So there's a city across the lake that is really a glorified subdivision of one of the cities north of me. I call it a fake city, because they don't have a post office or a Target or a mayor. Also, it ruins my daytime view across the lake. Don't get me wrong, it's a pretty place to live, but it's not a real city like it pretends it is and it is full of cookie-cutter stucco houses with no personality. Thus my vitriol.
Anyway, I just heard on the news that there's an infestation of spiders, which made me laugh and laugh. I both hate and fear spiders and I would not want to have an infestation of them in my house, so I kind of feel sorry for those people. On the other hand, why are they surprised and/or shocked? They moved into natural spider territory--how can they expect nature to conform itself to suburbia? Of COURSE there are going to be spiders! Just like there are probably coyotes and cougars in the (almost fake) city in the next valley over where people are complaining that there's not a guarded road for their kids to walk to school! YOU moved there, YOU wanted the "country" feel, and now YOU want the country gone! Freaks. The reason you moved there is the reason you're complaining! Do you not see this? Apparently you don't, and the irony is lost on you.
Man. If I ever moved out there, while I wouldn't exactly enjoy raccoons tipping over my garbage cans, at least I'd EXPECT it and do my own work to make sure my garbage cans didn't get tipped over instead of whining to the feds about it. I'd EXPECT coyotes and actually be pretty excited if I saw one, but I'd sure keep my pets indoors. I'd EXPECT hawks and not keep small rodent pets outside. I'd EXPECT spiders and use sonic bug repellers in my house. I'd drive my kids to school in the winter, or bundle them up really warm, install tracking systems in their heels so I could track their 1000 mile trek across the Great Divide on my high-def bigscreen.
Yeah. If I ran the world...
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Kindness
Why is it that the people who most vehemently demand respect, consideration, tolerance, and freedom are the people who are the most unwilling to give others those same things? Why are kindness and courtesy in such limited supply? I can't be the only person in this world who feels this way. I do my best to be kind and patient and respectful of others but it often seems that my efforts are lost on those who belligerently insist that they be respected. I'm already doing that, and it would be nice to have some respect in return, even if it's only for a fellow-traveler on this journey through life. Those "share the road" ads are applicable in many ways here. We all go through doubt, pain, and fear; why do so many people feel the need to add to the doubt and pain and fear already around them? Words hurt. Physical wounds heal and scar over and you don't often feel the pain after healing. Emotional wounds, even under the thin disguise of jest, hurt for years. I believe that as fragile as our human bodies are, our souls are even more brittle. I wouldn't tolerate a physically abusive spouse, so how can I tolerate emotional abuse from others? Is it because I'm not as close to them? Is it because I've learned to give people more chances than they may deserve? Is it because I believe that kindness, religiously motivated or not, is a good quality that should be cultivated and cherished?
There are times and places for bluntness. There are even situations where rudeness is appropriate--if someone is breaking into your home, I don't think you should always invite them to have some cookies. But think of the times you've been wounded by someone's bluntness or rudeness. Remember that sting. Then look at what you've said today, to friends or strangers, and how that could affect them. Words have power that we take for granted. My dad used to recite this verse to us children when we said mean things to each other, and I wish I knew who wrote it:
Be careful of the words you say,
To make them kind and sweet.
You never know from day to day
Which words you'll have to eat.
I think there is a common misperception of the meanings of the words "nice" and "mean". My favorite definitions of the two:
nice:
Looking at and understanding the varied definitions of those two words, I realize that I want to be nice. I want to be tactful and careful and delicate. I want to be refined and pleasant. I don't want to be small-minded or vicious or selfish. I've been that, and I don't like that version of me. It made others uncomfortable or sad or even hurt, and I hate the knowledge that my words have (directly or indirectly) caused those feelings. I find that I'm much happier, genuinely happier, when I let people speak without refuting everything they say. I'm happier when I try to understand people by accommodating their viewpoints and life experiences. I am truly happier when I can tell I've helped ease someone's hard day.
There are people out there who think that "nice" is a dirty word that somehow doesn't have realistic application to this world. There are people out there who pride themselves on their logic. There are people out there who would rather be right than kind. There are people out there who abhor any discussion of something that can't be substantiated by a pie chart. Conversely, there are people out there who don't say anything if they can't say something nice. There are people out there who are humble but unwavering in the fight against discourtesy. There are people out there who would rather be wrong than mean. There are people out there who embrace the unquantifiable precisely because it can't be explained.
There are people out there who have hurt me badly, and there are people out there who have helped me heal by giving me a kind word. This life is hard enough without giving in to the urge to be selfish, petty, ignoble--mean. I'd rather make it easier, and I unquantifiably hope, in turn, that other people will help smooth over the rough spots on my path.
There are times and places for bluntness. There are even situations where rudeness is appropriate--if someone is breaking into your home, I don't think you should always invite them to have some cookies. But think of the times you've been wounded by someone's bluntness or rudeness. Remember that sting. Then look at what you've said today, to friends or strangers, and how that could affect them. Words have power that we take for granted. My dad used to recite this verse to us children when we said mean things to each other, and I wish I knew who wrote it:
Be careful of the words you say,
To make them kind and sweet.
You never know from day to day
Which words you'll have to eat.
I think there is a common misperception of the meanings of the words "nice" and "mean". My favorite definitions of the two:
nice:
- amiably pleasant; kind: They are always nice to strangers.
- characterized by, showing, or requiring great accuracy, precision, skill, tact, care, or delicacy: nice workmanship; a nice shot; a nice handling of a crisis.
- having or showing delicate, accurate perception: a nice sense of color.
- refined in manners, language, etc.: Nice people wouldn't do such things.
- offensive, selfish, or unaccommodating; nasty; malicious: a mean remark; He gets mean when he doesn't get his way.
- small-minded or ignoble: mean motives.
- low in status, rank, or dignity: mean servitors.
- troublesome or vicious; bad-tempered: a mean old horse.
Looking at and understanding the varied definitions of those two words, I realize that I want to be nice. I want to be tactful and careful and delicate. I want to be refined and pleasant. I don't want to be small-minded or vicious or selfish. I've been that, and I don't like that version of me. It made others uncomfortable or sad or even hurt, and I hate the knowledge that my words have (directly or indirectly) caused those feelings. I find that I'm much happier, genuinely happier, when I let people speak without refuting everything they say. I'm happier when I try to understand people by accommodating their viewpoints and life experiences. I am truly happier when I can tell I've helped ease someone's hard day.
There are people out there who think that "nice" is a dirty word that somehow doesn't have realistic application to this world. There are people out there who pride themselves on their logic. There are people out there who would rather be right than kind. There are people out there who abhor any discussion of something that can't be substantiated by a pie chart. Conversely, there are people out there who don't say anything if they can't say something nice. There are people out there who are humble but unwavering in the fight against discourtesy. There are people out there who would rather be wrong than mean. There are people out there who embrace the unquantifiable precisely because it can't be explained.
There are people out there who have hurt me badly, and there are people out there who have helped me heal by giving me a kind word. This life is hard enough without giving in to the urge to be selfish, petty, ignoble--mean. I'd rather make it easier, and I unquantifiably hope, in turn, that other people will help smooth over the rough spots on my path.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
I am, apparently, a cranky old bat
Honestly. Who, in their right mind, thinks "let's make the kids put on swimming suits, load up the car, and drive to the local university quad where we can let our kids play in the recycled-water fountain"? WHO?!
Apparently, the women and kids who have been in the quad for the last couple of hours. Children in swimming suits playing in the fountain/waterfall. Blankets and food on the grass.
Now, keep in mind that I'm all for having fun with your kids. I really am. But would you let your kids play in the fountains at the mall? On purpose? Have you not heard of cryptosporidium or giardia?! Would you take your kids to the other local university and set them loose in the Fine Arts Building? Oh wait. I've seen that happen. I guess I'm one of those people who thinks public spaces are public for a reason, and that half a dozen kids in the fountain kind of detracts from it. I sound completely stodgy, I know...but I'd be the mom saying "honey, please don't climb in the untreated, recycled-water fountain. It's not a swimming pool and you could get very sick. If you want to go swimming, let's go to the city pool tomorrow after chores, ok?"
I must prefer it when things are used properly or something. I like appropriateness and respect for public property.
On the other hand, they're not hurting anything, it's really hot out today, and they were having a lot of fun. I must just be jealous that I'm stuck behind this desk...where's my giant cookie?
Apparently, the women and kids who have been in the quad for the last couple of hours. Children in swimming suits playing in the fountain/waterfall. Blankets and food on the grass.
Now, keep in mind that I'm all for having fun with your kids. I really am. But would you let your kids play in the fountains at the mall? On purpose? Have you not heard of cryptosporidium or giardia?! Would you take your kids to the other local university and set them loose in the Fine Arts Building? Oh wait. I've seen that happen. I guess I'm one of those people who thinks public spaces are public for a reason, and that half a dozen kids in the fountain kind of detracts from it. I sound completely stodgy, I know...but I'd be the mom saying "honey, please don't climb in the untreated, recycled-water fountain. It's not a swimming pool and you could get very sick. If you want to go swimming, let's go to the city pool tomorrow after chores, ok?"
I must prefer it when things are used properly or something. I like appropriateness and respect for public property.
On the other hand, they're not hurting anything, it's really hot out today, and they were having a lot of fun. I must just be jealous that I'm stuck behind this desk...where's my giant cookie?
Going Private
I hate to do this, but I've realized that I should probably make this a private, permission-only blog...or not rant as much, especially about people. I'll let it simmer for a bit and have a decision by the end of the week.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Drink some water, for goodness' sake!!
Ok, this blog isn't really about drinking water, but I have to say that I can't STAND the sound of a soda can opening anymore. I really can't. Every time I hear it, I want to go up to my father, take the soda away, and say "drink some water, for goodness' sake!!" This is the man who once warned us all to be careful of aspertame, and now he stocks up on Diet Coke. *sigh* Water is just better for you; I don't care if the diet sodas don't have any sugar or calories anymore.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Vicious Cycles
Well. Here I am, after a pretty darn good day, feeling ranty again. Some of this was triggered by someone (hi Mom! I love you!) moving the relatively organized piles o' fabric and patterns off the cutting board so she could use it. Really, I'm ok with the moving of things. I really am. It's the idea that it had to be moved that really gets to me. I try to be organized, and I try to be motivated, and I go to Ikea in search of the perfect storage unit for miscellaneous craft/sewing supplies, and I look at other people's sewing areas, and I get all kinds of great ideas, and just when I reach the perfect combination of mental, emotional, and physical readiness, it all flies out the window when I realize that all my patterns are now a size too small (stupid weight gain) and in order to actually sew anything I'd have to alter nearly every pattern I own. So I get depressed about that, don't feel like sewing because of the extra work (I hate altering things), and things sit in the sewing room, lonely and bored, until someone who actually has motivation moves them in order to start a project she'll actually complete. This person is very rarely me. There is, in fact, a 14-year-old cross stitch (probably eternally) attached to a fancy embroidery floor stand and frame that my parents got me for my birthday over 10 years ago or something. It's pretty, but I'm bored with it, but I'm too stupid stubborn to give it away and cleanse my life of its dust. Its style is kind of not my thing anymore, either, considering I bought it shortly before my wisdom teeth were extracted in 1994. 1994!
I will only briefly mention other unfinished projects that wouldn't take much effort to actually complete but that thinking about depresses me:
The ribbon embroidery pillows for my sisters
The miniature quilt I started when I was 17
The throw quilt I still need to piece
The dollhouse furniture kits that need to be assembled
The DOLLHOUSE (hi--20 years ago? Can you please not use those colors on the inside? kthnx)
The sun/moon needlepoint
Good heavens, the crocheting
The unpicked dress that needs to be made into something better
The small but significant pile of mending, including my Isaac Mizrahi linen pants that I love
It is, quite honestly, getting ridiculous. If my stupid neck hadn't rebelled and pinched a nerve that left me with limited mobility and pain tolerance last week, this would not even be an issue. All my plans for reorganizing and culling were shot right to pieces by that, and two of my three days off were pretty much useless, not to mention how I was stupidly (and kind of randomly) depressed most of the 4th. Depressed about a person I never want to see again, no less! Go my brain! Go brain, go! Rah rah rah!
Anyway. I want a clean sewing room. I want to lose 15 pounds and get my waist back. (Yes, I know I'm not fat and therefore not allowed to complain, but give me a break and let me be annoyed that I can't use any of the patterns I currently own without wanting to stab my eye with my scissors because I hate altering so much.) I want to have cute clothes the motivation to actually wear them. I want to be DONE with the stupid insecurities leftover from my time with Ex Man (and even SAYING that makes me want to punch myself, because it's SO stupid that they're still there and I hate it). I want to stop buying pretty fabric that I'm afraid to sew because I might hate the dress made out of it. I want to stop being intimidated by other seamstresses/sewists/seamstrixes/whatever who are more creative/technically better/smarter than me. I want to stop being afraid to wear something a little "off" just because not everyone would appreciate it. I want to know what in the world happened to the creative person with a great eye for color and line!
Good thing tomorrow is project night and the WalMart has good prices on plastic bins.
I will only briefly mention other unfinished projects that wouldn't take much effort to actually complete but that thinking about depresses me:
The ribbon embroidery pillows for my sisters
The miniature quilt I started when I was 17
The throw quilt I still need to piece
The dollhouse furniture kits that need to be assembled
The DOLLHOUSE (hi--20 years ago? Can you please not use those colors on the inside? kthnx)
The sun/moon needlepoint
Good heavens, the crocheting
The unpicked dress that needs to be made into something better
The small but significant pile of mending, including my Isaac Mizrahi linen pants that I love
It is, quite honestly, getting ridiculous. If my stupid neck hadn't rebelled and pinched a nerve that left me with limited mobility and pain tolerance last week, this would not even be an issue. All my plans for reorganizing and culling were shot right to pieces by that, and two of my three days off were pretty much useless, not to mention how I was stupidly (and kind of randomly) depressed most of the 4th. Depressed about a person I never want to see again, no less! Go my brain! Go brain, go! Rah rah rah!
Anyway. I want a clean sewing room. I want to lose 15 pounds and get my waist back. (Yes, I know I'm not fat and therefore not allowed to complain, but give me a break and let me be annoyed that I can't use any of the patterns I currently own without wanting to stab my eye with my scissors because I hate altering so much.) I want to have cute clothes the motivation to actually wear them. I want to be DONE with the stupid insecurities leftover from my time with Ex Man (and even SAYING that makes me want to punch myself, because it's SO stupid that they're still there and I hate it). I want to stop buying pretty fabric that I'm afraid to sew because I might hate the dress made out of it. I want to stop being intimidated by other seamstresses/sewists/seamstrixes/whatever who are more creative/technically better/smarter than me. I want to stop being afraid to wear something a little "off" just because not everyone would appreciate it. I want to know what in the world happened to the creative person with a great eye for color and line!
Good thing tomorrow is project night and the WalMart has good prices on plastic bins.
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