Humanity

Reading and Avoidance

I’m chugging through the books.  Because, really, I love to read… Just finished ‘The Hazel Wood’which is YA Fantasy by Melissa Albert.  I dug it.  Well-written, creepy, and darkly fairytale-d. And it stands alone, which I appreciate in a curmudgeonly way.  I love series, but man, sometimes I just want a completed story, in one package.

Of course, when I go to link it for you, it is listed as ‘book one’.  so there is that sigh-inducing moment of my day.

The other cringe of today:  my realization that the book that i keep finding, that hovers in each of the rooms I tidy daily, moving (by my hand) from desk, to bedside, to floor, to fireside… is one that I have already read.

sigh.

Little Bee, by Chris Cleave.  Let’s dodge the appropriate questions of a white guy writing about an African woman, ok? It’s a for-real dodge.

The beginning, the first sequence is just brilliant.  How much a life can be like a British pound coin.

Most days I wish I was a British pound coin instead of an African girl. Everyone would be pleased to see me coming. 

It is brilliant.

Beyond that, I can tell you that I have forgotten much of the detail. I had evidently blocked the title from my memory, but the story has been with me for many years. And I have been permanently scarred by the story line… the violence, the shock, escape, return, the unrelenting feeling of inevitability that I felt when reading. If you are better at handling life than I am, this is a story to read. Think of the power in words that have carried me this many years… its time I let it move out of my house, to stop tidying it from place to place.  

And it brings me back to what I liked about The Hazel Wood.  Its all about story. Making our own, being trapped in, breaking out of… story. The power of it. How much it can follow you.

As I grapple with my own recurring story, and the need to release/escape from the poison of repetition, I’m feeling my own dark fairytale winding down, and out. and So there, my friends.

A post on books. More will eventually arrive, because I’m done with avoiding things today.

Pip! (still not english, or Mr. Toad, or 84…)

-uwmfLittle Bee- Cleave- UnwifedMotherExpletiveThe Hazel Wood- Albert- Unwifedmotherexpletive

Advertisements
Humanity

#hashtag (SO.MUCH.RANDOMNESS.)

Hmm. My cousin named her dog #hashtag.  She’s in marketing, and lovely, so she is allowed, and encouraged to do so.

🙂

I’m doing some different things this week, in anticipation of yet another long break from the kids as they go skiing with their dad.  i’m, yes, glad for them. and then. but, whatever.  #sparsebutcomplex

#economicchoices #financialstability #skiadventures #iammoreofalodgebunny anyhow.  I’m too low-class for skiing anyways. I get all whacked out by the money involved in going straight down a slippery hill.  but #realdeal?  Its the jealousy that I can’t do the big trips. But seriously, I AM getting over it.

We will go to the Cape this year, like we’ve done the past few years. And two or three nights will feel like a million dollars. it really will.  #sistersaredoingitforthemselves #nocreditcards!

#andtodayiwrote #forme #notwork .  #wewillseewhatcomesofthis … I’ve got a lovely children’s story in the works. I’d love to see it with illustrations some day. sigh. I’m such an old-school person, so much beauty and peace in a slower style.

Hazelwood photo Unwifedmotherexpletive
Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

I make lists daily, to achieve any thing at all. everyday i have to put ‘chickens’ on the list or i leave those ladies right where they are which is not at all kind.

and lately, i’ve had to put READ .  because really, this work for yourself #hustle, plus the #stupidityofthephone has KILLED MY READING HABIT.  i mean, SHOCKINGLY. so now, i’m getting back into my own body and it is good.

and i’ve gone to the gym.  (godawful boring, but still. 80s music. so, okay.)

 

LOVE YOU. SORRY FOR THE RANDOM. #SORRYNOTSORRY

awww, love…

uwmf

 

 

Humanity

Soup is on.

Today i did a writing prompt about the things I tend, what i turn towards, how I tend. I’m sharing it here, because I like the change of pace, and the soup is really smelling up the place now, as well as the bacon that I had to add… ah, bacon. you make my heart sing.

I have added to and edited here, though this news will break the hearts of those who forgive me my ways. (capitalization is just not a thing, for instance.)

  1. Today was the day of the oil change. The making-sure the car makes it through the winter, though i suppose there is no guarantee against calamity, or trees. 
  2. I’m in love with the word TEND. I took a class called that, just for its name… only to run out of money in the end… but i lose a bit of my bonechill every time i see her writings. Women are pretty fucking great. of course it is a woman. Tend? c’mon. 
  3. I’m making a soup today as well, which is not a completely normal happening, but it will be potato when it is done with its time in the crock. I’ve been working at a farm stand and am thrilled to say that my reason, ‘to be closer to food, to cook more real food’, has come to pass. (also, people. and payment) These potatoes are almost fully personified in my mind. They are giving me their pleasure, and sustenance and i am chopping them to chunks and bits. (look away.) I also peeled their skin off. 
  4. The things i turn toward are colored amorphous blobs. Memories, smells… sounds or tactilities, these are the scenes i go towards. I’m so fully centered in my body, but there is all this space around the molten core of me, and i seem to want to fill it with yarn and sweaters knit by people who can, food smells, tacos… you see. It is escaping my typing fingers, what it is i tend towards, how it is i move into and out of the world outside my quiet body. I don’t even know how i have sex, out there, but i do… every once in a while i get a glimpse of a spark shooting off into the darkness, my fling towards connection. 
  5. i feel so insular, my molten core bringing all the self-sufficiency. (hello, they say no man is an island. but what of woman? )
  6. I tend to warmth, there are hats, there are blankets and there are never NOT those things. We have wood for the stove, we have pasta for the storms. It is always tended to. Always. 
  7. I’m not able to, or rather, it taxes me too dearly to slow down my writing brain. It must flow as it does. I tend to fly. 
  8. More colors to tend to in this dying light of Fall. the book i haven’t read, that i probably need to read, maybe. It is green-ly bound, and yellow at the heart. I think my chakras are interested by this.Books Yellow and Green UNwifedmotherexpletive
  9. I tend to personify. 
  10. I tend to leave space, for all the meaning and the worth that come from another. The shared experience that really isn’t. And is, too. 
  11. A season of tending outdoors has ended, and the wrapping up of it into storage, decay, decomposition, is a slow decay in an of itself. I start off strong. Always curious to see what is left to survive the elements, or not. That one hulahoop left by the shed. You see.

 

Humanity

Burn! Burst! Die!!

In fall, things flame before they die. There is Fire! Pain! Dramaaaaaa. And then wintry death.

I’m on my phone, typing with a flashing digit of my own. It’s all surreal, how many changes we’ve incorporated fairly seamlessly. (technology, divorce… )And the changes we cannot seem to absorb? Those are surreal as well. (technology, divorce…)

its another day now, i’m not on the phone anymore, which is a blessing. i’m 100% positive I cannot communicate well with it, even verbally.

so here i am.

It is really so clear here, where we have such a fiery fall, that there are these last gasps of glamour, and one strong wind will sweep us into the branch segment of our year.  the sticks of winter, the pokey bits.

i’m feeling a little dissociated lately, even the writing i do for myself feels a little flat.  i just thought about telling you how my direct line of sight goes to a row of evergreens out the window, so i find it very easy to feel/see/remember green year-round.

and then i stopped myself (obviously i lost that battle, in the end, but the gears all jarred, clang clang clang) because i thought it was too flat, too un-quippy.

Last year i was very caught off-guard by the grief i felt at the fifth Fall since my dad died. This year i’m not caught off-guard but am surprised by how much I feel like crawling into a hole for the month.

and there is nothing I can do about it. The kids keep demanding to be fed. The dog barks, the chickens will just up and die. So there is no hole for me.

PISS! GROAN! HIDE!

sigh.

1019191812

Divorce, Humanity

lost and found, but lost.

hi. I’m at the end of my recovery day, from yesterday’s full 24 hours of hell, from both ends. the kids were at school for the bulk of it, but after school were play auditions for two kids, and a soccer game so I needed to ask for help. and it came, with trumpets. kids were taken to tryouts, soccer was watched and that kid got to go out to dinner with his dad…dinner was served to other kids, homework was done.  a small crew of 3 adults did what I do on a normal Wednesday.

I’m not going to tell you I’m not proud of my life.

and I’m going to tell you that you are lucky if you have family and love like I do. so lucky.

today is recovery. fair amounts of water, boredom in bed, sickness at the thought of food, but hungry.  by the time the bus rolled around today, I had moved myself to the kitchen cozy. spent an hour just chatting with my girl because I missed her yesterday. an hour. the bliss of it. just cozied up. I learned about the lady who did all the math for the moon. (Katherine Johnson) Everything stays the same, yes? but these tiny differences? that my girl sits on my lap and tells me all about the LADY that did all the math to save the men who traveled to the moon? oh, it’s rich with possibility. if this were a comic, we would turn the page to the next ms. marvel.

but since I’ve been in bed all day, I now can’t sleep, as weak and ridiculous as I feel. and so I’m here, apologetic.

one thing: I paid to print out the whole of my old blog, wifemotherexpletive.com  

1016190912I thought it would be so cool to go through it and pick out the things that I loved, that I have written, those bits of beauty that slipped through and away during those years.

and I can’t. I read the first post, and the second, and did some flipping. and it is just unbearably sad. I was so sad, all the time, and mad, and lost. like the perfect puppy who lives under the bridge while the happy family walks by, unseeing. I hate ‘near miss’ movies, and I’m pretty sure I lived one for a long time. Maybe the hate comes from the experience.

It was ten years of my life, that writing. and makes two volumes, when divided chronologically. the first is so fat, rich with hope and trying. and the second volume thin, with so much less of everything.

I don’t want to look into the memories, or remember what the code was in my stories, as I was trying so hard to communicate with my husband my devastation at what i was, what we were.

Its been crushing me a little, into sickness maybe? and this is the season when I feel devastation the deepest. if one has any choice in that, at all.

so there it is. my late-night blog. what the hell do i do with all that?