A Word About Criticism

crit·i·cism /ˈkrɪtəˌsɪzəm/ - [krit-uh-siz-uhm] –noun

1.	the act of passing judgment as to the merits of anything.

2.	the act of passing severe judgment; censure; faultfinding.

[Origin: 1600–10; critic + -ism]

Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)
Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2006.

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I think it's been fairly well established that I don't take criticism with any sort of grace. At all. But, I have been thinking a lot about that lately. Technically, if you look at the two top meanings of the word... it's a really awful thing! Well, at least as it applies to human beings. I can completely understand having critical reviews of airplanes and heart valves, don't get me wrong. But human beings are not perfect, nor were they ever meant to be.

I have a theory. My theory is that since we have been community (pack?) animals by necessity as part of our existence, that being critical was important. We needed to swiftly correct aberrant behavior that put the community in danger, and encourage more productive behavior that benefited us all. That way children were less likely to fall into the tar pits, and we were less likely to eat our neighbor during a tough winter. Usually.

But where does all that well-meaning drive to correct others go when the world is widely populated and generally thriving? What happens when we're top of the food chain, and can bend the environment to our will? Sure, we're still a bit down on the whole eating our neighbor thing, but aside from that?

We preach the "live and let live" ideal, but in truth I think we all still have the drive to criticize without the necessity to do so on a core level (think: basic survival needs.) So, these criticisms that were meant to instruct and benefit everyone involved are now used to hurt... and in some extreme cases to "thin out the pack." We use criticism to make ourselves feel better than the person we're criticizing. I'm pretty sure none of the cavemen who pulled their buddy out of the fire and explained that it burned got called "holier than thou" for his efforts. But none of us really seem to be pulling anyone out of the fire, in truth we're far more likely to push them in.

I think the major difference is that criticism back then used to be a guiding hand, and now it's just a slapping one. Which is really sad, frankly, because as a species we're not doing so great. It seems to me that a kind, non-judgmental, guiding hand would do wonders for the world. Living with the knowledge that at any moment someone may choose to slap you instead of help creates a different kind of level of existence.

I have only my own world, my own perspectives to judge from. But let me say that I have never minded being told I am wrong. No, I really mean that. I may challenge it, but being told I am wrong means that there is more information I don't have, and even if I still come to the same conclusion - I am better off with the additional information. I love to learn. I retain so much, and the world changes before my eyes like a kaleidoscope with every small shift in perspective.

However, there is a difference between being told that I am wrong and being told that I am stupid, defective, worthless, or a waste of space.

I was sitting alone in the quiet yesterday mulling over another incident of being told how I failed/was an embarrassment at something in some way that affected no one else but me (like when someone says something nasty about your weight. Why does it matter to them? This just so happens to have been about my age. Again.) I kept thinking about how all the bad things stick with you. I remember the day my mother and I were having a conversation when I was 16, and suddenly she stopped mid-sentence to say "My God, Kyra... your thighs are just so big!"

I remember a million other off-the-wall mean snippets from a million other people. I know that there have been compliments in my life that were just as off-the-wall and out of context. I'm pretty sure. Witnesses have said so. But I don't remember those. Isn't it awful that you cannot remember the good stuff, but you remember how the room smelled, what you were wearing, and worst of all how horrible you felt at the exact moment the bad stuff happened?

I think you remember the bad stuff because originally criticism that came out of nowhere were generally things like "Don't step on that! It'll remove your foot!" or "If you drop the baby, it won't bounce back up! Keep it safe!" Important stuff. Criticisms that had to stick in your memory for survival's sake. Like a post-it note for your brain, so you didn't have to go looking for the important information on the fly.

Unfortunately, my brain is more of a post-it-note bonanza of horrible things that have been said. In neon-multicolored paper and inks. There are a few good ones thrown in, but they had to be over the top kind of events. Not these little side tangents where people just flipped the switch into jerk-mode out of nowhere. The good ones look more like life-preservers being tossed out into the middle of a violent storm at sea, sharks circling, and the ship having already gone under.

So, my theory is in two-parts (a double whammy.) The first is that this drive is there to guide, but without the normal needs it was typically used to address, it has been twisted into something dark and evil in order to hurt rather than to help. Unfortunately, it really is a drive that has to be addressed which is why people are so actively engaged in criticizing others without merit. The second part is that we're hardwired to take note of these types of criticisms because once upon a time it was an important element to our survival. Unfortunately, now it's being used to urge us to the edge of the cliff rather than pull us back.

If my theory is true (there is always an off chance,) that means that maybe not being able to take criticism well isn't such a bad thing. No one watches a woman get punched in the face by her husband, then pull herself back up, bleeding, to meekly take another punch, and says to each other "My, she sure took that well! That is admirable! Just like a Lady!" Instead they say that if she doesn't get the courage to leave, to stop taking the punches, she's going to die. They want her to not take the beating so well. They want her to do something to stop it. Anything. They want someone to save her, if she won't do it herself.

What makes nasty criticism any different? Because you don't bleed on the outside? Well, I'm sure that makes the critic feel better (actually, I doubt that. I bet they're disappointed.) But the truth is that it isn't any different. It's an attack. There is no such thing as constructive criticism unless we're talking about a product review. When people are involved as the intended targets there are different words for what we should be doing: teaching, instructing, informing, discussing, guiding. Do any of those words hurt, make you flinch at the first syllable? No, but I bet the word criticism makes you slightly ill on at least a small level.

I think people need to start taking control of their own urges to criticize. I think it's important to ask yourself when you are being critical of another human being if what you are about to say is intended to instruct, or is really intended to hurt. I think hurting others has become a habit, and people don't even notice it anymore. Worse, we justify it because "it's constructive criticism." But it's wrong.

We all do it. Everyone, without exception. The only ones who don't are the children who only ask questions when they see something they don't understand. Sometimes that is misinterpreted as criticism, when instead it should be viewed as an example of how we should be reacting as adults. Don't condemn; ask, learn, and help if you can. Don't be another post-it-note of pain for someone else, whether by accident or intentionally. Neither one is excusable, and it's time people stop acting as if it is.

Deep down, each and every one of us is a teacher. We have something to give, some knowledge to impart that will make someone better for interacting with us. That makes us teacher's by definition. At the same time, every single person you interact with has something to teach you, which makes you a student as well. Neither role lends itself to being a critic of the other person. It's time that everyone remembered that, and put things to rights once more.

Shut UP!

I have seriously had it. I have heard it too many times. If one more person spouts off with it like they're spreading gospel, I may just haul off and tackle them. I know every single one of you have heard it:

"Eat less. Move more."

SHUT UP!

Shutupshutupshutup!

I hate that stupid, misguided little catch phrase. It should be crushed, and crumpled, and burned!

Every single person who repeats it says it in one of two ways; with a superior, criticizing tone, or in defeat. It's harsh, and it lacks actual truth.

"Eat less" means you are eating too much, doesn't it? Precisely, as a matter of fact? Don't you instantly feel bad when someone tells you to eat less? You start seeing mental images of emaciated stars and wondering how it must be to exist on a single slice of bread per day.

Move more - er... where exactly should I be moving? Sure, this one isn't so bad, but developing a nervous tic is only going to get you so far. And then what? What are you supposed to move? When exactly? What is enough? What is too much? What isn't the right thing? Should I feel bad every time I even sit down? Isn't that just another way I'm cheating my body out of moving more?

Enough!!! SHUT. UP.

You know what? I like to eat. I want to eat. I need to eat. WE ALL DO. What we don't need is some half-informed know it all telling us to eat less. I most certainly do not need to hear it from myself, either. I'd just love to be able to exist on air, but as that isn't possible and completely boring besides... no thanks.

The correct phrasing that the original idiot should have gone with? "EAT SMART" Big damn difference. We're made to eat. It's a biological function, backed up by a natural urge. Asking us to deny that level of activity which is required to sustain life is stupid. Asking us to make correct choices is not.

That is not to say that things like cake and pizza are out. They're not. I didn't say "eat perfect", I said "eat smart" and there is a world between the two. The first is an outright fairy tale, so you might as well let that idea go now.

"Move more" should be "Move with purpose." You have to have purpose in everything you do. An aimless movement is wasted energy. Make it count. Find out what you need to do, find a way that you want to, and then learn how to do it. Then get it done. It's that simple.

Rest is the other part of the equation. Though it is the opposite of movement, it is absolutely necessary as well. Yes, some people take resting to a whole new level of existence. Additionally, our world is so modified that we have very few physical demands left to us. But instead of turning into a blob and saying "Eh, who cares. No one needs me. I'm going to go pretend I'm a bowl of pudding" make your rest as purposeful as your movement. Don't just move with purpose, LIVE with purpose. When you rest, make sure you are actually resting (i.e. get a full night's sleep!) Is there down-time where you can lounge and watch Grey's Anatomy without guilt? Absolutely. But you should earn that, plan for it, and make the rest of your day count too.

"Eat Smart. Move With Purpose."

Those two corrected phrases together really are the keys to the kingdom, rather than a criticism of the target recipient. So when a know-it-all tells you to "Eat less, move more" correct them on the spot with "Hmmm, don't you mean 'Eat smart, move with purpose'? You must have meant that, I'm sure." If anything, it will give them something to think about for themselves. And it will be one less person I may have to tackle later on.

Toasty

I have come to realize that there seem to be three types of people:

• Fried. They like everything fried. It doesn't matter what it is, (meat, cheese, ice cream, shoe leather, etc) if it's fried, they're interested.
• Toasted. Everything is always better toasted. Toasted sounds exotic. They'd toast their clothes if they could, because surely they would look better that way.
  
• Neither. Room temperature "whatever" is best. No melted, no warmed, no whatever. Just serve it like it's just out of a cooler. And do you have some bean sprouts to sprinkle on top? Those just go with everything, don't you think?
  

I am descended from two Frieds. My mother's extended family apparently have southern roots (never seen any of them though since she grew up in California, paired with the whole Irish/Scottish thing, it's a bit scary) and that is her reason for loving all things fried. My brother was easily converted into the fried camp as well.

But not me.

I tried. I really did. I loved two dishes that my mother made (she only made three anyway, the rest were frightening experiments that had even odds for ending in the emergency room) so much that I used to eat, enjoy, and then hide so I could nurse a sick stomach for the rest of the evening. Those dishes were her homemade fried chicken and gravy, and her tacos complete with oil fried corn shells.

Everyone seemed to fry things where I lived, it was just the way it was done. I didn't know anyone who didn't have one of those fryers sitting on their counter, as fixed an appliance as the can opener. My mother did have a couple of tree-hugging friends (it's all right to call them that; they really DID go to a tree hugging event in Boulder in the 1980's,) who fell into the Neither category. But mom never went so far as to actually try their style of eating for more than a day - unnatural, she said.

Up until I was old enough to drive and visit restaurants with friends in high school, I thought that was how everything was made. Imagine my surprise when I got to try out some toasted sandwiches! Wholly-Cooking-Grail-Batman! They come toasted? Whoa, back up - explain this mysterious and wonderful toasting thing to me.

That's right. I'm a Toasted. If I can toast it, I do. This has not always resulted in the best outcome for the dish, and there may have been a few fires along the way that we'll just gloss over here, but the fact is that toasting rocks! It's so much better than fried, and I walk away without a sick stomach. Even better, when cheese is involved... oh, heaven.

However, being a Toasted while being surrounded by Frieds is a little tricky. I even married a Fried. I've been working hard on converting him, and I would say he is straddling the fence at the moment. But one has to ask if it's because toasted actually tastes good to him, or the threat of what his wife could actually do if he forced fried foods into the house (he currently gets them on his own, usually on business trips and when we go out to eat... which is rarely.) My daughter has shown signs of being a Fried, but I'm trying to beat back the urge and make her see the Toasted light. My son is already a Toasted disciple.

So where do you fall? Fried? Toasted? Neither?

Radio Days

I love books. I love books because there is a whole other world where I live in them alone. If I am in between books I feel as though part of my soul is restless; as if I'm in a room with no where to sit down and I keep having to pace around while becoming increasingly tired and desperate to rest. Some people prefer television and movies, but I will almost always pick the book.

Don't get me wrong, I love television and movies. It's a rather sad state of affairs to be honest. Most of my shows get TiVo'd and then I catch up by watching them while I work out (this morning, I am planning on catching up on Lost while I lift weights.) I also like the television on while I putter around the house, and even while I paint (but it has to be a story, not "daytime television.") I like to be in the middle of another world, even then. I think it's just a way of keeping my brain occupied, so it doesn't run away. Unfortunately, there are some shows that Mr. Savy is interested in, and he forces me to actually sit and watch them. Unless I'm ill, sitting still that long drives me crazy. It's really a shame I don't like to knit.

When I was a child I read the library. Well, about 85% of it... perhaps a bit more. I read fast. I was grounded a lot. I started at the back and worked my way forwards. I gave up the pursuit of the entire library in the reference section at Encyclopedia volume T (it could be that this is where my mother finally stopped grounding me, as I was determined to put my brother in his place no matter the consequences.) I read thousands upon thousands of books over that span of time. All the children's books, most of the adult books (learned that Judy Blume doesn't always write about Margaret! Wifey was a shock, that continued as I read my way through the library without anyone saying a word. I should add I was about 9-10 yrs old at the time. Don't tell my mother.)

One of the things I discovered while going through were the children's audio books. Back then, they were kept in a nasty plastic bag with hard plastic handles. They were always big picture books, and about six cassettes. Once the kids all caught on that these were there, you could never get your hands on one. We just liked being read to, I guess.

I hadn't really thought about it for a long time, until my mother got herself an audio book of Harry Potter. I listened and thought "I remember this! I remember loving this!" With such a long drive, I looked into audiobooks... and had a heart attack over the price. I was told at our local library (about 1/100th the size of the one I read, it's literally the size of a storage closet) that I should just let it go. I could request it, but every audiobook requested would take up to two months to get.

So I let it go. And then we bought a new car that had XM radio in it for three months free. My children may be in love with the Disney Radio channel, but I found a book channel! Sonic Radio, 163. And then I looked online. I found AudioBookRadio.net, and I found out I can listen to whatever they're reading for free.

I don't think very much about radio in general, it's just always been there. Whatever. This attitude hasn't improved by moving to a place where nothing comes in. But with these audiobook radio/satellite channels, I find myself seeking out radio a lot more frequently. I never thought I would actually pay to have access to radio, but we're actually looking into shifting finances so we can afford the XM radio. Maybe it's not completely silly after all.

Just so long as they don't go broadcasting about aliens invading and taking over the world...

And They Call It....

I keep hearing the line from Ghostbusters in my head:

Dr. Peter Venkman: "Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together - mass hysteria!"




I suppose I should be worried now.

The Diet Dance

It seems the media is again atwitter with talk about our relationship with food. And diets. And ourselves. It's the same old song and dance where they tell you to have a healthy relationship with food... but lose weight NOW!

It's tiring. It makes me want to sit this one out.

Most of you know I am a personal trainer. Something you may not know about personal trainers is that they are NOT allowed to set up a diet for you, that only a registered dietitian or nutritionist is legally qualified to do so (those huge weight loss companies have them working for them, which is why they're allowed to tell you what to eat.) So I don't do that with any of my clients. But not just for that reason.

There is another reason I don't tell you what you can and cannot eat, and why I don't set you up with a special menu for every day. It's because we're not eating to eat, and probably haven't been since we became body-aware as children. Instead we're eating because we're stressed, we're happy, angry, tried, got a promotion, are celebrating some event, are out with friends. Sometimes we're not eating because we're mad at ourselves, we think we have to abstain in order to lose weight, because we think our lack of control is the reason we feel so bad.

Worst of all, just pointing all of those truths out doesn't make them easily divisible. We all know them.

Alright, so we eat because of every reason except the good ones 99% of the time. We can't just stop doing that, now can we? How many of us have parents who complain when we don't eat that we're personally insulting them, somehow letting them down? How many friends are upset when you won't have a drink with them to celebrate that promotion and think that you're jealous instead of happy for them... Or how about the friend who thinks you aren't happy to be spending time with them simply because you didn't down an extra 1,000 cheesecake calories with them?

The answer is obvious: to the people who matter to us, what we put in our mouths shouldn't matter to them at all. The reality is more devious: they watch everything we eat, and it does matter. Denying it doesn't change it. Pointing out the ridiculous nature of the dilemma doesn't make it disappear.

So then what?

The actual realistic line to walk lies somewhere in the middle. Should you toast to your friend, and have a slice of cheesecake with her? Maybe. It really depends on you. You can say no. It is ok to do so, just so long as you are not always saying no - especially in those moments where you truly want to say yes. It's important to acknowledge that food is a part of our lives, our society, our relationships without having a nutritional component involved. In other words, there really are times that food is NOT food.

However, if you are always saying yes, there is something else going on and you aren't making that decision for its merits but for the disastrous diet dance that we've all been sucked into at one time or another. Actually, I would say most people are in the middle of the two-step currently. Food should be just food for 95% of your life. What will get you through your day at your very best. If you eat appropriately, using food as fuel for the daily grind that just exists - you can eat for the other reasons that have nothing to do with food when they happen. They don't happen as often as we tell ourselves they do.

So what do I tell my clients? To be awake in their lives. If it's 6 a.m. and you're drooling over a giant slice of left-over chocolate cake all by yourself, the question isn't whether you should have it - but WHY? So you can feel bad all day long that you ate it? So you can think about that cake and how you have already ruined your day, perhaps instead of thinking about something else that is happening today? Or is it because last night, when the cake was brought out for the big event you felt so good with everyone... and you just want to reclaim a little piece of that good-feeling? (For the record, trying to regain that special feeling only makes it seem somehow less special than it was, diminishing the feeling for the next time, and mars the whole occasion. You can literally ruin a wonderful experience in your life after the fact.)

Eat what matters for your body and soul to function in the most healthy manner possible. Really think about that statement, you'll find that the answer is not always the apple - nor is it always the cake. It's another song about moderation, but at a different beat. It's the dance I try to present my clients with - one that they lead, not me. I have literally told clients to go out and celebrate, with food involved, because they need to realize they cannot exist in one frame exclusively and feel whole.

Truly, I think that is what holds so many people back with food. It seems like no matter what we do, we're only half of ourselves. We're holding back celebrating, or we're holding back ourselves from being healthy. It always seems like it's one or the other, and that is the biggest lie we tell ourselves. The truth is that you cannot have one without the other.

I tell my clients just enough that they start bridging the gap in their lives themselves. Some I push more than others. But most of all, I never stop pushing myself. I'm in this dance too, right along with everyone else. It's a learning process, and I don't think I'll ever be done learning. But I am done dividing myself up into pieces. It is what I tell my clients; it is time to bring all the pieces back together, and find harmony.

UpnDown

There is a very good chance that my family is fighting the urge to give me up for adoption... or perhaps less humanely, just dump me on the side of the road and hope I can't find my way back. The latter could be a distinct possibility, as I have the special ability to get lost anywhere, at any time. It's like a superpower, in reverse. If I could just get the switch to flip the other way, I'd be super-map-girl (GPS-woman?)! I would, of course, demand a cape emblazoned with the letters SMG! (Not to be confused with MSG.) However, barring any reversal of fortune in natural abilities, perhaps I should just work on keeping a low profile.

I'm stressed out. My moods are up, and down. Heck, I am even up and down. Case in point; Tuesday evening I literally almost passed out. I suspect the antihistamine I had taken, coupled with exhaustion. Whatever the case, I took the hint and was more appropriately unconscious in bed by no later than 8 p.m. This never happens. I'm a night owl. I have the inability to sleep any time before midnight, and that's early for me.

Other days I'm bouncing off the walls because something small happened. For example, today my graduation announcements showed up! I don't think I've ever been happier to see little sheets of tissue paper before.

In short, my family is ready to shoot me. Hopefully they can put up with me a few more weeks like this.

I just had to add this as well. This is my mother, gardening:



You know, the fact that I stink at gardening is starting to make a lot more sense.

Snapple War

Have you seen this ad? I really want to go there and just Rollerblade up and down the bubble wrapped sidewalks. I'm addicted to bubble wrap, it's one of my secret shames. Something shows up in the mail with bubble wrap and I could care less about what is in the box, I'm off in the corner making it snap and pop, and fighting my children for what is left of it.

Um, so, right, enough about bubble wrap. I actually got to try the Snapple antioxidant water. Unfortunately the first time I tried it, it was because my husband was stealing one of my bottles. I saw him and yelled that it was mine! He pointed out I had other bottles. I pointed out I had none in that flavor and I wanted to try it!

So he made me try it. Right there. I had just brushed my teeth.

For the record, is there anything on this planet that tastes decent after just brushing your teeth? I'm pretty sure he knew I just had too, it was all a plot just so he could leave with the bottle. However, never let it be said I am not sneaky! He put all his stuff in his car (we were both trying to leave) and went back into the house. I sneaked into his cooler and stole back my Snapple.

We're now engaged in a full-scale Snapple war. He tried to sneak off with the other bottles, I managed to sneak back two of them. Unfortunately, he got the drop on me with the orange starfruit, but I'm ok with that. It's not my favorite, (I like the grape pomegranate) and I have his favorite (raspberry acerola) sitting right here, held hostage.

The good news is that they taste much better than when you have just brushed your teeth. At first I thought they were kind of light... lacking in flavor. But I wasn't doing anything at the time either, and by that I mean being active. I'm a fairly active person. At least I think I am compared to the average person. I get up at an unbearable hour (usually around 4:30-5 a.m.) and exercise six days a week by lifting weights or running. I then proceed to act like a lump of mud for a good portion of the day while I work on the various things I have to do. I finish out the day with some sort of sporting event going on in the evening.

I remembered to bring one of the bottles with me to the soccer practice where I coach, and it turns out that after running around in the heat for 90 minutes that the water doesn't lack in flavor at all, it's just right. If it had been overpowering like a soda or juice, it probably would have totally turned me off. For just after running and coaching? Perfect. Plus, big bonus - no after taste, and after the whole toothpaste thing that was a major blessing.

Unfortunately, it turns out the soccer team likes it a lot too. With my daughter leading the charge, they're sneakier than I am. I only got a sip of the one I brought yesterday, because they all poured it into their water bottles. So now I'm going to have to spend more time hiding it from not only my husband, but also an entire gaggle of preteen girls.

This is getting tricky. Maybe it would be easier to just go back to drinking water.

Just A Breath

Before I get started, to answer some questions, here is a contest note: I'll post the rules on May 9th. Submissions will be accepted from that point until midnight, Monday May 12th. Voting will open on May 13th, and close Friday at midnight (May 16th.) What kind of submissions? Well, just know this: you're gonna have to work for it. However, it actually should be fun. Trust me.

Today is all about breathing. I just cannot breath today, in every sense of the word.

I woke up gasping for breath. I got moving and was all right, then on my drive to class I had an asthma attack (and my inhaler is mostly empty.) Later, I found I just kept over breathing with deep breath after deep breath, and yawn after yawn. Then I found myself in a tightly packed auditorium with no windows, against a wall, gasping for air... it turns out that I am more claustrophobic than I give myself credit for.

Then the worst of them all happened. On my drive home I had all of my windows open. It is over 80 degrees today, and gorgeous out. Except, it is Spring. Spring in a rural country area is not sweet smelling. You have heard me say before that there are more cows than people in Vermont (technically not true, but we have the highest amount of cows per capita.) Now, imagine the smell of that baking in the sun after a long cold winter. With grass cuttings and pollen in the air. With farmers actively (as in, I passed four separate running spreaders) fertilizing their fields.

Have you ever been driving by a place that smelled so bad that you resort to the tiniest breath you can possibly take - little tiny gasps - in the hopes that the smell will pass? Except it doesn't? You start to get lightheaded, but it's still so bad you are fighting the urge to breath. Worse, now that you are fighting the urge to breath, you have never wanted to breath more in your entire life! But you can't, because even your eyes are watering from the smell still. But then it gets so bad that you simply HAVE to breath? And you do.... and it's not a little gasping breath anymore but a full fledged, I'm going to smell this smell forever, breath?

Yeah. It was so bad, I think it actually straightened my hair. And this is horrible to share, but I think I can still taste it. I may decide to throw up, just for a change of sensory.

I'm also overwhelmed with everything today. I had to take a big test-thing today, it's a requirement I pass it to graduate. I should have no problem, but it still left me nervous and breathless. This feeling only gets worse if I happen to glance at the calendar and see the million things I have to do. I literally have something kid-sports related (coaching or attending) all seven days a week right now. And school. And painting. And family, complete with extended family issues. And I'm still working out (so I don't lose my mind). But I'm not sleeping (so I might lose it anyway.)

And. I. Just. Cannot. Breath!

Contest A'Brewin'

It's Monday, so I'm just going to dive right in here. I know some people are waiting for news of a contest for one of the wearable blankets I posted about. The good news is that I did manage to snag the very last one in the store, and I will be giving it away.
The bad news is that even though I have concocted a contest and everything, I think I may want to wait a bit.

Stop yelling at me.

I have been thinking of the other blog contests I have seen, and many of them are about celebrating something. Well, it just so happens that I will have a big something to celebrate in four weeks, in the form of my graduation. My thought was that I would start the contest the week of my finals, and announce winners on my graduation weekend (May 17th.)

Now, I know this is going to frustrate the people who wanted this blanket as soon as possible... so what if I sweeten the pot a little? I am kicking around the idea of putting up for grabs an original watercolor:
(Lunar Blaze, watercolor with gold metallics, 9x12. Ignore the copy rights through the photo, it's just a watermark from my site. It will be matted in gold and backed, ready for framing.)

I'm also going to put in some signed mini-prints (they're a little bit bigger than post-card sized, but real prints I sell) of mine. Three people will be able to choose from the following in stock:


I figured I would make it your choice, what you want to play for (the watercolor or the blanket) and three runners-up would win a mini-print. Oh, and I won't be picking the winners... you all will.

So, any interest?

Sunset

This was out my back window about 30 seconds ago. I was sitting, watching the sunset and sipping a glass of wine. Just had to share... the Sunset, anyway. I think Mr. Savy ran off with the bottle of wine.

In Search of Spring

Yesterday the weather heated up to over 80 degrees. This is significantly higher than our normal 54 degrees this time of year. I was thrilled, right up until the wind stopped blowing and the humidity quadrupled. I just happened to be out on a long walk when it happened. Suddenly I remembered why Summer can be miserable. I don't care though, I was just so happy to be outside in shorts and a tank-top!

I've also been in my studio two days in my row, and actually turning on the live feed because I found a way to keep my whole body out of it and just have my painting in it. Now I just need all of you to yell at me to get into my studio more often.

So, it's Sunday. A lazy, sunny, wonderful Sunday. While I have plenty to say... instead I'll leave you all with photos I took yesterday on my walk in search of Spring. I plan on taking photos once a week on our walk, to document the changes. You can just see Spring starting to peek through the barren gloomy brambles and trees:


Anywhere in New England that you go you will see a million graveyards. Almost every single street has one, and a huge number of houses actually have one in or near their backyard. Fortunately, this one is down the street from us, rather than on our property. In Colorado we used to have the superstition where you held your breath when passing a graveyard. You can't do that here, you'd always be holding your breath and passing out. But look! The only trees with leaves on them are IN A GRAVEYARD! I have a lot of morbid theories on why that is, probably better left unsaid.


This is the dam, which is open right now and flowing violently fast and deep... though it looks rather benign in the photo. A pair of bald eagles live about 50 ft from it in some tall trees. I imagine the fish pouring through is their version of fast food.


This is what they call a "Creek". In Colorado this was a RIVER. Hello!?!! Isn't a creek supposed to be cute and small? Worse yet, this is only half of it because it's split around a land-bar on the left. It's equally as big on the other side. R-I-V-E-R, people. Creek, my foot.


Hiding in the trees.



More "creek", good fishing though. This is from the landing where we walk down and try to snag some trout or other fish. We can literally go catch our dinner. The supermarket is faster though (my family doesn't appreciate my humor on this matter. I feel bad catching a live fish and killing it. I'm more of a catch and release kind of girl. Or better yet, never actually catch - but hang out with a book in the sunshine. "What? I forgot to bait my hook? Oh, there isn't a hook? Wow, how did that happen? Golly, gee.")


Out of our three dogs, only Max is obsessed with water. We can't let him off the leash because he'd go in deep and be swept away. He's still thrilled to death to play in the shallows, though.

Especially when he can get all wet, get close, and then nail us with droplets...



I'm cleaning my camera today, courtesy of Max.

Weaning

I remember when I was young, watching everyone drink coffee. All these grown-ups were always going on about how they couldn't live without their coffee. Don't talk to them before they have had their coffee. After a great night out, they all wound down with coffee. Waitresses were always asking everyone if they would like coffee, more often than they'd offer water. It must be the elixir of life, right?

Not to mention, coffee must also carry some sort of superpower! Why else would all of us kids be told it would stunt our growth, and not to drink it? Clearly, they were just hoarding it to themselves.

At a church Easter function, a bunch of kids (including me) collaborated and sneaked off with a cup of coffee each. We had also managed to steal a metal jug of creamer and a large glass container of sugar. We all met under the banquet tables, hidden by the floor length tablecloths.

So this was coffee.

I was intrigued by the black, oily water. I have to be honest, it smelled pretty good. I have always loved the smell of coffee, as long as it wasn't extra-strength (like stepping into a place that grinds it fresh. That will knock you unconscious, which is rather ironic if you think about it.) Something that smells that good, that so many people cannot seem to live without... it must taste wonderful.

A great debate ensued over how to fix a cup of coffee. Some kids argued that since their dad drank it black, it must be more manly to do so. Others shot back that in their family it was always cream and sugar. We decided that for scientific purposes, and because you couldn't work backwards, we would try it black and move on from there.

We had to pause, because we knew that if any of us got caught with the coffee we were in serious trouble... in a church, no less. They could literally drag us off to the priest. We rationalized that in a Catholic church, stealing and imbibing forbidden drinks like coffee while hiding under the banquet tables, might get us a rather large bit of penitential discipline.

Not to mention, how would we explain to our parents that we never grew taller than we were at eight years old? If they were serious about it stunting our growth, they might catch on that we stopped growing suddenly, one Easter morning.

Of course, all of those warnings and thought processes only took about .00001 seconds before we all leaned in... took a deep breath... and sipped the horrendously hot coffee. A blistered lip stopped everyone for a couple of minutes before we figured out to let it cool down and try again. It smelled so good, I just knew I was discovering something wonderful...

Are they kidding? People drink this... this... black dishwater?!?!!

Oh it was horrible. I don't think any of us liked it, and most of us were absolutely horrified. We remembered the cream and sugar. We started with the sugar. Sugar, sip...no... Sugar, sugar sip... no.... Sugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugar, sip.... no. Maybe cream too? Cream, sip... no.... Cream, cream, sip... *gag* no.... back to sugar, sugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugar, sip.

Yuck.

Nothing we did made it taste better. Those parents had lied. Or it was something far more sinister. Some of us had recently seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers. It became a working theory that kept many of us up at night.

I tried coffee again in High School, it was still awful. It turns out, I am simply a tea-girl. I love teas. I have a million boxes in different flavors (this is a photo from what is in my tea-shelf from last year, I think I have actually added to it):


Last semester was incredibly difficult for me. By the end, I was literally buried in term papers, only poking my head out of the pile to snag anything with carbohydrates and... coffee. I have never been a coffee drinker, but I soon found that it really did have a magical power to keep me up and working when all I wanted to do was crawl into the corner and sleep.

I overshot the mark a couple times, learning about coffee... I have to officially apologize to the people who had to scrape me off the ceiling and put up with me until the caffeine wore off. Sorry.

I still didn't like the taste, but it literally helped me get the job done. I even found flavored coffees, and those weren't so bad - in fact, they actually started to taste pretty good. Fast forward to now, I am still drinking it. It stopped tasting like black oily water, and it tasted good... for a while. Whatever mutant shift happened that made coffee taste acceptable for a few months has shifted back. It doesn't matter what flavor it is any more - it's coffee. Yuck.

But now I have a problem. I don't crave coffee or anything like that, but if I just stop = instant migraine. When I say I "get migraines", I don't mean I just have a bothersome headache. Maybe other people get migraines like that, but since I was a child I would get 3-5 migraines per week. Each one comes with a complete loss in my peripheral vision, fever, vomiting, inability to stand any light, much less drive or even speak. I don't just get migraines, I become completely debilitated by them.

I am able to circumvent them becoming full blown, kill me now, nightmares with medication... most of the time, anyway. However, I am now in a situation where I want to stop drinking something, and doing so triggers one of these migraines - which are oddly not stopped with medication. So, I'm working on a "weaning" process. I'm cutting down by 25% each week. But it's tough, with a minefield of migraines.

I guess it turns out that coffee IS actually evil. I suppose this means my mother was right after all. Or perhaps this is all karma, and I'm being punished for the whole Easter heist 25 years ago.

Stupid, evil, coffee.

Not A Winner

I've mentioned before that I have run a marathon (26.2 miles.) I'm very proud of that fact for one major reason: I'll never be doing that again.

It's my little slice of personal glory. I didn't win anything. As a matter of fact, I crossed the finish line as they were physically dismantling it. They had taken the time recorder down, and I was logged as a DNF (Did Not Finish) on the official results, even though I actually did finish with a horrid time of around 6:18. I did get my medal, and that's all I really wanted anyway.

But my main point with all of this is that I am actually not good at running. Not even a little bit. I am dedicated to it now (I run about nine miles a week, or so - an addiction to the runner's high might be at work here,) but I'm just not one of those amazing people who can zip about and run races, finishing with the crowd. As a matter of fact, while in training I ran a 15k race. I came in dead last. There is a reason for that term; you want to die of mortification. But at the same time, I was thrilled I had finished it AND gotten the only cool racing t-shirt I have ever received.

There is a special point for every bad-runner who runs a marathon. You start to question your entire reality. Everything is wrong. Everything hurts. Life stinks. Why are you even doing this? What are we, on like mile 16 here? That's 10 miles from the finish line! TEN!!!!! Bigger than most races are to start with! Almost a half-marathon! Are you kidding me? You could be laying in a pool somewhere sunning yourself! Watching a movie! ANYTHING! But no, here you are in the middle of this damn race with a very attractive half-skip-hobble-run pace going, while everything hurts. You are slow as a turtle, one who will most certainly not win any race in this world...

I believe some people call this "hitting the wall". I call it something more colorful that I won't post publicly. It's a very interesting point to get to, because it's the ultimate point in any marathon - not the finish line, like so many people think. It's the pivot point. It's the point at which elite racers who are having a bad day simply quit, rather than finish in embarrassment. It's the point at which everyday people give up and leave finishing the race to someone else. It's sink or swim, do or die.

It is also the most memorable point, more than any other during that race, because it stays with you in perfect clarity forever. The finish-line celebration might blur, but that moment when time stops and you can feel yourself weeping on the inside, and you have to make that decision between what you really want, who you really are, and what is important to you will remain etched in infinity for you. The pivot point is where you find out who you really are, who you really want to be, and what you are actually willing to do for your own convictions. Because, let me tell you that minus the genetic jack-pot winners with a talent for racing, running 26.2 miles is not about ability and putting the steps behind you, but the intricate cloth of which you are made.

I remember that point. I hit it, as I said, at about mile 16. Popular theory holds that most people hit it around mile 22. It's the only thing I was ever early for in regards to running in my entire life. I said all those things to myself. I yelled, I screamed, I was hateful. I told myself to leave. To give up. To get an ice pack and a mega dose of Advil. Go home. Get out of here.

I was stretched so thin, that there weren't any hidden subversive intents or messages. Everything was clear, which is so very rare in life. There wasn't anything left to say, it was all so simple. And in that moment all I saw were the green trees all around me, moving softly in the wind of a sunny morning by the lake. I smelled the water, heard the birds just barely over my own breathing and heart pounding. I stopped, with tears on my face.

It isn't often that my mind empties out into perfect silence, usually I am a cacophony of mass proportions inside. But not then. The loudest sound in my world was the inhale of my breath as it rattled through my nose and mouth and into my body. It was as if nothing was left, as if I was looking at a picture on the wall - you can't add to it, it just is. Empty, silent... vivid perhaps, but lacking in cognizance.

It was out of that which I felt a rise of something else. A whisper from far away, but insistent. It grew. It became louder, and I heard things like "You've come 16, 10 is nothing. Start fresh. You don't have to run 26.2 miles. All you have to do is start over and run 10. Forget the other 16 ever happened. All you have to do, is do this. Move, for yourself. This is worth it to you. Do this." And I did. I finished.

Running a marathon wasn't about beating the distance, but overcoming myself. It was about finding the one true thread that I needed to follow, based on who I was when everything else was stripped away, and finishing what I started because it was important to me.

I know this is a lot of "running" commentary, and likely I have lost a lot of people to boredom. But the truth is that there are not many examples in my life where I have been so challenged, so empty of the rhetoric which gathers like dust on who we are, so clear. It taught me a lesson about who I am, at my core - who I have always been from the very beginning. I have tried to stay true to that, to not let that tenuous hold on that single clear truth snap. It stays with me every day, and it has help drive me to where I am now.

I spend a lot of time grappling with the truth of who I am. There are a lot of words than can clutter things up and confuse my world into convoluted twists and turns. But I had that moment of simple crystalline peace and knowledge, and in that empty space I found my own spirit. Something that existed beyond the talk, and just was.

I found out that I am not a winner.

I'm something better than that; I'm a Finisher.

Passionate Fire

I recently heard the statement made that almost all people lack real passion. That even for a single "anything", they have no real passion. That in truth, 99% of people have no idea what having a passion, or experiencing passion actually means.

I was absolutely flabbergasted by this statement. Everyone has a passion for something, right?

My take has always been that everyone has a passion for something (or someone), even if it's something small that no one understands. Feeling that this comment had been blithely made, and rather naively at that, I went right to Mr. Savy. I couldn't wait to share what "those fools" were saying now. I just knew he would see how silly, and in a way horrifying, the viewpoint that people are ignorant of true passion was. I knew we would just laugh and shake our heads sadly at the poor, misguided souls.

I was disappointed. I told Mr. Savy what was said, and waited for the laughing rejoinder on how silly an idea it was that people didn't really know passion. Instead all I received was a blank shrug, and a "Yeah, and...?"

It turns out that Mr. Savy felt that this was the truth all along. He went on to lecture me (never give that man an opening to a lecture) on how most people really don't know what passion is. They know what hobbies are, interests, and lets face the obvious here; sex. But that having true passion is something a bit more elusive. In our media-stricken world, it's all about trysts in the elevator between floors, but that isn't what is meant by having true passion.

So, then I began to doubt myself. Do I not know passion? I kind of fancied myself as a passionate person in general... but from the conversation, it seems that was an entirely wrong application of meaning to begin with. Sort of like the irritation that some grammatical authorities have over the word "awesome" being bandied about (i.e. a brightly colored package isn't "awesome", but realizing that you are a part of this huge universe, with possibilities unknown is awesome.)

Of course, you just have to ask. Even if you are worried that this is entirely opening you up to complaints of a more personal nature. I mean, this could get really bad.

"Am I? I mean, if you believe everyone isn't for the most part... am I?"

"Annoyingly so." (Ok, now I'm not sure that was a good answer either. What the heck does that mean? Annoyingly so? Sort of damned if you do, and damned if you don't at that point. Thanks a lot!)

He may have noticed my brooding (perhaps menacing) silence. "Look, I believe that true passion is rare. People have hobbies, and things that they're really into, and might really like something... but there is a whole other realm where it becomes a 'passion'. Like you're fitness, you're into it, major, but it's not a passion. It's more like a hobby. But it's different with your art, right? That's a passion... except you've been stupid about it, not focusing on it like you should. But it's still a passion. Plus, you are this extremely intense person. I think in some cases this intensity can be called 'passionate', but at the same time I don't think that is what we're really talking about. "

He's not wrong. Fitness is a hobby, something to keep me occupied. I cannot breath without art. I see the point. But that wasn't my original point; everyone has something that they are truly passionate about, or for. They have something or someone in their lives that creates a spark, which in turn burns far brighter and hotter than any "hobby". It could be anything, but it's there.

But what does that really mean? What makes a person passionate about something or someone? Is it the depth to which you would risk yourself? Would you die for it? Wouldn't that pretty much make any parent an automatically passionate person? (The argument is that the biological instinct to protect and die for your young isn't passion, because it involves a level that is programmed for survival. In other words, a necessary passion, therefore not an independent development.) Is it the degree to which you dedicate yourself? At what point does passion become classified as addiction? It seems that by these terms there might be a very fine line.

So, I'm throwing the questions to you: Do you believe that only a few people in the world are truly passionate, or have a true passion? Or do you believe that people have interests, but all in all most of us are just sort of going through life finding things we like to occupy ourselves with... but it pretty much ends there. Are you a passionate person? Do you have a passion(s)?

A Little Housekeeping

Some of you who visit me in person, rather than on a subscription reader, might notice a little change in the top right corner. I embedded a web cam feed of my studio. When I am in my studio, it will be on (with no sound. No one should be subjected to my singing along with my iPod.) I tried the camera out briefly a few weeks ago, and actually generated a little bit of new interest in my art work. As my art is what I am going to start pouring my energy into after I graduate, I view that as a good thing. It's a bit weird, knowing people can see me, and I'm not sure I'll keep it for the long term... but for now, it's worth a shot.

If I stick with it, and it works out - I'll pick up a better camera, as this one is ancient. Since my painting hours are rather chaotic, I can't say when it will be on. It could be at any point, at any hour, for any length of hours (though I am a night owl and tend to paint well into the night.) It's not all that exciting, but there has been an interest expressed in the process. I'm contemplating getting a camera I can aim just at the piece I am working on (clipping to my easel or drawing table, perhaps) that way no one will actually have to see me in it at all.

I have also decided to close my art blog, Color Me Kyra (again) and just keep this as my "Blog of Many Colors". I'm diverse. It's just the way I am. Dividing my blog is dividing myself, not to mention giving me one more thing that I feel I should be keeping up on rather than doing the things I need to be doing. So, you can expect to see me blather on about life, fitness, and art - the trifecta of Kyra.

And lastly, since I mentioned fitness, my new punching bag is defeating me. I wanted to post pictures of it, but I have spent the past two days trying to pour sand into the extremely small opening in the base. Somewhere out there, the manufacturers of this thing are laughing themselves sick at my expense. Good thing it's a punching bag so I can beat the ever-living heck out of the thing once it's put together without any guilt (can't say the same for items like a computer with Vista issues.)

Home Grown

Before I forget, I'm going to be up in town on Friday. *IF* I get my hands on another one of these wonderfully snugly blankets, I will have a contest and give one or two away. The only problem is, I can't figure out what kind of contest to hold. So, suggestions welcome.

As I was driving myself to school this morning, I noticed something wonderful; all the lakes and streams are finally free. They've been frozen solid for so long, and everything has been so silent and still. It really was amazing to see all the movement once more. Now we just need leaves, because everything has a sort of embarrassed naked quality to it right now that is totally unappealing (kind of like catching sight of myself in the mirror stepping out of the shower..."Good lord, someone fling something over that! GAH! Burning my eyes out here!") I'm really looking forward to dandelion season; they're so thick out here it's like a carpet of gold, and it only lasts about two weeks in May.

During my horrendously long car ride I was also listening to the radio. They were talking about all the genetically modified stuff in our food supply. The theory was put forth that even eating genetically modified foods can cause your own internal stomach "guys" (natural bacteria, etc) to take on genetic modifications derived from the food, including the ones that naturally create pesticides. Meaning that you then have little evil things running around, genetically modified in your body. For a moment I lost track of what they were talking about, and had a mental image of the famous scene from Aliens.

Fantastic imagery at 7 a.m. Really.

Unfortunately, my little daydream just set the tone for everything that followed. The radio show, in short summary, said stay the heck away from the genetically modified stuff, and the stuff that is fed the genetically modified stuff because it's bad and we'll all have unending bad-hair days and grow extra toes. (alright, perhaps the extra toe thing wasn't included, but it's not good.)

I subsequently looked up the information to back it up, because I am not a lemming; I'll go off a cliff with everyone else if I can scientifically back up my reason for doing so, but only then. Horrible stuff. Horrible. Worse, now I actually know about it (rather than tactfully avoiding it and pleading ignorance,) I have no excuse to go on as if everything is normal. Google the debate and you'll see a million hits, you can figure out what sounds right to you. Even PBS has a series called Harvest of Fear. There are a lot of sides to it, but in the end it just sounds like GE foods are a good idea once they get a handle on it - but we shouldn't be eating it yet (and already are. Especially if you eat any processed foods.)

Is it wrong that the idea of eating evil mutant things that are slowly turning me into slime is semi-appealing because the alternatives are so expensive and so much work? Plus, think of all the benefits you would have from sprouting... say... an extra hand? Would it really be so bad?

Oh hush. I know, I know. All this doom and gloom just plays right into the recession for me anyway. A dozen eggs, as witnessed at my local store this past weekend was 3.29 for normal, and 5.89 for organic (gas was 3.48 for regular lowest priced unleaded, just for reference.)

A few years back my husband read the book Five Acres and Independence. He then went completely starkers, built the grand hotel of chicken coops (almost caused a divorce over it) and filled it with a bazillion chickens. (It may have been closer to 30 or 40, but that is LIKE a bazillion chickens! You try living with that many babbling birds beneath your bedroom window and see how charitable YOU are towards them!)

He raved about the book. He made plans. He built a 100 foot by 50 foot fenced garden that he proudly thought I would be able to handle by myself. (For the record, I kill houseplants and literally get motion sick weeding even a small flower bed.) He went on, and on, and on about how we would grow our own food! He explained how we would can things, and rely on crooked supermarkets no more! I huddled in the corner, watching him, taking notes for the divorce lawyer to use as evidence.

Fast forward a few years, a few showdowns with skunks, possums, and one memorable sword fight with a raccoon (literally), the chicken coop deluxe lies broken and vacant:


(that picture is actually from today.)

How the tables have turned. *sigh*

Yes, now I am the one who is reading the book. Not only that book, but trashy vegetable romance how to's like Carrots Love Tomatoes, instead of my normal human trashy romances. It's just not the same. Trust me on this.

I'm starting to fix up the coop. Hammers, screw drivers, nails, screws, and probably a lot of duct-tape in strange areas unless Mr. Savy decides to forgive my earlier attitude and help out. (Who knows what kind of damage I might do on my own?) I'm planning out the garden, trying to figure out a solution to my motion sickness while gardening (you all thought that was a joke didn't you? It's not.)

I was doing this anyway, but after the radio show I heard this morning and the information I started looking up... well let's just say that you will probably find me working outside in the dirt more often than not from here on out.

With lots of sun screen on.

In overall-shorts and mud-boots.

And maybe a big straw hat.

Maybe I should just go get Mr. Savy's shot gun and try shooting the ground in several areas to see if I can strike oil instead?

Blankie

I know, you are all going to have me arrested for two posts in one day... but I gotta ask.

Do any of you have one of these?

It's a super soft, snugly blanket that zips together and snaps to form a robe-like thing, and when you are sitting down even the bottom snaps together so you are completely bundled up. I had one when I was a kid. I used to wear it all winter long, year after year, until I wore it out...and then didn't see them again for decades.

I just found them again, and being that it's threatening flurries today and chilly, I've been in mine all day (literally - that picture was from two minutes ago. I'm contemplating not even getting out of it to drive to the vet to pick up my dog. Think they'll notice?)

Edit: Oh for heaven's sake! It seems this is something you guys DON'T have, but want? Dutchy suggested I do a contest for one. If I can get my hands on another one or two, I might just do that if there is interest? Yes? No? What kind of contest, I wonder....

Recessionary Punch

You know we're really in a recession when you catch the "wealthy-folk" at the local home and garden store having a conversation outside that literally goes as follows...

"So, uh... you're looking at these models here, then?"

"Yes, yes I am. Do you know much about them?"

"Well, no. Actually, to be honest Jim, I haven't been here before. My wife has, I think. For flowers or some such nonsense."

"Ah, well... They seem to have a nice selection... right? This is what is out there, these are good options, you think?"

Both men in their perfectly pressed khakis, Polo shirts, and $500 designer leather penny loafers, tipped back and forth on the balls of their feet, contemplating the lawn mowers.

"So... you're really going to do it then?"

"Yes."

"You're really going to start... mowing your lawn yourself?"

"Yes... Yes I am! *sigh*"

"It's a damn shame the recession is hitting us all so hard like this."


I had to duck behind an aisle display of chicken feed at this point so I didn't die laughing in front of the blue-bloods. *Scarlette O'Hara sigh* Imagine, having to go out and buy a $1500 lawn mower because you can't afford the $400 per week to have your lawn mowed.

Alright, I suppose I'm not being fair. Their whole lives are being altered by having to mow their own lawns, something they probably haven't done... well, quite possibly ever, I suppose. The thing is, unless I had acres and acres of perfectly landscaped yard (I have acres and acres of UNlandscaped yard), I just can't imagine paying someone so much money just to cut the grass (I mow our yard, not Mr. Savy - he gets the treat of trimming the poisonous plants around the edges.) It's just one of those things that is beyond my comprehension. Even if I was a millionaire, I'd probably still be out there with the mower myself. I'm uncouth like that.

In other news, it seems that I have started a new personal tradition. About once every 2-3 months, I injure my back/neck and cannot move for a few days. Sometimes I know how I did it, but usually I have no idea. I have a suspicion that this injury today stems from my new toy.

That's right... I have a new toy. I couldn't help it. I had just sold some artwork and I was in the K-Mart with my son looking for laundry soap when I saw it. A giant aisle of clearance stuff, and there they were...three giant boxes. Inside these boxes were 6' free standing, flexible punching bags and glove sets. On CLEARANCE! Major clearance (75% off. We're talking less than the cost of dinner.)

I bought one. I have wanted one for a long time. My hanging bag is like cement and I don't have the room to do proper kicks with it where it's installed. This one should be perfect for what I need. However, moving the heavy and unwieldy box (I can sit in the box with my son, that's how big it is) around while in three inch heels by myself was probably not the best choice I ever made. I figure my balance was all wrong, and I probably tweaked something. Then weightlifting last night just pushed my vertebrae over the edge.

However, my injury is in such a spot that I have the best posture you have ever seen! I cannot slouch at ALL. Of course, I can't move either. There's always a trade-off.

I'm going to be putting together my new toy today. I need 250lbs of sand to anchor the base, and I think I only bought 120 lbs. And yes, I'm stupid enough to be slinging around the 60lbs bags of sand myself because I move heavier things all the time... of course, I'm not injured normally. I'll take pictures tonight of my new toy, and you can see my perfect posture... unless I get stuck on the floor. Then I might only have pictures of my ceiling to share.

In Season

There is a certain feel to the seasons. It's something that permeates every moment, every breath, even in your sleep. In the Winter, you wake up and there is this cold, sleepy feeling to the world that is wrapped up in a long sigh of "huuuuuuushhhh." In the Spring there is a tense, anticipatory feel accompanied by a level of barely restrained, sometimes violent energy. Summer brings with it a bright, lazy, and languorous feeling, while in Autumn there is a sort of a bitter-sweet quality to the ever increasing sharpness in the air; so beautiful and so sad at the same time.

You can feel a season approaching in the air and deep in the earth before it even crests on the horizon. I think that this is because a season is always accompanied by immense changes. They're always difficult at first, with the shifting and sliding that happens until the season has taken a strong hold. Then it becomes easy, and you revel in the rhythm... until the next shift.

I tossed and turned all during last night's sleep, dreaming vividly of so many people from my past, that I actually feel heavy in my soul. It was as if my own density had increased threefold over night, pressing me down into my pillow. I awakened several times in the night simply trying to lift myself up. So many people, and all of them lost to me save one. Lost for different reasons, but lost just the same.

One in particular, I dreamed I came face to face with now. I dreamed that the others were sad for him, and when I saw him we reached out and laid our hands upon each other's faces and I felt how much had been lost. I literally awoke with tears on my face. He was no lost love of mine in the romantic sense, he was my friend. I know that his life has taken a very different turn, in a somewhat fearful direction last I heard. But that was years ago, and in truth I haven't thought often about any of the people who I dreamt of last night.

Even with such a dark night of dreams, this morning I awoke with a sense of Spring and Summer. It was as if I knew Spring was settling in, but I could practically smell Summer around the corner, hiding just out of sight. I laid in my bed, alone, for a long time just staring out my window. I remember those mornings as a child and waking to the Summer breeze breathing through the shade that had been drawn in my room. I used to watch as it blew forward and then suddenly sucked backwards against the window in a tight embrace, and think to myself that this was a good morning - just because. No matter how bad things could possibly get in the day before me, it was still Summer. There was still that bright and lazy air of everything being full of possibility, even if that meant doing nothing in particular.

Even though I feel very heavy with all my thoughts today, I can feel that Summer mentality starting to slowly seep into me. I know that this is really about a daunting level of change that has begun for me. I didn't expect it. Why would I? What is so special about this time in my life? I'm not exactly sure, to be honest. Yes, I am graduating in five weeks... but so what? I know that getting my bachelors degree was a big milestone for me, but it isn't attached to any great changes that I can see.

Yet the feeling is there. It's like being in a doze, but someone is knocking on your door so insistently you know you have to bring yourself to wakefulness and answer it. There is almost a sense of urgency about it, but you have no idea why that should be.

My children are older, and don't need me with such intensity as they once did. My ar