Goodbye summer, toilet seat

Oh man, This Summer.  Everything happened!  I danced with Matt!  I made then gave away lots of bowls, we had lots of friends over, we acquired a companion animal, our cabinets got their doors, I read Hemingway with an eleventh grader, we cleaned and cleaned some more.  Pretty much everything we do now makes me feel more adult!  We got a handheld vacuum!  I bought fabric and hastily made temporary (?) curtains!  I organized my collection of hotel-stolen toiletries and am USING THEM.  I am flossing.  FLOSSING.  WHO EVEN AM I.  I can't even list all the things we accomplished in the last eight weeks.  But, you guys know me.  The things that I'm most proud of, the things that have made me the absolute happiest, were these seemingly tiny changes that vastly improved the quality of my life.  And all I can think now is of being free, being liberated, to fix the things that bothered me on such a miniscule level that it was tempting to forget about them.  But of course!  They all reached a tipping point, I fixed them, and now I am constantly filled with joy.

Ever since setting up the guest bedroom, I hated our own bedroom.  The bed left three awkward feet or so on all sides, and it felt childish and clumsy.  I talked a skeptical Justin into switching walls to leave a big open floor at the foot of our bed, and he eventually humored me, and it instantly made it mature, sleek and friendly!  Score one for the rearranging-furniture-changes-your-life argument.  It just makes so much more sense, even though I am panicking a little about when we upgrade to queen size, complete with bed frame :( .  WILL ALL MY FURNITURE ARRANGING DREAMS BE CRUSHED AGAIN

But this change, this one cannot be undone, even with certain future upgrades.  If you've been to our house, you have certainly seen, if not used, the World's Worst Toilet Seat.  I humbly apologize to everyone for its existence ESPECIALLY if you used it.  If it makes you feel any better, I used it way more than you did, and was furious about it every time.  If you haven't seen it, or if you have and would like a refresher course:  It was one of those cushion ones, except it had a slice in a side from which the yellow (original color I THINK) foam burst out, especially with shower humidity.  The foam was also dysfunctional in one side so that you felt some weird plastic grid in the seat when you sat on it.  The white was starting to fade into a weird bluish (I know) glow (?).  By this point I know you're thinking, Pam, what is wrong with you, that sounds like the grossest thing in the world.  And you would be right.  But you know what else was the grossest thing in the world?  EVERYTHING IN OUR HOUSE UNTIL LIKE THREE WEEKS AGO.  It got lost in the shuffle of the chopped-up five-layer floor, rotting cabinets, marker on the walls, chewed up bathroom door, and the various holes (ranging from scores of nail-size to 4" diameter) in bedroom walls and ceilings.  But ANYWAY.  You also probably know that this whole process is taking eons longer than we imagined, so you may not be surprised to hear that I realized this was one super-gross thing I could fix, so I bought a reclaimed wood toilet seat at 7 am one morning.  It was the best $10 I ever spent.  After some finagling with weird, cheap plastic screws and nuts, I eventually, triumphantly tore the wretched thing out, scrubbed where it was on our pink and teal (no joke) toilet, engineered some parts to fit, and screwed the new shiny seat in.  And I nearly wept with delight.  It is SOLID and REAL and WHITE and CLEAN.  I still look at it admiringly when I pass it by. 

So, another silly event, another life lesson learned.  Let your anger stir you into change.  The longer you're angry, the more time you're wasting that you could be happy.  I was limiting myself and didn't know it; this creativity and possibility with the whole house reminded me just how much power we have to make these minor adjustments that renew us.  Best summer ev-- well, since last summer.

SPT: Guest Post

Welcome (or should I say Willkommen!) to today's installment of Sad Paragraph Tutorial.  I came across a stellar example of a sad paragraph, and, with the author's permission, I have reposted it below.  (Read the rest of his irresistible prose here.)  This piece might take the classification "vignette;" it is more than just a paragraph, but it's not quite a story.  Unlike in my description, the sadness only becomes clear in the last sentence.  See, my children, there are as many ways to write a sad paragraph as there are sad authors' sad concepts.  It was written on a Tuesday, the saddest of days.

Up or Down

by Mickey Mangan

A man was walking down a road. In his hand he held a rope. The rope was very long and one end of it dragged behind him for hundreds of yards as he walked. The other end rose, gently, up from his grip and into the sky. It was attached to a hot air balloon. The hot air balloon floated delicately above him, moving across the land with him as he walked. There were many sunny, cloudless days when the balloon was the most beautiful thing in sight, and the man wanted nothing more than to climb into it and float off into the sky. Other days, however, were not so beautiful.  The man was glad to have the firm ground beneath his feet. Even so, he knew that someday he would work up the courage to climb that rope and see the world from his balloon. Eventually the ground he walked on began to slope downhill. The change was very gradual and, at first, he did not notice it. After many downward steps he was clearly able to see the road ahead.  It stretched gracefully for miles and miles and miles. He admired his view, and saw that he would be safe on this road no matter what happened. Still, he found himself looking longingly up at his balloon. He knew that the view from up there would be far better than any vantage the ground could give him. One day the man found himself looking back on the ground he had covered, and thought he noticed that the rope dragging behind him was shorter than it had been before. Looking up, he realized that the balloon had gotten further and further away from him as he walked down the slope. He tried to pull it back down toward him, but he simply was not strong enough. He tried climbing, but he knew that his arms could not carry him to the top. He knew that he might have been able to climb it before, when the balloon was closer. So instead he kept walking, and kept readjusting his grip to let more of his extra rope out, and kept reassuring himself that the balloon was still there if he really needed it, and that one day it will be close enough to climb to again. He did this for many days, until one day he didn’t hear the rope dragging behind him. He looked down and found that he was holding onto the last feet of rope. He looked up and could barely see his balloon. Was it red? Was it blue? He couldn't even remember what it looked like. If he held onto the rope any longer, it would lift him off of the ground. He let the rope go and kept walking further and further down the road.

Summer: So far, so good

So you may have heard that, one week ago, we got a dog!  Her name is Bellow, and she is a springer/spaniel mix who will turn two in two days.  We got her from the place I used to volunteer, until I had a run-in with a frustrated, chomp-happy dog who I think got put down for being unadoptable.  But Bellow was anything but!  We actually went to see another dog by the name of Dizzy, who turned out to be interested in anything but us.  Fine, Dizzy!  Be that way!  See if we care!  We also got The Look from this other dog, Wink, who, when outside with us in her interview, cuddled up to us as well as pranced around with a ball.  Interested in toys, the outside world, AND us?  We were sold, and her super soft fur sealed the deal.  Two days later, we went back and got her and renamed her after Justin's favorite author.

We took her home to construction of bookshelves and installation of major kitchen appliances, and she was super psyched even amid all the potentially scary noises.  She ran from person to person, totally frantically happy.  I think she sat or lied down twice that day, and as soon as someone blinked, she was up again.  We were a little concerned for her heart.  But since then!  She has calmed down considerably, except for when we come home, when she wags her tail so hard and falls into you so much that her tail actually whips her snout.  Oh Bellow!  She also doesn't eat very much, which is good for our budget and her extra few pounds for now but we'll probably want to stabilize that in the future.  We think she's learned her name, she knows 'sit,' and kind of 'stay,' and she's definitely housebroken.  In progress: Not pulling us all over creation when we walk her.

here's a pretty typical picture.

When I'm not couchin' with the dog, I'm making glass (!) dishes and throwing (!) bowls!  And also tutoring!  And, you know, dancing.  And eating copious amounts of succotash.  And trying to compost (ha, I almost wrote 'compose.'  I am definitely not trying to compose), but neighborhood animals know we don't get out the the meadow that often and they eat all my carefully saved scraps!  I hate nature.  I bought a compost crate and everything.  I should write a sad paragraph about that.  Anyway.  Here are my things so far!  Maybe I can sell them on Etsy for millions.

that hole was the fault of the person firing it, i guess?  in exchange, they gave me a free class!

group shot of my FIRST attempts at pottery!

For more, see 'sculpture' and 'other'!

Stay tuned for another post later this week, after my life will be forever changed, for I will have danced badly with Matt in Baltimore.

Also: BE MILD and HEARTS.

One year ago

One year ago today, we were getting ready for our We Didn't Know You Party, where we invited fairly new work friends to celebrate our week-old marriage.  We were planning the lasagna, beef barbecue, pierogies, quiches (that's right, plural quiches), and desserts; getting some ribbon-y decor together; finding songs and pictures and revisiting our guest book to host this mini wedding party with people we really liked but weren't close enough with two months prior to invite them to the actual event.  One year ago, we were realizing more and more that we were together, finally, forever.  One year ago was also the last time we saw our happy friend Aundre.  We were walking around our neighborhood, our newly-wed selves, as we so often did.  And we found Aundre!  And we heard that we were an inspiration to him!  And he asked for our number so we gave him mine and he put it in his phone under Justin's name and Justin mentioned whatever game system he has or something.  We told him our address and said to come over any time, someone's always there!  And since then, I half-waited for a somewhat awkward text from an unknown number wanting to hang out.  I double checked every youngish kid with a big smile and lots of dreads just in case.  I kept my eyes open on walks, remembering the intersection we saw him at most often.  As the weeks and months went by, I stopped looking so carefully.  It occurred to me every now and again, you know who we haven't seen?  He wasn't at CVS at all anymore, not that we went there very much now that we both had jobs and a 24-hour pharmacy was way better.  Did he move?  Did he go to school somewhere?  Were we just uncannily missing him all the time?  Then.  Then, in a flash, we were talking about moving.  Then, in a much slower flash, we found a place, bought it, and moved.  A five-minute drive away, but in a totally different neighborhood with no tennis courts, no winding sidestreets that end in cuddly sacs, no foresty paths that take you to elementary school playgrounds, and no Aundre.  But, this year!  The house is coming together slowly but surely and becoming more and more ours every day.  We had a lovely time celebrating our first anniversary with paper presents and a Richmond B&B.  We have come so far from one year ago!  Who knows, maybe soon we'll meet as happy of a character as Aundre with an even bigger smile and cooler dreads and a quicker wit.  Maybe our gardens next year will be better than any foresty path, and maybe whiffle ball in the meadow will be more fun than any tennis.  But my heart will always have that proverbial special place for Aundre, one year ago.

Sad Paragraph Tutorial: Overview

Hello, somber people.  Here I will provide an overview on how to write a sad paragraph in five easy steps.

1. Think of your sad topic.  Some popular ones are death, unrequited love, cloudy days, eternity, and fallen ice cream.
2. Introduce your topic with a hook -- perhaps via a universal, a quote, or a story about a time it happened to you or someone you know.
3. Take on your sad topic from several perspectives.  What do other people think about it?  What have others said about it?  Does anyone find this topic, in fact, happy?
4. Twist your sad topic.  Is there a new layer of sadness that people might not realize?  Is it connected to some seemingly unconnected thing?  Could it be not as sad as you used to think?  End with an unexpected new thought.
5. Tie this new thought to the original hook for a bonus perspective and that nice full-circle feeling.  Close eloquently.

On the horizon: examples (both serious and less so) I've written, found examples, and maybe a sad mad-libs template (sad-libs?).  Any other ideas, o sad paragraph seekers?  Send them my way.

House and lists, you know, the usual

Whoa Nellie!  Guys, so much happened!  There was VBLX then there was the last week of school then there was Monday, the last day for teachers then there was the first week of summer and here we are.  Here is what I left before VBLX:

And here is what I came back to!:

NOTE THE LACK OF WALL

from the other side!  IT'S SO BRIGHT

Look at that!  Half a wall gone!  Recessed lights in!  A trash can with a lid!  I have been OVERJOYED every moment since I first saw this!  I cannot even believe it.  An open kitchen is basically the only thing I've ever wanted.  Now, if those stairs to the basement weren't there on the right, it could be the most open thing ever, but I'll take what I can get.  The fridge being clear on the other side of everything makes it feel EVEN BIGGER.  But it's not all fun and games: Turns out our kitchen floor has five, count 'em, five, layers to it.  A base of plywood, followed by linoleum, then another design of linoleum, then ceramic (!), then whatever that weird wood-looking thing is on top.  So.  When that's ripped up, the kitchen will be like four inches higher.  Sigh.  The office is painted though, which has inspired me to take it upon myself to prep all the rest of the rooms for painting and start them asap.  I am just so much happier in a freshly painted room that it outweighs the risk of getting it chipped in the rest of the construction!  I will happily repaint an inch to make up for jumping the gun... months early.  We're grateful and happy and everything, but it is taking waayyyy longer than we ever imagined.  We kind of thought Rar would live here and go out for jobs for the company every now and then.  Turns out it's the opposite; he works for his other son like a regular job, and he does our thing on the weekends from around 7 to 2.  Small sigh. 

Goals for Summer 2011

• learn the potter's wheel
• paint the house
• tutor!?
• make all the sandwiches (ok, most of the sandwiches)
• start my Sad Paragraph Tutorial.  Turns out many, many people arrive at this blog by searching "sad paragraph," for which this post is the third FIRST result in all the world, according to Google.  Said sad paragraph is about uprooting my pumpkins last year.  But why is everyone googling sad paragraph?  Do they want examples?  Do they want to learn how to write one?  Are they too happy and need to be brought down a little?  I hope to cater to this niche market by giving the people what they want.  And they apparently want sad paragraphs. 
•  become closer to being a Real Adult

Here is a BONUS SET OF LISTS FOR YOU

Things I Like

• inspiring children to succeed
• motivated, employable children
• smart people
• being safe
• my "Chamber Pop Mix" on iTunes Genius Mixes.  It's like Pandora One but better.
• donating to charity
• Rita's custard
• blueberries

Things I Dislike

• gangs
• people who don't try at anything
• unreasonable people
• cilantro

Body Language, or, How Dancing Is the Opposite of Autism

We've all read a million and one articles that are like "YOU SHOULD MAKE EYE CONTACT" and "DO NOT CROSS YOUR ARMS YOU WILL LOOK ANGRY" but this is something slightly different!  This is even beyond the fact that your kneeache tells you it's going to rain tomorrow.  As per usual, I noticed something I completely loved and it reminded me of something vaguely related. 

Something that stuck with me after play therapy with autistic preschoolers was the idea of "body."  The language used was always very careful to distinguish a person from his body -- for symbolic purposes as well as literal, practical ones.  "Mitchell, tell Alice you don't want her touching your body."  "Peyton, how is your body feeling?"  ("Crazy!!!")  We were attuned to the needs of each individual's body -- for instance, if the child('s body) felt threatened by hallways and other open spaces (Alice) or needed vestibular input, ie, squeezes, firm hugs, or bouncing (Graciela) in order to be regulated.  It brought a reality to the phrase "uncomfortable in one's own skin" that I could have never considered without experience with little ones with autism!  The communication associated with these principles astounded me for a very long time.  To think that a mysterious sensation in one's body needed closer boundaries or even pressure in order not to go completely haywire was so strangely validating to the human condition!  Unfortunately, in these examples, the body was communicating its needs because frequently they weren't met -- how can we know unless through frustrating experience that Zahara would only calm down in a pogo swing? 

In loving a flagrantly opposing means for body language, I decided to get hooked on So You Think You Can Dance this year.  I consider myself a dancer -- a very niche dancer, but a dancer all the same -- and more importantly, I love dance as an idea and I love even more to watch people dance.  And I did get really into American Idol last year and found out I cry at the drop of a hat on these shows (seriously; I cry when people do really well, when they win their ticket or whatever, when they cry, when their family hugs them, when they win but don't have any family or friends there to hug them, when they win but don't have any family or friends there to hug them but then they call out to the lounge outside auditions "Quick! Someone come be my family!" and a herd of strangers run to hug them and jump and celebrate, etc).  Put all that together and I knew I would have the best time watching this show.  And I have.

My favorite part of these two shows, even more than the dances or songs, is when people are told they're moving on to whatever next round -- and they celebrate.  Somehow.  Many cry, many laugh, many are in disbelief, many have that face where they look like they're hardly reacting at all but really they're taking it the most humbly and joyously.  I cry love when the contestants hurdle over various stages or stairs or equipment to hug the judges -- but far and away, the best reactions are from the dancers who dance in celebration.  That's what they do!  In an uncannily similar way to children with autism except with the exact opposite need, their bodies are overcome with a sensation that they can't get out and they don't know what to do with.  Both populations are unaccustomed to using words to express emotions, both understand an ethereal component of existence, not by choice.  Both experience feelings, states of being that transcend language -- but sadly, it frequently manifests in a negative way for autistic children, often involving angry tears, flight, or physical harm.  In stark contrast, for these winning dancers, this overwhelming urge happens to be a happy one!  We should all be so lucky that our speechless moments are due to joy.  As sad as I am for the helpless communication these children must employ, I am equally delighted at these winning dancers.  With conventional communication insufficient, they naturally default to what they do best: when they hear the good news, they dance!  Some leap.  Some jump, spin, kick, dougie, etc.  But the way they move is always tinged with dance, and that the joy inherent in that makes me tear up too.