Stepping Up – It’s Still Strange

July 31, 2013

I know that I’ve mentioned this a few times (like here and here), and I’ve been known to wax eloquent on the general trippiness of moving staircases, but that is only because they kind of freak me out. Sometimes. It happens all sudden-like, is all I’m saying, and then I’m like, DUDE. And then I’m all, escalators are weird.

Like today.

I can’t help it! I mean, moving walkways I totally get. When I’m at the airport I am always on the lookout for those bad boys, and I drag my kiddos along (“pass on the left!”), even if there’s the option for a shuttle, because it’s like I’ve got super powers that allow me to walk faster than all those poor suckers walking next to me on the normal walkway… without even expending any extra energy. I know, right?!

That is way cool.

Yep. So I’m just breezing by, all wooosh! So long, suckahs! Except I don’t actually gloat out loud or anything because that would be wrong and set a bad example for the children. But obviously I’m talking smack to the regular folks in my mind. You know, because of my super speediness and whatnot?

And despite the faint discombobulation I inevitably experience as I step off the walkway– you know, when the ground is suddenly still, stealing my momentum, but my body, nay, my very soul, is still moving forward, ever forward, in superhero light speed mode?– that split second of unbalance is so worth it for those few moments of (totally age-appropriate) fun!

So, yeah. I love me some moving walkways! Escalators, not so much.

Come on. Where’s the joy in passing people who are standing still? Huh? HUH?! Nowhere, that’s where! No joy! Utterly joyless, are escalators! And the people on the escalators, who aren’t moving, who aren’t stepping up, who are content to stand to the right– eyes glazed over or glued to a smartphone screen– and let unseen forces propel them towards their destination, well, they kind of freak me out, too. And I want to sprint up the escalator– ON MY OWN TERMS, damn it!– and stand at the top, where I can laugh with reckless abandon and shake my fist at the gods of hydraulic lift who DARED to think I was theirs to control! Unless that is a totally weird thing to want and/or think, in which case I am totally kidding, GOSH.

Anyway, I’m just saying. Escalators? Still strange.


Everyone Hides Something

July 15, 2012

You know how sometimes you hear a seemingly throwaway quote– a line in a movie, a voice-over on a television show– that catches your attention, I mean really grabs you when you least expect it, just sneaks up and has you by the short hairs before you even know it, and it hurts, because it burns into your brain and soul, and it doesn’t let go? Ever? You know how that happens?

No? Me neither. That’s so totally weird.

But if that were to happen, not that it did, because apparently that is not a “thing,” I’m just saying if it WERE in fact a thing, then this quote from In Plain Sight (thank you, Netflix!)– which, super good show, by the way, I am NOT even kidding, but it’s over now and why didn’t anyone tell me about it, because RUDE?– well, you could say it still has a mighty firm grip on me, a figurative vice-grip tightening on my poor short hairs which is not a pleasant feeling, I tell you what:

Mary Shannon: [voice-over] We all live in hiding. In one way or another, each of us conceals pieces of ourselves from the rest of the world. Some people hide because their lives depend on it, others because they don’t like being seen. And then there are the special cases, the ones who hide because… because… because they just want someone to care enough to look for them.

And while you may read this and wonder, What is she on about? Well, first of all, have you met me? And B, it’s the damnedest thing because I know I can’t ever go back to NOT understanding that I… well, I’m one of the special cases. And honestly? I don’t know what to do with that.

Seriously. What do I do with that?

Yep. Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking Diet Dr. Pepper.

And with that lame (but, come on, still funny) play on the classic Airplane bit… Cat out.

DWM Rewind, Because I Feel Like It GOSH

June 7, 2012

It isn’t winter, but this old post captures the mood I’ve been in for the past few days. So I’m recycling it because going green is what we’re supposed to DO. Seriously. Read a newspaper. Then recycle it. Oooh, maybe this will make up for all those soda cans that ended up in the trash can under my desk because the only recycling bin is waaay over by the break room which is super far to walk and also I am BUSY and stuff, okay? So stop judging me. It isn’t nice.

By the way, I did eventually acquire the new pair of Uggs I mentioned coveting. I’m not being random. Wait and see.

Okay, without further nonsense…

Dance in the Stillness

I have the house to myself.

It’s been so long since it’s been this quiet. This still. So here I am, curled up under my comforter savoring the view of the small patch of grayish blue sky I can see while staring through the slightly parted curtains of my bedroom window. There is something so freeing about lying in bed in the middle of the day with the curtains open, letting in the sun and the sky and the light, not blocking it all out, not shutting it all away, even if I might want to nap a little or perhaps just close my eyes for a bit—just a few moments!—because I know it will still be there when I open my eyes again. The sun and the sky and the light. There. Quiet and still. In the middle of the day that is MINE. I can’t explain it! I can’t! It is just so.

The thin branches in the tree outside are softly swaying and waving as the bitter winter breeze batters and bends them, tearing from them any remnants of clinging leaves, setting them free. But these leaves, remainders of the fall, they don’t dance with the wind. They are crinkled and paper thin and they break apart, disintegrate before my eyes, and swirl and twirl away, painting the air with warm earthy hues of russets and browns until they are out of sight.

But I push these thoughts away, because it is my day, my light and sky and peace, and I am snug, burrowing deeply into the soft down duvet. I’m soothed, running my hands across the top of the blanket, savoring the feel of the smooth expanse of well-worn cotton against my palms while I again allow my thoughts to drift upwards and out. Unfortunately, my thoughts never will stay elevated for any great length of time, and while I want to close my eyes, to enjoy the peace, I quickly lose myself in thoughts of the mundane. Chores. Responsibilities. My developing MarioKart skills. How I really ought to be filming a TechnoGeekery episode or doing something productive, dammit, rather than burrowing away from everyone and everything, staring out the window. Frustrated, I close my eyes, which is particularly effective in shutting out unwanted, intruding thoughts. Ah, stillness. Quiet. Peace. Gradually, however, my thoughts slip into imagining that new pair of Uggs I am absolutely coveting because they may be the fugliest footwear imaginable, but DAAAY-UM they keep my tootsies toasty and make mighty fine slippers and my old pair have absolutely no traction and I don’t want to bust my ass again slipping down the icy steps…

I just opened my eyes and the digital clock on my bedside table caught my eye. It is staring at me in silent condemnation, all “Look at the time you wasted! Just LOOK!” With a rueful grin, I move to throw back the covers, and then another leaf catches my attention. It swirls and twirls and disappears from my view. Then another blows by… and another.

And I realize that I am holding on too tight, I’m not letting go, when I should be breaking free to dance with the wind, to swirl and whirl and paint the sky, lush forest green with hints of olive, goldenrod, and palest yellow, and perhaps even a thin streak of burgundy running throughout, with really only one possible destination, but it is okay, more than fine, because it is my time to fly, my journey to enjoy, not half-assed, but wholeheartedly.

I smile and sink back into my cocoon of blankets, stretch lazily, and welcome the sound of stillness as it washes over me, through me.

Let it blow, I think to myself. I’m ready to dance.

Sometimes I don’t feel awesome. At ALL.

May 21, 2012

Now I’ve always heard you need to repeat a task for approximately twenty-one days to condition a habit. So here I am, five (week)days in at DWM, and I’m not about to let a little thing like writer’s block, AKA sleep deprivation/exhaustion, (also) AKA Fear of Sucking at This, stop me from conditioning my blogging habit!

But here’s the thing… I’m in a funk.

I know, right?! Now don’t misunderstand, there ARE thoughts being thunk. Yes indeedy. But there is definite funkage going on here. Funk-o-ramma. Feeling funky! Funk! (SNL? Richmeister? The Copy Guy? Anyone? Anyone? Dude, I’M OLD!) Not to mention the fact that there, unfortunately, do not seem to be enough hours in my day to plunk out said thoughts being thunk… it’s a funk…

Aaaaand now I seem to have gone all Dr. Seuss on your behinds. How incredibly lame of me.

Anyway, on one level, the rational one, I understand this happens to everyone, that everyone hits a funk, and it’s perfectly normal to experience a momentary lapse of confidence in my utter awesomeness. But on another level, I just feel sad sometimes. Weary. Depressed. So totally lacking in the awesomeness. Awesomeless.

Awesome light.

And because I’ve spent years–years!–compartmentalizing and burying the myriad thoughts I used to express so freely at my blog, now that I’m here again and it’s TIME, I’m just feeling a teensy bit giddy, disoriented, a little off-kilter, like, “Whoa, well, let’s stop this crazy whirligig of fun! I’m dizzy!”

Because it’s swirling and rolling–the fanatical TV snark, the parenting moments, the random introspection, the questionable political commentary, and, yes, even the occasional emotional honestly– and I am so totally out of practice and it’s all rushing, no, surging at me in this giant wave of WORDS and ideas and I know it’s just a matter of time before I blurt out something awesome. Just unleash it into the blogosphere. Let it explode out of me the way occasional bouts of introspective verbal diarrhea have a way of doing at the most embarrassing times.

And, wow. There just is not enough “ew!” in the world for THAT mental image (sorry). I see that now. But my point is this… this funk? No WAY can it withstand the awesome power of my imminent verbal explosion, which I don’t think I could stop even if I tried. Which I won’t be. Trying to stop, that is. Not likely.

So I’m breaking up my I’m SO Not Awesome At ALL pity party and giving myself a figurative “Get it together, fool!” slap across the face. It’s time to take an interest in those who weren’t on the invite list to my party of one. TGIM. My kiddos. My family. My friends.

Because even in the depths of self-pity I understand that while I may have doubts, they don’t need any kind of proof of my awesomeness. They see it in me, the awesomeness, or see the lack thereof, yet they love me. Unconditionally. Yup. Verbal diarrhea and all.

And that? Is totally awesome.

So I promise here and now… when I shake off this funk and gather the thoughts I’ve thunk, the keys I will plunk!

(My apologies to Dr. Seuss.)

A Belated Mother’s Day Thought

May 16, 2012

Motherly attributes? Well, let’s see…

More than a month ago my sister-in-law– gathering responses from all my sisters-in-law for a Mother’s Day gift she was working on– asked me what I thought were the most important attributes a mother should have.

Besides an affinity for nagging and mastery of the wordless, steely gaze of guilt? I wondered.

But I dug down deep– DEEP, I tell you! Like, Challenger Deep deep!– and dredged up from a somewhat eclectic host of obscure memories my succinct thoughts (I know, right?! Brevity, son! What up!) on motherhood:

A mother needs patience (until her children realize mom IS NOT, in fact, clueless), a selfless nature (kids don’t understand “your ice cream” vs. “Momma’s ice cream”; dessert is dessert, so share!), steadfastness (for courageous parenting and discipline), and an unflinching ability to listen to Justin Bieber.

Most of all, a mother needs to have a sense of humor. Life is hard. Bad things WILL happen. A mother who can find the humor and laugh when life throws curve balls at her is a mother who may be battered and bruised… but never broken.

Bam, said the lady. There you go. I’m finished. C’est tout!

Yep. That is all I have to say about that.

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