Mother of a ten year old. Yes, I am.

 

Here's my girl.  We went on a trail ride near Harper's Ferry and it was really pleasant.  I feel so fortunate to enjoy this age with her as she comes into her own.

But back to me.  Doesn't it always circle that way eventually?  I'm amazed at how transformative it's been to be a mother.  I'm not who I was then, and I can't imagine who I'd be without her.  I'm surely better.  

I remember when I was in labor with Emer.  I paced the hallways on the maternity ward and came to look out a window that looked out over the highway.  The same highway that everyone in the area has to drive on to get past Portsmouth NH.  I had this weird sense of vertigo where I felt like I could see/feel that other me, the before motherhood me, driving by on the road below me.  And I could never drive past there afterward without feeling that a part of me was still there, looking down.  As if part of me split off to live in that limbo, and is still there now.  Maybe I just tapped into the universal nature of it all.  My face out the window has been a thousand other faces, enjoying the same view as other women have undergone the same transformation.  I don't know if there's any thing else in life so that shapes you so completely as parenthood.

She is the first knife, carving me into who I need to be.

Some Mundane Thing (Struggle part 2)

We, I mean, I, was totally wrong about the need for mousetraps in the house.  It's a barbaric practice if you think about it.  We, I mean, I can't possibly sleep peacefully knowing our, I mean my, house is built on a foundation of pain and suffering.  Also -

No she would never sound like that.  That isn't it at all.

Well how would you suggest we go about doing this thing?

You just need to go on about some mundane thing until you hit a level of absurdity, then you take a left turn and you're there.

Fred, you're being a little general.  Could you give some specifics?

No, I can't.  I didn't actually pay attention.  Stuff like toothpaste mashed up on the edge of the sink, or the way toast is good when its warm, and not when it's not.

You're kidding me.

Nope.

And people read this?

Well there's no proof that they aren't reading it.

So how would you suggest slipping in our subversive message? 

Subtlety.  Little by little.  I think we might want to discourage people from sweeping.  They probably have better things to do right?

How does this solve our problem?

Well, it doesn't solve the problem, but it gives us more crumbs to choose from while we work on the problem.  Also cats.  You can't say enough bad things about cats.

Where do I begin? 

I know huh?  It's a subject ripe with material.

Bill, Could you please move?

What here?  Go ahead.
 
No it's like a button with a letter on it and I have to hit them in the right order to make the words and your tail is in the way.

No, you don't have to do that Gerald is taking dictation.

What?

Yeah he's like a typing acrobat you should see him.  It's an art really.  It's a shame he doesn't have much to say, or many opportunities to do this kind of work.

"What does it matter?  It's not like anyone reads this anyway."

The Trap of Struggle (Part 1)

If there were no struggle to life it wouldn't be any fun.  If gravity didn’t fight against us our muscles would atrophy.    We are designed to struggle.  In a zen Buddhist meditative kind of way I think the struggle is good, because it reminds us that we're alive.  We should feel honored for the opportunity to be here and struggle.  That being said, the fight of life can be a bit of a drag.  It can wear on your patience.  As with all things, moderation, you know?
               

So I'm going to surrender a few of my struggles here to focus on the battles I have a chance of winning.
               

To the mouse:
Look, I'm sorry.  I know it was a sneaky trick.  I didn't mean to toy with your expectations.  For the record I'm not a mean person. Though, when the jaws of death snapped on whatever appendage it did, I'm sure it seemed like it.  I think I speak for myself, all mouse trap users, as well as the makers of the trap, when I say, you have exceeded all estimations of your will to live.  When I try and picture you dragging the whole trap back down there behind the wall, you look a little like Rambo.  I’m really amazed you could fit.  

Dude.  I'm impressed.  But now what?
               

Did you go to your family and show them mankind's handiwork in the hopes that they could free you, or to attend your own wake fully conscious and die in the comfort of home?  In the event that your brethren do free you from the trap I would like to discourage you from building one large enough for me.  It's just going to be difficult for you in a logistical sense, scale being what it is.  Also it might be hard deciding what to lay out as bait since my tastes are so mercurial and eccentric.  I've heard you all behind the walls.  I know you’re engaged in some heavy duty construction or destruction.  It’s almost Spring just let go of the struggle and move on.
               

To the kids:
I know you're siblings and there's a universal law that you will always argue, especially in front of me.  Lalalalalala! I can't hear you.  I'm going to give you lots of time to use your working it out skills while I jam my fingers in my ears.  Tell me when it's over.
               

To the laundry:
I know I’ll never win in the endless battle against your multitudes.  I'm going to re-envision the battle though.  I'm going to see the laundry as a tide that rises and falls.  I am the laundry ninja with the waxing and waning of the bleaching and staining.  Well that’s not exactly ninja-ish.  Hmm. I’ll sneak up on my own procrastination skills and Wa Tah!  The folding and sorting will be accomplished with a series of chopping motions and my cat like reflexes.  The point is I’m not going to let it bother me anymore.

           

To the stinkbugs:

You’re so deceptive.  The clumsy flying, the plodding aimless walk, like something prehistoric and stupid across my floor, up my coffee cup; you beg to be destroyed.  But that’s the trick isn’t it?  You’ll keep coming no matter how many we kill.  We will go crazy catching and killing, and the bills will go unpaid, the work left undone, society will fall to ruin and you will win.  I’m not going out like that. I’m going to surrender in the struggle against you individually so that I won’t succumb to your evil plot.

           

To the internet:

I’m not going to let it drive me crazy when I can’t access you.  I’m going to view it as an opportunity to focus on the present, to tune into my environment.  The times when I can log on will be a pleasant treat. 

          

Like now.  The kids are out of sight and most importantly out of earshot.  The laundry is far away and this room seems free of the stinkbug invasion. I have a comfortable spot and internet access..  It’s a pleasant treat and I’m just going to relax and enjoy it.

           

What is that?  My goodness, is that a pirate mouse?  It’s so small it’s hard to see, but it looks like it has a peg leg.  What is he doing?  Is he signaling to someone behind me?  What the   –SNAP.    

           

Go Check Yourself

"Look, I don't like you and you don't like me. I don't want to do this thing anymore than you do. We both have our parts to play in this crazy topsy turvy world and you've just got to buck up and take it. I'm going to have my way with you, so you might as well work to make it pleasant. Understand?
You're a little slow, aren't you? I SAID YOU'RE A LITTLE SLOW! Never mind. It's not important."


"I know a bag has been removed from the bagging area. I have three 'helpful' children. For once they're actually trying to help. It's like a miracle, and there you are nagging. Here I am, feeding the multitudes and all you want to do is count the loaves of bread. The bag is back, okay? Jeez, relax."

"It's an apple. For crying out loud, I don't know it's social security number, its favorite color or its mother's maiden name. I'm not entering into a long term commitment here. It's not like I want to file the apple's taxes, I just like me some Fuji. You're going to stand between me and my apple? What the Fuji? The sign on the display said they're 1.59 a pound. You have the fancy scale, you figure it out. Why am I doing all the work here? Oh, that little number sticker on the side there? Um, yeah I guess I can type that in. Thanks ma'am. No, I didn't realize I was yelling."

"Look, there's a line queing up behind me now. Could you please hurry this up? No, I'm not the one that's going slow, you're the one with the deficient scanner. Yes. I said deficient. No I am not intimidated by your high tech gadgetry. I have oodles of experience as a counter jockey scanning purchases and making change. The trick was, I had a half hour of training and I could do a void without calling over the assistant manager every ten minutes. Oh and also I used to get paid to do this."


"I know a bag has been removed from the bagging area. I needed room for another bag because that one was full and I put it in my cart."

"Stop yelling at me. People are starting to stare. I just explained the bag thing and you're getting a little repetitive. You're kind of attention needy aren't you?"

"You know, cashiering was my back up plan. If money got tight, or I really needed to get out of the house; I always figured I could come back to a place like this and serve my time. You stole that from me didn't you? Now I'm stuck with my dream of running away and joining the carnival. If you don't scan this depilatory cream I may have to start my career as the bearded lady sooner than I planned."


"I know a bag has been removed from the bagging area. Fine. I put the overly full, about to tip over bag, back on the bagging area. Are you happy now?"

"I know it's a lot of produce. I wasn't expecting my special time here with you now was I? I like to eat healthy, are you going to try and ruin that for me too? Are you going to try and bully me into pre-packaged junk just because the bar codes are easier to find? Are you responsible for the nation's obesity problem?"

"No, I'm just saying you're a dark and twisted piece of machinery. I wouldn't put it past you. You know the little old lady three people back in the line is starting to look annoyed. Are you going to practice your dark arts on her too? That's somebody's mother for crying out loud."


"I know a bag has been removed from the bagging area. I've been trying to teach my groceries to levitate but they just haven't shown an aptitude yet."

"If the store is saving money not paying a cashier to ring up my groceries, and I'm doing all the work here, where is my pay off? Why don't I get a discount for cashiering and bagging my own order? Hey, and didn't that bag of sugar used to be bigger? Do you have a shrink ray too?"

"No, I'm totally serious. Stop laughing, you sound like a calculator with the hiccups. You need to get out in the real world more."

"Oh, yeah."

"I don't know with a dolly or a forklift? It's not my problem and it's beside the point."


"I know a bag has been removed from the bagging area. I am not trying to steal an entire bag of groceries. I promise, it's right there and I will pay for it if we ever finish this trial of endurance."

"You know the cashier is right there watching me. I guess I can accept the fact that you don't have any faith in my moral fortitude or character. You could at least show a little respect for cashier/theft prevention/helper lady and trust that she's doing her job. What happened to make you so cold and jaded?"

"It's so sick that she has to stand there watching you. Or does that give you more of a thrill? You do to grocery cashiers what ATMs did for bank tellers. What tornadoes do to trailer parks."

"Yeah? Well Fuji to you too!
Um, no. I didn't know I left a bag in the bagging area. Er, um, thanks."

The circle of my influences

Hard as it may be to imagine, my loquaciousness isn’t impervious to fatigue. There are times, when I need a respite from talking. All of it, even my twiddly little fingers on the keyboard, stop. When I come to this point of stillness, the sounds around me flood my senses. To tune out the chaos of three talkative and argumentative kids, I turn on the radio. What I hear disturbs me.

Mr. Sting of the Police has informed me; he is sending out an S.O.S.
I might have been interested in reading his little missive, had he not told me so many times. I think we would all do well to abandon him on his little island lest he torment anyone else with infinite repetition. I think even the sharks should refuse to gobble him. Chewing him would be like going over the same thing again and again, and there’s already been too much of that.

If AC/DC could just choose a current do you think they’d have to be back in black? I mean, it just takes a little planning of your voltage needs, really.

The band Boston says it’s more than a feeling. How much more? A strong hunch? Or is it a physical manifestation of something that was once a feeling but has now matured into something more painful like cramps?

And then there are the mysteries to ponder. I think Bob Marley may have in fact shot the deputy. Think about it. He has no qualms with admitting his crime; he gleefully admits he shot the sheriff. I get the sense he simply wants the confusion cleared up. I would posit that the sheriff had been demoted to deputy unbeknownst to Mr. Marley. Does anyone beside me care?

And do you think Paul Simon has a digital camera now or is he still tinkering with his kodachrome? Do you think him and Julio have kept in touch? I’m picturing Julio sitting on an olive green couch, rolling his eyes, waiting for Paul to load the carousel of his slide projector.

If Led Zeppelin tells me more than eight times, light of the love I have found, what does this convert to in wattage? Is that fluorescent? Is there a conversion chart for this? Fortunately, I think any love I have also has a dimmer function.

R.E.M is telling me that was just a dream. This seems a little obvious.

Fleetwood Mac (or is that Macs?) tell me, don’t stop thinking about tomorrow. Don’t stop, it’ll soon be here. What happens if I do stop? Will the world implode?

An advertisement is featuring the claim that their service is unparalleled. Does this mean that none of their competitors can travel in a parallel fashion? Are we doomed to watch the various industries of our semi-successful capitalism travel in divergent or colliding paths? It seems hard to find a profit angle in that scheme, but maybe I’m just being obtuse.

Yeah, that’s right I’m hitting the geometry humor. You can’t stop me; I’m going to get all tautological with this mother. So, listening to the radio has taught me that being receptive is over-rated. And. . . .close.

Thank you and goodnight; you’ve been a wonderful audience.
Next show is at 11.

Dear Adversity,

Why must you embarrass yourself like this? It’s obvious you keep trying, and yet consistently I laugh in your face. Ha. Like so.

You have made my long, winding, and steep driveway impassable to all but the most impressive of machines. Did you think I would wither away for want of groceries and the companionship of my peers? Aha, ha ha. I think not.

You have taken for granted just how hungry I am for friends. You’re also doing me the favor of shaving inches off my thighs and building muscle tone. As for the groceries, I may be the mother of invention as well as three children, because I have a sled. So there, take that.

I planned ahead for this ridiculous weather of yours. By the way, have you heard of a thing called over–kill? Sheesh, what are you compensating for? But I digress. I planned ahead for these storms. I stocked up on pellets for the wood pellet stove. It didn’t matter that the drive was already too slick to make it all the way up. These are mere details, inconveniences you throw before me that I easily step around, as I carry ten forty-pound bags of pellets up to my
garage.

Power outages? Please. We’ve been through that before. Remember the huge thunderstorm when you broke the gutter above the egress window; when the view from my girl’s room became a murky aquarium? I bailed out shoulder-high water, with a bucket, in the middle of the storm.
Not having any electricity for a shower or a hair dryer afterwards didn’t faze me then, why should losing heat in a blizzard freak me out?

I got all ingenious with my pesky dependence on heat to stay alive in a blizzard. I rigged up a marine boat battery with an inverter so I could run the pellet stove for two days. I splurged on a real generator in case the power went out for longer. I have to admit it, you almost got me with the stove malfunction. That was well played Adversity, well played indeed. If I’d been listening to Intuition I could have seen that one coming. It’s unnatural and evil to put too much technology and industry into an affair that is, at its heart, so simple.

Wood pellet stoves are stupid, stupid things. The fact that they require electricity to operate an auger to feed store bought pellets into a fire puts two things in between me and my heat. I should have known better. Wood pellet stoves are just a lie from when suburbanites got all warm and fuzzy for alternative heat as gas and oil prices rose. The fact that Businessman Bob can pour a bag of wood into the fire without changing out of his dress pants makes it obvious to whom they were marketing. The allure and magic of burning wood, without the chainsaw outdoorsy thing has your friend Deception’s name all over it. How’s he been lately? Do you guys still have that pick up basketball game on Thursdays?

Anyway, credit where it’s due. The stove was near genius. Especially that part where it seemed I’d figured out the problem, only to go and break it myself irreparably. I’ve learned my lesson. A simple woodstove will do fine in the future. No silly middlemen in between me and what I need. It doesn’t matter that I’m a small weakling with no upper body strength. I can fell a tree, chop, split and stack the wood with the sheer power of my will alone.

I know what all this effort is on your part. It’s so transparent. You only pay so much attention to me because you like me. Admit it. Like a little boy tugging the braids of the girl at the desk in front of him, you want me. I know, I’m nearly irresistible on a lot of levels. It might be the crazy curly hair (don’t think I don’t know you tighten these springy boingers each night); it might be the stretch marks and scars. It’s obvious that you and I have had more than a passing association. But that’s over now. I am simply not available and you just have to move on.

I don’t think a restraining order should be necessary. I think it’s clear I can defend myself against your advances. For that matter, you’d best not make me mad. I would recommend that you don’t cancel school again. If you do, the heat of my rage might melt all this snow. Oh, and don’t bother trying to get smart, breaking the rope on my sled. I have shoelaces, and I’m not afraid to use them.

Yours, (in a figurative sense only)

The hot chick with the can-do attitude

P.S. Tell Deception I like what he's been doing with my mirrors. I've never looked so good.

I would be remiss not to make mention of the view

It's like this. In every direction. For forever.

bleh.

So there's a combination of factors at work. The husband isn't around much these days and it seems to increase the tension when he is. It's both frustrating and interesting to hear someone else struggle with the kids. Today is the one day of the week when he was home. I think he had hoped that it would be the funnest day ever, to make up for lost time and he forgot that it just doesn't work that way. You can't play catch up with kids, you can't pick up where you left off. We went snow tubing in the morning, which was fun but was plagued with the little technicalities and problems always associated with coordinating three kids to go in the same direction at any one time. Then there was the time at home. I just haven't been in the right place to write or paint this week and thought the time would be better spent cleaning out the studio.

I sorted through three boxes of paperwork. Half finished short stories, rough drafts, poems -I have a stock pile of ideas to sift through and on top of that all my collected essays and readings on the place of women in society, economic anthropology, and the politics of gender. Damn I miss school.

I miss teachers telling me I'm brilliant. I miss pages and pages of my own notes that make sense and don't containing shopping lists. I miss that feeling, like I was on the cusp of some new idea or understanding. In a practical sense I know that I can accomplish a lot on my own I just have to be disciplined about it. I know an MFA in writing is worth about as much as the paper it's written on, but oh, the temptation. I think writing and striving with an audience simply feels different. Not so dependent on the dips and swells of my ego's tide. Where I am now I feel a little bit like a hamster in a wheel. I don't know if any of my efforts will ever amount to anything but I keep scurrying away. Tuition seems like a lot to pay just to have someone pat me on the back and tell me I'm going in the right direction though. Ah, well. It is what it is. These are the mommy blues in all the varying shades.
Maybe I can take one class, either writing or painting in the spring. or go to a conference or a seminar.

Like a reflex, as my writing dries up, the ideas of images for paintings start flooding my brain. Weather and time depending I should have new items in the shop soon. We'll see. . . .

The laundry is trying to kill me.

It's funny actually the coincidences that pop up. Last post I mentioned using the holidays as a kind of subject crutch for my attempt at humor columns. Now, nearing the end of the holidays and I'm using an actual crutch. To make the circle complete I suppose I should write an article about that as well. - Maybe. For now I'll just give you the shortened version of two baskets of laundry, a stairwell and what felt like a break but is apparently only some damaged ligaments.

Let me tell you as inconvenient as this nonsense is, it is so much easier when your partner is in the country and you have the incredible blessing of a neighbor who is the bee's knees. Note the possessive apostrophe. I'm getting serious about my grammar and punctuation now. I hate catching my mistakes after something's been posted. Latest article over at the Leader. Go ahead read it, you may be one of ten people in the world who do. Join the elite club. And if you're feeling really crazy comment on it. Just don't mention the typo's and mistakes that I didn't catch.

I stumbled upon this really amazing artist Reuben Margolin and I've been thinking about his work. First of all the precision and planning that go into his pieces verge on a religous reverence for the elements of nature. The simple act of movement is taken to this elaborate level. Second of all, it's like this beautiful marriage of engineering, math, art and recycling. And third of all, can you imagine? This guy set out to make these gorgeous monuments to nature and movement that have no practical application in the world but to make something beautiful. Can you imagine how many people probably called him crazy or mocked his efforts? But the thing is, the wonder of it is, that what he has made could never have been achieved if he hadn't pushed beyond that and stayed true to his vision. So I have a new hero.

Also, I found this animation that emphasizes the importance of remembering, it can always get worse. http://vimeo.com/6913172

Meh.

I'm a little tired of Christmas now. All the weight of the holiday falls on the shoulders of mothers. We carry the weight of all those expectations too long and we're bound to just get tired. Besides I've been writing all these seasonal pieces for the Blue Ridge Leader and I'm afraid I'm just using the seasonal stuff as a crutch because I don't have much else to say.
And then I decide to provide a new post here. The irony. Here is a post to say that I don't have much to say. Meh.

Here is one of my favorite bits of comedy for your viewing pleasure. Of course I know it by heart and parts of it have been rattling around in my head like song lyrics. Oh Erma I love you so.

And then there's my favorite Irishman. Dylan Moran.

I'll check in on you later when you're done laughing at these.

Can I steer an octopus around a wall?

Recently I was re-reading The Christmas Letters by Lee Smith. If you haven't read it, you should. It's one of the few books in epistolary style you can find that's done believably in my mind. But the thing is that in Christmas letters you read the great fiction of a person's life. Lee highlights this in her writing so that what is said in the text is almost a whisper compared to the yell of all that isn't said. We've all read those letters. They almost read like a listing of accomplishments or a nomination for an award. Their lives can't possibly be that good, and if it is, why gloat like that and shove it in all of our faces. But there is a desperate kind of flavor to it as well, between the lines. I remember there was a time when I wrote a few of the dang things and I think I was trying to convince myself that everything was hunky dory when I was new to being a mom, overwhelmed, or just plain lost and struggling my way through it all. So what brings that to mind is my wondering if this blog reads a little like those letters.

Can you hear how I'm struggling to get my footing? Do I sound as scattered and desperate as I sometimes feel? Maybe I'll look back at all these posts once I'm on the other side of all this and it will make sense as a clear transition from one thing to another. First I'm painting, then I'm writing. Then I'm working on a kids book, then I'm working on a novel and I thought it was going to be a YA novel but now I think it might be something else. Then I went and wrote another. And then I start writing a humor column and is it even funny? I'm so all over the place. Maybe I'm just in a funk recovering from the trip to Georgia. No offense Georgia, I love you and all but I think I'm just going to love you from over here. Two observations I picked up while I was down there this time around.
1. The South is not rising anytime soon.
2. Is there anything they don't fry in oil?
Air?
I gained weight while I was there and it must have been the deep fried air. But I digress. I'm finally coming to grips with my creative side. Actually I think it's something like a wrestling match or trying to steer an octopus. I won't even tell you about my audition for a Shakespeare play.

Okay I'll tell you the funny bit, but really the rejection still hurts so don't pour salt on it okay? I was auditioning and they asked me to play the part of Tom Snout. He's a worker, who is also an actor but not a very good one. He is playing the part of a wall and being that he is not proficient in the skills he explains to the audience that he is in fact a wall, and goes so far as to explain how the wall works. So I read the lines. And being in character, I moved around a bit as I was reading them. You see these characters are the humor of the play, and a moving talking wall, that's funny! Okay so then the director very politely asked me to read the part again, but this time being more wall-like. So I stayed still, or tried to. I spread my arms out to be like a wall, but had to bring one arm back in to read the script. And I didn't get the part. I am not qualified to be a WALL.
The only direction from here must be up. If only I could see past this wall blocking the view.

Wow.

Write more wrimo write more!

Just to say -I'm thoroughly amazed at how far you can get when you don't know where you're going. I still don't have a clear idea of my plot, but I know my characters and they are leading the way right now. This is the fun and invigorating part of Nanowrimo where I'm all hopeful frantic. Such a thrill I can't understand why everyone isn't doing this. But heck you must be toying with the idea or why would you be reading about me doing it with any interest? If I wrote about jumping off bridges would you start leaning against the railings? Jump in the water's fine.

Also, why is it that kids are so heart achingly sweet when they feel awful? Is it the same Darwinian survival thing that makes them cute so you'll feed them? Poor Tully is under the weather. No it's not swine flu -though every cough and cold seems more important this year doesn't it? She's just a little feverish. As she was putting herself to bed she told me she was very happy that her brother and I were taking such good care of her. What a nice and sincere thanks! Oh all right I'll keep her, even if she does barf on me.

I have a lot of words and I'm not afraid to use them.

Recently I read How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead, by Ariel Gore. I've read a lot of books about writing but this has become my favorite. She dispels all the excuses for putting things off with practical advice. She doesn't waste a lot of time telling you what you already know. If you want to be a writer, you have to write. What stands out about her advice are all the pointers she gives about self promotion and most of these ideas transfer over to the art market as well. Good stuff. Ariel Gore is the cat's meow. Read anything she's written and her personality just shines through every page. She's the creator/editor of Hip Mama and worth checking out.

Then, Bam opportunity fell into my lap. I'm glad opportunity isn't like a cat with the claws outstretched because that would really hurt. A writer friend met a woman looking for folks to contribute to an online version of a local paper that had gone out of print and she recommended me. I gave her two little audition type articles and she liked them! So now I have the motivation to meet a deadline each week as I write this column. I'll be making more material, honing the craft, maybe even grabbing a few more readers. (No offense to my imaginary friends from here of course.)

Here it is,me in print! http://brleader.com/ Sort of. you know the kind without ink, on a screen and on an obscure website that I can't even connect a link to. Hmm, not very differenty from this at all. My grand entrance to the respectable world outside of self publishing wasn't graceful. If I'd been thinking about it maybe my first sentence wouldn't have had the word crud in it. The difficult thing was to describe what my general subject matter will be, and how to describe myself. Subject matter I still haven't decided on, but since I'm trying to write humor, I'm going to go with whatever has the most joke potential. I'm aiming for five laughs for each piece with pieces averaging about 600 words.

This is what I came up with for a bio:
Alice Mullen is just some poor shlump living over in Lovettsville with too much time on her hands and a seemingly insatiable appetite for work that is unpaid and tedious. A slave to her creative muse she seems incapable of earning money in any of her endeavors. Mother of three, painter, writer and wise arse extraordinaire she balances an inferiority complex with an inflated sense of self. Her credentials are too numerous to mention, her expertise too wide and varied to question. Her education is a combination of both high brow elitist learning and street smarts. She will except both compliments and money at alice.mullen@gmail.com

November. National Novel Writing Month! I'm going to try and start fresh this year and push through. My novel, I guess we can call it my first novel, is still struggling through revision. There's a chance that my bright idea is part of what's been doing me in. Maybe I overdeveloped the plot trajectory so nothing organic could come from the writing. Maybe I was just coloring in the lines trying to hard to get to the next plot hurdle. The benefit of NaNoWriMo is that there'll be no time to over think. The field is wide open for ideas and I'm excited to get started.

Of the two pieces I submitted to the online paper thingy, one was considered to risky to publish. So I give it to you. Happy eat the kid's candy before they do day.

Naked
by Alice Mullen
Recently a Springfield Virginia man was arrested for indecent exposure . The catch to the story is that he was naked in his own home in his kitchen making coffee, and this got me to thinking. Isn't this a sort of gender discrimination? If it had been a woman don't you think folks would be less likely to complain?
It's not this fellow's fault that the male genitalia are all dangling and silly. Speaking of which, Ladies have you ever noticed that sometimes, as you gaze lovingly at your man in all his glory it's a little like a cartoon face, the nipples like eyes, the belly button a little nose? Or is that just me? Maybe I'd be less likely to damage sensitive egos if I wasn't laughing hysterically every time a naked man comes at me.
A woman is just less likely to be naked by accident. I, for one, am almost never naked unless the light is flattering (read here dim), or I'm swept up in a certain reckless abandon. Though there are disputes about the actual time this incident occurred, it was most definitely before noon. Reckless abandon never visits me before noon.
I used to live on a large farm, in a dark house, with great views. Since I didn't have any real neighbors, I didn't have curtains. For the most part this worked out just fine. I would step out of the shower, gaze at grazing cows while I dried off, and all was right with the world. One morning though as I stepped out, the sunlight bouncing off my glistening wet skin like a glittery beacon, I looked out to see ten or more people standing around watching as a vet gave the cows inoculations. I'll tell you there's nothing that can make you feel so young and vibrant as crawling away from a window on your hands and knees. Not that I have any shame in my body. I think it's holding together very well, but I have had three children so there are portions of my physique that require subtitles or at the least, post-its of explanation. Without the benefit of these explanations I think the sight of ME is a bit much to take. I make a concerted effort to spare the general public, but my point is, accidents happen.
Back then to our man in Springfield. There's a chance these things just didn't occur to him; his nakedness, the woeful lack of curtains, the watchful eyes of a close knit community. Maybe he was behaving like a flasher, exposing himself to strangers to get some weird thrill. But oh, how lazy and sad. I mean at least you can give a flasher some grudging respect, he's out there fully engaged with life and the elements. Armed with nothing but a trench coat and a sense of purpose, with the ever present threat of a chill wind all but shriveling his credibility. Standing in front of a window? Lazy, lazy lazy. And with the benefits of central heating, down right pitiful. So maybe he was a perv, but a lazy sad one. How awkward are things going to be in this neighborhood? Fully clothed on his way to the mailbox, neighbors will avert their eyes from him for fear of something unzipped or that they'll giggle just thinking of it. I'm not saying it's okay to be creepy or perverted especially where kids are concerned. What I am saying is that in these times when there are so many bad things to be or do, naked hardly seems to be one of them.
It was a mother that called the police, presumably to defend her child from being exposed to too much humanity all at once. What's really disturbing about this is that she witnessed him (either exposing himself or accidentally forgetting his clothes- take your pick) and decided the best way to handle it was to call the police. Victims call police to defend themselves from crimes. What I'm concerned with is that this woman felt so helpless that she had to call the authorities to help. What ever happened to the days when the community set the standards for a modicum of behavior and mothers were the stalwart defenders of these standards? Communities have all but become extinct. Now we just have clusters of houses without anything connecting the lives within them. This woman didn't realize the potential power of her community. It's all just so simple. This guy's neighbors just need to take a small collection and buy the poor man some curtains, and a trench coat just in case.

My favorite deviant

So Felix's teacher sent home a note. Actually it was more like a novella. He's been arguing with her and being disrespectful. Which doesn't sound like him, but when he gets an idea in his head he can be pretty fierce to defend it. The long note offered some examples of his behavior. Did I mention it was long? And as much as I'm embarrassed to know that he's being difficult, as much as I want to help the teacher and come up with strategies for him to deal with everything better. I still think he's doing better than I did as a kid.

I was way too sensitive as a kid. I could deal with adults, I felt like I understood animals, but other kids were a mystery to me. Once we were watching a slide show about the sun. I was spacing out, looking out the window. I remember it was one of the slide show movies with a loud beep to signal in the recording for the teacher to change the slide. I tuned in to pay attention just in time to hear that the sun was a star and would eventually burn out. But, because I hadn't been paying attention I thought they said it would burn out in 30 years not 30 million. (This highlights the value of paying attention kids.) I took in my little dose of misinformation and just absorbed it. I looked around at all my classmates and felt like I suddenly understood them. That it all made sense, the things they thought were funny that weren't, the way they acted so loud and wild. It was only news to me, they already knew we were all doomed and they were just determined to live it up. I went on thinking like that for months before I finally sorted it all out. See? Weird dark goth child. Maybe I was anemic, or prematurely depressed? I think having a strange viewpoint growing up sort of helps me now. I can usually come at things from some unexpected angle, because normal just eludes me. But poor Felix. I hope him and normal can become acquainted.

And while I'm rummaging through the junk left on the sidewalks of memory lane I can't leave out the big black dog. Grammar school our recess was out on the blacktop. Across from the blacktop there was this big grassy slope that looked out over the school and everyone set their coats and lunches on the hill. Now me, being anti-social and all, I sat up on the hill and watched. Sometimes I watched the games of the kids below, and sometimes I tried to see into the windows of the school and wondered what the teachers did when we were all outside. One day this big old black dog sauntered up to me on the hill. He was a little shy, like me, but eventually he sat beside me and I patted him. To me it was a thrill because secretly I was lonely and it was so nice to have some affection in the middle of the day. But as I was patting him I could feel his ribs sticking out . . .

I remember sitting in the principals office, crying, my nose running, gasping for breath in between sobs. The principal kept asking me what I had been thinking. And I really didn't get it. I know I was upset that an adult was upset with me but I truly didn't understand. My dog friend had been so hungry, and all the kids, well, they were obviously well fed.

I know some version of the big black dog will eventually find Felix. Maybe he can do better than I did and just feed the dog his own lunch and not every one's.

pummelled with my good fortune

Things are ridiculously good. I've met so many amazing and incredibly nice people. I'm meeting with someone tomorrow to find out about showing some artwork at a winery. I'm meeting Friday with someone to help prepare for Oktoberfest. I'm meeting Tuesday with another writer whose work I really like.
After all the time and isolation I had back at the farm all these connections and shared interests are just blowing my mind. What have I done to get so danged lucky?
I'd be an ass not to appreciate it, but I don't want to jinx it either. So it all comes down to the butterflies. We have so many butterflies here that we don't even need flowers, they just flit about in the trees, on the deck and the front lawn. Big black ones with bright blue tips. Zebra striped ones and the occasional monarch. We have so many butterflies in fact that sometimes when I walk out the front door to fast I get smacked in the face with a wing. That's what my good fortune feels like right now. It's just silly.

Selling myself short

My first time as a vendor in a fair! Sales-wise, not a spectacular showing, but not bad either considering the economy. I learned so much and I was so lucky to have a good friend to share it with.

I had made arrangements ages ago to borrow a tent from a friend and hadn't really given much thought to how I would display things. The week before the fair I was wracking my brain trying to think of a way to display it all. A neighbor friend offered the loan of a standing panel, like a woven shutter -and then I remembered the much neglected shutters in the shed of the big house at the farm. Lickety split I chatted with the current tenants and slipped three tall and four short shutters into the car. In the following week I painted them all white, Eric set hinges on the short ones so they'd stand independent and I muddled through with practice setups in the driveway. Not to reveal all my secrets but the tall shutters attached to the tent with rubber bands and hair-ties.


Originally I had thought I would just tack a few nails in the wood and hang the paintings like I do in the studio. That doesn't account for the wind though and then I realized that I could tie the canvases to the shutters with plain old kite string.

Friday evening we set up just the tent and then went home planning to set up the display the following morning. The mother of all storms hit about an hour later and I found myself barefoot in the pouring rain, bailing out Emer's egress window with a bucket. The gutter had clogged (right above it of course) and the view out her window became an odd kind of aquarium. I bailed the water from about waist height, back down to the rocks where it was supposed to be and then got the call from the fair that the tent had gone down and that's all they knew. They didn't know if it had blown away, been knocked down, broken. No details.

It was hard to sleep that night wondering what I had to look forward to in the morning. I packed up everything I would need to set up, all the paintings and rubber bands and kite string and decided to hope for the best.


Bern got there before me and did some of her own bailing, taking the water out of the canvas section on the top. Then we set into the work of putting the tent up again. One section was slightly bent and two pieces had come disconnected but this really nice Amish guy came along and helped us. He had a pocket knife, a beard and suspenders. After fixing the tent then we had the long process of setting up our display. The first day it honestly looked a little cluttered and busy and we hadn't yet figured out where the flow of traffic would go. By the second day the weather had improved and we streamlined the set up to be kind of a breeze through. I also put up some signs explaining who and what we were, and I threw caution to the wind, lowered my prices and talked more to customers. I was sorry to see the day end because I felt like I was just hitting my stride. The next event I have is Octoberfest in downtown Lovettsville where my new friend Kristin is trying to make a kind of art alley, Then Middleburg fair selling batiks with Mary, and then possibly the Waterford fair. I realize now though that most of these fairs are where people buy gifts for others rather than art for their own homes. With that in mind I plan to touch base with two antique stores in the area that sell things on commission since that is more my market. The pieces that didn't sell are re-posted on Etsy and I've dropped all my prices. A healthy dose of reality is good for that.

Another bonus of the fair was that I had the good fortune to meet some other artists in the booth next to us, one of which is a YA writer. And that got me to dust of the manuscript and have another go at it.

All and all it went pretty well considering I started the whole thing underwater and overwhelmed.

sitting around watching the paint dry

I refuse to make excuses. But I will do some splainin'.
Stay -at- home mom..summertime, more busy.
New house, moving, cleaning out old house, more busy.
No internet at new house, more stir crazy than usual and more busy.

So it's August. What of it.
You want to start something with me on my lack of bloggability? Get in line. I have three small people taking turns telling me how much I suck on a minute by minute basis.
In all fairness, they have been really good sports about the hard stuff. The constant drives to and from. The endless boxing and un-boxing, the cleaning, the painting. They entertained themselves all pretty reasonably. It's just the last couple of days that they've all hit a limit of sorts and started a mutiny. The weird thing is that this is after I've been trying to make sure they have more fun, get to see more friends, really savor the last of the summer. Give them an inch and they seem to say WTF? I ordered a mile, and by the way -cut my milk!

I know we're probably just on the other side of the whole moving transition. I know it's a big change. It must be hard to suddenly have a bigger nicer house, neighbor friends in walking distance and a whole community of neighbors that all seem too good to be true. -We really have lucked out. We found this place, weighed our options, did a lot of math and what if scenarios, but we didn't account for the neighbor factor. It reminds me a little of the movie Ice Castles. -We forgot about the flowers.

I haven't painted anything but walls for a month or more, and my writing has been collecting dust. Always a good push in the right direction is the success of friends. A writer that had been kind enough to work with me for a bit recently got an agent. Besides being so happy for her, I'm also mad at myself. I'm looking forward to the school schedule so I can get back to writing more regularly. -And doubting myself and my commitment. Dang it. Maybe if I did only one thing I could be more successful. And maybe I should paint the basement a light warm tan. I don't know. Distractions are endless.

I really like having a house. More than that I like having people over. It's so different than the cave we'd been in. This house is so well suited to us it just amazes me. Lucky, lucky lucky. I feel a little guilty that it was at someone else's expense. I mean their misfortune led to the foreclosure that allowed us to be here. The best I can do is to try not to take it for granted. So I'm not. I won't.

Helpful in that respect is the lack of tv. Not even an antenna it's movies, netflix stuff, or internet for entertainment. Feel a little bad for the kids on that, but the chances of me actually getting things done is so much better without the visual crack box to fall back on. Marx said religion was the opiate of the masses but I think religion is playing second fiddle to t.v. these days.

So I've missed you, my invisible mostly imaginary friend. Stop by soon. Eventually I'll say something worthwhile. I'm going to go paint a wall or something.

July!? Already? Oh dear.

Fast forward. We bought the house. Eric was in Amarillo at the time and I got to sign all the paperwork for both of us. I signed John Eric Arlington by Alice Mullen attorney in fact, and Alice Mullen like a zillion times and then it was done.

Funny thing I met with Eric afterward and we were having dinner in a local restaurant when he asked when we would get the keys. I forgot to ask for them and our realtor forgot to give them to us! She was so nice to drive out and drop them off right there and then for us though.

We've been a flurry of activity since then getting the house fixed up, and ready for us to move in. The place came with a riding lawnmower that was broken and Eric managed to fix it. Matter of fact his knack has come in pretty handy as he's fixed the dishwasher, and washing machine as well. He's also dug a trench and put in a pipe to fix a water drainage problem. With some help getting started I've painted two bathrooms and half of a bedroom. There's also been a lot of cleaning, but for the most part the house is just about ready for us. We've got a contractor putting in a window for the downstairs basement and then we'll move in. Right now we've been doing little day trips over bringing small loads of stuff each time.

A nice tradition we've started is that once we're done with whatever chores we planned while we're there we go for a walk on the trails that Eric has mowed. It's a nice way to wind down and remember why we like it there so much. There are fresh blackberries on the path and we usually see some kind of wildlife. Frogs by the pond, rabbits or a deer. Oddly the deer where Eric went camping were less wild then the ones in our backyard. This photo is from a camping trip Eric took the kids to in Shenendoah.

Okay. Back to packing and hauling things and such. -A

We've begun the countdown to when we'll close on the new house. It's a weirdly exciting process to finally own a house and to plan this whole moving/settling in process. One of the best parts is that I'll have a garage as a studio. It has enough electricity to run the kiln and to do the batik work I've been making and start experimenting with encaustic painting which is a really nice blending of both the batik work and oil painting. I might even be able to give some painting classes in the studio.

I'm still plugging away at the writing process. I've been taking a writing course online and I'm pleased with both how demanding it has been and the quality of work from the other students. What I need to do is start submitting the pieces I've written.

In a weird twist of fate we finally have some neighbors in the big house and I really like them. It's so nice to see people outside and just go and hang out. It's been especially nice for Tully to have a little friend her own age to play with. It's going to be difficult to move away from them.

I'm gearing up for the Lucketts Fair in August making a variety of paintings at different price ranges to try and sell. If it goes well I might try and do the Waterford Fair as well. Word on the street is that it's a more art oriented program and the people with heavy wallets are more prone to show up and spend. We'll see.

Sort of a boring post but them's the facts Jack. I'll try and post photos of all the new work I've been making soon.