Mead

Mead: A wine-like alcoholic beverage made of fermented honey and water rather than grape juice. (something sweet that fermented)
I knew a boy, yes hes was cute, and yes he liked me. I think maybe he was my first love. And it was a delicious secret! Maybe that should have been the first indication. But I was blissfully unaware, enjoying having such a tantalizing bit of information all to myself! Like wearing pretty, matching underwear, I felt so special, and no one else knew why. We had fun together and he made me feel like a million dollars, we danced, we shared icecream, argued, teased and played games. Little did I know, there were more games going on then I knew. In fact, it was quite a big game, and there were a few playing. or rather, a few being played with. There was Lisa, (names have been changed to protect the innocent, and the damned) Carry, and more I'm sure. It's really no wonder "we" had wanted to keep it to ourselves for a while. You know what happens when someone makes you fell like a million dollars and all of a sudden it was lies? You feel very cheap somehow. What a blow, how humiliating! But what still confuses me is how, how in my head, did he manage to be the yard stick for years to come? I should have beat him with a yard stick, instead he was that by which others were measured. My heart would still flutter when I saw him , when he took the time to talk to me, or even just look at me. He was smarter, funnier, cuter, braver, more carefree, was I trying to find the same person who would instead have me and love me? Eventually, somehow, I came to my senses, his faults were not my faults! How ridiculous! My insecurities were simply a reflection of his own, and he had not given me my confidence, so how dare I let him take it away. I saw him not very long ago. He sure wasn't what I remembered. Instead was this small, shaggy, wise ass, who seemed more crazy and unstable than brave and carefree. Strange. Oh, and incidently, I happened to look darn good that day!

Why do old couples look like each other?

Have you ever noticed that most, not all, but most old coupes that have been together since the depression, tend to look alike? I am not being derogatory at all, it's cute! I have a theory of course. These two people have lived as close to a matching life style as is probably possible, eating the same things, exposed to the same things, doing roughly the same activities, for their entire lives. So, with the exception of inherited health concerns, they would be at risk for all the same issues. During their shared life time they would probably have nearly identical dietary habits and they would live in the same place, so consume the same water and air contaminants. They would have most likely gotten sick with the same viruses, have similar exposure to sun, cold and humidity. All of these things alter ones appearance on their own, but over a life time, these would and do develop into health issues, often minor and undetected. Skin, features and abilities are enhanced or inhibited by various things directly connected to environmental factors. It would only stand to reason that these two people have a very good chance of developing similar looks over time

Who am I

Now, should this be an honest snap shot of who I really am? Or should this be an over analyzed, identity crisis typed out in all it's glory? I could say I am an artist, or a horse person, I could say I am religious, an author, a traveler, or a welder, or pastry chef. But does that really tell you anything about me? I can say that I paint abstract art while listening to punk rock, and like drive to classical piano bu weld in silence. I ride horse in skater shoes and a hoodie. I have seldom chanced to be out of the country, and wish I could travel a lot, even though flying makes me ill. Now that tells you a little bit more about me. But at the same time, it tells you nothing, except that I am a walking contradiction.

I do not want to be known as 'An Artist' or 'A Horse Person'. I simply do not fit in any box, and I am pretty sure I would hate it if I did. For instance, would you like a list of things I have done in a dress and heels? Run, pound a fence post, push a stuck car, and shoot a gun.

I put down an animal when it needed to be done, and then balled my eyes out. I am a little girl when there is a spider on the ceiling, or anything to do with mucus.
If I knew why I did any of these thing, then that would be the really telling part about who I am. 

Do I refuse to fit into a box because somewhere deep inside I feel that I am not good enough at anything to fit properly into any box? Do I bounce to the tune of my own bird song because I am not sure I could keep rhythm with anyone else’s music, or because I don't like anybody else’s music?

There could be an entirely different angle too. Am I atypical to get attention? Then again it could be to keep people on their toes, so they never really get to know me. This would make sense given my ingrained abandonment issues. But that is a topic for an entirely different blogging day.

I wrote a kid's book, now what?

I work at a bank. There are many children that I have become familiar with over the years that come into the bank regularly. Now when it was my turn to host a day for our customers, the theme was Back to School and Books Rule, so among other things, I decided to write a kids book that I could hand out to them. I thought about all the things I could base a children's book on, and that got overwhelming fast. So I narrowed the field to banking related things, which worked well, as it was a book they would receive from their bank. There are many subject within that field as well, but thinking of a fairly young audience, I wrote a little story about a boy who learns to save. He uses a piggy bank, so I wasn't blatantly hocking our banking products, but encouraging kids to think about the benefits of saving... like being able to buy the extra cool toy you found at the store without having to beg mom. One of the gentlemen I work with has a wonderful wife who is a teacher, and she agreed to edit the story for me, since I may be creative, but my grammar, well, sucks. I also did a dozen drawn illustrations for the book, some of which I painted as well. These, with the help of a co-worker, were scanned, re sized and formatted. All of this did not go smoothly. I was running out of time, and ended up hand cutting and taping printed copies of the art, to pre-printed pages, and copying. It looked pretty good actually! From there, I hand cut and stapled all of the copies, the night before we were to hand them out to children at the bank. And don't get me wrong, my co-workers would have happily helped, except that I was being particular about certain things, and there was only one big paper guillotine, and only one heavy duty stapler. So I was on my own, but it got done. In the morning, I gave everyone their own copy of the little book, I was excited to see what they thought, excited to see what the children who came in thought. I was just excited. Well, it rained, all day, a big heavy downpour, so next to no children came into the bank. But, it was busy enough, that no one had time to read the book themselves. They were enthusiastic that I had taken the time to do everything, but I got almost no feed back from them either. Poo! But I am thrilled with the results, I think the book is adorable, and I love the story. I would like to send it to a publisher, but I really have no idea where to start. Someone told me to go to a self publisher and then market it myself, but that ends up costing a few grand right off the get-go. But a good publishing company gets thousands of stories sent every year, so they usually only take very few new writers, sticking mostly with established authors. Where does that leave me??

I'm Baaack

Did you miss me?
If I had followers...they are probably gone now.
Two years, that is quite the break, but so much has gone on I have oodles to talk about. Not as though there was a shortage of topics before...but of time, energy and desire.
However I have recently been told I should pick up the 'pen' again. Therefore I am back.
I won't promise daily or even weekly posts, but I will try and get on here to blast any interested readers with misadventure, random theories and borderline offensive topics!

Needlepoint

I walked into a needle point store with a few mom-friends. (roughly my age who have children) They had been talking about how relaxing it is to do needlepoint, and what wonderful gifts it makes. I am a crafty person, so I though this might be kinda cool. Though I was already thinking about taking up quilting, long enough to make one for my parents and in-laws, I really wasn't sure I needed to add another activity to my set of unfinished activities. The matronly old lady was very happy to have this relatively young group in the store. We wandering though the array of brightly colored threads, vast and varied patterns, and intricate pieces on the wall, with six to eight hundred dollar price tags. I was told that a two and a half by two piece had taken one of the moms six years to complete. SIX YEARS?! There were sickly sweet patterns for puppys and kittys, duck, dolphins and horses, each taking thousands of little, criss-crossed stitches, and over half of a DECADE to produce. The lady asked who had been there before. Of the four of us two had been, and the other one was very interested in starting. The lady was pleased, and she asked me if I waanted to start as well. "No!" was my swift reply. "Well, that was very definite," the lady chuckled, "Why not?" "Cause it takes six freaking years to finish one, and it only looks that good if you do it right! And you can only sell six years worth of work, and a million poked finger tips, for 700$" is what I did not say. "I'm busy already, I sure don't need another hobby." I smile politely at the woman who I now considered to be a lunatic. If not before she started needlepoint, certainly at some point since. And while I wanted to run out screaming, with my hands flailing above my head, I politely helped the other moms sift through pages of patterns, to select the source of their eventual insanity. When we left the store I directed my friends to an art store, where I selected four square canvases, a tube of black acrylic paint, and a tube of white acrylic paint. And when I went home, I sat down with my small variety of brushes, and in four short hours I created a beautiful scene of wild horses, running through the snow. Four hours. Four canvases. Done.

Memory like an 85yr old

Why, at 27 do I have the memory of a senior? I forget everything!
How often have you left your purse or wallet in restaurant? I used to do it ALL the time. If my friends didn't constantly remind me, I still would!
Have you ever left an expensive piece of sports equipment, that you were just using, leaning against a building, as you head for home? I have, a snowboard in fact, propped against the chalet, while I get all undressed and hop in the car! Why, why, why?
I am late, always. At least I am consistent right? But, why am I late? Because cell phones, keys and such, don't answer when you call their name. In fact, I suspect that they hide! I will find them, sometimes together, usually not, on some random surface in the house. On top of the dryer, on the dresser in the spare room, beside the bathroom sink, in the tack room outside, on the deck railing. Why? I don't know!
If it included an area code it usually takes three tries for me to dial a phone number that someone was saying to me, because I always forget. There would be no point in announcing my licence plate number if my headlights were on. I don't remember what my plate number is, not even a clue!
Some would assume I am just a flake, that nothing matters enough to me. Entirely untrue. I am a very devoted friend, and I hate it when I forget simple stuff. Have I tried to improve it? Of course I have, with minimal results. Whats stupid though, it that I remember stupid things! I remember the color of peoples eyes, and their shoes, my first memory is from before I was even three. I'll remember that so-and-so hates dogs, long after they don't hate dogs anymore, but I won't remember that they changed their mind! I can't remember anyone's phone numbers, thank goodness for in- phone contact lists, but I still remember the first phone number we had when I was little.