to communicate with us. When she recognizes something that we have an established word for (”Ar! Ar!” - Dog “Fjooo” - Food “Ah-pay!” - Airplane) she is so so excited to run over and tell someone about it and it’s really cool to see her confidence in herself during those moments.

So, once again, if there was any doubt: Yes. I am one of those pathetically child-obsessed parents.

Because I have so much to cover in a very very short amount of time (We still don’t have the Internet at our place so, again, I’m doing all this from the Lee County Public Library where they limit my compy usage to 1.5 hours daily. That’s just inhumane…) I’m going to give you a bulleted list of topics and you can scroll down to the one that interests you the most. See? I keep my readers in mind. Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you.

Also, I’ve been having blog-and-Internet withdrawal so please excuse me if this is rather rambly and self-indulgent. 

1) The Move
a) Elated
b) Nervous
c) Confused
d) Kinda Wistful
2) Meeting People
3) The New Projects

1) The Move
Oh man, it’s like I’ve said before: I’m positive there has never been a single human being more excited about moving to a small town in North Carolina than I have in the last couple weeks. I’m sure the novelty of it all will wear off but, Holy Crap, I feel like I’ve wandered into Pleasantville. I ventured out last Saturday, got myself a little cup of coffee, and checked out the local farmers’ market which was really more of a Stuff Old People Grow in Their Backyards Market, which is actually even better in my book. Anyway, while I was wandering around downtown buying a local paper and taking pics of the town for this here blog, I was delighted to find that every single person who passed me bothered to engage in mini conversations. Not just “Hi, how ya doin’?” but “Good morning! What on earth are you taking pictures of?” type conversations. I’m one of those people who thrives on getting to know local, grassroots culture so this was particularly exciting to me.

Sanford is a pretty cool little town, to be honest. It’s not one of those places that dried up once a Wal-Mart came to town and has one of those downtowns where people actually patronize and enjoy. There are tons of cool old houses where people throw block parties for anyone who wants to swing by. There are two local theatres, including one that I’m auditioning for in the next week but I’ll get to that later. Plus, the whole city is only 45 minutes from the Research Triangle area (Chapel Hill, Raleigh, Durham) and the Triad (Greensboro, Winston-Salem, High Point) so we’re close enough to the awesome forward-motion of city life without having to deal with the traffic and higher rate of crime, etc. (I was jazzed when I realized that we get the free weekly Independent Arts newspaper all the way down here! Culture! Life! Things happening! Whee!)

Also, in talking with some of the local people, this is one of those rare towns where kids are still kids. In Myrtle Beach it wasn’t uncommon for 11 year olds to be talking about giving blow jobs and where to get drugs, but here the kids still believe in Santa Claus until they’re 10 and don’t have cellphones until they start driving. Obviously, they grow more aware of the world as they get older (there’s drugs and sex everywhere) but it’s at a more traditional pace, which I’m a big fan of.

Again, I’m sure the novelty of small town life will wear off eventually but at the moment I’m loving the relief of not having to deal with godawful tourist traffic, not having to look at rundown outlet malls and shady strip clubs everywhere I go, not having to be blinded by neon signs and hideous billboards en route to EVERYWHERE. Getting to be around people who take pride in where they live and strive for better educations than a GED. It feels like I’m back where I started from originally and strangely, that’s exactly what I want right now.

So we’re in the process of unpacking everything in this cute little 2-story, 3 bedroom house in a quiet little neighborhood and are feeling unbelievably optimistic about the whole thing. I like it.

2) Meeting People
It occurred to me that, while living with a small child who isn’t in school, I have the potential to spend the next year in almost complete seclusion. Knowing my history with depression, this sounded like a good way to sink into a state of lonely hopelessness, which is something I prefer to avoid at all costs.

SO! I’ve taken it upon myself to push aside all my weird social anxieties, actually reach out, and meet some people. First, I emailed a local blogger who writes a lot about living a green lifestyle while being a mom. I just wanted to pick her brain about what Sanford life is like, if there were any places she could recommend in the way of preschools, family physicians, etc. Knowing that it’s totally weird to send a probing email to a stranger, i wasn’t really expecting much in the way of a thorough response. However, a few days later I received a 4 page email detailing everything from her preferred childcare centers to where not to get my hair done (apparently they employ drunk stylists). I was doubly impressed that she withheld any discussion of religion or spirituality because she didn’t like to push that sort of thing on people but if I wanted to know more about her church or what sort of spiritual gatherings are in the area, I was more than welcome to ask her about it. Even more impressive was the fact that she picked up on my mention that I wrote in my blog about depression and alcoholism and she casually recommended a psychiatric facility that members of her family had found success with. I was touched and refreshed with the knowledge that there are people here who don’t mind going out of their way to help complete strangers.

Additionally, one of my good friends takes an acting class once a week in Charlotte with a gal from Sanford and sent me her number. Once again, I pushed all my weird insecurities out of the way (By the way, it’s come to my attention just how unbelievably awkward I am, but I’m planning that as a post later on.) and just called her. She and her husband had me and mine over for cards and drinks last night and I was really relieved at how good of a time I had. We all seemed to get along, seemed to be like-minded, seemed to have a lot in common (although her kids are significantly older than mine) and, even though I don’t think we’ll be connected at the hip or anything, it’s so so nice to know someone else in town.

Although this merges into my next bulleted segment, I’ve also made it a point to join a couple Meetup groups and will be attending a tribal bellydance party in a couple weeks. I haven’t been part of a bellydance community in about 2 years but I miss it a lot and would love to meet other people who are into it and may be interested in traveling to events, etc. I’m thinking once I get settled I may attempt a book club in the area but that’s a few months off. Anyway, the point is that I’m trying, dammit.

3)The New Projects
At the moment, I’m having so much momentum from the move and the possibilities of new opportunity that I’m not sure where to put my immediate interest. The thing is, I’ve been wanting to get my writing career back on track and pay attention to working on a byline and getting a portfolio under my belt. (I just picked up an old Playboy from my collection a few days ago and realized that Sloane Crosley has been getting published WAY longer than I’d originally thought. Since she’s around my age, I kind of strangely consider her a peer and a bit of a pace-setter, although this usually leads to unnecessary comparisons between her career and mine and then the ensuing frustration that I’m not anywhere close to where I’d like to be.)

And then I just decided to do my first theatre audition in like, 3 years, so I’m preparing a monologue and short song for that. I’ve really wanted to get back into theatre but was really hesitant with the knowledge that it will eat a LOT of time and evenings with Greg. After talking about it and getting his encouragement and blessing, I’m going ahead with it and I guess we’ll navigate through our schedules if I’m actually presented with an opportunity for a role.

After taking the GRE, I’ve been looking at psychology degree programs and/or counseling certification programs. I’m ELATED to be in North Carolina as the university educations accessible from my location are incredible and seem ideal for what I want to do. This is something I probably won’t have the freedom or funding to get into for another year or so but I know I need to start working on applications and financial aid sooner than later so I’m not crunched for time.

And then there are countless extraneous things I’ve just been putting off for various reasons like working on scrapbooking these hundreds of photos from the last year and getting this website up and running and following up on my applications for grants for this book I’m writing. I don’t know how I plan to actually do all of this but I know I want them all to fit into my 5 Year Plan (such a ridiculous stereotypical idea…) and I know that means I actually need to do them. It just feels like everything’s been on hold since we’ve been waiting around to see if we’d be moving, so I hope that I can actually get back to living once we get settled in.

And THEN I noticed that there’s this old movie theatre for sale in downtown Sanford that flickered back to life that crazy dream I have of opening a mini multiplex that would consistently feature 1 indie/foreign flick, 1 children’s flick, 1 old film and 1 recent film and lend itself to a plethora of audiences. (I’ve written about it before but can’t seem to find the entry about it at the moment.) I’d love to do stuff like have a “Wizard of Oz” week where we play the movie all week and then have a big “Wizard of Oz” party on the last night. Same with “Rocky Horror” or “Tommy” or “Grease” or “Sound of Music” or any array of cool cult-y classics. Anyway, I’m going to call the realtor in charge to ask what the going price is…
… A girl can dream, right?

So that’s life in brief. Again, I’m using a compy that’s not my own so I don’t feel right posting pics at the moment. It’ll happen soon but I’m sure isn’t pertinent or urgent to anyone’s well-being so I’m not terribly worried about it at the moment.

In brief though: We’re happy. We’re optimistic. We’re relieved. We’re grateful.

These are all incredibly refreshing feelings.