Prince Charming Works at Home Depot?

What does it mean when your parents want to set you up with their new best friend, the cabinet designer at Home Depot? And you laugh, but think, "Maybe I do need to swing by Home Depot and look for new kitchen hardware..."? Open minded? Or desperate?!

I'm feeling alarmingly OK with being single at the moment. I've had some male attention recently, but my brain is full of other things. So I don't think it is desperation. Do I finally have the full and happy single life I've been looking for? Or am I hiding and/or have I given up hope?

Or perhaps just focusing on other things for the moment. And feeling open but not compelled to force anything.

P.S. I did stop by Home Depot, half to help my parents with design decisions, half to get a look at this new best friend. He was nice, though seemed kind of timid. No big spark. Although, maybe flirting in front of your parents while he is at work would be a little awkward and possibly inappropriate. I may need to stop back by (alone) to look at lighting...

Facebook Nation

My newest passion. Virtual social interaction. Now I can be alone, but never alone. (I have 130 friends, tyvm.) There's always something happening with someone on there. Or games to play. Or quizes to take. (Who has a crush on me?) I'm all about social contact from behind the safety of my computer. (Seriously, though. I may be addicted. I think not being able to wait for you browser to refresh your live feed is a warning sign.)

It's a whole new twist on human intimacy. You can share everyday tidbits with a hundred of your closest friends, near and far. People make announcements of big life events, travel, sharing photos of thier kids, relationships... In fact, it seems to have created a whole new ritual around defining relationship. You know a relationship isn't official until your your status says so, and you know it is REALLY over when you change back to "single". (Unfortunately, one of my recent brief relationships never seemed to recover after I tried to show my growing affection by playfully suggesting I change my status to "in a relationship" - apparently he wasn't ready for that kind of virtual commitment!)

My younger "friends" are fun to watch. So much of their daily life is logged... music, plans, friends, health, hilarious videos of nothing and everything. Although some of them really have 500 friends?! Lately, even my 130 seems like a lot to manage, and I'm wondering how awful of a Facebook faux pas it would be to "un-friend" a few people I don't know that well, who I don't need to hear about ALL the time.

Is this really the future of social interaction? Short, sweet, no need for get-to-know-you small talk or conversation filler niceties. It's easy to just make a funny comment about someone's "status" and leave the communication at that. And I feel happy and connected. (Am I shallow?!) For someone who lost touch with a lot of people because I had such a hard time initiating contact with friends when I was depressed, this is a wonderful way to reach out.

But what happens when this is a primary form of communication for kids who then don't have as much of a chance to develop face-to-face social skills with their peers? Texting, email, myspace, etc. does not communicate tone - no matter how many emoticons you squeeze in. (:-P) To say nothing of facial expression, body language, energy, the vulnerable experience of saying how you feel with someone right in front of you - things that are so hard to read no matter how old you are and how much practice you have.

For me, Facebook recently took on a new dimension when an old high school friend announced the death of her brother. Things suddenly got serious. Facebook life and real life merged. But I quickly saw how it can be a forum to communicate and connect about hard things as well - like the CarePages/Caring Bridge web pages have been for several families in my community dealing with cancer. This person mentioned that it seemed like a really personal thing to put on Facebook, but said she didn't have the internal resources to answer individual calls and emails. Maybe this was a wonderful compromise in an impossible situation.

Who knows?! See ya on FB. But quit throwing snowballs at me.


UPDATE: I'm not the only one wondering about "unfriending"!

What Not to Blog

I keep catching myself in situations where I exclaim, "If only I could blog about this!" Crazy things keep happening to me (or I do crazy things), but for various reasons I'm reluctant to put them out into the great wide internet. Like the juicy details about the aforementioned inappropriate crushes & flirtations. Or making out with my cousin (distant cousin, I promise - but still, how does that happen?!).

It's good material. I'm tempted to share, but wondering where to draw the line. What is fun and/or helpful to write about? What privacy am I willing to sacrifice for the sake of therapeutic catharsis or just good comedy? What if someone I write about reads it? What if my parents are shocked and appalled by my antics? Who reads this anyway?! (Although, there is a link on my Facebook page, so I try to be careful.)

I've considered starting a top secret, invitation only, "High Security High Five". But it gets cumbersome to manage multiple blogs. And probably not necessary. So some tales will remain unblogged. Sorry, we must protect the innocent. Or at least half-heartedly try to preserve our own reputation.

So for now, just use your imagination.

Change

November 4, 2008. The whole day was electric with energy. People were a-buzz. Parties were brewing. I wasn't up to the big shindig downtown on a school night, so I took the invitation to watch election results at my friend the school librarian's house (and perhaps meet the young single nephew she's always talking about). I was optimistically buying champagne on the way, and the checkers said they were selling it like it was New Years. I think we could feel it happening.

When the official results came in, the choir director/composer in the group jumped on the piano and lead us in a rousing version of God Bless America and a few other patriotic standards. It was probably the first time I ever momentarily let go of the shame I usually feel about the awful things our nation has done and how we continue to treat the people around us.

As you may know, I had been leaning towards Hilary when this all started and thought Obama could use a few more years of experience at the national level. But my heart sang as if I'd known he was the one all along. Especially since the stock market crashed and everything seems grim... we need hope. We need a leader we can look to for wisdom, with natural charisma and magnetism - like what we saw during first speech at the DNC four years ago.

I though his acceptance speech was beautiful and perfect. Greatness happening in front of us. I drank in every word. And the feeling of victory was thick in the air, like we all just won the world series. I heard stories of people flooding the streets downtown so cars couldn't move, but drivers just got out and started hugging people. Amazing.

Justice. Finally someone other than a rich gray-haired white guy prevailed. And though I would never want to undervalue the great struggle that lead to this historic victory, what I love about the election of the first black man to this office is that often I don't even remember that he is black. Maybe that is another luxury of being a member of the dominant culture, but I feel like one of the victories here is that everyone is talking excitedly about Him, his words, his actions, his ideas... our admiration of him is transcending race and identity. It makes me hopeful that there really is a shift happening - towards our differences not being bigger than what we have in common and what we can do for one another.

(Then, of course, my buzz was completely killed the next morning by the news that things like Prop 8 passed... and I was ready to hurl judgment and hatred at people I don't understand all over again.)

What will happen? What can be done, really? Even by this amazing person, in this historic context. Our country is polarized and completely overextended. We need to reel our over-consuming selves way back in. Think small again. Focus on what is tangible. Create and exchange products and services on a local level. Focus on the people right in front of us; notice what they need. Share the burden, while being responsible for our own actions. Agree to disagree on a few things. Decide that getting our way is less important than getting things done. The only hope is if we can all be bigger, more emotionally generous people, right when we are feeling nothing but scarcity around us.

Change has come. It's exciting. But we forget that change is also really hard. Even good change comes with confusion and loss that are really easy to get lost in. Even I let my anger re-cloud my vision the very next morning.

I'm bracing myself.

I'm just glad that I'm moving someplace with a paid-off mortgage and space to grow some of my own food in the backyard. Just in case.

To Tattoo or Not To Tattoo

I always assumed that a tattoo was a youthful whim that you usually regretted later. And I never thought there was an object or symbol which I identified with enough to live for the rest of my life. Then a few years ago, the art teacher at my school got a tattoo for her 50th birthday. She had survived cancer, diabetes, divorce... and designed a branch with turning leaves symbolizing this new phase of her life. And the wheels started turning.

I started thinking about my own bumpy life experience. Thinking that perhaps tattoo could be a creative expression of self knowledge and self trust. I began to get excited about the idea of decorating/adorning the body which has carried so much pain. Reclaiming. Declaring its beauty. And a way to stay rooted in not allowing myself to be limited by conventional society.

As this idea began to brew, it hit me that my attraction to spiral designs and their symbolism of growth and contemplation - something between old Celtic designs and the wrought iron things I'd been collecting - might be perfect for tattooing. So I started doodling on myself...


Once my tattoo radar went up, I happened to see a TV character (Carmen on the L Word, yum) who had a tattoo curving along each hip, and I started thinking about designs fitting in with the curvature and lines of the body rather than a graphic just being stamp on somewhere. But where? I decided it would need to be somewhere on my body that could be hidden when I wanted but visible when I wanted to out. I got excited about the idea of the inside arch of my foot or on the inside heal...


Then I learned that most places wouldn't do those parts of the foot because the ink fades unevenly. I was really attached to that idea, so the excitement faded for a while. But it has slowly built up again and a new idea has emerged. I'm thinking a slightly larger scale (if you're gonna do it, do it!) design riding the womanly curve on the side of my right back/hip, with at least an an end that peaks up on my belt line (I love it when you are surprised by a glimpse of someone's tattoo on their back when their shirt lifts up a little). And a friend recommended an amazing artist whose style might be perfect to make it happen.


But still, fear of making a decision I might regret is holding me back. Once when I asked someone if they ever thought they might regret their tattoos when they are old and saggy, they told me they far more expected that they would regret not having done it. I think I agree. There are too many ways I have held myself back out of fear. But I'm giving myself time. Thinking maybe it could be a reward when I get out of debt.

Or it might never happen - it might just be just something fun to dream about. And look for meaning through. I draw on myself with sharpie and then test every situation I'm in as I go through the day, asking would I be glad I had it right now? Right now, YES!

Haunted House

It just sunk in. I've been distracted by the anticipation of a dishwasher, low rent, a patio for a grill, etc., and I didn't stop to fully consider what this means... I'm taking over the house that houses my childhood.

I had distanced myself from the difficult parts of my past by no longer thinking of it as mine. But now when I walk in, bits of memory and emotion jump out and nip at me at unexpected moments. With the familiar hop up the front stairs and the smooth door latch in my hand. With the familiar creak of each floorboard. With the unique sound of each door - which I can hear before it even swings. Like the back of a hand I thought I had amputated. Surreal memories from a past life. Plenty good. Plenty hard. Lots that just were. All of which surprise me with their force as they surface. Not really sure what was real, what was imagined, or what I've long forgotten.

The closet I open and expect to still see clothes that I wonder if my sister will notice I borrow. The bookshelf that housed the encyclopedias confirming my suspicion about Santa Claus (after one more quick look at the word "mythical"). The wood floors that I could never clean up well enough to not leave a mark when they got wet. The storage loft that was my private safe haven. The bathroom where I was perplexed by tampons but too ashamed or too proud to ask for help. The room in which I spent hours flirting and making out with high school boyfriends, but also spent hours holding my favorite dog while she was dying. And, of course, the kitchen where it became clear my hunger was an unfortunate and unsatisfiable urge.

A vortex. Where I am all of those parts of my past selves again at once. Where I can't always remember the difference between who think I am supposed to be to fit in and who I really am. Where the constant fear I may be doing something wrong still lingers in the air.

Can I be an adult in my childhood home? Will the substitution of my grown up stuff and some new color on the wall make it my (grown up) own? Will the legs I finally stand pretty steadily upon still hold me up when I walk in the door every day? Or will I wake up terrified of that same old boogie man outside every dark window.

I'm not sure I'd trade any of what that house has held. The wounds healed over stronger. I can see the undeniable love, now that I've learned to interpret it. But I'm bracing myself. Anticipating getting briefly knocked off-balance by the whirl of old selves.

I figure my only defense is to just immerse myself in whatever the house throws at me, messy as it may feel. Welcome the ghosts. Listen to what they have to say.

Then maybe have a cleansing. Burn sage. Gather friends to bring in new energy. Fill it with music and laughter and new life. And get ready for the selves yet to come.

Nina Luna Goes to Church

One Sunday morning after I heard I was losing my cute little house and felt like I needed a safe place to go, I surprised myself and joined my mom at her church. And then I went back - several times now.

It's a tiny "Community" church (actually Baptist, but not really advertising it). Very casual and intimate. Enthusiastic young minister. Lots of music. Relatively diverse population, though I stick out as the sole representative of my particular demographic - without kids or gray hair. This whole impulse has made me think of rekindling my long abandoned "church shopping" to Unity/Unitarian type churches thinking they would fit me better, but this one has stuck so far.

I'm still not convinced by the whole Jesus thing. Sitting there, I wrestle with the uncomfortable memories of my own blind enthusiasm about Christianity growing up and with feeling limited by this one point of view. But I've long suspected it is mostly the language that I stumble over. So much about the themes, ideas, and human experience are universal. So I try translating as I listen... God=the life force of the universe. Bible=one form of ancient wisdom. Prayer=energy/meditation/reflection. And that gets me pretty far.

Don't worry, my social and political liberalism are still fully in tact. And psychoanalysis will probably always be my first line of defense when trying to figure out issues of life/love/soul. I am just feeling drawn to looking for other kinds of wisdom as well. A place to think and talk about it. How to exist in the world. How to love and be loved. To connect with things greater than my own problems. Be part of community, with people of all stages of life. And sharing an important connection with my mom feels wonderful.

Not sure what it means yet or how long it will last. But it feels good for the moment. And I may have just signed up to sing in the choir...

Checking Out

So I'm at my local public library to return my most recent items (researching ironwork design for tattoo ideas), when a cute boy with no ring on his left hand catches my eye (the stealth with which I can detect a band amazes me). My nerdy self thinks: library?! How freakin' wholesome and lovely would that dating story be.

I can't see what he was checking out (literally) without obviously & intrusively craning my neck. So the obvious conversation starter was out. What the heck do I say? How's the weather?! Don't online book reservations and automatic checkout stations really take away the personal relationship we used to have with our librarians? Do you have trouble remembering your PIN? My six year old nephew knows his whole 13-digit library number by heart! Somehow I don't think that would be it. I need to check out a book with pick-up lines for real people...

Is lack of conversation topics just an excuse to superglue my lips shut? Was I not feeling up to the risk at that moment? Or just not needing to force anything that doesn't happen spontaneously?

The baby/family urge has been quelled for the moment (perhaps satisfied vicariously through pregnant friends) and activities in my life are in full swing so I usually welcome being home alone (rather than the empty no-one-to-go-home-to feeling that sometimes takes over). Could being more connected to my family through my housing situation be filling some of that hole?

A friend who was breaking up with a boyfriend once told me, "I'll just need to find other ways to get my emotional needs met." Which kind of blew my mind at the time. Is it possible to get all that feeling of connection and belonging from friendship and family? Isn't there something unique and irreplaceable about romantic love that we need? Am I looking for everything in a man when so much of what I need is right in front of me?

It could be possible that I use the excuse of not having a romantic relationship to check out of relationship all together. Certainly safer that way; no way to get hurt. I thought I had shed that defense way back in The Dark Years. But my connection with other people seems to be up, and the loneliness I have been attributing to the lack of a man is down. Maybe I still have been pinning it all on Him. Interesting...

Long Time No Blog

No need for public introspection in the last month? Unlikely. More like I stopped being able to steal high speed internet from my neighbor and have been banished to the realm of DIAL UP. And I've been using Facebook for my virtual social interaction (at least that's slightly more two-directional, right?!). But lucky for you, the impulse to pour my heart out on the internet has flared up again.

Since I've been gone...

Budget: pretty darn good still. Amazingly. How glad am I to already be on the right track when things like suddenly have to move and global economic crisis hit?! And I actually feel like I have more money now, by knowing how much I actually have. Though, I still often wish "how much I have" was more...

Food: lovin' cooking things from the Farmers Market. Slowly building my competence and confidence in the kitchen. Did you know you can turn on the oven to 400 degrees, spritz with a little olive oil and salt and pepper, and roast just about any vegetable to perfection? Just a matter of knowing when it's best to pull it out. Why didn't someone tell me that earlier?!

Health/Fitness: looking into it. Not loving the post-injury waistline. Not cute - even when we call it the "sympathy bump" for one of my best friends who is pregnant.Goin' easy on the knee; still frustratingly temperamental. Played some volleyball OK last week. Yay.

Love Life: sucks. Pulling myself together after some quality time only being attracted to people I can't or shouldn't have. Apparently, I refuse to pursue the one lead on a possibly mature adult I've gotten - yet, I reserve the right to complain.

Moving Shock: recovering and adjusting. Big News... I'm moving into my parents' house. My parents have pretty much moved out to the beach full time, so their cute little house sits empty. They've offered to move out of the main part of the house and just use a bedroom in the basement via the downstairs door for if/when they do want to stay in town. Will it be a safe refuge while I get my own "house" in order? Or opening an old can of worms?! We'll see. Maybe both. Luckily, I have until the end of November to actually move.

Current state of mind: hangin' in there. It's that time of year when everything/one starts getting crazy busy - all the while talking about needing S.A.D. lights for our Seattle depression. (I already have one, btw.) I've started living on Emergen-C to try to avoid the munchkin germs.

And the instinct to turn inward for the winter has begun.

Rug Pulled Out

My landlord is selling my house. My beautiful little house in the trees. With the secret staircase to the studio/sewing room. And the tool bench. And the Catrium. (I can't bare the loss this means for the kitties.) My beautiful little house close enough to ride my bike to work on sunny days and walk to the Farmers Market. The little house that I rent for way less than should be possible. The little house that made me feel like I had room to breathe.

And the news came at a particularly bad moment when I was already teetering on the edge of losing it, mourning other loss and disappointment.

Suddenly, all I see is injustice. There is no way I can ever find anything comparable in the same price-range. At least nothing I'd want to live in. I'll end up in a dark cramped basement. My cats will hate me even more than they already do. And all my work on my budget will be blown. I won't have enough to live on. I'll plunge back into debt. I will never get ahead. And why me? I don't want to have to pack up my entire house and move right now! Why do I even try? Or so the Chicken Little in my head tells me.

After a generous amount of denial, tears, and wishing reality was different, the news is settling in. I am adjusting. I have at least two months. More if it doesn't sell right away. Maybe it is time for change.

Farewell Catrium...