Five Things I’m Not Going to Write About…Much

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Blue Christmas

It’s 6:23 AM, and I’m awake, not because I’m grieving over yesterday’s shooting in Connecticut (though I am saddened by it), and not because I’m anticipating anything specific happening today (though every day is worthy of anticipation) but because my brain is spinning ideas like so much cotton candy, and even though I’d much rather be dreaming, I’m sitting in bed with my laptop on a pillow and a dog pinning my ankle to the mattress. At least it’s one of the smaller dogs.

There are so many topics in my head, but instead of picking one, I’m sharing five I’m not going to write entire posts about:

  1. Sandy Hook, CT:Yes, it was horrible and horrifying. Yes, it was tragic. But as I’m not directly related to the situation, am not a parent at all (dogs don’t count in this instance) and don’t have either magical powers or a viable solution to this recurring problem, I’m going to quietly say a prayer for the children, those who lived and those who died, for the adults (same categories) and for the parents and families of all of them. Whether prayer is a plea for help or merely adding my energy to the vortex doesn’t matter. In this case, it really is the thought that counts. HOWEVER, I have no patience for people who were NOT directly involved, directly affected, being maudlin about events like this for weeks. Tragedy happens, but dwelling on it is often just a waste of time.
  2. Gun Control: Do we, as a culture, need to talk about real measures? Yes. Do I believe it’s far too easy to obtain guns in America? Yes. Do I believe the average citizen either needs a gun or “should” own one? No. But neither do I believe that my posting so on Facebook or Twitter will do anything to fix THAT problem either. I think we’re all too likely to shoot first and ask questions later. Beyond that: I don’t allow guns in my home, and I think that, unless they’re in day-glow colors and shoot only water, gun-shaped toys are wildly inappropriate for all children.
  3. The War on Christmas: The thing is, there isn’t one. We live in a pluralist society. We have for centuries, now, and it’s time we all just admit it, and move along. If you’re Christian and your neighbor is Jewish or Muslim (or Wiccan, or some other kind of Pagan, or an Atheist, or Agnostic, or completely uncomfortable defining their spiritual practice), count yourself lucky that you get to maybe learn first-hand about a different perspective on faith. If you go back far enough, the stories are the same, and the meanings behind them profoundly simple: Be kind to people. Treat your neighbors at least as well as you would treat your family. Be good to the earth, we only have one. Recognize that we are all human, and that the things that unite us are far more numerous than the things which divide us. Christmas isn’t going away any time soon. Stop worrying about non-existent attempts to end it, and celebrate, instead. You’ll be much happier.
  4. The Separation of Church and State: I’m sick to death of people saying we need to bring God back into schools. No. We don’t. Religion is the job of parents and religious leaders. Schools exist to give everyone a baseline education so they can function in the world as independent adults. No school is equipped to teach religion or religious history without bias, and frankly, math, languages (including English), science, history, geography, and critical thinking are far more important. Besides, I don’t think God needs a remedial education, and I’m pretty sure God is already conversant in everything from astrophysics to zoology, though the free reading period that included Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series was probably skipped over in an attempt to remain sane. Anyway, freedom OF religion has to include freedom FROM religion, or it’s just empty words. Do I think everyone should go take a course in “the Bible as literature,” at some point? Yes. But I also think we should still be teaching kids cursive writing and accurate world history, as well as art and music. Then again, I’m not a parent (see point one).
  5. Vegetarians: I’m very happy that a portion of our society has given up meat. More bacon for the rest of us! What makes me unhappy is this holier-than-thou attitude that somehow being a vegetarian is the only ethical choice. First of all, are you aware of the great number of small animals (including rodents, which, okay, not really on anyone’s menu so much, but still…) die every time fields are harvested by machines or the land is turned over? Look it up sometime. As well, unless you live in a place where your entire diet is grown locally, you are just as guilty of helping to ruin the planet by transporting things from distant places or growing things where they’re not native. Also? Humans are omnivores. Look it up. Meat has ALWAYS been part of our diet. I do, however, agree that we need to eat LESS meat, as a rule, and that when we raise animals with the intent of eating them we have an obligation to treat them well. I don’t even have an issue with hunting, as long as it’s for food and not sport, and the whole animal gets used. It would be hypocritical of me to be anti-hunting – I like venison too much.

So those are my five mini-rants. But here’s a bonus one: SOCIAL MEDIA.

A lot, today, but fairly regularly over the last four years, I’ve seen people killing off-line friendships because of political/spiritual/cultural opinions posted on Twitter and Facebook. I find this absurd. Before we had social media allowing us to share every thought (or fraction thereof) that crosses our minds, we still held opinions that were sometimes wildly divergent from the opinions of our friends and families, we just didn’t know about it, and I think we got along much better.

I’m lucky. I have friends and family from all over the political and spiritual spectrum. I get along better with those who have views similar to mine, but I don’t believe we have to agree with each other all the time in order to love each other, or to get along. I’m a writer. Expressing myself is both my hobby and my job, but sometimes I think we should be much more intentional about what we put out into the world.

I’m not Jewish but over the past several years, ever since I learned of it, the concept of tikkun olem has really resonated with me. It’s about healing the world. From the ground up, from the heart down, with hands and minds and whatever else we each have to give. I’m going to repeat myself: the things that unite us are more numerous than the things which divide us. Go find a way to unite people today. Be kind to one another.

And thanks for reading this.

Happy Holidailies

Welcome to the Word Lounge (Version 2.0)

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Desk Part 2 Last week, I wrote about some household Re-arranging we were doing. Today, I took pictures of my almost-finished Word Lounge (version 2.0). This post is image intensive, but I thought you might like a tour…

Desk Part One The first picture on this page – the one with the dolls (or action figures, as I’m told the cool kids are calling them these days) – is the part of my desk that doesn’t have a computer on it all the time. I try to keep that surface free for bringing my laptop into my writing room (it lives on my nightstand) or for doing things that require pen and ink, instead of a keyboard. This is the OTHER half of my desk (excuse the mess), and it doesn’t face the window, but at least my back isn’t to the door either.

Bookshelves These bookshelves are from the furniture I bought in California in 2002 or 2003. I gave away the glass and brushed aluminum desk that went with them, when I originally moved OUT of this space in 2008. Now that I have warm wood furniture in here, in a completely different configuration, I find I like the space again.

Credenza Originally, I kept a fax machine on this credenza (the actual cabinet part, which is mostly below frame.) Currently, the inside holds reams of paper (and I do mean reams), and I don’t even own a fax machine any more. The shelves on top, which have paint kits that Fuzzy brought back for me from Japan, among other knick-knacks, were purchased at Target in 2008. He said they wouldn’t fit, but I love the way they work. On top, propped against the wall so it’s easier for me to alter it, is one of my two “inspiration boards.”

Corner Desk This corner desk is one that we bought for temporary use when we moved into this house in 2004, and were waiting for our furniture. Eventually, it’s leaving my room (and being replaced by a futon/couch thing- probably in March), but for now, it’s holding extra monitors, my Harry Potter books, and (though he’s quite blurry, thanks to Max trying to ‘help’ me take the picture) my Severus Snape action figure. As soon as I clean the typewriter (vintage Remington) I just bought from a friend, it will be filling the empty desk space. There’s no chair in front of it, because the dog bed is on the floor right there.

Reading Chair Every room needs to have a reading corner. Mine is at the window. The chair was my grandfather’s. When I was a baby he would sit in that chair and hold me, or read to me. The table is one that a friend needed to find space for when she was emptying a storage unit. As soon as I iron the white table-cloth my mother gave me for Christmas last year, it will go on the table, along with a candle-wreath made of shells from my mother’s beach.

File Cabinet Finally, tucked into the corner near the closet, is a file cabinet, which came from the same friend who supplied the round table. Unlike in one of my favorite children’s books, From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiller, this file box holds mailing and shipping supplies. My Keurig machine might eventually live here; but then it might not.

Oh, and for those who are wondering what’s in the closet, it’s lined with bookshelves, all of which are overflowing with books. Obviously.

Holidailies 2012

Wax Paper

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In my recent spate of pre-holiday baking, I’ve rediscovered wax paper.

I’ve had a couple of rolls in the back of the pantry for a while, purchased because some recipe I was going to make at some point required them, but I hadn’t actually begun to use it until wax-paper last Saturday when I baked a lemon pound cake. The instructions for that recommended lining the loaf pan with wax paper so that it was easy to pull the cake out after baking.

Removing that lemon pound cake (which was divine, by the way – DIVINE) was so easy, that not only did a friend and I actually have a conversation about wax paper yesterday (Well, not just about it, but still, we are not 1950s housewives. We both do paid work, you know?), but I used the same trick when I made banana bread this morning.

It’s weird, the way common objects can have so much meaning. I mean, yes, on one level wax paper is just a tool that makes baking a bit easier, but at the same time, the texture of it, the satisfying ripping sound it makes when I remove a length of it from the roll, those things are time portals that take me back to summers at the Jersey shore with my grandparents.

I remember picnic coolers lined with dry ice, holding a pitcher of iced tea, tuna or egg salad sandwiches wrapped in wax paper (or, if my grandmother had them available, wax paper sandwich bags), and paper napkins that went into the cooler with the food. Something magical happened to those napkins in the process. Before they went into the picnic cooler they were normal paper, slightly rough, but when they came out of it at the beach they felt like cool, soft tissue, and I used to love holding them up to my sun-warmed skin before using them as actual, you know, napkins.

Food tastes better, at least to me, when it’s wrapped in wax paper instead of plastic wrap. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t sweat, or maybe it’s just nostalgia, but if there’s beauty in ordinary things like dandelions and autumn leaves, there’s a kind of beauty in wax paper and fresh baked goods, and even in tuna fish sandwiches, whether they’re eaten in the sunlit kitchen or while sitting on a blanket in the sand.

Happy Holidailies

Happy Birthday, Maximus

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BabyMax

Four years ago this weekend, somewhere in Texas, a black and white puppy squirmed into a cold, scary world. Not long after that, he found himself in a rural Texas kill-shelter.

When we met him nine weeks later, in February, 2009, we weren’t looking for a third dog, and we certainly weren’t looking for a puppy, but something about this black and white boy, all alone in the world, curled itself around our hearts. A week later, he was sleeping in a crate in our bedroom by night, and leading our first foster-dog, a heeler named Blue, around our house by holding the hand-loop of a leash in his mouth.

Max in the Park

At ten weeks old, he was already a problem-solving dog.

A week after that, Blue found his forever home, and our Zorro-dog died. Max knew something was ‘different,’ but he wasn’t yet terribly affectionate, more inclined to gnaw on our fingers or chew on our necks than give kisses.

Within five months Max had outgrown his first crate, and was rapidly expanding in all directions, to fill his second. At one point, I went to Mexico, leaving behind a puppy, and coming home to a DOG.

Over time, as Max grew into his current 70-pound (plus or minus) frame, he also became the sweetest, most affectionate dog ever. Sure, we’re still trying to curb his counter-surfing habits, and he’s picked up our nocturnal habits to the point where he won’t eat before ten in the morning, but otherwise, he’s a great dog.

CuddlyMax

And now…now he’s FOUR.

Happy birthday, Maximus. You came with that name, and we let you keep it, but you took our hearts in exchange.

Holidailies 2012

Rubber (Glass?) Ducky, You’re the One

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I meant to post this last night, but after a morning of dropping the foster dog, Dexter, at adoptions (He was adopted. Congratulations to Dexter’s new family, and Happy Whatever Holiday You Celebrate!), having an early lunch of tacos, making lemon pound cake (which involved finding and washing the juicer so I could use real lemon juice), and an afternoon of good company with good friends, all I wanted to do last night was soak in the tub and watch a few episodes of Warehouse 13 on Netflix. Duck-Ornament

In any case, my friend Carmi hosts a weekly (and fairly loose) meme called “Thematic Photographic” on his blog, and I haven’t participated forever, but I noticed that the current theme is “Mellow Yellow.” No, he’s not celebrating a defunct brand of soda with that title (well, not directly, and anyway, they didn’t use the Ws in that) but all things yellow.

I could have taken a picture of the lemons that went into the pound cake (five of them), or the finished product, but since I made my friends work for their dessert by helping me hang ornaments on my Christmas tree, I thought a picture of an ornament would be most appropriate. And what better choice of subject could there be, than my whimsical rubber duck ornament.

Which is made of glass.

I suppose you’re thinking, “That makes it a glass duck ornament,” which, technically it is, except it’s modeled on the classic bath-time Rubber Ducky toy. Which makes it a glass rubber ducky. Or a rubber glass ducky. Or…hey, look at the adorable duck ornament nestled in the dark green faux pine needles!

(And on that note, I’m off to meet friends for brunch. Potato pancakes, anyone???)

Happy Holidailies

Dis-Ornamented

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Ornamental 2012-Click to Embiggen

Ornamental 2012 – Click to embiggen.

I waited until today to set up the Christmas tree, partly because of the funk I’ve been in all week (I think it’s a little bit because it’s been so warm) and partly because there were other things that had to be done first. So tonight, while my husband was winging his way back from a week at corporate headquarters in Boca Raton, a young friend helped me set up our 7’5″ pre-lit (with lovely white LEDs) Christmas tree, and then we unwrapped all my ornaments.

My ornament collection was started before I was born, and has continued to grow. I don’t have an exact number, but I know when things are missing, or broken, and I recognize every piece. Every ornament has a story, and I remember the cadence of my mother’s voice telling me each tale as we unwrapped and hung them every year.

“This one was from your first mobile,” she’d tell me, gently caressing a yellow-painted wooden piece. “And this one was on one of your first packages,” she’d say, showing me a bunny tucked into his walnut-shell bed (with pink gingham sheets that were just like the ones I had as a child). Every year, until I moved out of her house, the ritual was the same. My mother still reminds me that one of the most difficult things she’s ever done was packing my ornaments separately from hers the year I got married.

Imagine then, my devastation when, upon opening one of the two giant rubber tubs full of carefully wrapped Christmas treasures, I noticed odd pink staining on several of the white tissue-paper wrappings. Even worse, as I pulled more packages out of the box, was the pervasive odor of mildew, and several packages stained brown as if they’d been drenched by something unmentionable.

“I’m going to cry,” I told my young helper, as I peeled still-damp paper layers from around a set of Christmas train candles I’ve had for more than ten years. “This was one of my favorites,” I added a few minutes later as a blue-painted balsa-wood sailfish ornament disintegrated in my hands.

I’ve been using the same tubs to store these ornaments since we moved into this house eight years ago, and this has never happened. I’m not even sure how it DID happen, as not all of the ornaments in the box showed signs of moisture (though all had that ghastly stench). I called my mother, who was busy sewing, but took time to console me.

All told, I lost about ten ornaments, a few of which were never favorites, and a few of which were. One of them was a glass geisha that had shattered into pieces; another, the worst loss, was a giant starfish (sorry, sea star) that was a reminder of a trip to Carmel or Monterey (it was decorated with a tiny wreath and bits of pine).

It may not seem like a big loss, but every ornament that had to go into the trash represented a memory, a moment, something I wanted to carry with me forever, and while the actual thoughts and images may be indelibly etched on my brain, without the ornaments to serve as keys, those etchings may as well be chalk drawings washed into the gutter by a heavy rain.

Bluie Holidailies

Finding my Zip

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I’ve been in a kind of funk the last couple of days. I haven’t had a true migraine, just tension headaches and feeling really tired. I was up at 7:30 this morning, but then I went back to bed at 9:30 because I was so exhausted I felt like I’d been drugged into sleep.

I woke again at one-thirty this afternoon.

I’ve tried to write, tried to research, tried to get into the mood to do some more Christmas decorating, and all I want to do is sleep. I haven’t even cracked open (metaphorically speaking, as it’s a Kindle file) the Cleo Coyle book I got on Tuesday at 2:01 AM Central time.

Tonight, in an effort to shake the funk, I played a bunch of music, but even that didn’t help, so I went to YouTube and found a Peter, Paul and Mary video (because I am SUCH a geek) that never fails to make me grin.

That video is below. Enjoy:

Holidailies 2012

Re-arranging

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I’ve learned, in my 42 (and change) years on this planet that I am a creature of opposites. I like the semblance of a routine, but I also thrive on change. I like to ‘nest,’ but I also enjoy traveling to new places (as long as they have wifi, hot water, working plumbing and excellent coffee). Depending on the day, and the situation, I’m either a shy extrovert or a bold introvert.

Living Room by Melissa

This week I’ve been indulging in one of my favorite activities that doesn’t involve either writing or singing: I’ve been re-arranging furniture. It began with a move (mentioned earlier this week) of my writing studio from one room to another. That part was easy for me, because my husband and a young friend of ours moved the actual furniture and most of the books. (Is it possible to have too many books? Or is it just not enough bookshelves?)

But that was Sunday, and today is Wednesday.

For the last three days I’ve been slowly putting the books in order on different shelves that look bigger, but actually hold less. I wanted my studio done before I HAD to write in it, but now the week is mostly over, so tomorrow I’m going to have to write in it anyway. I did some editing and web stuff up there today. It worked okay, but the clutter is killing me. KILLING ME. If it wouldn’t set off the fire alarms and scare the dogs, I’d take a torch to everything and start over.

Almost everything.

I’d preserve the Captain Jack Sparrow and Mad Hatter dolls. And probably the Data doll, too. Maybe.

About half-way through the day, today, I was having a minor melt-down because Fuzzy is in Boca for the week, and the dogs were driving me crazy, and nothing was finished, and oh, it’s THAT time of the month, and my net wasn’t working right, so I went into the room that used to be the Word Lounge, and moved a couch.

Let me repeat that: I moved a couch, ALL BY MYSELF. Okay, it was only moved from one wall to another, but it’s a three-seat sofa-bed, so that totally counts as something awesome. Also? I moved a set of bookshelves, which is no mean feat when you’re only five feet tall. It’s not that objects are too heavy; it’s that I don’t always have enough leverage.

And then I moved a bunch more books, and now, while neither room is entirely finished, I can see what “finished” will look like, and I can almost glimpse that glorious end point.

It used to be that when Fuzzy went away, I’d rearrange the furniture in the living room or the bedroom. Our current bedroom furniture (and layout) doesn’t lend itself to easy rearranging, and since our living room doesn’t have walls (it has ONE solid wall, and an entire wall of windows, and the wall separating it from the kitchen/breakfast room has cut-outs), there’s a limit to what one can do with furniture in there and still be able to see the television.

In other news, I started decorating for Christmas today, finally.

And on that note, I’m going to watch the end of Nashville (another opposite: I’m not a country music fan, but I love this show) and then toddle off to bed at a reasonable hour for a change.

Happy Holidailies

A Foster-Dog’s Christmas Wish (A Letter to Ms. Santa Claus)

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Dexter-the-Foster-Pup

Dear Ms. Claus,

I’m Dexter and I’m a one-year-old terrier mix.

I’m also a foster-dog.

I’m writing to you because I know the Old Guy is working on toys and stuff for human-type children. I’m pretty sure he leaves the requests from dogs to you. After all, if you’re like most women who don’t have kids of their own, you treat your pets like members of the family, and don’t mind a few stray hairs on your clothes. (I’ve heard you even have special treats for Blitzen, and know just how Donder likes to have the bases of his antlers rubbed.)

So here’s the thing. I came from a kill-shelter in rural Texas. I know what you’re thinking Ms. Claus – or, may I call you Ms. Santa? Great! – Anyway, I know you’re thinking, “Kill shelters are awful. Dogs would be better left to survive on the streets.” But the thing is, most kill-shelters would give ANYTHING to NOT be kill-shelters. The folks that work in them do it because they hope to save cats and dogs like me, who don’t have homes of our own anymore, if we ever did. Also? When a dog or cat goes to a shelter, especially a shelter like the ones in Glen Rose or Joshua, Texas, like I did, it means they have a chance to be noticed by a rescue organization.

That’s what happened to me, Ms. Santa. A group called the Shelter To Rescue Coalition saw me at the shelter, and asked one of their foster families to take me in and help me learn house manners, and find a forever home. My foster family is pretty cool, Ms. Santa. They pet me and feed me and play with me, and I have three other dogs to pal around with, and when I have an accident in the house because I’m having so much fun playing I forget to go outside, they don’t even yell at me. They just tell me they’re disappointed and ask me to do better next time.

But I’d really like a home of my very own, Ms. Santa. One where I’m allowed to sleep on the bed (the girl-dog here doesn’t like me enough to allow that), and maybe have a kid to play with, because even though I’m small, I’m pretty active, and love to run and play.

That’s my biggest Christmas wish for me. A home of my own. But I have other Christmas wishes, too:

– I wish every human would love and care for their pets, and get them spayed or neutered, so unwanted puppies and kittens don’t end up in shelters.
– I wish people who love animals would consider fostering a shelter pet, even if they can’t adopt, so that shelters have more room, and the fostered pets get seen.
– I wish the only time a shelter had to euthanize a dog or cat was when it was so sick or old that doing so was the kindest choice, and not just a matter of space.
– I wish no dog or cat was ever cold, hungry, scared, or homeless, because all we know how do to is love our humans, and we don’t understand when they stop loving us.
– I wish no one would give pets as Christmas presents, because while it’s great to adopt a foster pet for you, adopting one for someone else is usually a Really Bad Idea.

I know that’s a lot to ask for Ms. Santa, but that’s why I’m writing to you. I’m sure you speak Dog and Cat with equal fluency, and can use a shake or two of the Jolly One’s magic to help shelter pets get homes for the holidays, and every day.

As for me? My foster-mom says to tell people that I’m about 16 pounds, neutered, up to date on shots, and available for adoption through Shelter to Rescue. She also says, “Please adopt Dexter because we’re falling in love with him.” Don’t let her know this, but I kind of love her and her human mate, too.

Merry Christmas from DEXTER.

Happy Holidailies

Midnight Brownies and Mystery Books.

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“Yes, I AM baking brownies at 10:47 PM,” I posted on Facebook an hour or so ago. “Doesn’t everyone?”

The thing about the weeks when Fuzzy is away for work is that I tend to live on my own schedule, and that doesn’t always have anything to do with conventional work/rest cycles. Yesterday, for example, I intentionally spent the entire day curled up with books, and even though I got a lot done today, I never bothered to change out of my comfy pajamas. (This may have something to do with the time of the month; it may not.)

So, when I started craving chocolate, and knew I didn’t want to go through the effort of making cookies – my recipe for chocolate chip cookies, while awesome, makes 4.5 dozen, and I didn’t want to stand there and make little balls of cookie dough and fill trays and stuff, (Yes, I know, one is not required to make all 4.5 dozen, but I always do because I think the dough tastes weird after being chilled.) I found a brownie recipe to try.

I made a batch and watched live television until it was done, and then I had brownies while watching tonight’s CASTLE on the DVR, and even cleaned up the kitchen after.

And now? Now I’m wearing fresh pajamas because I did shower today – I mean, I didn’t feel the need for real clothes, but cleanliness is required.

The new Cleo Coyle book was literally just released. Guess who is about to download it?

Guess who will probably be up all night reading it?

Happy Holidailies