Listen

Strange dream.  I invented a word: twinksies.  I have no idea what it means, nor what it meant in the dream.  It had something to do with Penni yelling at me for not showing up for our choir recital contest.  We were at some swanky hotel with many escalators.  I was carrying my white gown, like a graduation gown, but I was too terrified to go to the theatre where the competition was to be held.  We lost.  Penni said it was all my fault and I ruined it for her grandchildren.

We were never in a choir together and we were children in the dream.

Strange afternoon.  One of my favorite radio program has a repeat on Wednesday's daylight.  Quite different from the Thursday night hearing the show in a dark room with an almost silent outside.  Today it competed with auto and walking and bicycle traffic noises and the never ending generators growling.  The show was still just as good.

I also reorganized a large plastic container and found a ten year old journal.  Letters to and from some "ex-es" in many categories.  The first experiments where I first allowed myself to add collage and sketches.  Prior to this I felt like journals were only for writing.  And I was always afraid that someone would find it and laugh, criticise, or tease me about my writing.

And successfully made six copies.  I did not lose my temper and I did not break anything.  I listened to myself being patient.  Whoop De Do!

This is the third day I will try to call my friend for her wonderful present.  Seriously, a large cardboard box crammed with all the coolest stuff imaginable.  The perfect glitter rick rack I've been searching for and three skeins of exquisite yarn.  I feel like a princess.  But "the rule" is that one can't use a present until the giver has been thanked.  I've been thanking her verbally here but I'm not sure that counts.  But I don't think I can hold myself back much longer.

Farewell George

Never forgot the first time in a voting booth.

Predictions were so clear that Nixon would be elected.

Would my vote be wasted?

I had to do the right thing and I have always been proud that I did.

Senator McGovern became the first in a long line of liberal candidates I supported.

Often wondered how different our country would be if even a few of them had been elected.

Thanks, Senator, for trying.

We will keep up the faith.

10-11-12 Plus One

Cool number from yesterday, yes?

I purposely avoided a specific blogity about the day itself.  Yet, there were several  successful moments for me.

But because of the crafty tricks my "hemorrhage' plays on me now, I cannot recall all the fun experiences right up to the front.  Sorry for  me, too.

Some I do remember:

 The bronze on Schemes and Themes.  And if you haven't started to listen to this program you owe it to yourself to do so  You often get to hear ME on the airwaves! Well, get to hear about me on the airwaves actually.  Since Ron and Wil will tell you they don't know how to get phone calls to play and they don't want to learn.  Which I love anyway!

Was able to regain single crochet steps.  Very beginning version, more than the none I could do for the past two months.  Have to replan the gift for Silas but I don't think he will mind.

Am finding the PBS "Call the Midwife" quite enjoyable.  Best watched with hot tea and shortbread cookies.

Received a great phone call from a dear, dear buddy who has just received 'almost' the job of her dreams.  And in this day and age and at the age we are both at 'almost' is pretty damn close!

And have contemplated just the perfect amount of my own mortality for all those so concerned for me.  Tee Hee.

Goodbye September

Lately I've been thinking of great names for blog titles.

 Not having much success developing the blog posts themselves.

I've changed many routines around my home.  For the better I hope.

Fighting years of bad habits is more than just difficult.

Especially now that so many words and speech abilities are apparently lost to me.

Frightening and threatening.

Ah, yes.

Carry on after all.

Another month to attempt.

This late bloomer thing is killing me.

Too late to be a Renaissance Woman without any special learning?

Then I found the above.

Perhaps in the nick of time.

And so, I am creating memorabilia (until I think of a better name for them) for the important special folk in my life.

Meaning to me, and hopefully to them.

Letting go of ridiculous rules and using the time available.

If this is my adulthood I will continue to do the best I have.

Truly grateful for what I have.

Challenged by what comes with each day.

Victory has a new definition.

Welcome October.

Go Mombasa!

Kenyan high court allows lesbian marriage.

Now it will be totally allowed when it is called

MARRIAGE!

Fashion Nincompoop

Along with everything else, I envision myself as one of the great undiscovered fashion stylists of our time.  Being the relic that I am, and the self-proclaimed arbiter of good taste, and that I have frequently been labelled "all talk and no action" I can pretty much say whatever I want.  Slowly but surely I am closing my ears when that nagging childhood voice leaps in criticising every choice I make.

Gaining self confidence is tricky when most of one's developmental stages have already been achieved.  Still, it is a battle I choose to fight.  And I can hear the snide chuckling in the background.  Hopefully there will be enough "big words" in this post so that those saboteurs will be completely confused.  Anyway, I like to tell myself that I am gaining ground.  At least I know my choices are mine.

As a young lady I kind of missed out on fashion.  I was (and am to this day) the quintessential Fat Girl.  I cannot remember buying clothes off the rack; I sped past the available sizes in area department stores quite rapidly.   Luckily for me, Mommy Dearest was an accomplished seamstress and so I did have something of a wardrobe.

Skirts were required at church, of course, and at school too for most of my adolescence.  The dress code was relaxed for my final two years of high school.  These years were the transition from hosiery to panty hose.  Both were nightmares for fat girls.  Hosiery required girdles and garters and twisting stockings over bulging knees.  Panty hose could be sliced in two: one side of one pair yanked up on the right.  The other side from the other pair yanked up on the left.  A tight squeeze  but at least the crotch landed in the right place.  When a run or snag appeared, the damaged leg, so to speak, could be changed out for a leg from one of the remaining cut up pairs.

Runs were the death knell for stockings and panty hose.  Clear nail polish or hair spray could sometimes halt the progression of the run.  Or the ruined leg could be twisted even further so the (runned? ran?) area with the run was positioned on the inside of one's leg and would be further camouflaged by taking very small steps.  In any case a good girl, a nice girl, a stylish girl did NOT let herself be caught with runs in her stockings.  Which is why I've been so surprised to see photos like this:

This one is from the Sartorialist but Zana Bayne favors this look also.  And, I amaze myself sometimes, I don't hate it.  It makes me wish I could do my teens and twenties over again.  Im-poss-ee-blay!  I know.  I also can't help but wonder (thanks, Carrie) what their mothers must think.

Putting My Foot Down

One of the aspects of life that is severely curtailed by poverty is the exercise of one's good taste.  Or in my case, excellent taste.  What the hell? Superb taste!

Yes, I have it and it's goddam time the world knows it.  I have suppressed the secret fashionista and hidden interior designer long enough.  Thanks to the interwebs (as Darling Eldest Daughter says) I can freely indulge my innate good sense of practically everything.

Today, as my first official entry, I highlight food.  Some things are just wrong.  Some combinations are perfection.  One must make careful choices, however.  For example:  Plain saltine crackers and cheddar cheese spread.  Delectable.  Between meal nibble.  Television snack.   Occasional light dinner substitute.

The one rule is as follows:  ALWAYS APPLY CHEESE TOPPING TO THE SALTED SIDE OF THE CRACKER!  Anything else is a crime in Foodie Land.  As self-appointed arbiter of all things tasteful I have spoken.  I will be watching.