There are not enough hours in a day

The older I get, the faster time moves. When I was younger, I never believed that time could move faster; now that I'm older, I wish time would slow the eff down!

There's a lot going on around these parts these days: a new "pup" (he's practically full grown), the move, work, dealing with the aftermath of the break in (oh, I didn't mention that? Yeah, our house was broken into while we  were in Massachusetts). More packing. More laundry. More moving.

Of course, nothing is going as smoothly as I'd like it to. And, of course, I'm being infinitely lazy and procrastination-ish. There's just so much to do and I'm exhausted by it all.

The studio at the old house has been dismantled, packed and moved to the new house. The studio in the new house is currently the staging area for all the boxes we've moved over. I've had no access to my supplies and, frankly, no energy to do anything creative.

I feel sort of adrift and off course, but I know all of this discomfort is just the storm before the calm, so I keep muddling through. Fortunately, The Boyfriend™ is infinitely patient with me and this process. That's not to say he doesn't have his fair share of anxiety about all of this, too, but he's hiding it pretty well (occasional outbursts, notwithstanding).

So.. there's a lot. And there's not enough. But it's the process.

With a little bit of work and kick in the pants, all of this will be settled soon. And I can get back into the studio, pay more attention to the Etsy shop, and actually do some of the assignments for my copy writing class.

This is going to get complicated. Maybe. I hope not. OK, it totally will.

And I'm not at all talking about this blog post. Or the blog title which, frankly, was really fucking cumbersome.

But in other news, half my street has no power because a transformer blew because, apparently, transformers can only take so much "being under water" before they go kaput. Why was the transformer under water? Because I'm currently sitting in a tropical storm. OK, I'm not actually in the tropical storm (I'm sitting in my house), but the Tampa Bay area is getting its ass kicked by a bitch named Debby.

Which is, ironically, my boss's name though not spelled the same way.

So, half of the county I live in is currently under evacuation orders. Driving north, south, east or west is a bitch and an exercise in "don't get pulled into a sinkhole" because, apparently, I live in the Sinkhole Capital of the World.

Because Florida sucks.

Which is why I'm going home for a week-long visit next week. YAY!

In the interest of saving money on a hotel (because, at the time, I was told that my one aunt (who I usually stay with when I come home) was selling her house and staying with the other aunt 'til she, the first aunt, found a house she liked), we're going camping. Which makes me happy to no end. The Boyfriend™ is afraid that we're going to get eaten by bears. I had to explain to him that it's not the bears you have to worry about; it's the mountain lions (and no, I'm not being cute. That's actually true). Frankly, I'm worried about the ticks. This will also be The Trolls first camping adventure.

So far, all we have is a tent. So I just ordered a bunch of "camping supplies" and am having the shipped to my nana, for us to pick up when we get to Massachusetts. Of course, my nana doesn't know this yet. I'll have to try to remember to call her tomorrow to let her know to expect a big-ass box on Friday.

I just hope that I got all the right stuff, otherwise I'm going to have to go spend more money on more camping stuff that we probably won't use again until next year. Why? Because Florida sucks and nobody wants to go camping in 98-degree heat (with 1000% humidity).

But... I'm GOING HOME! And that's the most important part. I'm so excited, I might just pee my pants! I am going to absorb as much grandmother love as I can possibly contain and whatever I can't contain, I'm going to put in tupperware for later. And I'll get some Troll time. And we'll have some family togetherness time which will light a fire under our asses to move back  home.

So, yeah. It's gonna be complicated. In a phenomenally good way!

Why yes. Yes, I DO kiss my mother with this mouth.

Not that you can tell most of the time, but I was raised with manners. I know which fork to use with which course, and I know how to set a table. When out to eat, I usually remember to keep my elbows off of the table. I know that you're never supposed to talk about money, religion and politics in mixed company. I know when you're supposed to stop wearing white (and when you can start again). I know that when invited over for a dinner party, you should always bring a bottle of wine and/or a dish to share (and you're never supposed to bring the leftovers home with you). I might not make Miss Manners proud, but my mom's pretty happy with the way I turned out.

Except when it comes to thank you letters.

I don't know what it is about writing a thank you letter that makes me so bad at it. Maybe it's the forced politeness. Maybe it's because I never have postage stamps or good stationary. Or maybe it's my flaky nature that makes me inclined to forget things easily. Whatever it is, it's usually months after I receive a gift that I get around to sending the letter.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm not grateful. As a rule, I'm phenomenally grateful for the gift and the thought, and gush to anyone who will listen about the awesomeness that I received. I just forget to gush to the giver of the gift.

So, I know it doesn't technically count, but here are my thank you letters:

Uncle Brion:

You have no idea how grateful I am for your presence in my life. You keep me young with every box you send. Your generosity speaks volumes about your selflessness. Because, seriously? You send your 34 year old niece a Christmas gift and birthday gift, without fail, every year. You even remember to include gifts for The Trolls -- one of whom you've never laid eyes on. In short: you're awesome in ways that I can't even begin to describe.

I suck at thank you letters (as I'm sure you've noticed but have never pointed out). But don't let that be a tell. Those boxes mean the world to me. Actually, it's not the boxes -- you could send an empty box and I would be grateful (but please don't. You have the best taste in gifts. See? I'm awful!). It's the love that's in there. It's the thoughtfulness. It's the support and the belief you have in me. Please know that I feel all of that for you, too.

So thank you for being indulgent. Thank you for being tolerant. Thank you for everything.

Much Love,
~S

Nana:

Every day that I still have you in my life is a day I'm thankful for. You have taught me so much and been so supportive. You haven't always liked all of my choices, but you've been there, right behind me, every step of the way. You are my anchor. Thank you for YOU because YOU is an awesome thing and because you get me, I don't even need to finish this sentence in any coherent way.

And thank you for the birthday cashola. I know I cashed that check quickly, but wasn't so quick to get the thank you letter out. It's because I suck at thank you letters. That isn't a reflection on how you raised me -- because you did a good job. I'm just a space cadet (I blame Dad).

Also, thank you for not doing the near-death routine that Dottie's been pulling. I know you're 83 now and are officially at the age you promised me you'd live to. But if it isn't too much trouble, could you hang around for another couple years? I'm not ready to let you go. I don't think I'll ever be ready to let you go (what's a ship without an anchor?). So, I guess you're just going to have to live forever. But you're superwoman; living forever shouldn't be too hard for you.

I'll be home for a visit soon. I'm going to squeeze you. I'm also going to take pictures of you. And I'm going to spend endless amounts of time telling you how much you mean to me and how damn grateful I am for you. Make sure you have extra batteries for your hearing aids. You have fair warning.

Love 'til bursting,
~S

Dorothy Ann:

Woman, you better quit with the near death shit. Yes, I know you're my grandmother and I shouldn't use the word "shit" in your presence, but if you can start swearing then so can I. I also know that I shouldn't start any letter to you with "woman." That was rude of me and I apologize.

But seriously, you can stop with the almost-dying. You aren't allowed to die. You are allowed to not be in pain, and if you have to die in order to not be in pain anymore, then we'll have to figure out a different way to keep you from being in pain. But if you are going to die, you need to wait until I can get back home and squeeze you. And take lots of pictures of you. And listen to your life story.

I want you to know how much you mean to me and how much I love you. I suck at being a long-distance granddaughter, which is why you always had to come and pick me up. Every-other-weekend, you'd make that awful drive to pick me up and bring me back to your house and feed me breakfast in bed. Until I was seventeen. Actually, no. I was eighteen. You didn't get mad when I wet your bed when I was five; you just flipped the mattress and said "accidents happen." You didn't get grossed out when I puked all over your bedroom floor because I'd had too many Halloween cookies. You just got me in the bath and cleaned up the mess.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that you've always supported me. You've always understood me -- in ways that few other people on this planet do. You kept me safe and made sure that I felt loved. 

So, hang in there you stubborn old thing. I'll be home soon for a visit. You better take an extra percoset, because there will be squeezing. And I'm not going to let you kick me out at 7 PM. You're just going to have to be a night owl.

Love you to the moon and back,
~S

12 Things - Thanksgiving Edition

It's Thanksgiving -- the time of year when, traditionally, people will go about saying what they're thankful for. I kind of hate that part of the holiday, but only because we should tell those that we're grateful for that we're grateful for them all the time, rather than just a specific time of year.

...Let me step off my soap box now.


This is my 12 Things About My Thanksgiving -- sort of like a list of things I love about this time of year. Autumn is, hands down, my favorite time of year -- especially in New England. The weather is cool and crisp and you know it's time to reap your harvest and batten down the hatches. It's when family bonding happens with a vengeance.


1) My dad's side of the family has a tradition of anonymously writing down what they're thankful for and putting it in a basket. The basket gets passed around the table and each person takes a turn reading someone else's thankful list. It's pretty darn awesome.

2) Cheese rolls. My nana started this one -- cheesy delicious wrapped in a crescent roll. But not just any crescent roll -- potato dough goodness.

3) I have never been able to make cheese rolls because I have absolutely no skill when it comes to baking bread. Yeast and I have agreed to see other people.

4) I am hosting my first Thanksgiving dinner this year. With The Boyfriend™. It makes me insanely happy.

5) I miss my family the most during this time of year -- which is just action packed full of getting together and enjoying the hell out of each other.

6) My Aunt Lis's house -- where we traditionally go for Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve -- always smells like fabric softener (though I don't think she uses the same brand all the time) and something else I can't quite put my finger on. The smell of her house is one I associate with love.

7) The smell of my gram's house is the one I most associate with "home." Her house smells like Palmolive dish soap, the basement (but the good basement smell) and her perfume -- which she almost never wears. Actually, I don't think my gram wears perfume -- she just smells that good all the time.

8) My gram can fart. Loudly. She giggles when she does it.

9) We know when it's time to leave when Gram starts getting to go bags ready. She does this even when we're not at her house.

10) I have never left my gram's house without a to go bag. Even if it's just a sandwich bag full of lollipops. The woman is a food pusher.

11) I love the eating holidays. The food pushing gene runs strong in me.

12) I can't eat most traditional Thanksgiving food because I'm allergic to it. That has not hindered my love for it though.

So, tell me. What are your 12 Things for this time of year?

Full Moon, Front Porch and Musing

The Fair just passed in my neck of the woods, in Massachusetts. I miss it. I miss the roundhouse full of kitschy folk art, pies, and the largest produce a man can grow. I miss the livestock pens. I miss the rides and fair fries. I miss the annual parade that announces the fair's beginning - and the unofficial beginning of Fall.

I miss FALL. I miss the chilly nights, the foggy mornings, the three layers of clothing required (so you can peel it off as the day progresses). I miss the going in that happens as a natural response to the changing season - readying yourself for the upcoming winter. I miss the smell of leaves and chimney smoke. I miss the changing colors of the mountains. I miss a REAL Halloween.

If it wasn't obvious, I miss home. The urgency to get back there had sort of waned the last couple of months. Once The Trolls came back from their visit, I got wrapped up in trying to reacclimatize to their rhythm, while trying to maintain focus on The Two Year plan, and fell behind a bit. I got a little lost in the what's happening now and less focused on the where I want to go.

But more and more, I feel the pull back home. The NEED to be with My People is strong. The need for my children to be raised in a nurturing, like-minded community is imperative. I need to feel like a part of a community again- even if it drives me nuts that everyone knows everything all the time. You can't wipe your ass without your phone ringing so your neighbor can ask you what you had for dinner. I ran to Florida, among other reasons, to escape from that, but now I would give anything to have it again.

I need to buckle down and focus. It's likely that I over committed myself to too many things, in an effort to get back home quicker. But I think if I simplify and focus on one or two very do-able things, I'll get to where I want to go. Slow and steady wins the race, after all.

To Do by October 13:
1) Get Products up on etsy
2) Fix sewing machines so they work properly so I can have more inventory on hand.
3) Devote Sundays to cooking for the week, so I have more time. :)
4) Start advertising etsy shop.

Speaking of advertising, I'm still toting with the idea of shutting down my Facebook page. It seems unnecessary and chaos creating. But social media is where it's at these days, and a good place to advertise the etsy shop. Decisions, decisions.

In the mean time, I am going to go do some research on a topic that I'm going to keep close to the vest right now. If/when it starts coming to fruition, I'll let you know. Make that item number five on my to do list.

A Moment of Gratitude While Sitting on My Front Porch

Today was a particularly exhausting day, but not for the usual reasons. I'm on day three of my moon cycle - and this day is usually heinous. My body is worn out and demands rest on this day of the cycle, and the best thing I can do is honor that demand. Resistance is futile.

It was also open house at The Nugget's school tonight. I met his teacher and am ever so excited about the year for him, knowing that he has a compassionate teacher who is in it for the love of teaching. So far, I've heard nothing but positively glowing statements about her methods, her classroom, and about HER. I admired the way that she gently, but firmly, established her "alpha" role with The Nugget - even while I was standing there. It was a moment of cooperative "parenting," and put me even more at ease.

I have tomorrow off from work and am looking forward to the long weekend with The Trolls and The Boyfriend™ before school starts. While filled with a bit of here and there, it's also an opportunity for us to batten down the hatches and gear up for the school year. In anticipation of the chaos, I've gone a bit off the deep end and implemented a by-the-hour school week schedule, in an effort to not only mitigate that chaos but allow more structure and being present for each other, as a family.

Being present is something I am even more acutely aware of these days. Our trip to Massachusetts planted the seed and a startling wake up call, by way of The Monkey's report card, fertilized the roots. My children suffered for a lack of my being truly present for them. *I* suffered for a lack of being truly present. My relationship with The Boyfriend™ suffers from that lack, too, as well as a lack of listening. And while it will be an uphill battle to undo the damage wrought by my ignorance, I am grateful that I had this epiphany in time to fix it.

There are certain things that I wish I had the luxury of: homeschooling The Trolls, making a living from my art, so I can stay home and not be beholden to the clock. But being present and aware of that desire to simplify allows me to give more purpose to my days, because I am working toward that goal. Building the foundation for the realization of my dreams, by researching homeschooling, sustainable living, how to make my etsy shop successful, homes and land for sale in New England, will allow me to have EXACTLY what I want, rather than some facsimile thereof. So, in a way (and as frustrating as it is), I am grateful for the interlude between now and THEN - when I've achieved my goals - and here and THERE, so that the foundation I build is solid. So that I learn to breathe and be present. So that I walk this path with mindfulness.

Between here and there, and now and then, I can create memories and traditions. Memories of paths explored during the remaining time in Florida, to take with us and give us something to reminisce about during those long winter nights in New England. Traditions that can translate to whatever home we're in. Habits and guidelines to sustain us as we transition from one cycle of our lives together.

The last - and I think the most important - thing I am grateful for tonight is the realization that it's not too late. Time has a funny way of speeding by, but I have the power to slow it down. I have the power to stopnthe clock, if necessary, to give myself a couple more seconds here or there to make sure that I am not late. And as long as I am moving forward toward the realization of my dreams, then there is no such thing as too late.

Where are my ruby slippers??

Sometimes I'm thoroughly convinced that Facebook is the devil. It has ruined relationships, friendships and probably has contributed to a great deal of really phenomenally low self-esteem in many people. I'm half tempted to cancel my account, but Facebook is how I stay in touch with family and friends back home. Which is currently why I think Facebook is the devil.

Last night, back home, they slept with the AC off and the windows open. Here, it's still 84-degrees out at 11 o'clock at night. Back home, they're gearing up for the county fairs next month. Here, I can't even garden because it's too miserably hot during the day. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that here is not THERE and I want to be there. I miss home deeply right now. I'm homesick in a way that I haven't been in five years or more.

I mean, I am quite literally ANGRY at myself for having moved to Florida in the first place. Logically, I know it was the right decision at the time and all, but emotionally, I'm kicking my ass for it. now I know why so many people back home stay there - there's no earthly reason to move - unless you're an idiot or something. Which, I am. Apparently.

This soul deep longing to return to my roots is further proof that I need to get off my ass and get working on getting home. For good. The Boyfriend™ is even feeling repressed and stifled here, too, and he's FROM here.

I take a great deal of comfort in knowing I can get there - and will - even if it'll take some time. I'm incredibly impatient though, and don't want to wait. It sucks this waiting stuff.

Hey! Boston! There's a whole rest of a state to the west of you!

Pictures from my trip home:

Random guy, enjoying the scenery. Potholes, Buckland, MA

Down the river from the potholes.

 

I forgot what the exact symbolism is for the stones, but these line the path on the way to the Peace Pagoda

The Boyfriend, taking pictures of the stacked stones. I took pictures of him.

Ooo... depth of field. Fancy! Actually, I really like this one.

Prayer flags that line the koi pond and woods, surrounding the  pagoda.

Some fancy flower on the Bridge of Flowers in Buckland, MA