I Am This Woman

Everyone knows what happens to a clean litter box, a clean diaper and a clean countertop. In the case of the first two, as we say in Arizona, caca pasa. And for that countertop? Matter will be created to clutter it up. This is known as TigerWillow’s Law of Flat Surfaces. (I’m working very hard to get it accepted by scientists, but there’s this little quibble about repeatable, observable and the scientific method. Hrmpf.)

This morning, I woke with purpose. The purpose-driven day. Clean tables and countertops by bedtime. In order to move on with some new projects, I require the space to get things out and make a mess, but there is no room to make a mess. There’s a big mess in the place I want to make a mess.

This is known as a corollary to TigerWillow’s Law of Flat Surfaces. It is called the Mess Conundrum.

So far, my progress has been to put away the Christmas things, sort through and organize the coffee table clutter, clean off the craft table clutter and sweep, sort and re-sort the kitchen island clutter. Dining room clutter was moved aside (sans the Christmas items that were cherrypicked to be packed in the cheerful red and green plastic bins which are now in the garage), and dinner was served. Right now, a fine game of Stratego is being waged after dinner was cleared.

There again, another example of the Law and the Mess Conundrum. If dinner had not been eaten at the table, there might not have been a cleared-away spot for Stratego to emerge from the cupboard. And if the game isn’t put away properly, there will be no Frog Juice, nor will we be able to eat breakfast, lunch or dinner there tomorrow.

Clearing away, messing up, clearing away. Pendulums, night and day, earth and sun, and housework operate pretty much on the same principle. And that, friends, is pure science.

Judging from the sounds of boys divebombing Stratego pieces prematurely and very unstrategically, I’d say the game is over, and I must publish this entry. Stay tuned for more scientific help to keep life in balance.

Today is Monday. I have the day off. It is the last day of December, which is the last month of the year.

Tomorrow is Tuesday. I have the day off. It is the first day of January, which is the first month of the year.

But it’s still just 24 hours, just like today, just like yesterday, and March 23 and August 19 and June 15. It is not a whole new year, but another day in a chain of days that have been labeled conveniently by our calendar, and celebrated with fireworks, balldrops, champagne and kissing. (Hey, I’m all for champagne and kissing!) (more…)

My new favorite color is green. (No, I don’t mean Greenpeace or Sierra Club-green. Just the plain old color itself.)

Hunter. Kelly. Teal. Grass. Leaf. Wasabi. Fern. Olive. Kiwi. Aqua (is that close enough to green?). Pine. Kelp. Asparagus. Moss. Emerald. Aloe. Bamboo. Spring. All these colors, and even the names, set up a thrill in me.

Maybe it’s all the years of living in the desert with its red canyons, pink khaki sand, mica-speckled brown rocks, the merest sage fringe, green plants that are willing to dump leaves at any time due to insufficient water, and the intense sky of many blues. Yes, the sunsets are amazing, breathtaking. To the point where maybe I just couldn’t breathe out there anymore.

Green is the color of hope for me. Of nature, of trees, of things to come, of life, of living. Returning to Dallas for a hospice farewell in early March when things were still sleeping, and again in late March when the buds had emerged did something to me. Moving here in June – when all the trees were drinking in the heavy rains, the sunshine, when the great big chlorophyll party was in full swing – reminded me of how much I like plants, dirt, moisture. After I trimmed my magnolia tree, it shot up 10 feet from joy. I expect big blossoms next year.

In Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver’s biology teacher protagonist tells her students that plants do everything animals do: they grow, they reproduce, they eat, they excrete waste, they move, they die. I’ve never forgotten that.

In the desert, everything is hard, sharp, clear, well-lit and in focus. Here, the edges are softer, the greens myriad, the edges a bit more indeterminate, and life doesn’t hurt quite as much as it did out there. I’ll go back someday, probably to live if only for part of the year. It’s in my bones.

But the green life and black dirt of the forest, prairie and back yard are in my hair, my fingernails, my skin.  I bathe in the color – I knit with bottle green yarn, I wear new green sweaters, I cherish the little fake Christmas evergreen in my living room. Even now, in the brown, rust and drab of early winter outside, I dream of green and look for spring with a tender new awareness.

We’re home and winding it down for the day. Christmas 2007 is almost on the books (if we kept records). And again, for the 30th-something year, I did not get a pony.

Replete with friendship and good red wine, stomach a little too full of food, the trash can full of trash despite best efforts to go green, and full of the sense that one day is all too short for this dance with hope and joy. We might want it all year round … (well, not the kitsch, not the music, OH GODDESS PLEASE NO MORE HOLLY JOLLY CHRISTMAS!, not the gift exchange).

As fun as that may sound, what we need more is the ebb and flow, the rise and fall of satisfaction. The balance between feasting and fasting, between hanging out with Auntie Amy and thinking “I really miss Auntie Amy.” Rather than racing to the finish line, and then struggling to remain cheerful the.whole.day.long despite the depleted reserves… wouldn’t it be better to keep inching forward?

As pretty as it sounds, I succumb from the holiday letdown, which is real, occurring for me right around 9:30 on Christmas night. The realization that it all is over for the year, and what remains of this rarified tender specialness which I love, will soon be swept away in the push toward New Year, party hardy, clean sweep, out with the old, clearance, everything must go.

Very soon, I will begin the as-yet-unread new novel; I will break the seal on the new DVD and I will cast on the new yarn. The newness cannot remain and that is what this hour might bring into sharp focus, if I left all the lights to shine on it.

No, tonight, I will let the Christmas tree and luminarias blaze just one more night, keeping everything in a bath of mini-lights. I would stay here – full, satisfied, replete, without regrets, content with the here and now, a little dreamy from the Jolly Effect.

But it won’t stay that way… no one can live in the mean all the time, no one can rest at either end of the pendulum swing, indicator either at Jolly or Lump of Coal. Balance means being somewhere along the continuum in a fluid motion. At any given point in time, one is up, down, betwixt and between, and will not be exactly there at the next point in time. I know this feeling has to pass, but if I trust my own internal pendulum, then I also know it will swing back this way eventually. (And maybe much sooner than 365 days from now.)

Christmas 2007 will be about stopping just short of utter disgust with how much I ate; staying just long enough to leave some things to talk about on the next visit; nodding to but not dwelling on the guilt or regret; leaving something fun undone for next year’s holiday – this is the very unsexy but satisfying art of moderation. Not a bad present to give myself this year… But still not a pony.

My dear friend in Hungary sent me some awesome winter photos, taken this week. It’s wonderful to know that somewhere there really is a winter wonderland. I love the idea of a white Christmas, but really am glad I don’t need to dress in two pairs of socks, long underwear, shirt, sweater, vest, etc. (more…)

This time of year, I savor all the books that trot themselves out into the displays, advertising, front list and “must-read” conversation of people I know. I may not ever get to read all the books I want to read, but that would be a dark day, if it ever came. There are so many wonderful books out there, and so little time. So little time. I wonder why I have cable TV at all.

A few years ago, I had a crisis brewing. My eyesight. Where before I could squint at a book in any position in bed, in any kind of light, into the wee small hours (the wee-est smallest hour is 1 a.m. by the way), I began to have trouble. First it was my neck which went all screwy in graduate school. Then it was my wrists and hands that fell asleep from holding a book. Then my eyes… headaches, holding the book farther away, etc.

I finally succumbed to reading glasses, and to reading less to save my neck and wrists… complications of keyboard RSI and not enough yoga, massage and too much stress. But reading less adds to my stress…

No more. I am dedicating myself to my book friends again. And will find that balance point. My 2008 resolution is simple: read more. That’s all. Everything else in my life has come from that - the writing, the stories, the friends, the career. READ MORE. (more…)

It’s all around us all the time. But this time of year, the matters of life and death are on our minds more poignantly, and I have to wonder why. Both in a shake my fist at the sky kind of way, and a tender headtilt “there, there” kind of way.

Death. A car ran a red light last Monday and could have killed me, had I not been distracted as my light turned green. I finally putt-putted out into the intersection, only to see a silver streak of sedan go zooming in front of my car with six feet to spare. Another two seconds either way, and someone would be dead. I drop off the Kid at school, and then get dead. Not a great way to start the week, in thought or in actuality. (more…)

You know, I can quit any time I want. I really can. I just don’t want to do it with no notice, and gradually over the course of a busy morning of impending deadlines.

I suspect Time Warner’s infamous local disservice because when I checked my voice mail, I listened to Fembot speaking as though she were standing in front of a very large fan.

In any case, with spotty service, I had to resort to the telephone to do business. I ran some errands in advance of supremely cold weather tomorrow, sat with the Kid who was home sick from school, and managed to wrap some presents for mailing tomorrow. In other words, I was not allowed to sit in a chair for 8 hours staring at a screen.

Not too shabby.

One bonus of not working online but sitting and cleaning up the desktop is that I ran across some cool photos from last Christmas.

Zilker Park Tree, originally uploaded by tigerwillow.

Call Him Flash, originally uploaded by tigerwillow.

For a few brief moments, the light flashy thing the Kid bought with his allowance lit up the night.

On Dec. 7, 2006, I wrote:

Though I feel alone most of the time, it’s simply not true as there are people all around me all the time. And when pressed to rely on them, it is amazing to learn that they come through. I’ll be damned: people might just come through for you, if you allow them.

In response, I have to say that today I feel mostly alone, and I do not feel people around me. No one counts on me right now, and I count on no one.* Will people really come through for me if I allow them? This presumes that I’m somehow not allowing them… isolation is one of the byproducts of grief. I cared so much that now maybe I need a moratorium on caring. (more…)

Here are twelve things to do when your kid has you up in the middle of the night.

1. Make sympathetic noises while patting child on the back.
2. Turn on a closet light but shut the door as a get-well lowlight – stronger than night light.
3. Fix a glass of ice water, OJ, “cambric” tea*. Fix two - one for you, one for baby.
4. Offer pain reliever, cough drop, Mr. Snuggles.
5. Read cartoons online.
6. Read Cute Overload to cultivate more empathy on less sleep.
7. Reset that one clock that is out of line with recent “fall back.”
8. Plan the breakfast in four hours that will kick off a sick day, or fortify child for school.
9. Flirt with going back to sleep.
10. Ignore dog’s request to go outside.
11. Check moon phase and cloud status, both online and out the window.
12. Check for child’s regular steady breathing; stop flirting and go back to bed.

*Cambric tea is made by dunking the tea bag once in a cup of very hot water to color the water and make it slightly tea-flavored. Add honey, lemon and/or milk for child’s cuppa. So-called “cambric” because in the past when tea was brewed in reusable cambric (linen, muslin) sachets, it was enough to simply dunk a used cambric bag in the water to tinge it with tea-color and flavor.