Unimproved

I’m a slouch. I’m a late sleeping, low-maintenance slouch so cosmetics have never played a big part of my routine. Actually I remember the inspiration to wear make up regularly came with a little mascara wand. I hoped to appear awake at work each morning when I was a sleep-deprived new mother. A couple of years later I was taken aback by the pleasure of a really flattering lipstick. I keep both in the glove compartment of my car because I’m still a late-sleeping slouch.

Believe me I’m not about to launch into some cosmetics rant. Neither for or against. Simply put I find nothing wrong wanting to look nice.

Last winter I did, however, catch a glimpse of myself one morning in the bathroom mirror. [And, really, is there a less flattering moment to look at yourself? Your eyesight is blotchy so your face gets all squinted, your hair is mushed up, and last night’s sleeping left a pillow crease across your cheek] Anyway, I was looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and I was surprised to be surprised by my features. Disappointed, maybe.

Certainly the process of aging brings a series of disappointments in your body. Cosmetic disappointments are the least severe. But I was disappointed by my response, too. The sense of disbelief, that this visage couldn’t be me. I suppose that’s the promise of every cosmetics counter. The face in the mirror didn’t have to be me.

So I resolved not to wear makeup one day out of every week. I usually select a day where I wasn’t planning to go much of anywhere. Laundry day is a prime candidate, for instance. But the habit rose from my desire to still recognize my reflection. To be okay with an unimproved version of myself.

Bus Stop

We’ve spent another summer acclimating Naomi to Lincoln’s bus system. There’s quite a bit to wrap your mind around with the routes, schedules, transfers, Saturday versus weekday service, etc.

Standing at the stop I’ve coached her to signal the bus driver. She could understand the practicality of it. Kids are commonly overlooked in various settings, particularly if they’re unaccompanied by an adult. So it wasn’t an instruction I had to give twice.

I was unprepared for the sight of her, though, standing up to sling her backpack over one shoulder. The way she’ll face forward to the oncoming traffic her skinny arm outstretched over her head to give a deliberate, self-assured wave to hail the driver’s attention.

It inspires this lump in my throat feeling of admiration and loss and love.
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Currently Reading: New Earth by Eckhart Tolle
Glad I Attended: 39 Steps at Nebraska Summer Repertory Theater. Fun, fun, fun!
Personal Soundtrack: All Things Lenny Kravitz
Quote of My Day: "Since my diagnosis, there's no question I've had some of the best days of my life." (William Lauer) Read this article about his ALS diagnosis and journey thus far.
Sunday Bike Ride: 18miles Along the Jamaica Trail (thanks, Becki!)

Morning Meeting

My morning meetings have a nice banter to them. We’re quick with zings or a funny nothing-much of a story as we stand at the coffee pot or wait for everyone to assemble. Things with motors are a go-to topic for us. We talk cars, motorcycles, boats, etc. I imagine the pleasant chatter as a kinder, gentler form of machine shop talk. We steer clear of politics and religion. Trust me on this one: everything works out better that way.

This morning, though, the show So You Think You Can Dance was brought up by somebody. The Argentine Tango was evidently the dance-of-the-week on last night's show. I was surprised to see the group of us rally around the topic. We compared the waltz to the quick-step or the tango. It was a moment of open admiration culminating with a comment from the corner that "a good dancer defies what you thought the human body was capable of before."

His observation hung in the air for a split second while we all nodded and gazed at our feet.

Debt Roulette

I realize nobody has asked me and I’m not at all an expert but here’s my thought on this whole debt ceiling debate: House Speaker John Boehner at this point has realized his potential for re-election is minimal. His obstinate jerk tendencies are therefore only bound by the constraints of his moral compass. And, well, his moral compass is more like a roulette wheel than anything else.

Magical Me

Naomi received an honorable mention in the Journal Star contest to find Lincoln’s Biggest Harry Potter Fan. The attached link is to a hip-hop poem she wrote from Professor Gilderoy Lockheart's perspective. Professor Lockheart was the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.
_______________Quote of My Day: Sometimes I think about writing software which could alter fate ... (thanks, D.)Dinner Plans: Black Bean & Corn Salad with Cilantro & Feta Cheese

Mutiple Choice

Naomi was reading from her week-long creative writing surge at this evening's We Love To Write Program. I wanted to get her a small something to celebrate her work. Something writer-esque so I ticked through the possibilities in my brain:

a. Writing Journal
b. Heavy Pen
c. Flask of Whiskey

(Circle One)

You Grow, Girl!

If I’m within earshot of a radio on any given Wednesday morning between 11am-12pm it’s a safe bet to say I’m listening to How’s It Growing? on Lincoln’s Community Radio Station (KZUM 89.3 FM). It can’t come as much of a surprise that I’m a regular listener to this gardening show, right?

At my best I would say I’m a novice gardener. The type of person who plants seeds in the spring and then sits around with a whole lot of hope that things will turn out well. This KZUM program is flush with new tricks and helpful suggestions that might actually broaden my skillset a little from just hope in the garden.

How’s It Growing? is a call-in show. If I were a bolder sort of person I might call with questions. Often times, though, my favorite segments are the impromptu comments the hosts offer when the phone line is dead. The on-air musings someone will do about taste of fresh vegetables, the magnificence of seeing crocuses come up in the spring.

Today’s gem was an unedited soliloquy about the surge of backyard gardening in light of the economic downturn. I swelled with love for the steep and slippery slope the host took, though, from an innocuous observation into imporing people to share backyard wealth and resources. The host skidded to a verbal stop as the phone line lit up but was just shy of crying for an out and out guerrilla-gardening-revolution.

Underpinning the on-air filler was the idea we need to seize the means of food production, place the power in every working class person's backyard. Ah, Marxists with gardening shears and a microphone on Community Radio. I mean it when I say: it doesn't get much better than that.

Heat Index

"Man it's hot. It's like Africa hot. Tarzan couldn't take this kind of hot." -Biloxi Blues

Declaring Victory

Two years ago I decided to get crackin' on the idea that Naomi could and should learn to help keep the house clean. I was staring down the gun barrel of adolescence and thought if I didn't get this idea planted before the age of eleven, it's going to be a lot (uh, a LOT) more difficult.

Nothing huge. I just hoped my kiddo could understand that laundry doesn't fold itself, refrigerators require periodic cleaning, floors get mopped, smudged tables get wiped down, etc. A basic understanding of what needs doing and a vague idea of how to do it.

We set Sunday as our cleaning day. I'd make her a list each week of her domestic responsibilities. It was tough going at the start, actually. And there were a lot of conversations about child-labor laws and how other kids aren't required to clean up the house. Other moms are, obviously, nicer. But we also developed a mix of music to blast from the stereo and celebratory outings to take once the house was clean. Bit by bit she catches on.

At this point the cleaning list is part of any normal Sunday. It's like our pizza habit on Friday nights, or brushing teeth before school...it's part of the routine. And it's a concept planted before adolescence, so, I feel pretty good about that.
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Dinner Plans: Tricked Out Baked Potato Bar (N's "cooking")
Anxiously Anticipating:Indigo Bridge Books' next Eco-friendly film series event on Thursday. Open Harvest Coop tasting starts @ 7pm, the documentary film @ 7:30pm.
My Sunday Bike Ride: 10.5 miles along the Salt Creek Levy Trail.
Recent Goodness: Seeing this photo of the smoke-trail left by the final launch for NASA’s Space Shuttle program. (Thanks, Maija!)
Upcoming event I'm not sure how I feel about: My 20 yr High School Reunion is next weekend. I think I need a new dress.

July Afternoon

The Zoo

I met up with two of my favorite people tonight for a short stint at the Zoo bar. As always the place was packed and a fabulous blues band was playing on stage. The Zoo isn't the sort of bar where you chat and catch up, it's the beer-grabbing sort of a place where you orbit the music.

Little known fact: my first love was dancing. Still is.

This evening I noticed that while I don't speak of how enamored I am with dancing it must be readily apparent. Embarrassingly so, I guess. I've never been to the Zoo without some stranger asking me to dance. It's an offer I'll always find some way to politely decline.

Having a stranger interrupt a crowded table is uniquely unfamiliar in the Midwest, I think. The move even more brash by asking one member of the table to dance. The whole Midwestern evening out is marked by an ethos to come-stay-and-leave with the same two or three people. I'm rather fond of this bar etiquette. I've been a life-long practitioner of it myself.

I do love to dance, though. And, although it's an offer I don't accept, it's nice to be asked.

A Pleasure More Than A Necessity

I was just sitting down to lunch. You could say I'm a brown-bagger for lunch, but I'm (ah-hem) more of a reduce-reuse-recycle fabric bagger. Either way I pack leftovers for lunch rather than grab something on the go. If I'm eating out I want to do more than pull up to the drive-thru window.

So I was sitting down to left over zucchini-mint couscous and tomato-mozzarella-eggplant bake. Poured myself some fresh rhubarb lemonade and thought: I could be a gazillionaire and I could not eat better than I do at this moment.

Some things just cannot be improved upon.

Mudslingers

This morning I loaded up my bike fully expecting I'd be the only one game to go after all that rain. The trail was wet and muddy. But I had the delightful company of two fellow travelers just crazy or just lovely enough to come with me.

It was a fabulous, fabulous time!

Face Plant

"If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need." ~ Cicero

I spent this morning digging in the dirt. Harvested both rhubarb and mint with specific recipes in mind.

There was a story I once heard in an Alice Walker interview when she recalled the process of writing Temple of My Familiar. Ms. Walker described the muddled emotional mess that surged inside her more than occasionally during the process. It was a mix of catharsis, anxiety, rage and exhaustion. After a long day of writing she'd quell the sensation by laying down flat against the dirt of her garden.

With Ms. Walker in the news this week for her peace activist leanings it wasn't much of a surprise to conjure the image today. The wet soil against the cheeks of her face, the stinging smell of the earth filling her nose. My yellow flowers all around.