last night, i went to sleep thinking about New Orleans. i was remembering my first benignet, when i was 9. i burned the heck out of my tongue. i was remembering the French Quarter through the eyes of my 9 year old self-- how scared i was and how much my little brother loved it. i was remembering the bubble gum icecream cone i ate in jackson square, and the street performers, working for tips in the shadow of St. Louis Cathedral. i was thinking how grateful i was that my new orleans family, and my new orleans friends are safe and out of harm's way. and i was praying that city park was fairing well, and that the animals in audobon park were ok, too. i was hoping that the nice lady at pat o'brien's, who gives you mints and paper towels in the ladies' room was ok. i was hoping that the little man who read my palm in jackson square had found a safe place to weather the storm, as well. i was glad that my nanny and fred were safe with the baby Jesus, and high up in a mable wall, and that nanny didn't have to worry about not being able to get shrimp for months.
new orleans is a great town-- it's a giant whore of a town, to be sure, but a whore more in line with belle watling from gone with the wind, than some nasty angry woman of ill-repute. as an adult, i have loved new orleans. i have loved walking through the quarter, hearing the jazz and blues seep seductively out of every crack and crevice on and off bourbon street. i have loved walking off my buzz from a hurricane, and topping it off with a caffiene buzz from too much french market coffee and a hand rolled cigar. i have experienced the perfect poached egg at commander's palace, because brunch is the most important meal of the day. and if you're going to new orleans, leave your diet at home. the perfect night out in new orleans? oh, i've had it, and thank the sweet baby Jesus, i might get to have one again...and this time, i will get the red haired lady to take our picture at pat o's, and i'll keep my glass, too.
and while new orleans is the most famous city getting ripped a new one, it bears repeating that other people in other places need our thoughts, and prayers, too.
Lord, have mercy.
mil besos--rmg
29 August 2005
26 August 2005
world class napper
that's what i'm on my way to becoming, again, friends and neighbors. thank the sweet baby Jesus i haven't lost everything i learned about world class napping in college, because this getting up at 5:45 every morning is kicking my adkin's shrinking butt, real hard. before this week, the last time i was up before six was to clear security before an airplane flight to boston. what the hell people?
my nearest and dearest know that morning is really not "my" time of day. i do really well, exceptionally well, from about 11am-3am. the eight hours inbetween are just not pleasant to witness. thankfully, the only person who has to deal with me from 5:45 to about 6:20 is myself. and the only person who has to deal with me from 6:20 until 8:15 is sweet baby a, and he loves me because i sing to him while i dress him for school. and he gets a good pep talk. this kid loves the green cards, whom i love, also. when the green cards come on the radio, we both smile, and sometimes he giggles. like i said in an earlier post, with a 12 year old cerebral palsy patient, it's the little victories that make you the happiest.
i think i'm going to get my dream car on wednesday or thursday. i'm so freaking psyched. btw, i owe the texas grandparents major graditude for wanting the buick. i feel like i can breathe, now. and if all goes well, i will finally have the bug convertible i've dreamed about having since i was about 14. holy crap, people. i am so excited. and goat fest is this next weekend. and i think i'm going to a kinky friedman rally tomorrow night. having a life is fun. remind me why, at 26, i've finally decided to have one? what the hell was my problem? i know, i know, i was loving on some kids, and i will never regret that for one minute. but still, i hope all the fun hasn't passed me by...
despite my angst, and the angst of my generation, i have to say that the old adage of "the journey of a 1000 miles begins with one step" is quite true. sometimes the best decision you can make is to just pick a hand and jump out there. like baz lurhman says, your chances are 50/50. so are everyone else's.
seize something, whether it's the day or not, because teddy roosevelt said that honor goes to the people who had the stones to try, and not the wusses in the corner who kept counting the cost of fighting for something, that's a paraphrase, of course. goethe said "be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid". jesus said, "consider the lilies of the field". i think i like that merging of minds. it kind of makes me want to go kick a little booty and take names later. but i'll probably just make sweet baby a's brother, critter j, do his homework and drink some juice. 12 year olds are curious creatures. God bless my mother for not drowning me when i was 12. what a crappy age.
for those of you who care: i found some hilarious notes from high school government class the other day, which can be bought for a price. does anyone remember the flow chart of "death, tyranny, and slavery"? also, i have some clandestine notes that esteban and i passed during our senior year. we were funny bitches then, and we are funny bitches now, only slighty more jaded, which makes us more funny, and slightly more bitter. ah life, you are a grand comedy.
in case you haven't noticed, there was no coherent theme in this post. in fact, if i submitted this post for diagnostics, i'd prolly be diagnosed with adult add. hope you enjoyed, anyway.
mil besos-rmg
my nearest and dearest know that morning is really not "my" time of day. i do really well, exceptionally well, from about 11am-3am. the eight hours inbetween are just not pleasant to witness. thankfully, the only person who has to deal with me from 5:45 to about 6:20 is myself. and the only person who has to deal with me from 6:20 until 8:15 is sweet baby a, and he loves me because i sing to him while i dress him for school. and he gets a good pep talk. this kid loves the green cards, whom i love, also. when the green cards come on the radio, we both smile, and sometimes he giggles. like i said in an earlier post, with a 12 year old cerebral palsy patient, it's the little victories that make you the happiest.
i think i'm going to get my dream car on wednesday or thursday. i'm so freaking psyched. btw, i owe the texas grandparents major graditude for wanting the buick. i feel like i can breathe, now. and if all goes well, i will finally have the bug convertible i've dreamed about having since i was about 14. holy crap, people. i am so excited. and goat fest is this next weekend. and i think i'm going to a kinky friedman rally tomorrow night. having a life is fun. remind me why, at 26, i've finally decided to have one? what the hell was my problem? i know, i know, i was loving on some kids, and i will never regret that for one minute. but still, i hope all the fun hasn't passed me by...
despite my angst, and the angst of my generation, i have to say that the old adage of "the journey of a 1000 miles begins with one step" is quite true. sometimes the best decision you can make is to just pick a hand and jump out there. like baz lurhman says, your chances are 50/50. so are everyone else's.
seize something, whether it's the day or not, because teddy roosevelt said that honor goes to the people who had the stones to try, and not the wusses in the corner who kept counting the cost of fighting for something, that's a paraphrase, of course. goethe said "be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid". jesus said, "consider the lilies of the field". i think i like that merging of minds. it kind of makes me want to go kick a little booty and take names later. but i'll probably just make sweet baby a's brother, critter j, do his homework and drink some juice. 12 year olds are curious creatures. God bless my mother for not drowning me when i was 12. what a crappy age.
for those of you who care: i found some hilarious notes from high school government class the other day, which can be bought for a price. does anyone remember the flow chart of "death, tyranny, and slavery"? also, i have some clandestine notes that esteban and i passed during our senior year. we were funny bitches then, and we are funny bitches now, only slighty more jaded, which makes us more funny, and slightly more bitter. ah life, you are a grand comedy.
in case you haven't noticed, there was no coherent theme in this post. in fact, if i submitted this post for diagnostics, i'd prolly be diagnosed with adult add. hope you enjoyed, anyway.
mil besos-rmg
18 August 2005
prelude to a kiss
i submitted an essay to national public radio's program "this i believe". i guess it's a way to test the waters of this new vocational direction i seem to be throwing myself. it's a paring down of something i wrote in february. pasted below is what i sent the fine peeps at npr. lemme know what you think. maybe i'll even get to be on the radio (freaking finally, since i never got to dj for knel, like all the other cool people in brady...). i'll keep you posted.
I believe that eating humble pie is vitally important to me maintaining my grounding as a human being. Several months ago, I got a major dose of pie. Two heartbreaks, one professional, and the other personal, had put me on my guard and prompted what can only be described as a month-long fit of self-righteous indignation. I couldn’t see anything but my hurt, my desires, all the things I had done to make situations right and what everyone else had done to make the situations wrong. A dose of humble pie was in order.
That piece of pie didn’t come in some cataclysmic way, it came to me while I was staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, getting ready for work one day. I realized that I had refused to see that the professional and personal situations went south with a little help from me, as well. I realized that I wasn’t blameless, but I surely wasn’t being persecuted. I realized that humble pie covers a multitude of messes, and that I had a big steaming wedge with name on it.
The humble pie I recently ate wasn’t the first, and I know it won’t be my last. However, it just might be my most memorable piece of humble pie ever, because I was so aware of what was going on. I have this mental picture of the waitress of the universe just standing over me with a chipped truck-stop variety plate containing a big chunk, of humble pie, handing me a giant plastic spork, and a glass of skim milk. She’s standing over me, snapping her gum and smoking a 120, and yelling at me in the “Flo” voice from "Mel's Diner"-- "Eat the damn pie, sweetheart, 'cause we ain't got all day, and someone else needs that booth."
Being humble means being a realist-- there are days when I just don't get it—don’t get life, don’t get my family, don’t get my friends, don’t get my purpose in life, I just don’t get it, period. Being humble, to me, means being able to admit that, and live with the lessons life presents me to learn how to get it. It also means accepting that every other person in the world struggles with “getting it” just like I do. That admission , and the acceptance that goes along with it is some of the hardest work I will ever do. And I will do it again, and again, and again over the course of my life.
Yes, I believe in humble pie, because I believe that being humble is a virtue we can use more of in this world. Humble pie reminds me not to feel too guilty about the chances to which my pride has blinded me, but to stay focused on the chances that I can see, the love I can offer and accept, once I am willing to pick up my fork and eat.
mil besos--r
I believe that eating humble pie is vitally important to me maintaining my grounding as a human being. Several months ago, I got a major dose of pie. Two heartbreaks, one professional, and the other personal, had put me on my guard and prompted what can only be described as a month-long fit of self-righteous indignation. I couldn’t see anything but my hurt, my desires, all the things I had done to make situations right and what everyone else had done to make the situations wrong. A dose of humble pie was in order.
That piece of pie didn’t come in some cataclysmic way, it came to me while I was staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, getting ready for work one day. I realized that I had refused to see that the professional and personal situations went south with a little help from me, as well. I realized that I wasn’t blameless, but I surely wasn’t being persecuted. I realized that humble pie covers a multitude of messes, and that I had a big steaming wedge with name on it.
The humble pie I recently ate wasn’t the first, and I know it won’t be my last. However, it just might be my most memorable piece of humble pie ever, because I was so aware of what was going on. I have this mental picture of the waitress of the universe just standing over me with a chipped truck-stop variety plate containing a big chunk, of humble pie, handing me a giant plastic spork, and a glass of skim milk. She’s standing over me, snapping her gum and smoking a 120, and yelling at me in the “Flo” voice from "Mel's Diner"-- "Eat the damn pie, sweetheart, 'cause we ain't got all day, and someone else needs that booth."
Being humble means being a realist-- there are days when I just don't get it—don’t get life, don’t get my family, don’t get my friends, don’t get my purpose in life, I just don’t get it, period. Being humble, to me, means being able to admit that, and live with the lessons life presents me to learn how to get it. It also means accepting that every other person in the world struggles with “getting it” just like I do. That admission , and the acceptance that goes along with it is some of the hardest work I will ever do. And I will do it again, and again, and again over the course of my life.
Yes, I believe in humble pie, because I believe that being humble is a virtue we can use more of in this world. Humble pie reminds me not to feel too guilty about the chances to which my pride has blinded me, but to stay focused on the chances that I can see, the love I can offer and accept, once I am willing to pick up my fork and eat.
mil besos--r
17 August 2005
ch-ch-changes
life moves pretty fast-- ferris bueller said that, and i believe it. mom and the texas grand parents are going to b-town this weekend to close up shop at the old house. there will be the requisite garage sale, so if you're in the neighborhood, be sure to drop by for some good swag. slightly used swag, but good swag, never the less. the movers are picking up the rest of the stuff on monday and moving it down here.
my alabama grandparents are also moving out of their house. they've lived in the same town and the same house for 40-odd years. they have alot of stuff to move, as well. and they are moving to be closer to granny's irish twin, my aunt cynthia, and her husband, uncle devon (pronounced dee-von). they will also be closer to my uncle pedro and aunt inez, which is a good thing. i'm sure if you're in the neighborhood for that garage sale, you could also pick up some nice, slightly used swag, as well.
all the moving and scurrying is a little disconcerting. i still wake up from dreams sometimes wondering what house i'm in, or apartment, or dorm room. it's a little bizarre, but it's part of life.
tuesday night, i will be sleeping in my new/old bed. get this-- the bedroom suit i'm using was bought for me before i was born, at a random estate sale/garage sale in the b-town. it was my first bed, after i graduated from my baby bed. and the mattress is the same one i've had since i was 10. it's a good mattress. it will be good to be in that bed, again. life seems to be asking me to go back home, for a little while. and i don't care what any one says, you can go home, again. i know it because i'm there.
in retrospect, the last five years since i graduated college have been on fast-forward-- i haven't stopped for longer than ten days to stop and evaluate in that whole time. prolly not such a hot idea. and my psyche and body are kicking my ass for that lack of rest. but family is good for the soul, and mine is surely being soothed. can't wait to get all the way back on my feet and start visiting the far flung relations and the far flung friends. life is good, and getting better every day.
mil besos--r
my alabama grandparents are also moving out of their house. they've lived in the same town and the same house for 40-odd years. they have alot of stuff to move, as well. and they are moving to be closer to granny's irish twin, my aunt cynthia, and her husband, uncle devon (pronounced dee-von). they will also be closer to my uncle pedro and aunt inez, which is a good thing. i'm sure if you're in the neighborhood for that garage sale, you could also pick up some nice, slightly used swag, as well.
all the moving and scurrying is a little disconcerting. i still wake up from dreams sometimes wondering what house i'm in, or apartment, or dorm room. it's a little bizarre, but it's part of life.
tuesday night, i will be sleeping in my new/old bed. get this-- the bedroom suit i'm using was bought for me before i was born, at a random estate sale/garage sale in the b-town. it was my first bed, after i graduated from my baby bed. and the mattress is the same one i've had since i was 10. it's a good mattress. it will be good to be in that bed, again. life seems to be asking me to go back home, for a little while. and i don't care what any one says, you can go home, again. i know it because i'm there.
in retrospect, the last five years since i graduated college have been on fast-forward-- i haven't stopped for longer than ten days to stop and evaluate in that whole time. prolly not such a hot idea. and my psyche and body are kicking my ass for that lack of rest. but family is good for the soul, and mine is surely being soothed. can't wait to get all the way back on my feet and start visiting the far flung relations and the far flung friends. life is good, and getting better every day.
mil besos--r
14 August 2005
unloading
i'm dumping my apartment tomorrow. i am so relieved. seriously, this is a huge step, and i'm so glad things have worked out, up to this point. i surely didn't want to pay rent on some place i was no longer living. it was a good apartment, and i'll miss it a little. but it's time for it to belong to someone else. btw, craiglist is amazing. i highly recommend them for unloading stuff, and to peruse job opportunities.
i'm slightly less tired than i was two weeks ago, and am feeling more and more like myself, again. and those horrid lines on my forehead are growing a bit more faint, thank God for small favors, huh? and i feel a bit more relaxed. it's good to not be a total wack-job, anymore. the further i get away from my former situation, the more sure i am that i did the right thing. i mean, i miss the kids, who are still calling me to say hello and keep me updated on their drama. that's nice.
in a not so nice section of this week, i was horribly disappointed in a person whom i had placed a fair deal of trust. it occured to me, as i was crying, screaming, and trying not to swear on the phone with this person, that dante was right to put traitors in the lowest circle of hell. geeze oh man, what a mess. it's also taught me that, while i am usually a pretty good judge of character, there are those for whom loyalty means nothing compared to their own selfish interest. it will be a long time, and maybe ever before i speak to this person again. and while there is a measure of forgiveness that i am willing to offer, that time is not now, and i will never forget this situation.
forgetting, in my opinion, is not part of forgiveness, which is a two way street. when you forgive someone, you become a partner in their life, and must be willing to hold that person accountable for their actions, which isn't to say that you are responsible for constantly bulldogging that person. it's a fine line. but there is a big fat line between being someone's friend and confidante and being what amounts to a horrid a-hole. that line was most definately crossed. it's been a long time since i've been this angry at anyone, it's been a long time since i've yelled at anyone on the phone. and i can't tell you the last time i was willfully betrayed. it makes me want to cry and throw up and call that person just to hang up. hang up like how you can only do on a real phone--slam it into the wall and then pick it up and slam it again. there is no point to hanging up a flip phone with any kind of vehemence. blah.
so, long story short, and this one is surely a cautionary tale, guard your friendship cards, and if you have a friendship card, freaking protect it like it's your own beating heart. seriously. because good friendships are hard to find, hard to maintain, and who wants to cash in all that work and all those memories? those who are willing to put their own wants and needs above their friends, in the way that this person performed, are the reason that so many superficial realtionships exist, and the reason that so many people of faith, especially in my age bracket, take being "right" over being "righteous". for myself, i have no need and no desire for superficiality, in life or in friends. but it still sucks, and it still hurts.
sorry for the downer, it's just kind of where my head is right now. that's about all i have to report. hope all is well on the other end of this thing. life is still good, because it's real and messy, and sometimes, it hurts like hell, but it's mine, and it's the only one i've got. but i'll take hurting like hell because i invite people into my universe over stearing this ship of life on my own any day of the week. like goethe says, "nothing is worth more than this day".
mil besos--r
i'm slightly less tired than i was two weeks ago, and am feeling more and more like myself, again. and those horrid lines on my forehead are growing a bit more faint, thank God for small favors, huh? and i feel a bit more relaxed. it's good to not be a total wack-job, anymore. the further i get away from my former situation, the more sure i am that i did the right thing. i mean, i miss the kids, who are still calling me to say hello and keep me updated on their drama. that's nice.
in a not so nice section of this week, i was horribly disappointed in a person whom i had placed a fair deal of trust. it occured to me, as i was crying, screaming, and trying not to swear on the phone with this person, that dante was right to put traitors in the lowest circle of hell. geeze oh man, what a mess. it's also taught me that, while i am usually a pretty good judge of character, there are those for whom loyalty means nothing compared to their own selfish interest. it will be a long time, and maybe ever before i speak to this person again. and while there is a measure of forgiveness that i am willing to offer, that time is not now, and i will never forget this situation.
forgetting, in my opinion, is not part of forgiveness, which is a two way street. when you forgive someone, you become a partner in their life, and must be willing to hold that person accountable for their actions, which isn't to say that you are responsible for constantly bulldogging that person. it's a fine line. but there is a big fat line between being someone's friend and confidante and being what amounts to a horrid a-hole. that line was most definately crossed. it's been a long time since i've been this angry at anyone, it's been a long time since i've yelled at anyone on the phone. and i can't tell you the last time i was willfully betrayed. it makes me want to cry and throw up and call that person just to hang up. hang up like how you can only do on a real phone--slam it into the wall and then pick it up and slam it again. there is no point to hanging up a flip phone with any kind of vehemence. blah.
so, long story short, and this one is surely a cautionary tale, guard your friendship cards, and if you have a friendship card, freaking protect it like it's your own beating heart. seriously. because good friendships are hard to find, hard to maintain, and who wants to cash in all that work and all those memories? those who are willing to put their own wants and needs above their friends, in the way that this person performed, are the reason that so many superficial realtionships exist, and the reason that so many people of faith, especially in my age bracket, take being "right" over being "righteous". for myself, i have no need and no desire for superficiality, in life or in friends. but it still sucks, and it still hurts.
sorry for the downer, it's just kind of where my head is right now. that's about all i have to report. hope all is well on the other end of this thing. life is still good, because it's real and messy, and sometimes, it hurts like hell, but it's mine, and it's the only one i've got. but i'll take hurting like hell because i invite people into my universe over stearing this ship of life on my own any day of the week. like goethe says, "nothing is worth more than this day".
mil besos--r
11 August 2005
perseids and other falling things
the perseid meteor shower is set to begin in a few hours. i know, i am a huge nerd. the perseids are the last of the summer showers, and we have to wait until november for the leonids to give us some more fodder upon which to wish. my college astronomy teacher would be so proud of me for knowing that...he was a huge nerd, too.
but seriously, i wish i could go find a big flat rock, still hot from the oven of a day we had today, lay back and just watch the sky. funny what you take for granted-- like free time, or meteor showers, or being able to see the inky blackness of the "real" night sky. if i weren't so completely pooped out, you can bet i'd be in the middle of some hay field, praying for no snakes, and wishing my little heart out on those tiny pieces of dust that fly through the air once in a season. besides, i cheated and got to see a few of the geminids when i was out west on vacay...lucky me.
the new job is harder than i thought it would be. 12 year old cerebral palsy patients are sometimes very hard to carry. and 12 year old cerebral palsy patients who can't tell you what's the matter are sometimes very hard to soothe. but i've teased a smile or two out of sweet baby a, and those were what i've realized are called "little victories", and i am more thankful for those than just about anything i've managed to make onmy own in the last 5 years.
5 years...that's a long time. that's when i graduated college and thought i was moving to dc to take over the world with good policy and love for all people. and i was still 21. what a sucker, huh? it's amazing to me that i was ever that idealistic. it's even more amazing to me that i still have that crazy tendency to hope that things will turn out for the best, that wishing on that one shooting star could really turn the tide, make the difference, fix the situation, ect. funny, huh? sort of, i guess. either that or i'm finally just giving in to the madness. and maybe that's ok, too. ultimately, i have to go back to one of my favorite movies, the shawshank redemption (also a great short story, btw), in which the protagonist (andy dufresne) reminds the hardened lifer-con (red) that "hope is a good thing...maybe the best thing". that loop gets stuck in my head, and even on days when i don't believe that hoping something will happen will make it so, i feel a tiny bit better.
as a further downer aside, and to really stink this post up with some nostalgic drivel for the masses, i'll go ahead and say that i was very saddened by this week's passing of peter jennings. what a great man. seriously. and while i was watching mr. rogers with sweet baby a yesterday, i had the melancholic and probably over-dramatic idea that three men who were very pivotal in helping make me the person i am today passed away at what seems to be sort of critical junctures in my pursuit of adulthood. my dad died before i started college, which sucked, because i was still trying to figure out what i wanted to do when i grew up, and i fully expected him to be around for that little venture, and he taught me about life as a real, authentic person with screw ups and personality flaws and relationships that are sometimes better than others, and how to say that you're sorry and mean it, how to deal and not deal with strengths and weaknesses, and how to accept God's grace andmercy so you can offer them to those around you--he and mom taught me about who i wanted to be as a person, and tried like hell to show me how to get there. mr. rogers died right as i was beginning to teach children about God and the universe and doing good things, and he taught me that everyone was my neighbor, and that we all lived in the same neightborhood, and that make-believe was for grown-ups, too. peter jennings died as i was beginning to venture out of my comfortable little existence and see what kind of life i could carve out for myself in the wide world, and he was always the one (i used to watch world news tonight at 6:30 every night in my dad's lap, or by his chair, without fail, until i was in high school and had too much shit to do) who told me if the world was the same as when i woke up, and i expected to know who our collective friends were, who was screwing stuff up and how, etc. bizarre, no?
anyway, it's been a long week. i'm so freaking glad tomorrow is friday. i may buy a bottle of wine on the way home from work tomorrow and drink the whole thing (maybe share a glass with mom, since she's letting me sponge, and cooking me real dinner every night, and packing me a lunch and snack every morning...and she has cable. i could get very comfortable here, for a while, anyway...seriously, how amazing and wonderful and full of love is it that the woman who's body i invaded for 9 months is letting me invade her house and life all over again, just at the point at which i'm supposed to be doing stuff on my own? she's amazing. she's my hero. love my momma big...i also love parentetical phrases real big, too...and elipses...) while i try and sort out the chaos of boxes that seem to be growing like some kind of paste-board rabbit colony. seriously, i don't remember having this much shit in my personal possession...
viva la adkins. i miss real chocolate...
mil besos--rmg
but seriously, i wish i could go find a big flat rock, still hot from the oven of a day we had today, lay back and just watch the sky. funny what you take for granted-- like free time, or meteor showers, or being able to see the inky blackness of the "real" night sky. if i weren't so completely pooped out, you can bet i'd be in the middle of some hay field, praying for no snakes, and wishing my little heart out on those tiny pieces of dust that fly through the air once in a season. besides, i cheated and got to see a few of the geminids when i was out west on vacay...lucky me.
the new job is harder than i thought it would be. 12 year old cerebral palsy patients are sometimes very hard to carry. and 12 year old cerebral palsy patients who can't tell you what's the matter are sometimes very hard to soothe. but i've teased a smile or two out of sweet baby a, and those were what i've realized are called "little victories", and i am more thankful for those than just about anything i've managed to make onmy own in the last 5 years.
5 years...that's a long time. that's when i graduated college and thought i was moving to dc to take over the world with good policy and love for all people. and i was still 21. what a sucker, huh? it's amazing to me that i was ever that idealistic. it's even more amazing to me that i still have that crazy tendency to hope that things will turn out for the best, that wishing on that one shooting star could really turn the tide, make the difference, fix the situation, ect. funny, huh? sort of, i guess. either that or i'm finally just giving in to the madness. and maybe that's ok, too. ultimately, i have to go back to one of my favorite movies, the shawshank redemption (also a great short story, btw), in which the protagonist (andy dufresne) reminds the hardened lifer-con (red) that "hope is a good thing...maybe the best thing". that loop gets stuck in my head, and even on days when i don't believe that hoping something will happen will make it so, i feel a tiny bit better.
as a further downer aside, and to really stink this post up with some nostalgic drivel for the masses, i'll go ahead and say that i was very saddened by this week's passing of peter jennings. what a great man. seriously. and while i was watching mr. rogers with sweet baby a yesterday, i had the melancholic and probably over-dramatic idea that three men who were very pivotal in helping make me the person i am today passed away at what seems to be sort of critical junctures in my pursuit of adulthood. my dad died before i started college, which sucked, because i was still trying to figure out what i wanted to do when i grew up, and i fully expected him to be around for that little venture, and he taught me about life as a real, authentic person with screw ups and personality flaws and relationships that are sometimes better than others, and how to say that you're sorry and mean it, how to deal and not deal with strengths and weaknesses, and how to accept God's grace andmercy so you can offer them to those around you--he and mom taught me about who i wanted to be as a person, and tried like hell to show me how to get there. mr. rogers died right as i was beginning to teach children about God and the universe and doing good things, and he taught me that everyone was my neighbor, and that we all lived in the same neightborhood, and that make-believe was for grown-ups, too. peter jennings died as i was beginning to venture out of my comfortable little existence and see what kind of life i could carve out for myself in the wide world, and he was always the one (i used to watch world news tonight at 6:30 every night in my dad's lap, or by his chair, without fail, until i was in high school and had too much shit to do) who told me if the world was the same as when i woke up, and i expected to know who our collective friends were, who was screwing stuff up and how, etc. bizarre, no?
anyway, it's been a long week. i'm so freaking glad tomorrow is friday. i may buy a bottle of wine on the way home from work tomorrow and drink the whole thing (maybe share a glass with mom, since she's letting me sponge, and cooking me real dinner every night, and packing me a lunch and snack every morning...and she has cable. i could get very comfortable here, for a while, anyway...seriously, how amazing and wonderful and full of love is it that the woman who's body i invaded for 9 months is letting me invade her house and life all over again, just at the point at which i'm supposed to be doing stuff on my own? she's amazing. she's my hero. love my momma big...i also love parentetical phrases real big, too...and elipses...) while i try and sort out the chaos of boxes that seem to be growing like some kind of paste-board rabbit colony. seriously, i don't remember having this much shit in my personal possession...
viva la adkins. i miss real chocolate...
mil besos--rmg
08 August 2005
reset
ok, campers. the great move has been accomplished. even though i'm still living out of my suitcase, all my stuff has been relocated to either the storage shed, or momma's house. at some point, i will unpack and settle. since cat and poppy are closing on the brady house later this month, there is some stuff from there that will have to be integrated, so really there's no point in starting to settle, yet. i keep remind myself that in order to say "yes" to something, you often have to say "no" to something else. i think i've been saying "yes" and "no" in the right places, but it's still a scary process to put one life down, and pick another life up. in the end, i keep reminding myself that God offers each of us enough grace and mercy to get through everyday, and today is just a day. plus, it's good to be back in my mother's house. and we both agreed that we aren't allowed to talk about politics, so i should get to stay here for a while. tee hee.
today is rest day, and i slept until almost 1pm. a lady is quite tired. i know, i know, everyone is tired, and i'm a dirty whore for rubbing my sleep in your face. to top off the sleep-fest, i've been watching crap on tv for the last hour. there's this bizarre special on the discovery channel about this animal called hogzilla, that they killed in some random georgia swamp last summer. i have surely missed cable. i'll be getting my work info this afternoon,which will be good. i'm giving myself until labor day to start taking pictures and writing for the book.
btw, re: labor day-- who all is going to goat fest? i'm trying to decide if a pilgrimage to the b-town is in order. i figure richard's park may be a good place to get some seriously trashy pictures for the book, but i need to be assured that i will have an appropriate amount of people to form an entourage. lemme know, peeps.
big love to you all. and watch out for hogzilla, because apparently, they are EVERYWHERE.
mil besos-r
today is rest day, and i slept until almost 1pm. a lady is quite tired. i know, i know, everyone is tired, and i'm a dirty whore for rubbing my sleep in your face. to top off the sleep-fest, i've been watching crap on tv for the last hour. there's this bizarre special on the discovery channel about this animal called hogzilla, that they killed in some random georgia swamp last summer. i have surely missed cable. i'll be getting my work info this afternoon,which will be good. i'm giving myself until labor day to start taking pictures and writing for the book.
btw, re: labor day-- who all is going to goat fest? i'm trying to decide if a pilgrimage to the b-town is in order. i figure richard's park may be a good place to get some seriously trashy pictures for the book, but i need to be assured that i will have an appropriate amount of people to form an entourage. lemme know, peeps.
big love to you all. and watch out for hogzilla, because apparently, they are EVERYWHERE.
mil besos-r
03 August 2005
rerun
drum roll...ok, ready?
what i'll tell you now is a tried and true story that deserves to be told for the masses. if you've alread heard me relate this story, you won't hurt my feelings by not reading the rest of this post.
picture it-- washington, dc, october 2000. i'm sitting in an interminable staff meeting at my very first real job (ok, it was an internship, but it was real to me...) thinking that this is where the action is. i'm making policy. or i'm helping people make policy by sending their faxes and cutting their bagels. whatever. it's staff meeting, and i'm answering phones, taking notes, participating in conversation, blah blah blah. this is where i should give you some background.
when i worked in dc as a lowly copy rat with a very pretentious title at a very small non-profit, i learned that manners can get you anywhere in life. lack of manners can, apparently, make you the executive director of a non-profit who rubs elbows with some of dc's a-listers. i also learned that if you are the underling of said executive director, it's best to sit near the door and always make sure you don't get trapped away from the door in a room with the executive director after lunch. now, back to the story...
our conference room was dingy. dingy like a third rate brothel in matamoros, but with less wall-paper and a wheezing copy machine. and our conference table was one of the 6 foot jobs with a peeling top, wonky legs, and the plastic binding holding the thing together was poking out in places, so you had to be careful not to rub against it. there were six of us in the room that fateful day. i was seated at the foot of the table, furthest from the door. to quote my friend cory will, irony, you are a bastard.
i'm at the foot, executive director was at my left hand, project manager was to my right. my buddy hopie was at the top right of the table, office manager was at the head, assistant director was to the left of her, next to executive director. and we're talking about inane mailings, where to put the extra large stamps that executive director loves so much ("place large stamps here" said the note on top of ALL our return envelopes, which caused so much confusion in the over 80 set, who of course called me with all sorts of questions and issues about that little ditty...), how we fold things, who's sending money, how can we get more money, when are we having a board meeting, blah blah blah. and then IT happened.
executive director had already struck me as not-so-suave in the short two months i had been in his employ. it had also come to my attention that executive director had a bad back, for which he carried a tiny, horribly crud-encrusted therma-rest type pillow. at one time, i think the cursed thing was a happy, sunshine yellow. by the time i became aquainted with it, the poor thing was ratty around the edges, and was the color of a pretty ripe sinus infection. eww, gross. that freaking pillow was with executive director ALL the time. like linus and his blankie. silly me, i thought executive director was simply leaning over to adjust his pillow. no, no, that would be the normal thing to do, and i was working for King Crazy in Crazyville, and King Crazy had had friend chicken from down the street for lunch that day. i know because i had to pick it up for him. apparently, sometimes the chicken didn't agree with him, and i found out the hard way.
executive director leaned forward, and to the side, in what appeared to be a minor adjusting motion, common to anyone who's been sitting for a while. what he was really doing was sitting forward, lifting the leg nearest yours truly, and cutting one of the most melodious and malodorous farts to which i have ever personally borne witness. seriously, this thing had two distict pitches, and while it was brief, it was mighty. it sounded like gabriel's trumpet. and for me, it was kind of like the end of the world.
see, i'm the kind of person who has always found farting HILARIOUS. farting, to me, and to my family, has always been the height of humor. i know, we are sick people. my mother always playfully joked with me that thinking farting was funny was going to get me into trouble one day. she really DOES know everything. at the second the fart was blasted my way, and before my mouth had time to react to what my ears had just heard (and felt, there was concussion, people), my brain intercepted what could have been a disasterous response. i swear i was thinking about a million thoughts a minute, not the least of which was "what in the HELL just happend? did that a-hole really just fart AT me? isn't ANYONE going to say something? isn't HE going to say something? oh crap, i'm out of air...i have to breath...why God, why?" hope had put her head down on the table and was shaking with the effort of trying not to burst out laughing, everyone else just looked kind of stunned, like executive director had just called gandhi a cow-eating facist. all i'm thinking is "that fart smells like cobwebs. no, that fart smells like a basement. how in the hell do farts smell like that. he farted at ME. i want to kick that fart back up his butthole, not because he farted at me, and not because i don't like this person, but because i can't give him grief for it, can't acknowlege it, and i have to fake like it never happend, and i can't laugh about this and i think my lungs are going to explode."
and we finished the staff meeting in relative peace. i think. the lack of oxygen and the trauma may have caused me to black out for a few minutes. later that afternoon, while i was working on yet another stupid mailing that had to be folded, collated, and stuffed into the envelope (which had to have a BIG stamp, and be licked just right-- not too much spit, or the glue rubs off, but not too little because then it won't seal right...) executive director came into my office, stood by my little desk, put one hand in his pants al bundy-style, and proceeded to tell me i had just stuffed (thank God i hadn't sealed the envelopes yet...) and folded all the wrong things into about 80 million envelopes. and then he yelled at me. i took it, redid the job, and then promptly ran to the bathroom and cried like a little kid with a skinned knee. and then i went back down to my shabby little office and wrote the story you've just read (with minor adjustments, of course) and copied it to everyone in my email address book. i felt better.
i don't know why i felt the urge to re-tell that story. maybe it's because it's the best fart story i know. maybe it's because i'm a little nostalgic about jobs i used to have, right about now. maybe it's because it's just a funny story. maybe it's because it's almost 12:15 in the morning and i had too much diet coke and can't quite go to sleep just yet. i don't know. what i do know is that i hope it made you laugh. and think about how cobwebs smell.
mil besos-r
what i'll tell you now is a tried and true story that deserves to be told for the masses. if you've alread heard me relate this story, you won't hurt my feelings by not reading the rest of this post.
picture it-- washington, dc, october 2000. i'm sitting in an interminable staff meeting at my very first real job (ok, it was an internship, but it was real to me...) thinking that this is where the action is. i'm making policy. or i'm helping people make policy by sending their faxes and cutting their bagels. whatever. it's staff meeting, and i'm answering phones, taking notes, participating in conversation, blah blah blah. this is where i should give you some background.
when i worked in dc as a lowly copy rat with a very pretentious title at a very small non-profit, i learned that manners can get you anywhere in life. lack of manners can, apparently, make you the executive director of a non-profit who rubs elbows with some of dc's a-listers. i also learned that if you are the underling of said executive director, it's best to sit near the door and always make sure you don't get trapped away from the door in a room with the executive director after lunch. now, back to the story...
our conference room was dingy. dingy like a third rate brothel in matamoros, but with less wall-paper and a wheezing copy machine. and our conference table was one of the 6 foot jobs with a peeling top, wonky legs, and the plastic binding holding the thing together was poking out in places, so you had to be careful not to rub against it. there were six of us in the room that fateful day. i was seated at the foot of the table, furthest from the door. to quote my friend cory will, irony, you are a bastard.
i'm at the foot, executive director was at my left hand, project manager was to my right. my buddy hopie was at the top right of the table, office manager was at the head, assistant director was to the left of her, next to executive director. and we're talking about inane mailings, where to put the extra large stamps that executive director loves so much ("place large stamps here" said the note on top of ALL our return envelopes, which caused so much confusion in the over 80 set, who of course called me with all sorts of questions and issues about that little ditty...), how we fold things, who's sending money, how can we get more money, when are we having a board meeting, blah blah blah. and then IT happened.
executive director had already struck me as not-so-suave in the short two months i had been in his employ. it had also come to my attention that executive director had a bad back, for which he carried a tiny, horribly crud-encrusted therma-rest type pillow. at one time, i think the cursed thing was a happy, sunshine yellow. by the time i became aquainted with it, the poor thing was ratty around the edges, and was the color of a pretty ripe sinus infection. eww, gross. that freaking pillow was with executive director ALL the time. like linus and his blankie. silly me, i thought executive director was simply leaning over to adjust his pillow. no, no, that would be the normal thing to do, and i was working for King Crazy in Crazyville, and King Crazy had had friend chicken from down the street for lunch that day. i know because i had to pick it up for him. apparently, sometimes the chicken didn't agree with him, and i found out the hard way.
executive director leaned forward, and to the side, in what appeared to be a minor adjusting motion, common to anyone who's been sitting for a while. what he was really doing was sitting forward, lifting the leg nearest yours truly, and cutting one of the most melodious and malodorous farts to which i have ever personally borne witness. seriously, this thing had two distict pitches, and while it was brief, it was mighty. it sounded like gabriel's trumpet. and for me, it was kind of like the end of the world.
see, i'm the kind of person who has always found farting HILARIOUS. farting, to me, and to my family, has always been the height of humor. i know, we are sick people. my mother always playfully joked with me that thinking farting was funny was going to get me into trouble one day. she really DOES know everything. at the second the fart was blasted my way, and before my mouth had time to react to what my ears had just heard (and felt, there was concussion, people), my brain intercepted what could have been a disasterous response. i swear i was thinking about a million thoughts a minute, not the least of which was "what in the HELL just happend? did that a-hole really just fart AT me? isn't ANYONE going to say something? isn't HE going to say something? oh crap, i'm out of air...i have to breath...why God, why?" hope had put her head down on the table and was shaking with the effort of trying not to burst out laughing, everyone else just looked kind of stunned, like executive director had just called gandhi a cow-eating facist. all i'm thinking is "that fart smells like cobwebs. no, that fart smells like a basement. how in the hell do farts smell like that. he farted at ME. i want to kick that fart back up his butthole, not because he farted at me, and not because i don't like this person, but because i can't give him grief for it, can't acknowlege it, and i have to fake like it never happend, and i can't laugh about this and i think my lungs are going to explode."
and we finished the staff meeting in relative peace. i think. the lack of oxygen and the trauma may have caused me to black out for a few minutes. later that afternoon, while i was working on yet another stupid mailing that had to be folded, collated, and stuffed into the envelope (which had to have a BIG stamp, and be licked just right-- not too much spit, or the glue rubs off, but not too little because then it won't seal right...) executive director came into my office, stood by my little desk, put one hand in his pants al bundy-style, and proceeded to tell me i had just stuffed (thank God i hadn't sealed the envelopes yet...) and folded all the wrong things into about 80 million envelopes. and then he yelled at me. i took it, redid the job, and then promptly ran to the bathroom and cried like a little kid with a skinned knee. and then i went back down to my shabby little office and wrote the story you've just read (with minor adjustments, of course) and copied it to everyone in my email address book. i felt better.
i don't know why i felt the urge to re-tell that story. maybe it's because it's the best fart story i know. maybe it's because i'm a little nostalgic about jobs i used to have, right about now. maybe it's because it's just a funny story. maybe it's because it's almost 12:15 in the morning and i had too much diet coke and can't quite go to sleep just yet. i don't know. what i do know is that i hope it made you laugh. and think about how cobwebs smell.
mil besos-r
01 August 2005
first day
and so my life as a free-lance what-have-you begins. and it's not too bad, to tell you the truth. i have about a million thank-you cards to write, about a million more things to pack up, and i still need to clean my bathroom. all i can say is thank God for clorox bleach pens. those things are freaking amazing.
i'd did data entry for about a million hours today. i had to wear my reading glasses. i can't really complain, though, because i'm being well compensated, and this little contract job means that i won't have much lag time in getting the payola this month. that makes me very happy.
my friend ottoman is coming to hang out with me this week. i'm pretty excited. he's been at camp all summer long, so we haven't gotten to hang out much. ottoman is the very wise person who told me once that the furthest distance any of us will ever have to travel is the eighteen inches between our brains and our hearts. he's a smart kid and i like chatting with him. funny what happens when kids you had as a camp counselor become your friends.
so my life is beginning something new. i woke up this morning and was just fine. i'll probably miss things more the further away i get from the actual day-in day-out of the job. i'm sure i will wake up in the middle of the night more than once, wondering if i threw away all the pizza boxes, returned the tapes, rented the cars, copied the permission slips, wrote out the check requests, etc. and then i'll remember that i don't do that anymore. and i'll roll right over, turn the pillow to the cool side, and slip right back into my slumber. either that or i'll cry my head off and wonder what the hell i walked away from.
somehow, though, even though both will probably happen, i'm psyched out of my mind to see what happens next. i was talking to esteban this afternoon, and he and i have both had a doozy of the last half-year. we both agreed that we feel like something wonderful is about to happen. someone i was talking to the other day said that the buddha taught that when something wonderful is about to be born, rotten and crappy things happen right in your face, to keep you in the present, and not focused on the future good thing about to happen. i don't know about that rationale, but it sounds fair enough, i guess.
my friend Jesus said that the rain falls on the just and the unjust, that if God is big enough to take care of the birds of the air and the flowers in the field, God is big enough to take care of me. that definately sounds fair enough. and i know that whatever and whenever and however the next chapter of my life works itself out-- this is my life, and even when things suck, or when i'm confused, or tired, or just don't know which way to go next, it's my life.
and life is beautiful, even when it's hard. even when you realize that people you've stretched out your hands to could care less, or worse, never cared to begin with and just gave you lip service out of some sick and twisted sense of chivalry, even when you tell the truth and get into trouble for telling it, or when people can't tell the difference between the truth and a big fat lie, there are moments when the beauty of life is enough to break your heart, in a good way. like the time i cried all the way home from work because of a situation i couldn't fix, and the sun was setting right in my rearview mirror, making a vanilla sky right behind me, and in an instant, i was humbled enough to be greatful just to be alive to see that. the situation still sucked, but i had found a little beauty to see me through. or the time i was three weeks away from turning 18 and cried all the way home from san angelo, after a horrible weekend, and i had to pull the car over because it was raining harder than i was crying, and then the clouds broke open and the most vivid rainbow sprawled out across that dark grey west texas sky, and i knew that life was still beautiful. or the time i had my heart ripped out and shoved in a paper bag, only to have said bag thrown on the sidewalk and set promptly on fire and stomped on like a gigantic bag of human waste, but came home to see a beautiful butterbean of a baby with no teeth and huge blue eyes to remind me that love sometimes looks different than we expect it to look, and comes to us in different ways than we expect it. or the time i got all gross and gooby and was almost in tears in the front seat of my own freaking car because two of my cherubs were flirting like mad in the car and i felt like someone's mother on a pre-driving stage car date, added to the fact that i had just found my first gray hair and had come to the crashing conclusion that no matter how much sleep i got or how much cold cream i put on, the wrinkles in my forehead were here to stay, and my fabulous sister in law called to tell me that the most wonderful baby in the whole wide world was going to be coming to see me in 7.5 months. i know that was a horrible run on sentence, and that you got the point after the first two illustrations. but it's my blog, and i'm allowing myself to get carried away. partly because they are stories i love to tell, and partly because the more you say something good, the more it becomes true and lovely. or something like that...
anyway, i'm pooped. in fact, when i went to target today, i got a basket out of the cart corral ( i can't believe i just typed "cart corral"), turned around, and thought --hey, that car looks just like mine, only to realize that it WAS in fact, my car. geeze, oh man. and that's after i got 8 hours of sleep last night. go figure. i think i've hit sleep deficit that's somewhat comprable to the gross nation debt, which, as of last count, is in the trillions. but who's counting, really?
life is good. life is beautiful.
mil besos-rmg
i'd did data entry for about a million hours today. i had to wear my reading glasses. i can't really complain, though, because i'm being well compensated, and this little contract job means that i won't have much lag time in getting the payola this month. that makes me very happy.
my friend ottoman is coming to hang out with me this week. i'm pretty excited. he's been at camp all summer long, so we haven't gotten to hang out much. ottoman is the very wise person who told me once that the furthest distance any of us will ever have to travel is the eighteen inches between our brains and our hearts. he's a smart kid and i like chatting with him. funny what happens when kids you had as a camp counselor become your friends.
so my life is beginning something new. i woke up this morning and was just fine. i'll probably miss things more the further away i get from the actual day-in day-out of the job. i'm sure i will wake up in the middle of the night more than once, wondering if i threw away all the pizza boxes, returned the tapes, rented the cars, copied the permission slips, wrote out the check requests, etc. and then i'll remember that i don't do that anymore. and i'll roll right over, turn the pillow to the cool side, and slip right back into my slumber. either that or i'll cry my head off and wonder what the hell i walked away from.
somehow, though, even though both will probably happen, i'm psyched out of my mind to see what happens next. i was talking to esteban this afternoon, and he and i have both had a doozy of the last half-year. we both agreed that we feel like something wonderful is about to happen. someone i was talking to the other day said that the buddha taught that when something wonderful is about to be born, rotten and crappy things happen right in your face, to keep you in the present, and not focused on the future good thing about to happen. i don't know about that rationale, but it sounds fair enough, i guess.
my friend Jesus said that the rain falls on the just and the unjust, that if God is big enough to take care of the birds of the air and the flowers in the field, God is big enough to take care of me. that definately sounds fair enough. and i know that whatever and whenever and however the next chapter of my life works itself out-- this is my life, and even when things suck, or when i'm confused, or tired, or just don't know which way to go next, it's my life.
and life is beautiful, even when it's hard. even when you realize that people you've stretched out your hands to could care less, or worse, never cared to begin with and just gave you lip service out of some sick and twisted sense of chivalry, even when you tell the truth and get into trouble for telling it, or when people can't tell the difference between the truth and a big fat lie, there are moments when the beauty of life is enough to break your heart, in a good way. like the time i cried all the way home from work because of a situation i couldn't fix, and the sun was setting right in my rearview mirror, making a vanilla sky right behind me, and in an instant, i was humbled enough to be greatful just to be alive to see that. the situation still sucked, but i had found a little beauty to see me through. or the time i was three weeks away from turning 18 and cried all the way home from san angelo, after a horrible weekend, and i had to pull the car over because it was raining harder than i was crying, and then the clouds broke open and the most vivid rainbow sprawled out across that dark grey west texas sky, and i knew that life was still beautiful. or the time i had my heart ripped out and shoved in a paper bag, only to have said bag thrown on the sidewalk and set promptly on fire and stomped on like a gigantic bag of human waste, but came home to see a beautiful butterbean of a baby with no teeth and huge blue eyes to remind me that love sometimes looks different than we expect it to look, and comes to us in different ways than we expect it. or the time i got all gross and gooby and was almost in tears in the front seat of my own freaking car because two of my cherubs were flirting like mad in the car and i felt like someone's mother on a pre-driving stage car date, added to the fact that i had just found my first gray hair and had come to the crashing conclusion that no matter how much sleep i got or how much cold cream i put on, the wrinkles in my forehead were here to stay, and my fabulous sister in law called to tell me that the most wonderful baby in the whole wide world was going to be coming to see me in 7.5 months. i know that was a horrible run on sentence, and that you got the point after the first two illustrations. but it's my blog, and i'm allowing myself to get carried away. partly because they are stories i love to tell, and partly because the more you say something good, the more it becomes true and lovely. or something like that...
anyway, i'm pooped. in fact, when i went to target today, i got a basket out of the cart corral ( i can't believe i just typed "cart corral"), turned around, and thought --hey, that car looks just like mine, only to realize that it WAS in fact, my car. geeze, oh man. and that's after i got 8 hours of sleep last night. go figure. i think i've hit sleep deficit that's somewhat comprable to the gross nation debt, which, as of last count, is in the trillions. but who's counting, really?
life is good. life is beautiful.
mil besos-rmg
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