- Drink more. Check!
- Drink with artists. Some of my drinking friends doodle--check!
- Wear cuter underwear. Hmmm. There are still several months left to the year.
- Read the books on my shelves. Cookbooks, yes. But my rate of purchase definitely outdoes my rate of reading.
- Get regular haircuts. I have given myself two trims in my own bathroom. Not doing well with this one.
- Less TV. Crap. Not doing well on this front either. A little, but not much.
- Put pen to paper, fingers to keys. Check! Though not nearly as much as I ought to (and you wouldn't know by looking at this blog that I write anything more than resolution lists and occasional, strange essays.
- Read 1-2 books/month. Check! I don't think it matters that a lot of them are freelance projects. Whatev.
- Develop an ass. I'm pretty sure it's there, but it's still not much to look at. Because that, my friends, would require exercise.
- Take care of cuticles. What was I thinking about when I wrote this? I don't care about my cuticles.
- Make one new, decent friend. A dear friend from my past found me, so check!
- Don't take things personally. I need a neutral third party to help me keep score on this.
- Finish family tree. Hmmm. I'm pretty certain I've learned all I'm going to learn. But I did just meet my grandmother. At Macy's. You read that correctly. Yeah, it's that kind of family.
- Use gym membership--or save the damn monthly payment. Hmmm. Um, while I'm extraordinarily kind in essentially paying the light bill for my gym, I'm not exactly visiting my gym. At all. Not good.
- Sweep more . . . Check! I mean, not a lot. But more. Definitely more.
- . . . and sleep more. Check! I will never be the sort who can sleep in on a Sunday, but I'm working on going back to sleep after feeding the cat early in the morning.
- Get passport in case I need to make a quick getaway. The paperwork is filled out, but I've neglected to take it beyond that point--which is truly stupid, as this morning my momentary excitement about maybe going to Montreal was dashed when I realized I can't flippin go there without a passport anymore.
- Explore a new state. Check! I dove into NYC with a vengeance in February.
- Take chances. Nothing jumps out. Must put a stickie on the fridge to remind myself to be spontaneous (just kidding--I'm not that kind of girl).
- Swing hips. Check! The extra alcohol consumption (see #1) has assisted me in hip swinging on several occasions (e.g., Brooklyn wedding, Boston birthday, 4th of July cabin [our hour-long tribute to MJ]).
- Less thought, more action. Damn, definitely still thinking too much.
- Be a woman--hot, feisty, confident. #1 has helped, but I still need to work on this.
- Be unbearably, intolerably selfish. Er, as a woman living alone there's no one to a) be selfish around or b) appreciate my selfishness. However, Millie might have thoughts to share on this.
- Make it work, or move. #11 has really helped me feel better, but the jury's still out. The frustration: I know I have a good situation. I'm just feeling like a few key things are not in order and I'm not sure where the fulcrum sits between these two sides of the coin.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I figured we're past the halfway mark and I might consider checking in on my New Year's resolutions. Let's see how Kelly's doing, shall we?
I heart Oklahoma
Now there's a title I never imagined typing.
Mummy turned me on to The Silver Needle, a shop in Tulsa. After a couple weeks of just drooling over their goods, I placed an order.
Now, I'm a bit of a sloppy crafter. I refer to it as artistic license, but the truth is that I'm just impatient and not interested in following directions to the letter. So what I appreciated about this site most was that I was able to type notes to the folks at the store about what kind of fabric I needed, but gave them the freedom to work their expertise in making purchase decisions for me. I even vaguely told them to toss in whatever specialty threads I might need for each pattern. Excellent option, and largely necessary when working on crafty things and unable to directly converse with experts!
About two days later, I received an adorable voicemail message from a woman with a serious accent with info about my order--just a check in of sorts. But the accent . . . she and I are from different worlds. I couldn't help but smile. People truly are kinder outside New England.
So today, a week or so later, I came home after a bad day and saw a package at my door. Could it be? Oh yes!
I don't typically take pictures of this nature, but I just think the folks at SN are so cool that I wanted to share. So bear with me.
First, the package. Who doesn't love receiving a package?
Then there was the fancy packaging inside:
Yay, free patterns, a pen (those of you who truly know me understand that at this point there could have been poo in the box and I'd still be excited about the pen), and some jelly beans!
And then, finally, the goods:
I'm totally digging Little House Needleworks patterns. I'm new to With Thy Needle & Thread. And I'm thrilled to have all the fabric and most of the thread ready to go. I even received a personal message on one piece of material. I know it's impossible to read; essentially they let me know they were giving me something a little different from what I ordered because it was going to be cheaper for me. I love these ladies.
And what this all boils down to now is my desperate race to finish my current project. This one has been going quickly. And I know, I know, my work is a disappointment to cross stitch pros--I am working on large fabric--I think it's 18 ct. I haven't used fabric this big in a long time, and it's just so darn easy on the eyes. And I think the pic is coming out okay regardless.
So thank you, ladies at The Silver Needle! You put a brilliant spin on my day.
Mummy turned me on to The Silver Needle, a shop in Tulsa. After a couple weeks of just drooling over their goods, I placed an order.
Now, I'm a bit of a sloppy crafter. I refer to it as artistic license, but the truth is that I'm just impatient and not interested in following directions to the letter. So what I appreciated about this site most was that I was able to type notes to the folks at the store about what kind of fabric I needed, but gave them the freedom to work their expertise in making purchase decisions for me. I even vaguely told them to toss in whatever specialty threads I might need for each pattern. Excellent option, and largely necessary when working on crafty things and unable to directly converse with experts!
About two days later, I received an adorable voicemail message from a woman with a serious accent with info about my order--just a check in of sorts. But the accent . . . she and I are from different worlds. I couldn't help but smile. People truly are kinder outside New England.
So today, a week or so later, I came home after a bad day and saw a package at my door. Could it be? Oh yes!
I don't typically take pictures of this nature, but I just think the folks at SN are so cool that I wanted to share. So bear with me.
First, the package. Who doesn't love receiving a package?
Then there was the fancy packaging inside:
Yay, free patterns, a pen (those of you who truly know me understand that at this point there could have been poo in the box and I'd still be excited about the pen), and some jelly beans!
And then, finally, the goods:
I'm totally digging Little House Needleworks patterns. I'm new to With Thy Needle & Thread. And I'm thrilled to have all the fabric and most of the thread ready to go. I even received a personal message on one piece of material. I know it's impossible to read; essentially they let me know they were giving me something a little different from what I ordered because it was going to be cheaper for me. I love these ladies.
And what this all boils down to now is my desperate race to finish my current project. This one has been going quickly. And I know, I know, my work is a disappointment to cross stitch pros--I am working on large fabric--I think it's 18 ct. I haven't used fabric this big in a long time, and it's just so darn easy on the eyes. And I think the pic is coming out okay regardless.
So thank you, ladies at The Silver Needle! You put a brilliant spin on my day.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Boink
Oh little brother
If only the world were as smart
Lucky would I be
***
And little brother
If you did not fear Facebook
You'd know more of me
These haiku are dedicated to my dear little brother, who has voiced displeasure at the infrequency of my posts.
If only the world were as smart
Lucky would I be
***
And little brother
If you did not fear Facebook
You'd know more of me
These haiku are dedicated to my dear little brother, who has voiced displeasure at the infrequency of my posts.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Drowning in tears
I cry.
A lot.
More as an adult.
At inappropriate times and without an end in sight.
As a child, my mother said once that she couldn't attend my soccer games because they made her cry. As a 12-year-old tomboy, I thought it was a screwy excuse. I thought it was an odd way of getting out of having to watch poorly coordinated preteens flopping around on a soccer field under the sun.
But now I get it.
In college, I remember standing at a bus stop and falling into tears when a fire truck screamed by, lights blazing and siren blaring. My only thought: Someone is hurt. It was raw and embarrassing, standing in broad daylight with tears streaming down my face over what might, ultimately, have amounted to a cat stuck in a tree.
Since then, I've had similar moments. If I see PETA footage on the evening news, I break into tears. I tear up almost every morning while watching Good Morning America--whether the story is happy or sad. I welled up once in my car, listening to the live version of Indigo Girls singing "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee," a song I've heard and sung aloud infinite times before. And then there was the time I held my friend's four-year-old son at Fred Penner's "Happy Feet" show. The boy was happy and laughing and clapping. I was holding him on my lap, crying, enjoying his pure happiness. Over happy feet. I know. Someone get that girl a drink.
A friend of mine became engaged last year. Like a baby, I cried when I read her e-mail announcing the news--cried with joy--just true, undeniable happiness. Not envy, not sadness. I was just happy that she was happy. More recently, at her wedding, I pulled a Tammy Faye, crying during the ceremony and letting out an audible sob when there was mention of those who had passed and couldn't be there as well as the generations to come. Ugh. Then there were the speeches during the reception . . .
And now there are the photos that are starting to circulate from the wedding. Beautiful pictures. My friend, so genuinely happy, surrounded by family and friends. I scrolled through the photos on Facebook tonight and felt my eyes watering again.
It begins to make sense, why I keep a small circle. Not purely because I'd be dehydrated if I cared so much about more people. But because I truly care about those I let in. It is much easier to keep people at a distance and not care too much. Hell, I've had long-term relationships with people over whom I barely shed a tear. And then I've also had relationships with people over whom I've shed too many. Dangerous business, affairs of the heart.
So what I've learned is that I can't have children, love my partner, watch TV, take the bus, or become a firefighter. All of those pose aqueous dangers. But rather than limit myself, I guess it will be easier to just stock up on tissues.
A lot.
More as an adult.
At inappropriate times and without an end in sight.
As a child, my mother said once that she couldn't attend my soccer games because they made her cry. As a 12-year-old tomboy, I thought it was a screwy excuse. I thought it was an odd way of getting out of having to watch poorly coordinated preteens flopping around on a soccer field under the sun.
But now I get it.
In college, I remember standing at a bus stop and falling into tears when a fire truck screamed by, lights blazing and siren blaring. My only thought: Someone is hurt. It was raw and embarrassing, standing in broad daylight with tears streaming down my face over what might, ultimately, have amounted to a cat stuck in a tree.
Since then, I've had similar moments. If I see PETA footage on the evening news, I break into tears. I tear up almost every morning while watching Good Morning America--whether the story is happy or sad. I welled up once in my car, listening to the live version of Indigo Girls singing "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee," a song I've heard and sung aloud infinite times before. And then there was the time I held my friend's four-year-old son at Fred Penner's "Happy Feet" show. The boy was happy and laughing and clapping. I was holding him on my lap, crying, enjoying his pure happiness. Over happy feet. I know. Someone get that girl a drink.
A friend of mine became engaged last year. Like a baby, I cried when I read her e-mail announcing the news--cried with joy--just true, undeniable happiness. Not envy, not sadness. I was just happy that she was happy. More recently, at her wedding, I pulled a Tammy Faye, crying during the ceremony and letting out an audible sob when there was mention of those who had passed and couldn't be there as well as the generations to come. Ugh. Then there were the speeches during the reception . . .
And now there are the photos that are starting to circulate from the wedding. Beautiful pictures. My friend, so genuinely happy, surrounded by family and friends. I scrolled through the photos on Facebook tonight and felt my eyes watering again.
***
It begins to make sense, why I keep a small circle. Not purely because I'd be dehydrated if I cared so much about more people. But because I truly care about those I let in. It is much easier to keep people at a distance and not care too much. Hell, I've had long-term relationships with people over whom I barely shed a tear. And then I've also had relationships with people over whom I've shed too many. Dangerous business, affairs of the heart.
So what I've learned is that I can't have children, love my partner, watch TV, take the bus, or become a firefighter. All of those pose aqueous dangers. But rather than limit myself, I guess it will be easier to just stock up on tissues.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Hotmail, how didst thou know?
Okay, so I'm a bit of a horoscope follower. I'm a cancer, and damn, I fit the bill pretty closely. I've found that the MSN Hotmail horoscopes are eerily right-on with me each day. It's one of the last things I do online each day, checking that horoscope. (Stop yer snickering. I can hear you.)
Today I did something big. No need to go into details, but suffice it to say, I was left with sweaty, adrenaline-sparked, wild-girl fear and mania. The same kind of rush I get when I've gone on stage for acting or speaking. Though tonight I was left with more of a fear rush than a holding-a-bouquet-of-roses-and-bowing-at-the-end-of-the-night kind of rush. I stood up for myself in a way that I have not in a long time. And now I'm feeling scared and liberated at the same time. Anywho . . . today's horoscope:
Today I did something big. No need to go into details, but suffice it to say, I was left with sweaty, adrenaline-sparked, wild-girl fear and mania. The same kind of rush I get when I've gone on stage for acting or speaking. Though tonight I was left with more of a fear rush than a holding-a-bouquet-of-roses-and-bowing-at-the-end-of-the-night kind of rush. I stood up for myself in a way that I have not in a long time. And now I'm feeling scared and liberated at the same time. Anywho . . . today's horoscope:
The last months have been very challenging - and there's a very good chance that you no longer feel up to meeting the challenges. So if you have been yearning to modify something in your daily life, do it now, dear Cancer. The hour has come to make concrete changes. Regardless of whether the change you seek is at home or at work, physical or emotional, don't be afraid of seriously upsetting your life.Holy smokes, amen to that. Seriously upset my life, I did. My only thought at this point: Now what?
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
It's going to be a long four years . . .
. . . if I'm going to tear up every time I hear Obama speak or watch a crowd of people take in his words. Man!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
My afternoon with Stevie
So I took Stevie Wonder along with me up toward the mountains today. We shared deep thoughts as we followed rt 11 along the grandeur of Lake Winnipesaukee, past Alton Bay, Weirs Beach, and Meredith. We marveled at the way the sun shone on the White Mountains, and we thought we picked out Mount Washington (though probably only because it was the prettiest peak). We agreed that the folks way out on the lake in school buses and old camper are loco. I told him about the one time I walked out onto that lake. The slightest sounds of the ice below paralyzed me with fear, and I tiptoed back to shore, waving out at my friends and thinking that if they fell in, well, they'd just be fucked because I'd be crying like a baby from shore.
Our destination was a kick-ass quilt shop in Centre Harbor. Stevie stayed in the car with a hot chocolate. Said there wasn't much in there for him to see anyway. I started to feel bad, but he shooed me away and told me to take my time. He's good to me like that.
Keepsake Quilts is a big enough shop that busloads of blue-hairs come from all over to check it out. It's grown over the years, now housing a cross stitch shop (sub par) and yarn shop (I drooled with desire to learn how to knit just looking at all the pretty yarns--seriously pretty stuff) in addition to the fabric wonderland that is the heart of it all. And the shop doesn't hold your run-of-the-mill JoAnn Fabrics cheapo material. This is nicer, and the patterns are classier. It took me over two hours to get my act together and make my purchases (wandering through a store looking for the right fabrics and considering the right pattern and making sure it'll all work is serious business).
And when I got back out to the car, Stevie was there waiting for me. He smiled. He said he'd been listening to the snowmobilers while sipping his hot chocolate and thinking about how soft and slow a Saturday can be. Then he laughed and said, "Let's go home."
Our destination was a kick-ass quilt shop in Centre Harbor. Stevie stayed in the car with a hot chocolate. Said there wasn't much in there for him to see anyway. I started to feel bad, but he shooed me away and told me to take my time. He's good to me like that.
Keepsake Quilts is a big enough shop that busloads of blue-hairs come from all over to check it out. It's grown over the years, now housing a cross stitch shop (sub par) and yarn shop (I drooled with desire to learn how to knit just looking at all the pretty yarns--seriously pretty stuff) in addition to the fabric wonderland that is the heart of it all. And the shop doesn't hold your run-of-the-mill JoAnn Fabrics cheapo material. This is nicer, and the patterns are classier. It took me over two hours to get my act together and make my purchases (wandering through a store looking for the right fabrics and considering the right pattern and making sure it'll all work is serious business).
And when I got back out to the car, Stevie was there waiting for me. He smiled. He said he'd been listening to the snowmobilers while sipping his hot chocolate and thinking about how soft and slow a Saturday can be. Then he laughed and said, "Let's go home."
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