Hints and Guesses

• One mouse-eaten leather backpack
• One unharmed but still kind of gross leather backpack
• Random camping supplies
• Ski gloves (now living with the ski suit that no longer fits me. But maybe someday it will again.)
• Eyes Wide Shut ticket stub
• $4.60
• Several old organizer purses (the best kind)
• A family photo with wife #3
• An engagement photo with husband #1. I am thin. I look good. I keep the picture.

Once or twice a year, about this time, I make Peach and Blueberry Shortcakes.  Our oven isn’t working, so I’m headed over to a friend’s house to do most of the work. I might take a picture, but nothing I can write can communicate how absolutely wonderful these are. You’ll have to try them for yourself.

Oh dear. It’s been a week since I last blogged. Where did the time go?

 
• I’ve written morning pages most days. Not Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, and not yet today. But I’m getting there.
 
• I’ve walked an hour most days. Not Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, and I planned not to today because I’m running errands, which always gives me a healthy number of steps. As a side note, I’ve stopped getting drowsy in the afternoon, which is likely a result of both the exercise and the adequate sleep I’m getting.
 
• I’ve showered nearly every day.
 
• I’ve had no interviews, but I’ve applied for two jobs this week. Which is a miracle, because while I’ve gotten most other things done this week, looking for a job has been a particularly difficult mental exercise. I’m interested in both of these positions, but one more than the other.
 
• See above for blogging status.
 
• I’ve mostly eaten well, except for last night, and I am paying for it today. It wasn’t that the food was bad—there was just too much of it.
 
• The reduced email and feed reading schedule has become a no-brainer. I won’t bore you with future updates.

In addition to these things, I’ve been doing these:

 
• For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been deep cleaning the kitchen and our primary bathroom, a bit every day. I smell like bleach.
 
• I’m also tackling the garage, one box per day. What we’re not keeping goes on Freecycle or may eventually be donated to a local charity—I can’t be bothered to have a garage sale. By the time I’m done, I might be able to park in the garage.
 
• And I’m finally deep cleaning my car, again a bit every day.
 
• I decided to stop going to bed late and getting up after 8. I’m now going to bed around 10 and setting the alarm for 6. I haven’t yet adjusted to this time change: although I have no problem falling asleep at 10, I’m having some difficulty getting up at 6. When I go back to work, I’ll probably get up at 5 (like I used to), so I don’t want the transition back to that schedule to be too difficult. In fact, if I’m off long enough, I’ll probably start transitioning to 5 before then.
 
• Have you seen Dead Like Me?
 
• I spent yesterday afternoon setting up this blog in Windows Live Writer, which took me longer than the average person because I couldn’t figure out what a "remote posting URL" was. I don’t know if I like WLW yet, but I might let you know later.

• Morning pages—check
• Hour-long walk—check
• Shower—check
• Had an interview at a staffing agency today.
• Blogging—check
• Eating well—did pretty well, except for some rather excellent carrot cake (yes, I had another piece. Thank goodness it’s all gone now.).
• Limited email and feed reading—check

• Morning pages—check
• Hour-long walk—check
• Shower—check
• The #1 job I wanted to apply for is no longer available. Good thing I’ve started on plan B. Have an interview at another staffing agency tomorrow.
• Blogging—check
• Eating well—did pretty well, except for some rather excellent carrot cake
• Limited email and feed reading—check

Being the only otherwise-unoccupied competent family person, today I was designated to be the companion for the eight-year-old younger brother of my two stepsons (and no matter how awkwardly constructed this sentence is, I have no intention of rewriting it). He’s a great kid, or it would have been a bother.

He watched television while I worked around the house all morning. Then we went to the lake, where I thought I might write the morning pages, but this eight-year-old has more confidence in his swimming skills than I do, so we swam together. He got tired of swimming, so we went to the playground. He finally got tired of the playground and wanted to walk to the end of the pier, so we did. We sat for a while at the end of the pier where he pretended to fish with some fishing line he found.

We wrapped up the day at Kilwin’s (because it was his last day of freedom before school begins tomorrow, and if you’re going to eat ice cream it might as well be the good stuff).

“Is there anything else you’d like to do today before you go back to school tomorrow?” I asked.

“Finish this ice cream,” he said.

And so we did.

• I wrote morning pages.
• I walked for an hour.
• I took a shower.
• I applied for one job and worked on the cover letter for another.
• Here I am, blogging about it. You should be grateful that I don’t have cats.
• I ate pretty well. Could probably have eaten less.
• I kept to my limited email and feed reader schedule.
• I beat my sister at Scrabble a couple of times. The last one was a come-from-behind nail biter.

Being jobless isn’t half bad, except for the no-money-coming-in part. Tomorrow will be three weeks since the first time I ever got fired, and I still don’t have a job.

There’s no doubt that any one of you looking at all I’ve accomplished over the last three weeks wouldn’t wait to roll your eyes before kicking me in the butt. I’d kick my butt too, if I were you. Since I am not, I have decided to create some ambition for myself this week, and I’m going to tell you all about it so that you can ask me about it later.

Here goes:

• Write morning pages. Every morning. First thing in the morning.
• Walk. One hour. Every morning after morning pages.
• Take a shower. Pretend I’m going to work.
• Look for that one job. The timing for the one I’d like isn’t working out, but I’ve made contact. Apply for those other jobs that aren’t exactly the one I’d like but will do for now.
• Blog about what I’ve done. Here. Every day.
• Eat well. Some. Not a lot. My body tells me it would like to keep all incoming calories. It can have them, but it will be getting fewer of them.
• Stay on my current limited email and feed reader schedule. Once every four hours. Five minutes with new feeds.

That’s all the ambition I can manufacture at the moment. I could add to the list, but then it would all seem impossibly hard.

Last week our family took our annual vacation in Tennessee. In my opinion (and that of several others), it was the best one we’ve ever had.

On Monday, I got fired.

Depending on how you look at it, I’ve either sunk into melancholy or am taking a long, deep breath before jumping back into the work force. Since Tuesday, that is.

On Monday, I went straight from my former place of employment to the staffing agency through which I got that job several years ago. Then I went home and told the family. After that, I made several face-to-face networking visits. Later, I applied for a job online, and then I applied for unemployment. Oh, and I went and applied for a replacement Social Security card since mine never turned up after the last move.

That was Monday. Tonight, I took my first shower since Monday morning.

That is all for now. I thought there would be more.

Bold the ones you have seen.
Put an asterisk after the movie title* if you really liked it.
Cross it out if you saw a film and really disliked it.
Underline the ones you own.

1. Pulp Fiction (1994)
2. The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001-03)*
3. Titanic (1997)*
4. Blue Velvet (1986)
5. Toy Story (1995)
6. Saving Private Ryan (1998)
7. Hannah and Her Sisters (1986)
8. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)*
9. Die Hard (1988)
10. Moulin Rouge (2001)*
11. This Is Spinal Tap (1984)
12. The Matrix (1999)
13. GoodFellas (1990)
14. Crumb (1995)
15. Edward Scissorhands (1990)*
16. Boogie Nights (1997)
17. Jerry Maguire (1996)*
18. Do the Right Thing (1989)
19. Casino Royale (2006)
20. The Lion King (1994)
21. Schindler’s List (1993)
22. Rushmore (1998)*
23. Memento (2001)
24. A Room With a View (1986)*
25. Shrek (2001)
26. Hoop Dreams (1994)
27. Aliens (1986)
28. Wings of Desire (1988)
29. The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
30. When Harry Met Sally (1989)*
31. Brokeback Mountain (2005)*
32. Fight Club (1999)
33. The Breakfast Club (1985)
34. Fargo (1996)
35. The Incredibles (2004)
36. Spider-Man 2 (2004)
37. Pretty Woman (1990)
38. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
39. The Sixth Sense (1999)
40. Speed (1994)
41. Dazed and Confused (1993)
42. Clueless (1995)
43. Gladiator (2000)
44. The Player (1992)
45. Rain Man (1988)
46. Children of Men (2006)
47. Men in Black (1997)
48. Scarface (1983)
49. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000)
50. The Piano (1993)
51. There Will Be Blood (2007)
52. The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad (1988)
53. The Truman Show (1998)*
54. Fatal Attraction (1987)
55. Risky Business (1983)
56. The Lives of Others (2006)
57. There’s Something About Mary (1998)*
58. Ghostbusters (1984)
59. L.A. Confidential (1997)*
60. Scream (1996)
61. Beverly Hills Cop (1984)
62. sex, lies and videotape (1989)
63. Big (1988)*
64. No Country For Old Men (2007)
65. Dirty Dancing (1987)
66. Natural Born Killers (1994)
67. Donnie Brasco (1997)
68. Witness (1985)
69. All About My Mother (1999)
70. Broadcast News (1987)
71. Unforgiven (1992)
72. Thelma & Louise (1991)
73. Office Space (1999)
74. Drugstore Cowboy (1989)
75. Out of Africa (1985)
76. The Departed (2006)
77. Sid and Nancy (1986)
78. Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)
79. Waiting for Guffman (1996)
80. Michael Clayton (2007)
81. Moonstruck (1987)
82. Lost in Translation (2003)
83. Evil Dead 2: Dead by Dawn (1987)
84. Sideways (2004)
85. The 40 Year-Old Virgin (2005)
86. Y Tu Mamá También (2002)
87. Swingers (1996)
88. Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997)
89. Breaking the Waves (1996)
90. Napoleon Dynamite (2004)
91. Back to the Future (1985)*
92. Menace II Society (1993)
93. Ed Wood (1994)
94. Full Metal Jacket (1987)
95. In the Mood for Love (2001)
96. Far From Heaven (2002)
97. Glory (1989)
98. The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)*
99. The Blair Witch Project (1999)
100. South Park: Bigger Longer & Uncut (1999)*

Should I be watching television?

It was a family saying: “Huh?”

Or at least Sue thought so.

She, an amateur woodcarver, carved a plaque even, a plaque that simply said, “Huh?”

Huh.

Evening always makes me think of summers during my childhood in southwestern Missouri.

Being a child, the extreme humidity there was not as noticeable to me as it is now.  I really remember no discomfort about evenings at all, though I know there had to always be mosquitoes.

I loved to sit on the porch (front or back) and just look.  Look at the trees moving softly in the gentle breeze.  Look at the flowers as their colors faded with the light.  Look at the cats and dogs playing (not necessarily with one another).  Look at the sky as it changed from hot, hazy white to pinks and oranges to deep, star-dotted blues.

Like most children, I could not sit still forever, so I would get up and chase a rabbit, coax the cat to come to me or practice cartwheels.  I don’t remember when I first started doing cartwheels, but someone instilled in me at a very young age that they must be straight-legged cartwheels.  I don’t know if my legs were really straight, but I practiced all the time.  They felt like they were straight.  I remember loving how the cool grass felt on my hands as I did cartwheel after cartwheel.

As it got darker, I would love to return to the porch to sit and watch the sky as it turned dark blue higher in the sky, and yet remained a paler color, even yellow, near the horizon.  The color surrounded me, and I became a part of it. 

And there were the sounds.  The brushing sound of the trees in the breeze.  Crickets and locusts and tree frogs.  It was loud, but to me it was just ordinary. I took it all for granted.  Now I miss it.  There was always sound in the country in southwestern Missouri.  Bugs and frogs at night.  Birds in the day.  I remember the first time I heard songbirds where I live now; it almost shocked me.

As I watched the sky get darker and darker, a new light would appear.  Fireflies—something else I took for granted.  As they filled the evening darkness with their own light, I would jump up from my spot and run to catch them.  There were always old pickle jars with holes in the lids by the doors in which to collect them.  My brother and I would fill those jars and stare and stare at them, waiting for them to all flash at one time.  It never happened, but we for some reason thought it would be so unbelievably cool if they did.  So we kept hoping.  And watching.

The breeze of evening always felt sublime.  The days were hot, and the evenings were reprieve.  The light wind was rarely cold in the summer, only soothing.  The feeling of the soft air wafting against my skin while watching the sky change from dusk to night might be my favorite memory of summer evenings.

Sometimes I would turn on a porch light and pretend I was singing on a stage.  I would grab my jump rope and use the handle like a microphone.  It warms my heart to see my daughters doing similar things on the landing of our stairs now.  The singing would have to come to an end quickly, however, for the moths would be thick, flocking to the light and getting stuck in my hair.

Maybe I would walk around our large yard and watch how things changed in the waning light.  We had lots of trees and flowers.  I always loved things that grow, and I loved to see and touch them as the day made its way to a close.  Somehow they felt smoother and softer in the cool of the evening, as if the darkness had transformed them into something magical.

Then my bare feet might feel something cold.  And slimy.  My shriek would pierce the peaceful evening.  It was time to go inside, with toes stuck together by slug slime.  Time to forget the fading light and the mesmerizing sounds and the gentle breezes caressing my skin.  It was time to go inside, grab the salt and return (with shoes) for the more barbaric activities of the evening.

Lillian had seen those hands before. They were her mother’s. That’s where she knew them. It is not like reading a palm, Lillian thought. There’s no future in it. The back of a hand is all past.

I stood alone. My father sat to my left in the black lounge chair. My stepmother sat to the right in the brown recliner. My mother sat somewhere in Kansas.

“Your mother sent a birthday card,” she said. My tenth birthday—or it had been, four days past. “What kind of mother sends a card like this?” She’d signed the card “Happy birthday, Mother.” There was no gift, just the card. And it was four days late.

“She doesn’t love you,” she said. “If she did, the card would have been sent on time, and she would have written something meaningful. And she would have sent a gift.”

My small, skinny, 10-year-old self began to cry, and for the first time, my father spoke.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

Why was I crying indeed? Perhaps because the mother I got, the one I lived with every day, was not so much mother as caretaker. She fed us three times a day. We wore clean clothes. We went to school. She made birthday cakes and held small family parties. These are not small things, and acknowledging them is to recognize part of the truth.

She served as religious educator. We studied our Sabbath School lesson and read assigned religious books every day—an hour on weekends, half an hour on weekdays was the setup, but in reality we started when she told us to start, and we stopped when she told us to stop. She often told me I was a bad, unrepentant child who was on the certain road to committing the unpardonable sin (whatever that was), so to save my soul she repeatedly assigned Steps to Christ. I can spot a quote from that book at fifty paces.

She hit us. Sometimes with a wooden paddle. Sometimes with the leather belt that hung behind our bedroom door. Sometimes with the plastic ruler in the pencil cup on the table next to her brown recliner, or the one she kept in her car visor. Occasionally she hit us with her bare hand. She hit us often, and almost always she hit us in places no one else would ever see.

Fours years and a handful of visits with one mother. Five years of living every day with this other one, plus a father who was often gone. In the face of overwhelming emotion, my ten-year-old self was powerless to do the math, but the result was still the same.

“I’m all mixed up,” I said.

He took me in his arms, and I cried some more.

Read the companion piece to this post at Thursday Drive.