Mata-Mamma Hari

I dated this one guy for a couple years back in high school. His dad had been murdered when he and his brothers were kids, and his mom, Mary, worked hard to provide for her family.

Mary was a great provider and parent and a really nice lady. She was a 40-something strawberry blonde - pretty in an understated way, of quiet manner and gentle spirit, very pleasant and easy to talk to. We became friends.

She had the wisdom to etch out a little bit of time for herself as well. She was an active member of Parents Without Partners, and as her hobby, Mary had been taking classes and had become an accomplished belly dancer. As an advanced student, she had to write her own routines and would practice them at home. One evening, being that I was there, I was invited to watch one of her practice sessions. I was excited. I’d seen her working on her beautiful cabaret-style costumes from time to time and had wondered about her dancing. I was happy to be able to see one of her routines.

Mary came out in her costume – she seemed a little self-conscious wearing it in front of us at first – or perhaps it was only me, being the first time I’d seen a real (very sexy) belly dancing costume in person, and on my boyfriend’s mother at that. Either way though, that didn’t last. Mary proceeded to dance her routine – slow at first, and then with increasing tempo. Her tiny waist moved with power and control, her arms flowed with the ease and fluidity of the veils of her skirts, her brass zills and blue eyes flashed exotically. For those moments, quiet mild-mannered Mary became a goddess.

And from those moments on, I wanted to possess that gift.

The life of a young woman is tempestuous to say the least. That boy and I broke up and I lost touch with Mary. I didn’t know the first thing about finding a belly dancing class, even if I did have the time or money to do so. But I loved to dance. All through college and through my twenties, I went out dancing every chance I got – and the memories of Mary’s belly dancing and the unrequited dream to learn the dance stayed with me.

A few years ago my knees started bothering me when I did my preferred high-impact workouts of Tae Bo, kickboxing and the like. I started thinking about new approaches I could take for my fitness routines, of which are becoming increasingly more important as I approach middle age. I thought back to the days I knew Mary, and how much I admired her accomplished dancing to this day. I bought some videos and began to teach myself some basic moves. It was fun, sensual, and deceptively challenging physically. Unfortunately, I’m a poor self-motivator and didn’t keep with it regularly, especially with a toddler vying for my time in the evenings.

But recently, for whatever reason, I have been re-inspired. Something I can’t pinpoint has re-triggered this old dream in me, and I want to chase it. Chase it and capture it and make it mine. I have been doing some research and hunting around for classes. It took a while, and some soul searching in order to decide how far I was willing to commute, as there are no local classes in my residence of BFE. But I found one that’s both reachable and affordable. The class is offered at a real dance studio by a real belly dancer. There are also intermediate and advanced classes to move up to whenever the student is ready for a new challenge level.

My first class is tomorrow and I’m so excited I can barely stand it.

Those who know me in person might laugh at this pursuit – some even have. But I don’t care. I've seen how it can change a woman inside and out, and I want that. Many others have encouraged me enthusiastically, which fuels my fire even more. And the Hub? Well, he's always loved belly dancers anyway, so enough said ;).

Will I become as accomplished a dancer as Mary? I don’t know. But what I do know is I am making a twenty-some year old dream come true in pursuing this. I want to resculpt my body into something I can be proud of again and gain the confidence and power and femininity that belly dancers of ALL ages, sizes and skill levels seem to possess. I want to become a goddess.

I want to be a Mata-Mamma Hari! :)

Rapid Progression Aging Begins

Last weekend we got together with some boating friends we hadn't seen since the fall. It was extra nice because they have a son Incrediboy's age and they became great buddies out on the lake last summer.

We had a cookout and enjoyed some beverages while the boys rode bikes, dug in the sandbox, and played with wild abandon. And at some point, Buddy's little quad runner came out for show and tell.

It was a cute little thing - green as a frog and just 4 year old-sized. Buddy strapped on his ridiculously disproportionate helmet and showed Incrediboy how he could ride it. Buddy spun it effortlessly around the property a few times, and Incrediboy looked on with great longing. Buddy's Dad asked Incrediboy if he'd like to try it (after asking us first), and his eyes lit up as he nodded vigorously.

After few quick lessons and quizzes on where the gas and the brake were, Incrediboy slowly rambled about, with Daddy running behind with the kill chord, just in case. Toward the end of the ride, I knew I was in trouble.

He was very careful. The quad had a governor on it to keep a speed cap ensured. Nothing dangerous or even scary happened. But as Daddy helped him off with his helmet, I saw it. I saw the look that daredevils and speed demons have. That glow in the cheeks and glint in the eyes that means my life and my garage will in time be stuffed with motocross bikes, go carts, quad runners and motorcycles. That birth of the hunger that will lead me to be on a first name basis with everyone who works in the ER.

I try to blame this on my Hub's blood in his veins. The man who only seems happy when he's going Mach 12 with his hair on fire. But as I dabbed Bactine on two little scraped knees tonight and blew cool air on them to soothe the sting, I remembered how my own knees were not without scabs for many summers (the ENTIRE summer), and how one year I even road rashed the entire back of my leg in a cannonball-speed-skating-down-a-driveway incident gone awry.

And I realized the poor child has no hope of escaping routine injury. Thrill seeking is infused in him - from both directions.

As of today, I have very few gray hairs - but I suspect that will be changing soon.

Grandma's Buttons

I’ve been searching for some new ideas to add to my scrapbooking pages lately and have been looking into things like buttons and charms. This is far from a new concept, but everyone knows I’m always running behind on such things. I’ve bought a few packets of miscellaneous buttons from the craft stores and such – pretty buttons, but lacking in distinctiveness.

I got to thinking about my Grandma’s sewing box the other day, and thought I’d take a look in there. I got her sewing stuff when she passed away a few years ago – I’m not a sewer past rudimentary repairs and patching, but I’m happy to have it and add it to my own meager supplies. Everyone needs a sewing box.

She’d kept a collection of buttons in an old medium-sized margarine tub in her basket. I’d looked through them before but not with any great intent. I got them out again last night and began to sort them. Many were average, unremarkable, run of the mill buttons. Others were gaudy and dated, perhaps once on a coat. A few even looked suspiciously like couch cushion buttons. But some were very pretty. Mother of pearl, bright plastics, tortoiseshell, etc. I set the pretty ones aside to put with my craft things.

As I played with the buttons, I caught a scent – hard to describe but that is unmistakable. Part dust, part facial powder, part faint old lady soap, part a few other things that nothing else smells like but that of items collected over long stretches of time. The smell of years. The smell of my Grandma.

I held the margarine container up to my face and breathed deep. And missed her more than I had in a while.

Odds and Ends of Late

Hello, friends! I hope you've all been well!

I've been busy. Seems like so much has been going on lately ... Nothing too exciting for you the reader, but enough to keep me hopping.

I'm home this morning with Incrediboy. He had a little episode at preschool yesterday, throwing up on the lunch table. Yuck! I don't know what it was all about, as he's seemed fine, before and since. Needless to say, he needs to stay home 24 hours before returning to class after such an event - so we're hanging out till noon today before he returns to school and I return to the office.

At least we got to sleep in a teeny bit. :)

For those who are wondering, we got a new mattress - a "real" mattress. It's a Cali King and fits perfectly into our waterbed frame, so that's nice. And I love it. It's firm and comfortable, and I sleep more deeply on it than I have in a long time. We ordered some high threadcount sheets off of Amazon for dirt cheap too, and they're smooth as silk. Heaven! Hopefully they wont get scratchy and full of pills after a few uses. For now, though, Hub and I are sleeping on a silken cloud. *Sigh*.

Speaking of the office a few minutes ago, I've been handed some new responsibilities at work. I don't mind that in and of itself, but it's something fairly complicated and I got little to no guidance on how to tackle it - it was just simply dumped into my lap by my extremely busy boss with a "here, take over this." I was stressed out for several days trying to blindly train myself - but am getting the hang of it now and am much less frustrated recently.

I actually like this aspect of my job - I get to do many things within the company, and the variety keeps it interesting and not so tedious. So in the end, I am kind of excited about this new challenge. Assuming I don't "FUBAR" it up too badly.

I've been scrapping like mad lately. Many of you know that I make a scrapbook recapping Incrediboy's previous year for each of the Grandmas, as a Mother's Day gift. It's a big project and I'm usually scrambling under the gun to get it done - but thanks to being able to attend more crops* than usual this spring, I'm making great progress this time and may actually get them done with a little time to spare. (*For you non-scrappers, a crop is a day of gathering with fellow scrapbookers in a large room for uninterrupted scrapbooking time and fellowship. Something rare and invaluable especially for mothers of little ones who rarely get more than 2 consecutive minutes of concentration on one activity.)

I don't mind that I got myself into this ongoing Mother's Day project in and of itself ... But after madly trying to get them done in time every year, I tend to have burnout by the time they're done. Hence, I rarely if ever scrapbook my own stuff - which kind of sucks. Maybe this year I'll be able to retain my scrapping groove and work on some of my own pages when I wrap these up. (Fingers crossed!)

My unemployed neighbor has taken a shine to doing a little target practice on his property, much to MBDog's dismay. He's a hunting breed, but does not like loud noises, and the gunfire has been scaring the bejeebers out of him. In the evenings we can cuddle and calm him, but our neighbor's also started banging around during the day while we're at work. Last week the poor baby got so terrified that he tore a hole in our bedroom door looking for a place to hide. I kid you not! There were bloody shards of wood all over the place. Hub went over and had a few words with said neighbor, who agreed to stop shooting his gun off during the day. We've had no further daytime destruction, but MBDog still shakes like a leaf whenever we leave him.

I hate that my baby dog is living with constant terror and apprehension now thanks to our bored neighbor. The rub is, it's totally legal for him to shoot a gun off on his property as long as proper precautions are taken. Country life isn't always what it's cracked up to be.

Despite a lot of complaining in this post, life's been good. I'll continue with the updates at a later time - for now I need to get ready for the latter half of this glorious Friday. Have a wonderful weekend, friends ~ Spring is on the way, and summer's not far behind! Yummm, I can practically taste it!

July 30, 1967 - April 2, 1988

Twenty years ago on this day, my best friend died trying to help someone get out of a burning home.

Not a day has gone by that I haven't missed him.

Twenty. Years. My Gawd.

Though you, my dear reader, didn't know him ~ please remember my friend today. He's worth remembering.

See you on the other side, buddy.

Curse the Universe!

April Fool’s came early at my house this year.

Last night I had a splitting headache. I was about to go to bed early when the Hub came out from the bedroom and said, “The waterbed’s got a hole in it.”

The contents of my ribcage dropped into my legs.

I followed him into the bedroom and sure enough, the sides of our Cali-King waterbed were full of water, and you could hear an audible patter of water droplets hitting the burber carpet at the upper left corner of the bed, where apparently the liner fell a little bit short.

Crap.

We removed the covers and toweled the top of the mattress off. We could see no leak on the top anywhere. We checked the sides as best as we could and still found nothing obvious. Despite the lack of an apparent exit wound, we knew we needed to drain before things got out of hand.

In came the garden hose, and down to the sump pump it went. Out came the air mattress, followed by the skull-shattering air compressor since the little travel air pump had died somewhere along the way.

MBDog was freaking out from all the commotion, and naturally Incrediboy was NOT going to sleep with all the activity in the house. Ugh.

Three hours later the waterbed mattress is for all intents and purposes drained, except for the several gallons trapped in the baffling. We still have not found where the leak is. WTF! We pulled it out and placed the air mattress in the bed frame, securing it with cushions from the couch on one side.

The air mattress is comfortable, but we’re not used to it. I slept deeply when I did sleep, but woke frequently. And I never did get rid of my headache – if you can imagine that! Needless to say, we’re all a bit grumpy today. If anyone tries to get cute with any further pranks today, he may pay with his life.

And please, don’t tell me, “See, this is why I’d never have a waterbed”. This too will get you killed.

School Fund Raisers Suck.

I hate the way that schools put kids into indentured service with these daggone fund raisers.

I can remember doing this when I was a kid. Bugging all my neighbors and relatives to buy calendars, candy bars, wrapping paper, crocks of cheese, cookbooks, all kinds of stuff. Nowadays, kids are still selling the same things, and more - flower flats, magazines, candles, even pizzas and subs!

I guess it's a good thing. I mean, it earns the school programs some money for new computers or sports equipment or band uniforms or whatever, and it teaches the kids something about hard work and responsibility (assuming their parents don't do all the work for them). But it's a little over the top. It seems like every month there's something else the kids from some school or another have to peddle.

I had to work extra hard at my sales when I was a kid. While my friends' moms and dads took their order forms into the office or the bowling alley and sold 250 units of crap FOR them, I had to collect my own sales. My parents told me they didn't want to bug their coworkers with what was my job to begin with. It was discouraging, especially when the prizes were handed out to the kids who didn't have to do a thing to gather all those sales. But it taught me a lot about working hard and following through.

Now that I'm a parent, I really don't ask my coworkers to buy anything from my son's fundraisers. I'll admit I do bring the order forms in and mention there's a thing going on (we all do) - but just one time, and I don't even announce when the sale is ending because I feel like I'm pushing people to buy the junk. I figure if they want to buy something, they will. I'm not going to bug them about it.

Even so, it's like you the parent need to buy stuff regardless. This latest catalog at least has a nice variety of things. Strawberry garden starter kits, windchimes, a barbecue set, dog treats. I really don't need any of it. But if I don't buy something I feel like a chump.

And I'm not even including the little booth they set up by the front door every so often, selling books and puzzles and things like that. I don't mean to be cheap, but I almost feel like I'm being extorted.

The most irriatating thing about these catalogs and forms with blatantly generous ordering line space is, Incrediboy is a preschooler. COME ON. Isn't this a little much?

Easter Weekend

I usually put up a little Easter greeting for anyone who happens by, but I didn't do it in time this year. Things have been out of sorts in Clewland, so I'm sorry about that. Hope everyone had a nice Easter!

Ours was all right. We didn't go to church, and I feel bad about that. And we didn't go to my brother-in-law's house, due to too many things going on in their world - which is certainly fine, but seemed very weird. Incrediboy loved his Easter basket, which was more toy-centered than candy (we still have Halloween candy hanging around, for Pete's sake). And MBDog enjoyed his Easter Busy Bone. MBDog is funny when he gets a treat like that. He'll prance laps around the room with the bone in his mouth, crying excitedly, for a good 10 or 15 minutes before finally settling down to enjoy it. Silly pup.

I cooked a small ham and mashed potatoes and we went to my mother in law's house for a nice Easter meal. Incrediboy babbled all the way to Grandma's that he wanted to say the Easter grace, but then when it was time he refused. *shrug*. Whatever. That boy was cantankerous in general all weekend, to be honest.

The absence of the traditional egg hunt annually held at his cousins didn't go unnoticed. Hub and I were discussing having a little hunt for him in the back yard tonight, but I really don't have anything to put in his plastic eggs and I don't know if I feel organized enough to throw it together on the fly at Target on the way home today. We'll see. The commercial side of Easter was never really a big whoop while I was growing up, so I tend to forget a lot of details surrounding the secular angle of this holiday. Coloring eggs was always the highlight for me, and we got a small basket each year, but that was it. No trips to see the Bunny at the mall, no egg hunts, nothing like that. Deprived child, eh?

And because I like to gripe ... I was reading an article in the paper yesterday about 3 college kids who were killed in a car accident. They were all from China, a country which enacted a one child per family law in the seventies to help control the rapidly expanding population. Three families on the other side of the world lost their only children. The man who was responsible for the accident was doing 98 mph and crashed into the back of the students' Taurus. It pancaked between him and the car in front of them. What's more, is he not only had 11 points on his record and had also killed two other people in an accident a few years before, but he reportedly has epilepsy and often blacks out. Excuse me, but exactly WHY does this man have a license to begin with?

What. The. Hell.

Apparently the blood of two people on his hands made no matter to him - he had to add three more. Worthless waste of space. It's lucky for him that I have no say in the consequences for his actions.

Cold-Nosed Angels

I work for a small company. We've all worked together for nearly 10 years, and in that time we've become extended family.

My bosses had to put their dog down yesterday morning. The atmosphere in the office has been so heavy - She was a sweet, gentle dog, and we had all grown to love her. But she was old ... Her hips were giving out, she'd been having trouble breathing, had stopped eating and drinking several days before, and had spent the last few days looking for quiet places to just ... lay down and seemingly let go.

Her folks decided it was time.

But even knowing when the time is right does not make the pain of saying goodbye any less sharp.

I was borne to a family which included a gentle-spirited border collie. He considered me his own and I dare to say no one in the house loved me more. He lived to be 17, and died at home on a Sunday morning. Naturally we were all devastated.

In time, my brother and I recovered from the loss. But my mother, while she learned to cope, never quite got the pain behind her.

Everyone who knows me knows that I love my dog to a ridiculous degree. He's a royal pain in the a$$ and at times has practically given us a nervous breakdown. But Hub and I love him with ALL our hearts. He's our oldest boy, our sweet pup, and the closest thing we have to eyewitnessing God's perfect unconditional love. And from the time we brought MBDog into our lives, I've prayed a secret prayer in earnest. I know it sounds morbid, but I've asked the Lord that when it's MBDog's time, that he releases his soul after a wonderful, love-filled day like any other. That he doesn't become ill, or suffer, and more to the point, that we won't be faced with the decision to put him to sleep. I can't even bear the thought of facing that decision without choking up. I hope with all my being that God will make the decision for me.

Herein lies the understanding for my Mother's torch for our sweet border collie. My brother and I shared the family with him - he was indeed a part of it as much as everyone else. But he was MOM's dog. SHE had adopted and raised him as her canine child. HE was HER boy. And she'd lost her boy.

My puppy, who once NEVER slept, now naps much of the time - and I've noticed the once distinct division of his white snout and brown cheeks is recenty becoming smudged with increasing amounts of gray. He's far from old, though - and statistically he still has many many years to go. But the past 5 1/2 have gone so fast. Too fast. I am glad that Incrediboy will know the happiness of growing up with a wonderful family dog. I know he'll remember MBDog always, even when he's an old man. But he will get over losing MBDog much faster than Hub and I will. If we ever do.

Opening your heart to a dog is one of the greatest blessings and learning opportunities granted to humans. They limit your freedom. They cramp your style. They can often be a burden on your budget. But they are worth it.

The only problem is they are here for such a short time.

Waxing, Waning, and Cleaning House

So, my cronies and I were talking recently, and the whole wad of us have seemingly lost our blogging mojo. In fact, one of us almost deleted their blog not too long ago, and another one of us actually DID, just today. That made me a little sad ... but I can't say as I blame her, seeing that, as it was put, she just wasn't feeling it anymore. Truth be told, I've considered doing the same thing myself, more than once, and for the same reason.

Not in every case, but it seems like so many people get into blogging for a year or two, and then just - to place it in a catchall phrase - lose interest. Some blogs get deleted, while others are merely abandoned, having a swipe of dust knocked off of it every now and then by the occasional visitor.

Why did I get into blogging? Those who've been around since the early years will confirm that even I didn't know that answer. Mainly because I was processing a handful of deaths and needed some sort of journaling outlet to help me sort out my grief. As time went on, my blog helped me rekindle my love of creative writing, and my posts flowed into a more narrative, magic in the little things, daily observations style - sprinkled with semi-fictional stories. And nearly always introspective, even if only obvious to me.

This blog has been a great tool of healing and growth for me. There was a time when I was posting twice a day, I had so many things to get out. Blogging was my biggest and most rewarding hobby, and I "met" wonderful, fascinating people I visited regularly and grew to love. Some have even become real honest-to-God figures in my actual life.

About a year or so ago, my inspiration for blogging suddenly fizzled. I now found it difficult to come up with anything to even talk about, let alone sculpt into an interesting metaphor of some sort. I waited, thinking and hoping that my muses would return. But they still have not.

Why have I lost my spark? Has this method of self-healing and creative indulgence served its purpose?

I thought of deleting this blog, but decided not to. Among the fluff and pointless spacewaste are a few bits of shine that I want to keep. Some I'm actually proud of. I could copy these things into a file so I could keep them - but I wonder if I'd change my mind one day and want this blog back. It's much easier to let a blog sit than to re-enter it (ha). But at the very least I've got an urge to put on my overalls and do some spring cleaning within my post files. In the next few weeks, I plan on doing just that.

If I delete a bunch of the stupid junk and leave only what I consider worthy of saving for something other than filler, maybe I'll be reinspired to do some good quality blogging again. Lord knows I want to - I miss it.

Many thanks to those who have been visiting me, riding along with me, and checking in on me even when I've taken long leaves of absence. You are a huge factor too in my decision not to delete my blog. I don't know when I'll get back to posting, but I'll continue to visit you, continue to pray for you, and continue to cherish your friendships.

I'm still here!