We only went a little crazy...

So far, so good... We spent Christmas night with old friends of the family, eating Papa Murphy's pizza (which mom called Father Murphy's, which is a pizza chain created by an Irish priest to save his failing, broke parish, but shenanigans ensue! Gentle, chuckling shenanigans.) and drinking margaritas (!!!). We discussed all manner of things, including names my father had for things. We all find these pretty damn good. Example being "Serious knife", which is a serrated knife. Screaming Hills Drive instead of Singing Hills Drive, a buffet (pronounced with a -fet).. good stuff.

Met old college roommate at Red Lobster. Visited one of mom's dearest friends (who sort of grilled me - - but in a very good way. Basically, Deb can ask all the questions my mom wants to, but is held up by mom-rules. Mom-rules which I sort of appreciate. But happy to answer direct questions...) and ate Sun Chips.

Watched a steady stream of British people on Netflix (Michael Palin's Himalayas! Downton Abbey! Dr. Who!)and fell asleep too late. Rather, I watched a steady stream of British people, and mom was lulled to sleep by their soft-r's and pronunciation of h's.

It's been a lovely collection of mom-time, jen-internet-time and family-friend-time. I miss sister-time, but that will come.

Onward.

What to give yourself, in that sort of day time television sort of way...

Hi friends! Hello, internet.

Back in Sux City. I fell asleep in my childhood bed, after watching a couple episodes of Dr. Who and then read some Anne McCaffery - - which is very Saturday night, 1987. Woke up to the dog barking a single bark at me (literally, "WAKE UP", but like a cute fuzzy jerk in a dog blanket) and the sounds of mom in the kitchen.

(<-----This is the reason I think naming a girl "Menolly" might be a good idea. It's a terrible idea. We'd have to dress in tunics and learn to play the pan flute. AND LIVE WITH DRAGONS.

If you could put Menolly & Laura Ingalls Wilder & Julie of the Wolves & Princess Leia and that kid from "My Side of the Mountain" together with Johnny Carson and Bob Newhart, you'd encapsulate a goodly number of my childhood reasons for staying up late.)

We're not formally doing presents as a family. We don't NEED anything, and it feels like the family home has "too much stuff" - - or, at least, the remnants of people we loved and love, and their (albeit NEAT - - my dad made neat stuff, my sister makes neat stuff, my grandpa had neat stuff, my great grandma had neat stuff, the unknown great cousin who was Catholic had neat stuff) stuff that we don't know what to do with.

This house is a gigantic, unsorted Cedar chest. But less romantic and more neat.

So - - presents at Christmas drop to the wayside. Mom asks what I want when I get here, and promises to take me shopping. Not needed, but nice. (I bought my mom the internet.. i.e. internet service... for Christmas, which is a little like buying your mom a cookbook for Christmas. Kinda selfish.)

There is a nice Xmas pass of "I got this for me for Christmas". But I don't need anything. I have nice clothes to teach in, I have a funny little car, I have fancy devices that tell me things, I have the ability to buy food and shelter and haircuts and I am very lucky.

So - for Christmas - I am making myself a practice, in that very Oprah-way.

I'm going to write. And set aside time to write. Starting with this blog post, and crossing my eyes to make it a practice.

And, in celebration of this, I submit a poem that we just found, that was written by me when I was young enough to still spell "drowning" as "drownding" (seriously. I say the d. Don't you say the d?) It's unfinished. Please enjoy.

DROWNDING

I'm drownding in flowers

help me. oh please

I'm Allergic to flowers

I'm starting to sneeze

HAND me a lifeboat

Women and kids first

Please help me oh please

I'm starting to Burst

A crane is coming

Oh thank you so is my sneeze

Gesumtight

Achoo

...And that's where it ends. The third stanza had the alternate version of:

My sneeze is coming; I'm going to shout

Gesumtight

Achoo

... A lot of that was crossed out. But. Ehhhh? I am fairly impressed with elementary school me.

And when I find things I've written as a kid, I get all happy. When I read things I wrote in my 20s, it's an exercise in patience, but I'm still happy I did it. So.. time to get goin'.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS WINTER THINGS, friends. Thanks for listening.

Pop up, out of the Internet hole

hi friends... I'm not sure if anyone's still watchin', as it's been a while... I was feeling private. And I was feeling scared. And so, long breaks between blog posts, which is totally fine and good.

I'm currently in Far Away Places!! Not easy far away places (diaherrea! Mind numbing poverty!), but amazingly lucky be here. And trying not to use sickness as a reason to hide in a nice quiet hotel room from all the noise and touts and push pull.

Having Internet while so far away is weird... I am there in Minneapolis, connecting in ways I usually do (Facebook! I can follow Twitter! Weirrrd.) but my body is not. I feel like a ghost, able to comunicate through a particular medium, but not able to actually DO anything.

When I get back, I'd like to have everyone over for tacos and beer. Everything will be homemade. I will get to doing the things I want to do. I will take free time to see the people I love to see. THAT sounds like vacation. And not ghosty at all.

I also wanna improv. I've been daydreaming of Ka-Baal!!, which makes me giggle.

Rule #3761 - best training for crazy travel (and/or life) would be improv. (Followed, close second, by yoga. But that's me. I think you could follow anything after improv, and be pretty well set.)

I can't wait for the walkin' around part of this trip. Nature and birds of prey, tea houses and dogs you don't want to fuck with.

Miss you.

Onward.