"Popular" Sucks (or Pet Peeve #?)

I was never a popular kid. I suppose, like most kids, I wanted to be. It seemed like a good idea to have half the school population clamoring for your attention, wanting your opinion and seeking you out every day of the week for fun & exciting events and outings. Best of all, it would be a sure fire defense against boredom, being kept busy by all your fans and devotees.

I had my group of friends but I dare say I wasn't even one of the more popular within my own group. Despite all the lovely benefits of being popular, one of the most important aspects is something I am not good at - chit chat. Knowing this is a big weakness of mine, I avoid it almost at all costs. I don't start conversations with strangers, I don't initiate phone calls and I hold back, sometimes way back at social events. Those things put me far out of my comfort zone. Even family gatherings, which I don't do much anymore since leaving the west coast, I invariably found myself on the perimeters looking in. Discomfort sometimes feels like my natural state of being.

That may seem very odd if you know me, because I love teaching. But let me tell you, teaching is simply a role I play. Perhaps I just don't know the role of playing myself.

There is one place that I am popular. Within my own little family of four. And there are times I would definitely like to step out of this role. Let's start with the hubby. He works 60-70 hour weeks. When he's home he wants my attention. Even though he may be spending most of his time at home with his laptop working, he still wants me in the room. And if I am on my laptop playing a game or otherwise entertaining myself it displeases him. I do not do well just sitting in front of a TV... I need something else going on, cross stitch, paper crafts, computer, DS... anything. And all those things annoy him. I guess he can "compete" with the TV but anything else is too much. If he wants to "get away" that does not include our offspring. I do understand that we need husband/wife get away time, but I also enjoy our family of four time, too. I also understand that Daughter 1's retail management job and Daughter 2's college career/part time retail job make it very difficult to find time for a family getaway, but I do hate excluding them.

So what about the daughters? Both having retail jobs makes time together difficult to arrange, and adding college classes makes it darn near impossible. Add to that one being over the age of 21 and the other not, adds another dimension. So I spend time with either of them on an "as available" basis. Recently it was running errands with one. With the other we planned a half day trip to a previously unexplored location. You would think dividing up my time like that would work, right?

Wrong.

Each outing with one person seems to bring out the worst in another. I hate this with a passion. Something I tried to overcome way back in the dark ages was the idea that two other people getting together was a bad reflection on me. It's not. So why why why, do I have to hear things like, "you always wait until I am busy to do something" from the person that has to work? Do I have sit and do nothing until every member of my family happens to have a day free at the same time? Because Daughter 1 has to work am I not allowed to spend time with Daughter 2?

What ever happened to phrases like, "that sounds fun, have a blast!" instead of "poor little me, I can't go." I absolutely abhor being put in the position of leaving someone out, and yet every member of my family makes me feel that way, makes me feel like I am responsible for their happiness or unhappiness.

Adulthood means having responsibilities and having responsibilities sometimes sucks. It may mean one can't do or be everywhere they'd like. But all I am asking is to please please please suck it up and be happy for what you get. Being popular apparently comes with a huge serving of guilt. If that's the cost, then I don't want any, thank you very much.

My Shortest Blog Ever

I just wish I'd stop feeling like this.

He Likes/She Likes

Why is it the woman (or maybe just me, Betsy, alone - ?) is always the one to acquiesce?

You know what I mean. It's the "little" things. My hubby likes his pants folded one way, I fold mine another. Years ago, after he mentioned it once or twice, I began folding his pants his way and continued to fold mine my way. Easy enough, right?

However, in "normal" male oblivion, when folding my pants he folds them his way. It annoys me, but I overlook the inconsistency and feel happy he has folded my pants!

When I do things around the house I do them with him in mind. It this the way he would like it? When he does things around the house he does them without consideration - they are the way he would like them.

When I shop I buy the things and brands that he likes.

And so it goes.

One day he decided the house did not need to be so cool.... er- less warm. So the thermostat was turned up and he trots off to his nicely air conditioned office each day and I swelter at home. Once again, I have acquiesced to his desires.

Recently he installed a ceiling fan/light in our bedroom. It was much needed not only for the fan, but we had no overhead light and our room was very dark. I love our new fan/light! Can I also tell you how much I love a gentle breeze washing over me on hot evenings? It's something my husband knows, too.

The fan was installed while I was out of town and upon returning home I was given the tour of its features. Light switch on the wall turns on the upper lights. Not very bright but oh so much better than our former "no lights." With the remote we can control the fan and the lower light from anywhere in the room. Fan: three speeds! Light: dimmer capability!! I am feeling the love.

Then the really big news... Hubby tells me that he set the fan switch to reverse. This means the fan pulls the air up from the floor rather than pushes it down from the ceiling. This matters, why? Because there is no breeze when the air is being sucked up!! Not the same kind of breeze created when it's being pushed down. I seriously doubt he even thought about what I would prefer since it was his opportunity to do what he prefers. Guess I'm still going to need to put a fan on my side of the bed...

This fan also came with a ghost. Or unleashed one. I thought at first it came with the fan since this is a house we built and I thought hadn't seen death. Then I remembered Harriett did indeed die here. And perhaps she's returned to play with (tease) me.

Mark gets up early for work and I sleep peacefully on. One day he asked why I always turn the fan off when he's in the shower. Trust me - if I'm sleeping I am not about to wake up to turn off a fan that I can barely even feel blowing on me. If that fan is off I can assure you it was not me who did it! One evening I was in bed reading and the dimmer light came on. Really? I had no need for it at that particular time. I put down my book, turned off both lights and closed my eyes to sleep. a few minutes later it was on again.

Last night we outright battled it out. I headed to bed around midnight and found that I still needed to put my freshly washed sheets on the bed. I turned the dimmer light full on so I could easily make my way around and .... snap! I was in the dark! I turned it back on and it snapped back off. I turned on the wall switch so I wouldn't be completely in the dark and began a game of lights on/lights off. So I thought I'd change it up a bit and turn the fan off. Fan came back on the lights went off. Grrr... I LIKE a good light when I am making my bed!! My "ghost" finally relented and allowed me some light time and I got the bed put together.

Krissy came into the room shortly after that and I thought I'd entertain her with some ghostly hi-jinx, but apparently the spirit of playfulness had passed. I couldn't tempt that light or fan on or off. Krissy now thinks I am crazy.

Hubby knows better. When he came to bed 20 or so minutes later the light popped on for him. We laughed and he turned it off. I soon fell asleep with air being ever so (too) gently sucked up around me.

The Act of Writing

I've been wanting to visit my Badonkadonk Cafe with some chatter for quite some time now. However, the things that are on my mind are not of the sharing sort. That in itself has put me in a conundrum.

I want to write.

I want to write about what's on my mind.

But I don't want to share these particular thoughts and emotions.

I mentally went through the places I could write. On my computer off the internet. One of my blogs. Facebook notes. MySpace blog. Start a new unpublished anonymous blog?

I really don't like writing on my laptop and saving there. It's a bit silly, but I have this feeling that something would happen to me and my family would read it and I'd be embarrassed, even in death.

Did I say it was silly?

My blogs are all public and that's out of the question when I just want to write to sort my feelings, blow off steam, rank on some innocent person or whatever it is I write about in private. I am well aware that I feel things that are not always logical, right, or fair. My best instincts tell me not to put those thoughts "out there" for just anyone to see or comment on. Although there are those that are allowed to see me without my "make-up," it would be best not to venture out sans "make-up" for the entire world. And I have to believe that even those who are allowed the occasional glimpse of the naked me would prefer I keep my "make-up" in place. Life is so much simpler that way.

A new, private & anonymous blog? Sounds really tempting!!

MySpace blogging. I do miss that one. The ability to write a blog and choose who reads it or not. All in one place. Easy peasy blogging.

I suppose there is the ability to do that here. I see a "save now" button below my text window. Would saving this essay without publishing it accomplish the desired privacy? It appears worth testing.

brb....

Nope, not the solution. A saved Badonkadonk blog is not a formatted blog. To revisit it is to view it in the text box. There may still be a way, but I'll have to explore further.

The Act of Writing

Why do I find it therapeutic? So much so that I often find myself looking for a topic. The frustrating part is that I reject topics that I don't think hold any appeal for the occasional reader who might pop in. Why does it even matter? I am certainly not in the realm of famous bloggers with thousands of readers, shaping public opinions on anything/everything from food, media, politics, travel or whatever. I just have my little everyday life to share. Is it even entertaining?

Writing. Keys of the laptop making soft little clicks in rhythmic spurts below my finger tips. It feels good. Like playing an instrument. The melody is there on the screen for me to see as I play my notes. Certain strains take longer... I play them over after backspacing to erase a melody that didn't ring true in my ears. Yes. It's not just the words that I share, it's the physical act of putting them on the screen, editing as I go, rearranging the thoughts to flow as a tune that pleases me.

This particular piece is a bit disjointed. There is no doubting that. But it's been my therapy, it's the tune I wish to write today. This is the tune I will share publicly while I continue to seek the venue for my more personal music.

Bag Lady

The date is September 16, 1997. I've been married for 12-1/2 years. My brother is a long haul truck driver.

A long haul truck driver? What could that possibly have to do with anything?

Just imagine what it would be like to drive a truck from Washington to California and then back to Washington... week after week after week after week. I think it'd be lonely. I'd definitely want some good radio or books on tape. And in between I guess my mind would just wander around where-ever it wanted to go. I'm thinking this is what happened to my brother. On September 16, 1997, 12-1/2 years after I got married (he walked me down the aisle) he sat in a truck stop (I imagine he was in a truck stop) in Santa Rosa, California and wrote me this post card:

You can see he emphasized my initials on the address.

But was that enough? Not for my brother. The date is now September 29, 1997 and he writes from Corning, California:

Funny guy, right? Didn't even spell my last name correctly.

'Bout Time!

I decided it was about time for me to stop procrastinating. Perhaps I've been spurred on by Mark's insistence that we finally dive down to the bottom of the boxes that have been sitting in my basement for so long. We found the cardboard bottoms, bought some shelves and things are finding new homes. And yet, I still procrastinate.

It's a very deep hole and the only light you can see is if you lean backwards and look exactly straight up, but that's very hard on the neck. So I sit and stare at walls and do nothing. It's time to start climbing out.

Next month will be the one year anniversary of Harriett's death. I still can't believe she is gone. That could be part of it, maybe I am waiting for her to return. I decided to start going through her things today. Yes, her room is pretty much just as she left it. She actually had two rooms, here. One upstairs when we moved in and one on the main floor when she became too weak to do the stairs. She lost her balance on more than one occasion and it was shocking to find her on the floor in her bedroom or the bathroom. It must've been so hard to admit to herself she'd lost so much strength and health.

I started in her closet in the upstairs bedroom. I can't describe all the senses and emotions that were involved. Harriett was a clothes horse. She didn't spend all her money shopping for clothes but in her opinion, nothing was ever out of style, and she could pull it off. There were such cute dresses and I can remember her in most of them. She could look damn nice. Her body shape was so different than mine, what looked fantastic on her would look awful on me. There were dresses all the way from 3X to just "large." She got much smaller than "large," too, but by then she was living downstairs and there was no need to bring her larger wardrobe down.

When we left Utah and were downsizing some of my mother's things, Harriett took 2 of her purses that I was going to toss out. I'm sort of glad she did. They were very old purses that I am sure Mom had when I was just a child and it brought a smile to see them again. It brought a giggle to open them and find Harriett had never even removed Mom's stuff from them.

I haven't finished with the clothes yet. I just got most of them out of the closet - there are still two dressers to delve into as well as whatever is in the main floor bedroom. It became too hard. Am I wimp? Maybe I should turn on some music and drown out the voices and thoughts in my head. It just feels too personal to be handling and touching all her clothes.

I think a small part of me is looking for some sort of message from her, too. I'd love to know that she has found peace in her afterlife.

Putting the Sweet Life [back] on Hold

Although I am not Catholic I gave up sweets for Lent. Or at least my concept of what Lent is. I heard more rules about Lent and when things counted and when they didn't and when it ended than I can remember. So I just stuck with what I thought Lent was. No partaking in whatever I gave up from Ash Wednesday through Easter morning. I gave up sweets and it was good!

So Easter morning came and I was delighted to find a coffee cup full of Cadbury Mini Eggs. Have I ever mentioned how-much-I-LOVE Cadbury Mini Eggs? Well, I do. And I made sure I mentioned it to the Easter Bunny because I was tortured by the sight of those eggs on store shelves for a month or more. I wanted to break my sweet fast with those pretty little tasty little eggs.

And I did.

Over and over again. I am popping those yummy chocklity eggs in my mouth as I type. MmmMmmMMMM!!

And I had the chocolate cherry cheesecake I froze after passing it by on Mark's birthday. And the fruity cheesy brownies Krissy made for her foodies club. And the scone I froze from Starbucks when I realized it was more sweet than I had anticipated. Oh yes, I have been working hard to make up for all those days I went without sweets.

I felt so good on those days. I felt strong. I felt like I was treating myself well.

How do I feel now? I feel like an alcoholic. I feel out of control. I feel like I can't just have a little, I need to eat it all. I need to. It makes no sense, but there it is. I didn't just step down of the wagon, I fell off it hard. And you know what? None of it was as good as I anticipated.

Tomorrow is Wednesday and for me it's Ash Wednesday again. Tomorrow I am giving up sweets. I'll go another six weeks and designate another "Easter" Sunday that will mark the end of my sweet free Lent.

It feels so good to say that, to plan it. It feels like a relief. I have to admit I felt some nervousness coming to Easter Sunday and realizing it meant permission to eat sweets again. I know I am supposed to be in control of my life, which includes what I eat, but I felt like as Easter approached I was giving up that control. Almost like it was out of my hands. Tomorrow, I take it back again. It got so easy to say NO to sweets. I can't wait to start again!

And this time I am not freezing anything. No means no.