Snapshots

It's been the sort of week where a lot happens without anything special having happened, so instead of picking one thing out, I thought I'd sum up through snapshots, both figurative and literal. I'll begin with the figurative.

From a conversation with Nobilis: Every writer has their strengths and weaknesses. Thankfully, the key to our weaknesses often lies within our strengths. If, for example, you have problems writing beginnings but not middles, see if you can find the beginning somewhere in the middle.

From my son's Kanji flashcards: The idea of cooperation can be expressed by using the characters for people and power.

From meditation: This is a time when the concept of commitment is frowned upon because of the limits it imposes, but having limits isn't always bad. Commitments I made very early, long before I understood what would be required of me to keep them, have saved me from far worse pain than that of simple deprivation.

Along the same lines, self-denial isn't always good. It's not even virtuous, as it keeps us focused on what we're not doing rather than what we're doing. One of my challenges for the next month or so is to prevent myself from being physically hungry, with an accompanying challenge involving carrying this practice over into the rest of my life. Being hungry, in any sense, doesn't accomplish anything except to keep me obsessed with food, and that's really boring.

On to the physical snapshots.

This project came about when I got my electric bill a few months ago. My overall utility use was down from last year, but my actual bills were about to go up. WTF? So now I'm experimenting with apartment-dweller solar lighting hacked out of those ubiquitous solar lawn lights. I'll be the first to admit that this will throw me into the kook category for a lot of people, but I can accept that. I've been a kook for a long time.



I started with these. They're not very attractive when they're in my bedroom, but they have a remote solar panel, about twenty feet of cord, and led bulbs, which last for ages and use very little juice. They also have both a light sensor and a manual switch, so they come on automatically at dusk but can be turned off when I go to bed.

White leds are such that the light you get resembles that of an alien landing site, but that's not a problem for me. I use an led rope light as a desk lamp, so I'm used to it.




The next place I went was here. For the most part, I'm not a huge Martha Stewart fan, but her coffee filter roses are gorgeous and easy. They're also a fun thing to do with your hands while watching TV.

Now for the instructions.

Take apart the spotlights until you're down to the wire and the little circuit board that has the three leds. Use electrical tape to cover any exposed wires. Cut out the rose petals as per the instructions, and wrap them around the little circuit board, making sure the leds aren't totally buried but also not totally visible. Paint and curl the petals, following the instructions on the Martha Stewart site. I just used white, because most of my bedroom is white, although I might add a touch of red later. The paint adds stiffness as well as color, so don't skip this. Anyway, the end result is hard to photograph with a cheap digital camera, but I've done my best.



This is a solar rose during the daytime when the panel is charging. The bit of green is electrical tape covering the exposed wire. I'll change that to white later. I just don't have white tape right now.




This is what they look like when the sun goes down, more or less.

I've finished two of them. When I'm done, I'll have half a dozen, possibly in a wooden vase that's been drilled to accommodate the cords. I'm also considering hanging them from the ceiling as a kind of chandelier.

Three of the spotlights, unaltered, are enough to illuminate a small room to the point where there's no need to turn the lights on to get something. I have no idea what six of these things will look like, but I'm having a really good time with this.

That's what people don't realize about being a kook. It's a heck of a lot of fun.

Spying on the neighbors

 

There's a whole family of rabbits that lives near my apartment complex, and they often come round to my place to have a snack. As my windows are literally at ground level, I get to watch them. I also get to watch a few kinds of birds, neighborhood cats and even chipmunks. We get skunks, too, but I've only smelled them, not seen them.

Isn't this guy a cutie?

Moving Toward the Light

I'm going to take a shot at writing a real entry on this machine, although my back feels like it's about to fry. Hate that!

Anyway, have you ever noticed that every time you start thinking of giving something up, you're surrounded by it? That's been happening to me lately. As I've been thinking about giving something up in order to free up more time and energy for other things, I'm surrounded by it. It's everywhere, which is a bit creepy because I've been scouring thrift shops for a specific kind of pot for a friend of mine. I'm teaching her to bake bread as a new baby gift and she needs just the right pot, but that's getting off track.

Anyway, as I'm going on this quest, I find myself surrounded by reminders, everything from sculptures to collectible plates. Honestly, what gives here? Is the universe trying to torture me?

It's very easy to say that it's trying to get me to change my mind, but I'm not so sure about that. Every time I think of my life with this supposed deprivation in place, it's like I'm looking through a crack in a door that's spilling warm, golden light in the world. The only problem is that I can't actually see what's in that light. I'm going to have to go through the door in order to find out what's there.

What I am is scared. I've been spending a lot of time reassuring myself, and I'll be talking to others who have taken this path. I just don't know for sure what that light might be, and I know for sure what's involved in what I need to give up to get it. There's a lot of happiness there, a lot of comfort, warmth and laughter. I have to give all that up, and I have no clue what's on the other side of that door.

Well, okay, that's not totally true. I've flirted with this before and done quite well, as Margaret can attest, but there's a huge difference between flirting and going all the way.

Then again, maybe I've been mostly making excuses to do what I want to commit to. For a while, my son was too little. Then I was too broke. Then I was too busy. Then I tried, but it went totally wrong. Then I was too busy again.

I'm still too busy, at least that's what I keep telling myself, but I'm also realizing that we tend to place our time and energy according to a pretty solid set of priorities. Truthfully, my own uses of my resources have backed this decision for years. It's nothing radical. It's just how my life is structured.

That structure, though, is a radical diversion from what's expected of me. Tradition wants me married. Feminism wants me to be a CEO. I'm not even somewhere in the middle, I'm somewhere else completely and very happy there, but I'm also not oblivious to the pressures that would have me somewhere else. They exist. They are strong. They tell me that they're selling the best kind of happiness out there.

The pursuit of happiness is enshrined in the Constitution, a fact that seems to be morphing into a mandate to be happy all the time. It's even pretty clear what we need to be happy. For women, especially women my age, it's a house, a few kids, a brand-new SUV, and regular visits to the beauty salon, all provided with the help of a husband. It's possible for women to get this on their own, but the husband is still seen as necessary for real happiness. It's also possible for a woman to have a husband and none of the rest, but that's not part of the script, either. It's all or nothing.

I know people, both male and female, who have followed the scrip, didn't get what they want, and revel in their bitterness. They deserve to be bitter, because they didn't get that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Okay, neither did I, but scripts are things you get for TV shows and plays, not life, and when looking up from the script, I see this door that's open just a crack, and all that wonderful light shining through. Sure, I'm scared because this isn't supposed to be what life is about.

Then again, who's making the rules anyway? Who wrote this script and why? Who's best interests is it in?

Seems like I'm asking that question a lot lately, the one about best interests, but it's a worthwhile question to ask. Sometimes a task makes sense from this standpoint, but sometimes the rationales completely fall apart, and I'm left wondering who on earth came up with this idea. Some things, some scripts, hurt everyone involved, and the damage can last for generations.

I'm so close to that door that I could push it open with my hand, but I'm scared. Bitterness is a kind of safety net, and I won't have that here. Still, once I pass through that door, nothing will ever be the same again, and while there are things I'll celebrate leaving behind, there will also be things I'll grieve. That's just how it goes, though. The idea that anyone can have it all is just as mistaken as the idea that happiness is available via any particular lifestyle.

We can't have it all, but we can decide which parts we need, and happiness is available everywhere, even here.

Two quick notes

I still don't have a new Mac, alas, and this machine isn't exactly comfortable to write at. However, my article on M. Christian's book, Me2, is up at ERWA. Just click on the title to read Beside Ourselves.

I'll update the website this weekend.

I also thought I'd add another silly animal pic:


more cat pictures

Thought for the day

see more crazy cat pics

Hothouse People

Today, I'm blogging about tomatoes. And maybe strawberries, but I'm starting with tomatoes because the picture that accompanied the article was of tomatoes. These weren't hothouse tomatoes, either, but lumpy, scarred, somewhat greenish ones, the kind that get passed over at the farmer's market.

The article was another bit from the recent issue of Psychology Today about vitamins and flavinoids. Turns out that one reason why organic produce is more nutritious is because it grows under greater stress. All of those scars, lumps and off-colors are indications that the fruit has had to struggle to survive, and that in doing so, it has become more nourishing.

This is where the strawberries come in. When I was a kid, we had a field full of wild strawberry plants. The fruit was tiny, and it packed more of a flavor punch than the domestic fruit we grew in the garden. They were a pain in the rear to pick, but a half hour spent tilting up the small, clustered leaves in search of a snack was well rewarded.

Of course, they were small, elusive and only available in spring. Nothing's perfect, but that's my point today. Those big, juicy, red strawberries the size of plums that you find in the grocery store start out with little to offer besides aesthetics, and lose much of that little in transit. The vitamins in fresh produce degrade with every day they spend in the box or on the shelf.

This is interesting to me, because I've been coming to the conclusion that people are the same way. Hothouse people don't tend to have much going for them, and they seem to break down pretty quickly.

Granted, organic can break down, too. Not all of those tomatoes or strawberries are tasty. Some end up like little rocks, or get half-eaten by other organisms, but there's no such thing as perfect. Nobody yet has come up with a tomato or strawberry that has maximum color, size, shape, nutrition and availability. We have to give up something.

In terms of people, I think we are given no choice. A good argument can be made for the idea that the hothouse itself is bad for people, that overprotection deforms even more than the wear and tear of normal life, and outside of that protected environment, anything can happen. People are injured. People get sick. People die. Nobody is untouched.

As far as we know, tomatoes and strawberries don't care much about those around them. We do, though, and that makes it hard to attach to people who seem, well, scarred, lumpy or off-color somehow. Deep down, we know what those scars and lumps mean. It's why we avoid them in others, and hide them in ourselves. We are fragile. It's not just that we don't like to hurt ourselves. We don't like to see those we love in pain.

That concealment, though, is a lie. Even worse, we're concealing the best parts of ourselves. Our ability to be happy means nothing when nothing happens to challenge that happiness, and the same is true of strength. It's easy to be strong in a world where nothing bad happens. It's only when our backs are against the wall that we find out what we're made of, and we never walk away unscathed.

That's why I didn't wear long sleeves yesterday, even though I have an ugly bruise on the inner part of my right elbow. They took blood there last Wednesday, checking my liver enzymes, and because I'm on prednisone, I bruise easily. The large, livid marks show splendidly against my pale skin.

It was, however, too nice a day for long sleeves, and on such a day, it's just as conspicuous to wear long sleeves as it is to wear a bruise like this, and that's something we forget too easily. It isn't just our lumps and scars that show. Our cover-ups do, too, if people get close enough. The only way we can conceal the marks our lives have left on us for long is to refuse to allow anyone to get too close.

We live surrounded by images of hothouse people, and those images are presented to us in such a way as to make them seem desirable, both to have and to be. They are posed to seem attainable as well. It's very difficult to walk away.

If we don't, though, we are walking away from everything good about ourselves. We're trying to pretend that we've never been tried or tested, as if such a thing was possible. We're trying to present ourselves as round, smooth, and perfectly colored fruits grown in a greenhouse, safe from insects, cold and even the normal variations of weather; plump, pretty skins, in other words, over-filled with water.

Water has a place in our diets, but we can't live on it, not for long. We need a lot more than that. We need what those oddly-shaped fruits have to offer, the vitamins and flavinoids their more protected cousins never have a chance to develop.

We need that from the people in our lives, too. We even need it from ourselves. Ever met anyone who hasn't really known deprivation? I have, and they're not pleasant company. They're not even happy. We think they should be, but they never are.

This is not to say that suffering inevitably ennobles us. It doesn't. I've seen people get bitter or warped over all kinds of things. Sometimes the scar tissue left over from damage makes a fruit inedible. If we're lucky, it's just something we have to work around. Either way, we're stuck with it. Even cosmetic surgery, or the emotional equivalent, can't create a situation in which the scars never were, nor can it avoid leaving marks of its own.

What I can say is that the people I have liked best have been those who have taken a hit or two over the years. I can also say that some of the best parts of me have been developed in response to hits of my own. It's to a point now where even the faintest possibility that something good can be salvaged out of a wreck can keep me searching, even when I have no idea what I might find.

What's Important

In the course of two days, my car's clutch blew out and my Mac died. There's been more these past few weeks, but that's the worst of it. Knock on wood!

Regarding the car, we've been carless since Monday afternoon. My son had swimming lessons and a doctor's appointment in that time, as well as his chemistry class. Regarding the Mac, it took my calendar, my son's chem class contact info, Quicken, and the novel I'm shopping around with it, as well as all of my work-related files. Most of them are retrievable from the back-up drive, but not with this computer. It's my son's ancient PC, a machine so decrepit that I normally use it as a DVD player, and it can't read a Mac-formatted Firewire drive.

How do I feel? Oddly relieved. My most recent big project is A Foolish World, and Nobilis has the critical files. He can send them if I need them. Not having to deal with the novel is nice. The calendar can be recreated out of the information that generated it. I have online banking. I can explain my son's absence to his chemistry teacher. I can also deal with some of the garbage in my old in-box that my e-mail client used to filter away into dead zones I never bothered reading. My son got to two out of three of his things, so I figure we're ahead of the game.

It's going to be a pinch to pay for this stuff, no doubt about it. The car is a $600 - $700 repair, and replacing a Mac laptop is even scarier. However, this period has shown me that I have some good friends, a consciencious mechanic, and maybe some things I can do just fine without, like a few Yahoo groups that do nothing but generate garbage e-mail, not to mention some archives I use once in a blue moon. Isn't that what the back-up drive is for anyway? The grocery store is literally across the street, so we're good with that one, too.

Today I need to get ready for my son's upcoming birthday party. He's turning 13 this week, and I'm about to be overrun with kids. I also got the materials to make shampoo bars, which should be a fun project.

Mostly, though, I think I'm being challenged to get rid of a lot of clutter, not just in my living space but in my work space. There was too much on my hard drive, and probably too much in Quicken, too, which made it harder to update than it should have been. Micromanagement is different from organization.

I'm also learning the dangers of inertia. Sometime I do things a certain way because it seems easier to keep going than to change. My e-mail clutter is a classic example.

Mostly, though, I think I'm learning about what's important. When I can't drive, where is it important for us to go? When I can't spend extended amounts of time in front of the computer, what's important for me to do there? When I have to actually look at all of my incoming e-mail, what's important enough to bother with, and how much can be dumped? When I can't balance my checking account, what's important to keep track of? When I have to drop about 1/4 of my monthly income on an emergency, what must be paid and what can be put off? And what on my hard drive is necessary enough for me to make an effort to recreate it?

It's one of the things I have always liked about living in a small apartment rather than a house. In a house, you can set something aside and not think about it for years, even decades. Here, my storage space is limited. I can't have things that do nothing but take up space.

So in two, quick strokes, I have had my computer use, my budget, and my transportation small-apartmented, and I've already made some changes that should make a difference when these issues are resolved.