Nutcase 101

(Part two of two on religion in my life.)

The question I dread when I go home to visit my family is, “Have you found a church home?”. I use to be direct, with a “No.” Then of course that leads into the dreaded, “Why? Why not?” and that’s when I typically find a big ol’dish of bean dip to hand the inquisitor.

I know that they pray for my ‘lost soul’ but my soul isn’t lost or wandering around without spiritual guidance. I’m getting plenty of it in my daily discussions with God. I pray fervently in all things, good, bad, and ridiculous. I think a bad thought and I ask forgiveness. I cuss out the driver that cut me off and I pray for God to give him guidance (and sometimes I think that it should be off the road and into a poll – but then I have to pray for forgiveness). I pray for people that have to go through horrific ordeals and I am thankful for all that I’m given.

But the bottom line is that the only judgment that I need is God’s.

I’ll be home on Sunday.

Though, I do have to leave the infamous B with the REALLY infamous Sassy La Rue and the ruthless Lola Rocket. He’ll be stuck with all the furry cuteness of furry by himself, so he gets to do twice the yelling, “Get off of the counters!” “Stop fighting!” “Put that knife down!!”

Yes, I’m checking my luggage before I leave tomorrow to make sure that Lola Rocket didn’t add anything to my carry ons that don’t belong.

AND…I got everything sewn and completed (less one 50’s style apron) before I leave. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it to the post office in time but I did get everything wrapped. So, some of you will be getting a post-Christmas present. But hey, who’s going to argue with getting gifts?

So, I hope to update on Sunday and yes, I’ll miss you and buy you (me) something pretty.

There are a few bloggers out on the interwebs and one of them named Neil, decided that we needed to get to know each other with the Great Interview Experiment. This is year three of said experiment that I’ve been following along, being chicken shit and rather enjoying my life anonymity.

But, this year, my fingers took over and typed in my blog and email address into the comment fields. Then they commanded the mouse to hit enter. Really, it was emotional and I almost had to call the police on myself.

Then it happened. I got an email from Neil, be still my beating heart, and stated that Karen Murphy would be subjected to my inane questions. Karen is a professional writer, having multiple outlets for her words to reach others. But the one that I got to focus on is Juxtapositioning. She writes candidly of life from the inanity of situations to handling the passing of a loved one. You feel that you’re standing beside her as she experiences life as she encounters the challenges that each of us face.

Now the questions for “The Great Interview Experiment”:

1. What motivated you to retake up blogging a personal blog?

Once you taste the exhilaration of intentional public humiliation, everything else pales in comparison. Must … Express … Thoughts … Or … Die! The fact that people read it makes it all the more enticing. I love blogging. It’s a wide-open venue with no rules. You can make of it whatever you want, and change your mind every day.

2. As a writer, did you ever feel like you were taking your job home with you?

Well, I work from home, so yeah. All the time. And unless I’m on a Skype video call, no one knows I don’t shower until 10 pm some days. Until now, that is. Now they know.

3. Do you still celebrate both the US and Canadian Thanksgivings for double the turkey?

I celebrate whatever’s being celebrated wherever I happen to be. But Thanksgiving is less of a deal in Canada, it turns out. Oh sure, they have TURKEY. But the whole thing lacks the stupefying intensity that we give to holidays in the States. Canadians are all, like, “eh?” while I’m all YOU MUST CHOP ONIONS WITH THE PERFECT UNIFORM DICE TECHNIQUE THAT I LEARNED WATCHING FOOD NETWORK! CHOP CHOP! Which may be why I didn’t have Canadian Thanksgiving this year.

4. What are your plans for the Holiday season? How do you celebrate?

I let Amazon handle the whole thing. They’re quite efficient.

5. What are the personal boundaries that you set for your blog?

Boundaries? We’re supposed to have boundaries? Damn.

My mom used to say, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” I haven’t found it necessary to live by that rule. I do draw the line about talking about poop, though (mine — I’ll talk all day about someone else’s poop).

Boundaries are a fluid thing for me. I’ve used my real name, my kids’ real names, and real photos. It made me searchable and there were times I’d have to remove content for one reason or another. But I’m truly committed to this venue of public expression, so I’d rather err on the side of having too few boundaries than too many. You can always add more.

6. Who is the one person (living or dead) that you wish you could interview?

Gandhi. But only if he agreed to talk like Snape. Or Miss Piggy. Or — OMG — Snape AS Miss Piggy. That would be teh awesome.

7. If you could only ask #6 one question, what would it be?

Why the diaper?

8. Why did you want to participate in Neilochka’s Great Interview Experiment?

One of my multiple personalities signed me up.

Plus, I love the whole equalizing aspect that Neil talked about. People getting to know one another as people. Aww. Now everyone hold hands and sing!

9. Are you bored yet answering these questions?

What? Sorry, did you say something?

Nah, these were good questions.

10. What question did you think I would ask that I didn’t?

Boxers or briefs? (answer = COMMANDO!)

I enjoyed the process, getting to know abit about Karen and find out that I can be a little bit of a joiner. And it only hurt for a moment.

Tags: GIE

With a side of padded room. Fuck my list of Excel happiness.

What the fuck was I thinking? Seriously, I was smoking something the day I decided that I was going to make a majority of my Christmas presents. Let’s see what’s on my To Do List:

- 12 sets of decorated Kitchen Towels.
- 1 Fifties style apron
- 2 Stuffed toy hangers for kids rooms
- 1 tote bag
- 6 knitted dishtowels

And what is completed you ask?

- 4 knitted dishtowels

When do you need to have this all done Jen?

December 15th. And yes, I know I can do it. But it means a majority of my free time is creating something with knitting needles (which I could use to commit craft assisted suicide) and a sewing machine (which I haven’t figured out to cause death but I could use it to maim myself). Also, I have three pans of fudge to magically put together as well.

I am jolly but Santa I am not. I do not have a North Pole full of elves and the cats are damned if they are going to do any work besides trying to steal my yarn.

So, what is keeping me sane during this time of Holiday joy? Xanax. The palindrome that keeps on giving.

I don’t know why I decided that this year I should make as many gifts that I could for Christmas.

I wish someone could’ve told me that I’d have no time for me.

Beat some sense into my noggin with my knitting needles.

Thankfully, some of my IT geek came through and I made a time line with all of the projects I need with the estimated time needed to cut, sew, knit and wrap said gifts. Now I’m in the process of execution and exhaustion. And I did at least fit some time in there to have Thanksgiving and go home to Florida. And thankfully, the apartment has walls thick enough for my neighbors to not be subjected to my cussing and the constant whirring of the sewing machine.

Unfortunately, B is not so lucky.

And on December 25th, I’ll be the one opening presents with a perpetual hunchback and carpal tunnel syndrome in both hands.

Okay, so, I may have written about Valemont once or twice.

I may have twittered about classes, houses, fights, people, etc, several hundred times.

And now all of the webisodes have been released. You can find them at MTV or on Valemont Commons, where you can find out what really has been happening at this elite university.

And you’re probably wondering why do I keep talking about this? Well, because, it’s a lot of fun to play pretend as an adult. Get involved with people from all over the world who take an interest in the Vampire lore told in a new and exciting way. It doesn’t hurt that one of my friends, Nina, is a direct contributor to the development of the game part of Valemont or that I’ve been working on the fansite as an RA all semester.

I can’t wait to see what the future of Valemont will become and that there is still a week left to the current semester and finals are ahead of us. If you haven’t clicked over, go now and apply to be a part of Valemont University! There is a lot of fun to be had and you never know where being a Valemont student might take you.

I, as most females, have a hell of a lot of feelings coursing through my body.

First, I feel okay about fucking up my chances at NaBloPoMo. I never get selected for a prize and, really, who wants to read drivel that will become my blog if I post everyday? I got sick. It happens.

Second, there is the process of grieving. I vacillate a lot between guilt and acceptance. The guilt part will hit me when I least expect it with unknown triggers causing a memory, that leads me down the path to a memory and a realization that I can’t call, email, write my grandmother and let her know how much I care. Then the acceptance will set in that I know she loved me and she knew how much I cared.

It’s the time between the two, that’s the hardest part because I never know how the when, where’s, how long and how hard the emotional roller coaster ride will be. Lately my trigger is when people mention hand written letters. Writing my grandmother was one of my greatest joys because I know that she was thrilled to get a note that took me time to compose – the details of life that I wanted to give her in a personal momento.

I can recall the first time I ever wrote Grandma, I was five and learning how to write. I dictated my letter to Mom, who then wrote it in block print so that I could copy in my own clumsy print. I painstakingly drew the shapes that I saw, hoping that I’d be clear enough for Grandma to read my message. And when I got a letter back in the mail, my first missive received with my name on the envelope, I couldn’t wait to read it with my mother.

There are days I wish I had kept that letter, in my keepsake box, but I’m sure my five year-old self ran around with the pieces of paper for a day or two then promptly put it somewhere I’d never forget where it was and then quickly forgot about it.

I have a box full of handwritten notes from all over the world and some are in the spidery, elegant script that belonged Grandma. And one day, I’ll get to share those letters with my children so that Grandma will still be very much a part of my life and theirs. Though, the irrational part of me still wants to see a letter from her in the mail box and the part that makes my heart drop is knowing I never will.

Today B and I got up early to put feet to pavement for the Houston Heart Association Heart Walk. This walk means a lot to me because in previous walks, I walked in honor of my grandmother who lived with various heart ailments for the last twenty plus years.

And as many of you know this year it was in memory.

A lot of people told me to man our team site or wander around the event because of being so sick earlier this week. But, I couldn’t not be apart of the crowd of walkers, some walking for the cause, in remembrance or as survivors. I needed to be a part of the moment, the momentum, knowing that even though heart disease and a heart attack took my grandmother that maybe what we were walking for as a collective would inspire someone to eat better or go see a doctor. And the money raised would cause some doctor or scientist to have an “Ah-ha!” moment to develop a method, procedure or medicine to prolong someone else’s time on this planet with their family.

I didn’t walk the full five miles as I have done in the past but I walked as far as I could go and it didn’t feel far enough, it never does.

In the last six weeks, I’ve known three people to pass away due to heart attacks. My grandmother, then five days later, a coworker’s husband and two weeks after that, a friend’s dad. Life is fragile and anything we can do to allow for one more memory or story with a loved one, I’ll take that step to help fight heart disease.

And a good day happened.

Then a succession. I was in familiar territory that I hadn’t stepped in quite a few weeks. Now, these days wouldn’t come across as spectacular on many people’s radar but for me, going through a twenty-four cycle without wanting to cry is a win in my book. (Now, we just have to work on the whole not sleeping again…)

And, then I started getting a few compliments: personal, business, physical, etc., and I responded politely without feeling a shred of guilt for being happy. I was able to bring out little Miss Mary Sunshine, who I had stuffed in a trunk, tied chains around, put a padlock on and placed in a dark corner of the scary basement that is my mind.

I was walking with shoulders back and head held high, letting myself remember this comfortable feeling of life. lt wasn’t the same life I knew before but it was the life I now live. And, knowing those watching over me, I’m probably getting a good kick in the ass for not finding it sooner.

Sunday I actually got out of my funk for a bit by wandering around the magical world of quilting.

Don’t roll your eyes.

Handmade quilts are like snowflakes, no two are like and even if they are crafted by the same hand with the same pattern, even the same fabrics. And most of today’s homemade quilts are made on a sewing machine, the complexity of the patterns has increased with the quilting telling it’s own story.

There were incredibly modern quilts that celebrated lifestyles and pride with beautiful rainbows that showed no matter individual differences that the maker was celebrating their place in this world. Quilts with ribbons that stated the loss of loved ones to cancer, AIDs or war. The person of tribute may no longer walk in this world but those here had a physical remembrance.

People had pieced together small squares of varying shades to make tributes to nature, loved ones and fantasy. There were religious quilts that showed viewers the quilters beliefs in gentle waves of fabrics and blankets that were made to be heirlooms, having survived decades so that a blanket that kept the maker warm in the 1920s could now be wrapped around a great-grandchild.

It was humbling to be around hundreds of thousands of hours of work made out of love for an art that some people think is antiquated because textiles for warmth are so readily available on the shelves of Wal-Mart. But when my friend Anna sent me a quilt of my own, I felt so loved that someone would take so much time out their life to give me something that I hope to cherish for the rest of my life.