Square-Peg People

NaNoWriMo and Me

 

The first time I heard the term NaNoWriMo spoken (I'd seen it online a zillion and six times - but I'm talking heard) it sounded like: Na No Rhyme Oh,

and judging by the discussion the term came up in I assumed it was some kind of writing thing. Adding 2 + 2 and getting 7, I figured it was a twist on the NaNoWriMo I'd seen written about online (a zillion and six times) - and probably involved poetry, because -> Rhyme Oh.

Seeing the bewildered look on my face (when I was working through the math), someone asked: "Do you know what NaNoWriMo is?"

Well, I knew what NaNoWriMo was, but I didn't know anything about this Rhyme Oh thing, so I said (excitedly, hoping to learn about a poetry-writer's gathering): "No, never heard of it - do tell?"

And they did - with gusto! I instantly realized that they were talking about the same NaNoWriMo I'd seen written about online (a zillion and six times), but there was no chance to explain.

First there was a lot of enthusiastic describing and showing ("look, they gave me this! And this - and this - and I wrote ____ words, and I can't wait for next November because I've got some great ideas, and…") - way cool! I love enthusiasm,

but then I was peppered with questions and given no time to answer them (Introvert Hell).

The person asking the questions answered them for me, based (I'm guessing) on her own 2 + 2 equals 7 (which was helped along by my bewildered/deer-in-the-headlights expression):

"Do you write? No, if you did you'd know what NaNoWriMo is."

"Well, do you read?" (I croaked out a quick "yeah" on that one) "You do? Then what's your favorite genre?" Oh shit, I read a lot - on a lot of topics and in a lot of genres - how to answer that one (continued bewildered/deer-in-the-headlights expression)?

"So you don't really read."

And then I nailed my own coffin shut (so to speak). There was a radio playing in the background, something positive (rare!) was said about a Philadelphia Phillies baseball game; another gal and I gave little cheers and I was discovered (in a 2 + 2 = 7 sense):

"Oh, you're into sports (voice dripping with disapproval). I see!"

I think I was smarter when I was a kid. Back then I'd nod assent or mumble "yeah" when asked "Do you know what ___ is?" - because half the time (ok, more like 99.8% of the time) I'd be in my own little world and wasn't following the conversation - and the rest of the time I was covering my butt against eventualities like the NaNoWriMo embarrassment.

Sigh.

~ ~ ~

Hey, if you're taking part in NaNoWriMo this year you might want to check out my friend Charlotte Rains Dixon's post: NaNoWriMo Support and Encouragement - it's full of, well - support and encouragement!

You might also want to check out a teleclass Charlotte and I put together, called Authenticity + Creativity, where we explore the intersection of (your) authenticity + (your) creativity, discuss how Fear gets in the way, AND learn how to work around it!

What We Do For Love

 

Ummm, yes - that is a wig. And it has a story.

 

When my granddaughter, Little Princess, visited awhile ago we got talking about wigs (why? how? who remembers…). She waxed lyrical about purple wigs.

 

I picked one up after her visit, to gift her with the next time. Unfortunately, we didn't have another visit for quite awhile - so by the time her next visit came about I wasn't positive that LP would still adore purple wigs, or that she'd even remember us talking about them.

 

For some reason (why? what shortwired in my brain? who remembers…) I got the idea to surprise Little Princess by wearing the wig when she was dropped off.

 

LP is a smart gal, so you'd expect that she'd notice long, wavy (bizarrely shiny) purple hair on her hithertofore short-haired, non-purple-headed grandmother - but, just to be sure, I figured I'd make it obvious that I was wearing a wig.

 

When the time was close for LP's appearance I donned the wig and practiced tossing my (new found) purple hair back with a twist of the neck and flip of the hand - picture a Hollywood star from days of old (ok - picture an older, uncoordinated, jerky-moving star wannabe - risking neck injury and wig loss with every flip).

 

After a bit of practicing the flip didn't seem enough - so when Little Princess was exiting her chariot I added a bounce. Bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet, flipping my purple mane - I threw my arms open (our greetings often involve LP leaping into my arms)…

 

but she didn't leap! Little Princess stopped mid-run, got a curious expression on her face and (never one to mince words) yelled: "Oh! My! Gawwwwwwd! What did you do to your hair?" (what? it didn't look natural?).

 

About 3 nanoseconds later LP figured it out, leaped into my arms, and we laughed and laughed (why? who remembers? I do - we laugh for love - we laugh a lot!).

 

How do we accept and celebrate our uniqueness? Where do we find community?

This is what we talk about in our brand-new e-guide packages: Square-Peg Celebration & Community is an Inside Job.

Hop on over to the Shop and read more (don't forget to listen to the free MP3 samples!).

Summer Silly

 

and some are just plain weird <- get it? summer/some are - sorry, couldn't help myself.

 

I've been on a journey to find my Joy (I think it went off for coffee a while back and didn't come home). Laughter is one of the ways I connect with Joy (maybe YOU too?), so...

 

Here are a couple funny photos that Slightly-Brit captured - and a couple roflmao posts that got me laughing and might just bring a smile to your face. 

 

Ha! This made me do a double-take!

 

I shared this on FaceBook yesterday; Slightly-Brit pointed it out to me in an art supply store we were visitng, I'd walked right by it!

 

WTF? It made for a lot of humorous discussion, I'll tell you.

 

And now the posts:

 

The World's Most Awkward Taxidermy had me laughing - and gagging.

 

And this - It's Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers, which Slightly-Brit sent me the link to last night (yes, she's my main humor - and music source) had me crying I was laughing so hard!

How do we accept and celebrate our uniqueness? Where do we find community?

This is what we talk about in our brand-new e-guide packages: Square-Peg Celebration & Community is an Inside Job.

Hop on over to the Shop and read more (don't forget to listen to the free MP3 samples!).

Square-Peg Celebrations: Return of the Valentine Man

 

This is a riff on a post from long ago.

My family is odd. Wait! Let me rephrase that (although what I said is quite true): My family celebrates (and makes up) holidays in odd ways.

There's Wumpledinger's Day...nah, I won't go into that now - except to say that it's celebrated at the end of May. Let's just skip to the February 14th celebration, Valentine's Day.

Let me tell you about my family's history with The Valentine's Man...

When my brother and I were young we were visited each February 14th by The Valentine's Man. At some point during the evening there would be a knock at the front door, my brother and I would dash to the door and we would find 2 boxes of candy - one for each of us - right outside. Just candy! There was no one around, no one in sight. Who knocked?

We were told that the candy (and the knock) came from The Valentine's Man, but we weren't exactly sold on the story. "What'd The Valentine's Man bring you?" wasn't a question you heard bandied about at recess.

Our suspicions mounted as we got older, and so for years my brother and I would keep our eyes glued to both our parents starting somewhere around evening on February 13th. But neither of them was ever near the door when that knock came.

When I was considering whether to introduce my own kids to this goofball Valentine's Day tradition I asked my mother who The Valentine's Man had been when I was a kid - who did the knocking and running.

She couldn't remember. At least 10 years of establishing and maintaining this yearly subterfuge and she could not remember who played the role of door knocker/candy giver. Seriously!?!

I've asked her a number of different times now - through the years - hoping that the memory would resurface sometime, but no go.

I still wonder who it was and how whoever-it-was got away so fast.

I've ruled my paternal grandmother out. She lived across the street, but she was round. I can't see her knocking and then disappearing that quickly.

Besides, even though she could be funny (she taught me cool camp songs with words like "fart" in them - and some song I wish I knew the rest of the words to, because all I remember is: "...the baby pooped in the noodle soup and I ne'er went there no more.") I can't imagine her thinking the whole knock-and-run thing worth the effort. So who?

We may never know!

Even without knowledge of how my parents worked The Valentine's Man trickery I decided to continue the tradition. We had The Valentine's Man make visits when my (now adult) daughters were little. And when my (now early 20's) son was little, and again when my granddaughter lived here for a few years.

The story I remember telling my daughters and granddaughter was that The Valentine's Man is a guy in tights. Cupid, the pink tights, the arrow. Bringing candy for sweet children. It's cold in February, of course he's in a hurry!

The story changed a wee bit when my son was young. He claims that I told him The Valentine's Man was in a big hurry because he was naked. I blame Perimenopause for this.

My kids got suspicious (like my brother and I had). They weren't exactly sold on the story - and began watching their father and I closely starting early evening February 13th each year.

Luckily their uncle was the one who often did the knock and run. He's lean and fast.

The year my granddaughter was 4 my son quietly planted the goodies in the front entryway an hour or so before the official knock.

When it seemed about time for The Valentine's Man to visit I diverted my granddaughter's attention by pointing to something in another room, and - while her eyes were averted -  I reached around behind me and rapped hard on the door.

Her head spun around - her eyes got wide. We raced for the door, and sure enough - there were a couple packages and no one in sight.

After examining her goodies, she kept grilling me: "You didn't knock?" (she's a bright one) "For real?". I kept lying.

I have no idea why I continued this tradition. Valentine's Day seems a simple enough holiday - what possessed my parents, and then me, to drag The Valentine's Man (and lying) into it?

I only hope that years from now - if anyone asks - I'll remember how we did it. And I guess I wouldn't mind seeing the tradition continue, but I'm glad that there's no lying involved in Wumpledinger's Day (well, except for the tiny falsehood that got the holiday started...).

No Comparison

 

 

Slightly-British Daughter, Manchild and I were driving home from one of the local, annual holiday events we like to attend.

We decided to spin past a couple houses whose owners have been known to go hog-wild with holiday decorating (so much so that police are needed to direct traffic on some nights - in suburbia!) before it would be impossible to get near them.

 

Being early in the season, there weren't many other cars driving past the houses when we got there (luckily!). We drove by agape - (as in gaping - staring - open-mouthed, not agape in the theological sense - just sayin').

The picture above (from Manchild's iPod Touch as we rolled past) doesn't capture the hog-wildness of the light show that was this house. You can't even see half the lighted characters, or the roof. Actually, I don't think any photo could express the !holyshit! feeling you get seeing this particular house live, but it gives you some idea (I hope).

The entire lawn was filled with lighted ornaments, every surface of the house was covered with lights - every inch of the roof. No space left undecorated!!

You might figure that anyone's first thoughts, while gazing at the !holyshit! house of lights, would either run to Santa, visions of sugar plums and toys or to fear for the environment and questions about conspicuous consumption. Not necessarily so!

When, later that evening, SBD and I talked about our experience of the house we surprised each other. We each said our first thought had been: "If you lived nearby how could you possibly decorate? What could you do?" Everything and anything would seem like an afterthought.

And that's where the next picture comes in.

As we drove along (agape, as I've noted) we encountered the next house. It took a few seconds for our eyes and minds to be able take in anything else - I think we were well past the second house before we realized what we'd seen.

Maybe the homeowner next door to the hog-wild light show battled with the comparison monster, maybe she wondered how to decorate, or whether (being next door to the !holyshit! house of lights) anyone would even notice her efforts at all. Or not...

we'll never know. What we do know is: Wisdom took the day.

With (we can assume) a touch of grace (and LOVE), and definitely with a sense of humor - she merely pointed.

This brought up a lot of things for me to ponder (like noticing more how I allow comparison to get in my way & a zillion connected thoughts),

but mostly it made me aware that often the appropriate response to something that makes me stare agape - with delight and wonder - is to point.

And it made me want to point to a couple incredible wonders - my internet neighbors (whose delightful offerings don't, even remotely, cause you to worry about the environment):

Kylie Bellard, at Effervescence, shares the most heart-opening personal stories in The Itty-Bitty Adventure Club. Each time I read one of these stories I feel braver (and I find myself wishing Kylie lived in my actual neighborhood so I could go give her a big hug). Isn't Adventure Mouse ADORABLE??

And Andrea Lewicki, at Findable You, who gave my heart a huge hug when I opened my snail mail one day and found an origami crane, a note proclaiming: YOU ARE WORTHY OF YOUR OWN UNDIVIDED ATTENTION, and the invitation to: "Spend 5 minutes in undivided attention."

Andrea is sending these cranes around the world - asking that the receivers spend that 5 minutes of undivided attention and then send them on to another person. You may still be able to get one, no cost, through a request form at the link above.

Check out my neighbors - your heart will thank you!

 

Photos from Harry Caterson

Whacked in the Air

 

 

I woke up knowing I wanted to share this funny experience with you, no doubt due to the fact that someone dear to me is on an airplane today.

But, by the time I got to the computer (argh) I had forgotten what I wanted to share - and no amount of brain strain was bringing the thought back (double argh).

I got lucky though - someone on Facebook wrote about the opposite experience and I had a voila moment - I remembered that this is what I wanted to share.

Here it is (a blast from the past), I hope it brings up your (good) goofball traveling memories:

 

Airport Etiquette

I haven't flown much (or at all) in the past 30-some years. That changed this past summer when I went out to Portland to visit my friend Wendy.

And again when I went to Saluda, NC to be part of Barbara Sher's WriteSpeak retreat. Nevertheless - 6 flights isn't a lot of flying - so I wonder if these experiences are unique to me?!?

Going home from Portland I was dragging. I never sleep quite soundly in any bed that isn't my own beloved home-bed (no matter how comfy and delightful) - plus we'd been busy - so, like I said, I was dragging.

I lagged behind as Wendy speedwalked from the parking area. She even hoisted my ridiculously heavy backpack and carried it as far as she could go into the airport and I still lagged behind. What can I say? Wendy's a mover and I'm not.

When we reached the "get-the-hell-out-of-here-ye-without-tickets" spot inside the airport I hugged Wenders goodbye, grabbed my wheel-less enormosity of a backpack and went through the checking in stuff and on to finding my terminal (always the furthest from the airport entrance - how is that even possible?).

Aside: I (brilliantly) discovered wheeled luggage for the NC trip. Godbless the folks who came up with it! - actually, I had noticed the wheeled luggage earlier - just didn't get why it'd be a big deal - duh.

All the time I was dragging - and the d r a g was getting worse. Finally it was time to board the plane and I lifted the god-awful heavy backpack once again and trudged onto the plane.

Miles later, when I got to seat 306, I was really tired - it took every bit of strength I could muster to heave the outrageously heavy bag up and shove it into an overhead bin. Unfortunately I had to do this twice, because the first time didn't work.

Instead of launching the backpack right up into the overhead compartment I only hurled it part way -- and onto the head of a fellow passenger.

And here's where the airport etiquette comes in - the guy turned around and asked me if I was ok! Really! Before he even had time to feel for lumps he asked me if I was ok. And he asked emphatically - worriedly! I laughed out loud! I was so tired I could barely walk, wasn't much in the mood for talking - but LAUGHing I could still do and I did!!! Very energizing. I managed to squawk out: "It was you who just got beaned! Are YOU ok?" - no response - didn't seem to compute for him.

Continuing with the twisted etiquette - a few days ago I was on the first leg of the trip home from NC - boarding a tiny plane going from Asheville to Charlotte. It was almost take-off time and no one had come along to take the seat beside me - ahhhh.

But at the last minute an older gent (a larger, oldish gent - in a wale-less corduroy or crushed velvet jacket the color of which I can only call "puked wine" -- if I remember correctly - and wasn't hallucinating) ambled in and claimed the window seat (I was on the aisle).

He offered to take either seat, which was lovely - but wanting the aisle for this trip I gladly got up to let him get to his seat. Ouch! I hit my head on the roof of the plane (what I want to call the "bulkhead" - though I have no idea if that term is correct).

Immediately the older, interestingly dressed big guy said "I'm sorry." Fervently and sweetly. But it was as odd as the guy in the other plane who asked me if I was alright even though I was the one who hit him on the head with heavy luggage.

I laughed (again - I seem to love to laugh on airplanes) and reminded him of the obvious - he hadn't done a thing - I was the one who clumsily whacked my head. Then I went to sit down - and whacked my head again. And again he apologized, profusely this time. It was less amusing and I felt the need to explain that I am clumsy and he was not to blame. Jeez!

I'm left wondering - is this a thing? Is this airport etiquette? Maybe I need to test this out - take some more flights -- whack some more people with bags, smack my own noggen on a few more bulkheads...I'm not sure where I'd go with the research, but it'd be interesting to see if this is common on flights. Anyone out there have similar experiences? Any theories?

Jesus Gets A Haircut

And other things that caught my eye ~

Pictured below is the cover of a flyer that someone (I've yet to learn who) brought home and left on a table by the front door. Apparently Jesus visited a salon since the last time I saw him. The fringe on his dress looks more ornamental than worn - and, I don't know - do you think it look like he's had a pedicure?

I think he looked better with the long, flowing hair - but maybe that's my 70's showing (the decade, not my age!).

This photo (below) is a book cover from the nobody-wants-these-so-we're-selling-them section of the Doylestown library (which we visited yesterday - coz Manchild's home for a visit and we've been wandering around).

I love the title, it makes me laugh!

And finally, the little effin bunny (link goes to a past post where I talked about him - or her)

- he's back! I just saw him a few minutes ago - and grabbed the photo (above) from the earlier post (he looks the same - only, maybe fatter). Can you see him hiding under the arch of branches? Sweet!

What's catching YOUR eye today?

Holiday Gift Idea

No, thanks!

Not even at Lowest Price! - No, really!

How Much Baseball is Too Much Baseball?

When you've stayed up so late that your eyesight is diminished?

Because who could go to sleep right after the Phillies lost Playoff Game 4 of the NLCS, or right after they won Playoff Game 5?

You've got to move around a lot after sitting on the edge of your seat for hours - and you've got to shake off all that excess energy (whether it's doom and gloom or euphoria) - so there's a lot of time between the end of a night baseball game and the time when it's fitting to hit the hay.

Back to the diminished eyesight thing - both Slightly-Brit and I have been seeing things strangely lately (or seeing strange things??), to wit:

The day after the night of the extremely shocking Phillies loss in Game 4 Slightly-Brit and I were out doing errands. She pointed to a sign on a building and told me her eyes were so tired that she'd initially read the sign as: "Concierge Clam".

Now that's a strange thing, right? Instant talking clam shell visualization: "How can I help you, sir?" {flap flap flap -- that's the shell opening and shutting}

The sign actually said "Concierge Claim" (it was outside an insurance office), but we preferred the clam idea. Who wouldn't?

And then there was the dancing Creamsicle®! Or at least that's what it looked like.

We were passing a costume shop that's on the corner of a busy highway and an equally busy road. There was an orange and white *something* doing an energetic dance near the door of the establishment.

Neither of us could figure out what the orange and white *something* was supposed to be. I suggested the Creamsicle® idea - but maybe tired eyes were to blame for that, or sugar cravings, or maybe just (yep!) a badly designed costume.

We both strained our tired eyes (we were at a red light and had a few minutes to stare and ponder) and eventually decided that maybe the orange and white dancing *something* was supposed to be a cat, but there's no way either of us would swear to that in court!

So how much baseball is too much baseball?

How about when you've screamed so much that your voice becomes identical to a whiskey-soaked, smoker's?

If you were here I'd "treat" you to my impersonation of Diplo: "I love what I do." I sound like that now - not suggesting that Diplo is a whiskey-soaked smoker, just saying that he's got a deep, gruff voice - as do I (thanks to baseball).

How about when you've read more about groin injuries than most medical students? (thank you, Roy Halladay - both for my groin injury education, and for pitching through your pain).

How much baseball is too much baseball? That's a rhetorical question (but the answer is: There is no such thing as too much baseball!). Then again, you might have a different opinion - care to share??

Speaking of seeing funny things (I did - a few paragraphs ago), check out the name of the band featured on the sign above - you've got to read around the railing - we saw this while wandering around Doylestown.

That's What She Said!

While I was in sick-and-unconnected mode (which is the negative way of looking at what can be referred to positively as: learn-to-be-my-own-beloved mode) I spent a decent amount of time crafting.

There's the sock that I've nearly completed (I'm on the toe now! - which is amazing). I wrote a post called Further Domestic Disasters about this guy's mate (the sock) when I started him back in August of 2009. The mate took a year to complete - while this guy has taken only a couple weeks!

There were envelopes and paper decorations and the beginnings of a ?fabric thing? that tells a story (and that I have no name, or decent description for)...

and there's the counted cross stitch wall hanging.

The counted cross stitch wall hanging is pictured (partially pictured) above. I started it long ago! Long, long ago. When I had either a wholly different, more naive and innocent worldview - or a bout of poor taste.

You can't see all of it yet, but the completed wall hanging will say:

Come and share
a Pot of Tea
My hearth is warm and
my friendship's free

and when it's done there will be a sugar and creamer evident - at about the place where I last stopped stitching - each holding a cute bunny. And then some more vines, a bee skep - and it's finished off with a heart (of cross stitched vines).

Anyway, nowadays I like things with a little edge. Like Julie Jackson's cross stitching - which I first saw when a friend sent me a calendar a few years ago. Julie Jackson's Subversive Cross Stitch patterns have sayings like (among loads of others): kiss my ass, SHUT THE FUCK UP, WTF! and Shut Your Whore Mouth).

Now that's cross stitching! Great present ideas, right?

So I was showing Slightly-Brit the tea and bunnies wall hanging - and whining about how un-edgy it was. And I got wondering about it - how could I redeem this wall hanging? I'd put too much time into it to just toss it.

Maybe I could put quote marks around the words hearth and friendship?

Then it'd read: My "hearth" is warm and my "friendship" is free. Hahaha!

But that seemed too ?? too something, not enough something else...

Slightly-Brit said that it was a bit edgy already - noting the rabbits sqautting in the sugar bowl and creamer. She said she doubted she'd take tea in that kitchen because of the possibilities.

I agreed, but still - I wanted something else. And then it came to me like a lightning strike. The dreaded "That's what she said!" that Manchild regales us with at least twice in every conversation.

"That's what she said!" turns any remark into a euphemism, something questionable.

So there you go -- I'm adding TWSS (just the initials - which Manchild often adds to notes he sends) to the bottom of my just-a-bit-too-sweet (twee) wall hanging.