Having A Toy Story 3 Moment

(deep histrionic sigh)

(once more for good measure)

a sniff.  Where's my hanky?  Dab eyes.

It's that time.  That moment in every mother's life when, no matter how many snotty noses she has wiped, no matter how many foreheads she has soothed, no matter how many encouraging words she has whispered, she finds herself unnecessary.  Redundant.  VHS in a DVD world.  Dialed up in a wi-fi universe.  Obso-freakin’lete.

I should be used to this.  It’s happened before. Twice.  And it will no doubt happen once more in a few years. Why it should take me by surprise this time is one of those unfathomable mysteries, like why my hair is just right, just right, just right and 20 minutes later, an inch too long.  

My little boy doesn’t need me anymore. 

Ok, to be fair, this has been an ongoing process since he left the womb in 1993, all pointy-headed and red and screaming.  The boy has healthy lungs, I’ll give him that.  Little by little, year by year, he’s wiggled further and further out of my arms.  And out of my grasp.  One day I was changing his diapers, the next I’m adding him as a driver on our auto policy.  Somewhere in between, I became fallible.  Subject to criticism.  Open to cross-examination.  Lately, I'm just invisible.

And it’s all because of a girl.  (Cue Robbie Fulks).

If I was semi-useless before, I’ve now come full circle in my expendability.  I get it, I’m the old and diseased musk ox the lions cull from the herd, my every breath an affront to youth and that complex hive of hysterical neediness known as high school.  We used to watch soccer together.  Sometimes, a movie.  These days he’s watching American Idol (the horror!  The horror!) with her.  He used to pick all the tomatoes out of his bowl when I made chili.  Now, he’s at her house when dinner time rolls around, hopefully NOT picking the tomatoes out.  I’m sad and I’m glad all at the same time.  There’s an upside:  I don’t have to WATCH him dissect food, and UT sports will never override my soccer viewing.  But there’s a down side, too.  There’s a hole in my life where that boy used to fit.

Growing up.  Not for the faint of heart. 

Sacred Serendipity, Batman!

     I went to the post office today, as is my habit just before lunch on a workday.  I had a bagful to mail and a lot of stuff laying around the front seats of my van.  I took a minute to turn off the radio, because the satellite part screws up sometimes if you leave it on, and I cracked the windows as well.  Then I opened the door, hit the "lock" button and slammed the door shut.  With my keys still in the ignition.

D'oh!

There I stand, in heels. 

No cell phone.  No money.  What to do?!?!

I tested each and every door and learned my "lock" button works exceptionally well.  I tried the hatch back.  I tried to snake my hand through the crack in the passenger window.  I tried to snake my hand through the crack in the driver's side window.  I looked at that little lock button and thought to myself, if I had a coat hanger, I could do this.

I glanced down at the mulch in the flower bed.  There was a rusty coat hanger.  As if I had wished it into existence.

I held it up to the window and felt its flimsiness.  I snaked it through and watched it slide feebly over the button.  I breathed in and out and tried again.  CLICK.  I am back in my van and thanking Jesus, the Universe and the inventor of coat hangers.

This is the coolest thing that's happened to me in recent memory.  Ok, so it's not up there with the births of my children, but it's still very very cool.  Unbelievable, even. Envisioned, then occurred.  Go, me.  Go, Universe!

Who's Down with OPP?

Yeah, not *that*.  Other people's PROBLEMS.  I am deluged with them today.  Without going into all the dull details, let me just say that I am grateful I took that meditation class and can almost ananda-out all the twitches and entangling tangents this typically brings.  Yes, I am ready to slap somebody silly, but I'm not taking it all that personally and I am doing a damn fine job of letting it go.  Does that sound like a contradiction? 

Like the great poet John Prine once said, if heartaches were commercials, we'd all be on tv.

Artist's Way Week 12 - The End of the Line

I'm pulling the plug.

It's been a good ride, but it's just time to let go and let God.  Give up and get down? Quit and be quiet?  Withdraw and wig out?  Decamp and do nada?  I can do this all day, people.  Stop me.

At the risk of repeating myself - and let's face it, that really seems to be my mission in life - it's not you, Artist's Way, it's me.  Here at the end of the 12 week course that took me 16 weeks, I'm undecided.  Was it worth it?  I still didn't create anything other than that one collage, my Seat of Sloth drawing and a few blog posts.  I thought a lot about doing stuff, but I didn't follow through.  In spite of that, overall, I'm giving the experience two thumbs up.  I took a couple of turns around the spiral path.  I'm a tiny bit more honest with myself (and others - beware), I'm an iota braver.  A lot of discontent has been uncovered and I'm gonna have to do something about that.  Something positive and illuminating, I hope.  No more being a mushroom.   Nosirree.  Not  anymore.  Score one, JC.

Where do I go from here?

After much gnashing of teeth and wailing, I've settled on a two month reprieve.  I will continue the Morning Pages (score two, JC), with whom I have a deep and abiding love/hate relationship.  I will continue to meditate, because I took that class and I want my money's worth.  And I will focus on walking daily and feeding my body better.  In a couple of months, I'll take stock again and see if I want to delve deeper into JC or look for a new guru.  I've heard that Vein of Gold is a dense and expounds more on her particular spiritual beliefs.  If she turns out to be one of those Hale-Bopp nuts I shall be profoundly disillusioned.  I've been trying to rediscover and embrace my inner wacko and it's just a little tougher to do at 47 than it was at 21.

Anyway, here's a little something for The End of the Line.

A Blog Post Idea! A Blog Post Idea!

My kingdom for a blog post idea!

I asked Jupiter and was told "say that you don't know"  and on the re-try, "allow difficulty."

I re-read my Plinky prompts.  Nada was prompted.

I listened to Bach.  Lots and lots of Bach.  A regular Bach-analia.

And I began to feel down, waaaaay down, misunderstood, marginalized and unheard.  I remembered a line from an Elvis Costello song, about how I tried so hard just to be myself, but I keep on fading away.  But I keep plugging away at it anyhoo, doing my thing (that fabulous phrase from the 70's!) and hoping someday, somewhere, somehow, it will be heard. 

You know what they say, everybody gotta have a dream...

Artist's Way Week Eleven - Brutal Honesty

Winding it down on this Artist's Way stuff - one week to go now, thank you Jeebus. And I have to be honest and admit it's not you, Artist's Way, it's me. I haven't put 100% out there, I have not been conscious and present when I do the exercises. Somehow I expect the magic to happen even when I'm just going through the motions. And to be fair, Julia Cameron does encourage us to keep doing it even if we are just going through the motions. I've been through many many motions now and I'm still just going through them. One of the assigned tasks for Week 11 was to buy a special creativity notebook (I love how JC always invokes the Power of New!) and label the first 7 pages Health, Possessions, Leisure, Relationships, Creativity, Career and Spirituality. Under each of those topics we are to write down 10 wishes. I did these Saturday evening while watching NYRB give Seattle their second defeat in their second game. Looking at my notes the next morning, I have no recollection of completing this task. In fact, some of my notes are as obtuse as the memos I get at work, dangling participles and all.

And the Artist's Dates - well, I think I did two.  When I was supposed to do one per week.  It's just very very hard to get time to myself.  ALONE.  And there are so many things to do on any given day.  The Big To Do List keeps growing, I get farther and farther behind, so I feel guilty about that and  neglect Artist's Way stuff, and sometimes a girl just wants to have fun and that chick flick ain't gonna watch itself...

Just one more hour in the day, please, Jeebus.  Just one more hour.