The Jumble In My House vs The Jumble In My Head

Wow, July since I last posted! I'll try to put up Fair pictures and Fall pictures soon, but I thought I'd just drop in quickly and let everyone know that I haven't exactly forgotten about this blog, it's just so incredibly busy, I can't really find the time for it lately. School started smoothly, with me bringing the boys and Av to and from everyday, but just last week, the littlest started to panic about being left and finally, today, we decided he was just too young for the class quite yet. A bit of a drag because I was about to commit to some dance blocks at a couple local schools and now my plans have switched back to "Stay At Home Mom". Ah well. C'est La Vie.

Awesomely, the kids somehow have escaped every cold and bug that got passed around as the school year began. I, on the other hand, have had a pinched nerve in my neck or shoulder that renders my right arm nearly useless for the last two months. Waiting for our insurance to OK the MRI and other testing before some sort of action can be taken. A real drag since I have had no feeling in my thumb and can hardly sign my name. Makes daily wrestling with the three kiddos rather tricky. And all those car seat buckles almost impossible! And even more fun, I have a Bartholin Cyst. I won't even explain this one, trust me, you don't want to know. It gives me the heebie jeebies just thinking about it. A really, really painful, gross, girl thing and I'm having surgery on it tomorrow. Dancing has aggravated it horribly...just UUUUGGGHHHH. I'm going to barf if I talk about it anymore. And so will you.

Tamera's wedding looms closer and the need to finish cutting and stacking firewood is getting more desperate, not to mention all the winterizing that still needs to happen on our house. To the chagrin of many of my dancers, I've taken Tuesday and Friday evenings off for a while so we can get something done before snow falls. I hate to disappoint people but we HAVE to have some free time for us or else we'll be in real trouble soon! I organized an Art In The Park fundraiser for the kid's school a few weeks back that was a success so I am feeling pretty good about that, but now it's the big push to scavenge donations for their biggest yearly fundraiser, a holiday themed silent auction and being on yet another committee is making me stressed out at the moment. Plus we clean the school once a month which somehow always seems to fall on a weekend that's already overbooked... And now, suddenly, my phone is ringing off the hook for Senior Portraits to be done. I don't want to turn away business, especially when we need the money, but WHEN?! There is no time left in the day!

OK, sorry! I'm not meaning to go off on a cranky rants. Myra says I'm a negative person lately, and I can't say no to anyone and that's why I'm unhappy. But I'm NOT unhappy, only overbooked and telling it like it is. And I'm not meaning to single out the negative in the last couple of weeks, it just takes center stage sometimes. I DO have a problem saying no, but it seems like it's always a situation where if you said no, you'd have to be the World's Biggest Ass. Like a teacher/friend called asking me to substitute for her art class because her mother DIED and she's going to her family. Do I say "Hell no!"? No way, I don't have it in me. I felt like a jerk canceling my Hip Hop classes. There are a few kids who love it beyond ANYTHING and they were heartbroken. My normal rule of thumb is: I try to not say no when other people's uncomfort or needs outweigh my own, but I'm at a point where I would be sacrificing too much to keep those extra dance days going right now. Still, the guilt remains, and the pressure from dancer's parents.

I've always been proud of rarely letting people down...it's a foolish pride in always being The One To Pull Through, and I feel like a schmuck when I fail. It's idiotic of me, but often I wonder who I am and if it's the same as who I appear to be. And I see that I'm perceived as helpful, dependable and softhearted. And I worry that that's IT. If I fail, I'm nothing, nobody. I'll wake up in the middle of the night, remembering something I said I'd do, somebody I said I'd call, and I AGONIZE over it. An easy fix would be to simply never do anything for anybody but myself, for us... my family tells me to be more selfish, which truthfully, I guess, is a practical solution. Only I already feel selfish by refusing to give up who I think I am, and I just don't know how to stop. I'd fade away into that flaky person that I've always feared becoming.

In some areas, things are out of hand, like the fact that, depending on the situation, I always keep extra socks, hair ties, drinks, sports equipment, you name it, on hand for people that have forgotten theirs, I buy things based on who might need to borrow it at some point. When I thrift shop, I have seventeen different people in mind "Hmmmm, So-In-So could use this..."...Figure skates, snowboards, costumes, mittens, cake pans, tents, etc, etc, etc...we own these sorts of things in mass amounts of random sizes simply to lend. People have come to expect that if they need something, ANYTHING, that we will have it. My house is a disaster because of it, and yet I feel the overpowering need to turn no one away, disgruntled that Emily couldn't help them. When I photograph a stranger's wedding, I have an entire emergency kit of safety pins, hair clips, scissors, needle & thread, super glue, emery board, nail polish and breath mints in my camera bag for the bride WHO IS NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY, but I haven't yet met a pre-wedding-hysterical-bride (in the 60 something weddings I've done in the last few years) who hasn't needed something from me.

Deep down, I could never sit there and not help. On the other hand, I need to simplify and I suppose I need therapy. Trouble is: I KNOW what my problem is, and the way out, but haven't the energy to put the plan in action. After reading this post, I wonder if my accidental, passive-aggressive writing of this post will make people steer clear of favors from me. Not my intention, but why else would I write such a thing? Perhaps because our life has become too hectic to accommodate even our own basic needs? Perhaps because my journal sits buried under my underwear in a dresser drawer and my only outlet is this keyboard? Perhaps because if I write enough of my inner thoughts in a public forum, I'll become more than just a "dependable" person? Perhaps I'm just tired and wanting sympathy? Whatever reason, yes, I realize that I have self-esteem issues lurking under the be-everywhere-do-everything-keep-on-trucking-make-the-cut-let-no-one-down facade. So maybe, in the tradition not offering alcohol to an alcoholic, if you have something you need for a while, ask my sister.

home again, home again, jig, jig, jog

Last week's trip to the Island was a little more eventful than usual, with Justin cutting off a foot and a half of hair, visiting friends, car dying, kids with colds, all the land around our cabin bought up by Buddhist Monks (except for the brand new biker campground, catering to Hell's Angels), mostly great weather, but some intense storms thrown in there, my near concussion by somehow slamming my head in a door, an exploding dryer in the coin laundry, etc, etc, etc. All in all, an awesome week...if you overlook the random not-so-awesome adventures. The car was the biggest issue, and the most icky, although everything turned out just fine.

It was late evening, after dinner, and we decided to drive to one of our favorite isolated beaches for a dusk walk before bed. Probably about 15 miles away. So we are in the middle of nowhere, near dark, and the car just stops. No cell service, nothing around except one long driveway, back a way, in the bushes. Justin leaves us in the car and hikes down to check it out. After nearly forty minutes, I panic a bit... The kids are starting to run fevers, it's crazily buggy out, plus my door doesn't lock and I don't want to leave the car that just happened to have both our laptops in it, not to mention cameras, passports, purse... No other cars pass this whole time. High tourist season my ass.

Anyway, Justin eventually returns with an elderly man named Ken, and a gas can. (Justin tells me later that after Ken and his wife opened the door, before he even said a word, they ask him if he had knocked for long because they were both deaf in one ear, and their cat was too. Since none of them can tell where a sound comes from, they all went to the wrong door first...they next proceeded to tell him that all white cats with blue eyes are deaf, but as Cookie has one blue eye, AND one green, he's only deaf on the one side. They open up the door and usher Justin [who still hasn't explained what he's doing there] inside and Ken asks him if he plays the fiddle. Fumbling around under the sofa, he draws out a violin case and shows Justin a fiddle he's made himself. Next comes the photo album of fishing boats he's built, and various woodworking projects over the years. Not that Justin didn't appreciate any of these things...in another situation he would have been delighted to talk shop with the guy but....)

Back at the car the gas does nothing. Justin and Ken head to the house to call a tow truck. We wait again before Justin, Ken and his wife, Rena return. The tow truck will be an hour at least so the couple invite us all up to the house. Once there, Rena beckons to me, "I have something to show you." Leaving the boys and comparative safety of the front yard behind, I follow her down a long, dark, twisting hallway. Before she turns the knob on what appears to be a bedroom door, she peers at me with a weird smile and says "What do you think of THIS?!" My heart is racing as she opens the door with a proud flourish. Dolls. THOUSANDS of them on every surface fill the entire room from floor to ceiling. There is a tiny path around the bed, but other than that, the dressers, bed, floor, shelves are piled with DOLLS. She starts to wander around saying hello to them...every one has a name and a story, and I hear quite a few... Some are wearing handmade cardboard and colored plastic sunglasses. She says that the light destroys the eyes on the vintage dolls, so she made most of the older ones special glasses, and keeps the shades drawn. At one point she picks up a doll dressed in a nun's habit and asks me if I'm Catholic. "Nooooooo" I say slowly, hoping not to offend her. "But of course you've heard of the Order Of St. Crisco?" she presses. I wanted to say "Oh sure." But luck was with me and my honestly won out. "No, I guess I haven't." She seems a bit shocked for a moment before breaking into a cackling laugh and flipping the doll upside down, revealing a can of cooking grease. "I BUILT HER ON AN EMPTY CRISCO TUB!" Whew! Starting to sweat now and praying to St. Crisco that the tow truck hurries the hell up. But you know what? A few more minutes, a few more stories, and I decide that I really like this crazy doll lady, and am rather disappointed when we hear the truck rumble in.

Since the kids and I don't fit into the tow truck, Ken and Rena offer to drive us home. Rena forces her husband to slow to a crawl in front of every house we pass, while she tells me who lives there, what they do and how they are related to her. Quite late, when we finally get back to our cabin, I light some candles and we exchange contact info. Rena's last name is HOWE! Totally strange! There are no Howe's anywhere on the Island, it's all McSomething or MacSomething. I fully intend to send them a doll or two for their kindness.

The car saga continues the next day when Justin and our friend John (who was luckily honeymooning nearby and came to our rescue) head over to the garage to figure out the problem. The little old man at the garage identifies the broken part in a heatbeat, and our luck continues when, out of the five cars rusting in the underbrush behind the shop, one happens to be the same as our car. The mechanic explains that somebody just left it there a couple years ago..."Dunno who, dunno why." Justin is welcome to take parts off it, free of charge, as long as he replaces them from a junkyard before we leave, in case the mysterious car owner ever returns. The man also hangs over Justin and John as they work, telling them story after story, and seeming terribly amused by their plight. So the car got fixed, John and Kate head home on the ferry, we got replacement parts the next day and put them back in the junker, while the 87 year old Panting Shore Garage mechanic tried to sell us a case of canned beef to bring home to Vermont, and that was the end of the car adventure.

Seriously, the locals there are so insane that it feels just like home. My other favorite Local encounter was when we were in the barber shop and Justin sat down in a chair between two burly fisherman (with buzz cuts, getting their hair cut even shorter) and took off his baseball cap, letting his Rapunzel mane tumble down his back. One fisherman started taking pictures with his cellphone, while the other one asked us if it wasn't scary "living in Vermont with all them poisonous snakes you got down there."

It was an amusing, mostly nice week. We had some other friends, with three kiddies, who were vacationing in Summerside, come spend the day with us and all the kids had a blast. We ate lots of good Island food...the new potatoes were incredible. We had dinner with our neighbors Ethan and Lila who informed us that Rena-Doll-Lady was their children's elementary teacher growing up. We took in a museum or two, did a whole lot of beach, mowed our lawn a couple of times, did the moonlight lighthouse tour (E's favorite), relaxed during the day, kids coughed during the night. I shut my head in the cabin door trying to get in before mosquitoes did, and had a monster headache for awhile...it's still sore. A wacky week. Missing the sound of the sea at night, but glad to be home. Every place gets compared to home, not really fair, I know, because no other place will ever win. Even our home away from home. How lucky I am. Poisonous snakes and all.

My computer is being slow so pics are all on my flickr page. http://www.flickr.com/photos/48439883@N00/

Daisies

When the garbage truck swerved
Into my lane,
I was thinking of daisies,
And how they lay thick
In the ditches.
Dainty swath of white,
As if someone drew a finger
Down through a puddle of lace.
I hadn't a thought of how Life depends
On the carelessness of a CD change,
Or the lighting of a cigarette.
The balance hanging, every second,
In the hands of strangers.
To save myself,
I yanked the wheel to the right, and mowed
Down several feet of daisies
Nodding their heads cheerfully
By the wayside.
Those innocents
Crushed into the dirty shoulder.
Broken.
And really, what's the difference
Between us?

CRAIG

So, this morning, we lost Craig Byrne. Last time I saw him, a couple of weeks ago at Wellspring's Graduation, we joked about his sharing oxygen with me from his recently attached oxygen tank, and he gave me one of those famous Craig-winks and said "Catch ya later, Em." Tears welled up in my eyes as he walked away because oddly enough, I got the feeling he meant LATER, as in WAY later. And he did. Craig has been an amazing friend, one of my most devoted dancers, the dad of Eli's best buddy, and the strongest, most positive fighter of cancer I've ever seen. You know how, after someone dies, everyone acts like they were just THE most wonderful person, no matter what? Well, he pretty much was, for real. And he made everybody feel OK about this.. it's sad and unfair and I've cried all day, but if he was OK with this, then we've gotta be too. Somehow. Rock on, Craig. Catch ya later.

Sawmill.

Heat.
Waves off the roof.
Ripples above warped metal.
Out behind the sawmill.
Chewed pine aroma tangled with
The over sweet scent of wild strawberries,
Crushed underfoot.
The blade whines,
The great, green trees sway
In sympathy as
A brief breeze,
Carries a pitchy tang.

Inside, my father pulls the levers,
Rusty fingers poking through worn gloves,
He sings over the ancient, sputtering motor.
Smoking and belching, it will never quit.
Forever sparking to brutal life
When he turns the oily key.

And back here, I hold a patched shovel,
Because I come from a people,
That patch shovels,
Pulling the ever growing dust mound
Back away from the pipe that spews it.
The remains of log and steel encounter.
My job for the morning.
No hurry.
A wet circle rings the pile,
As finally, in June, the inner ice thaws,
The deep glassy heart, melting at last.
Never a hurry.

It is enough, right now,
To simply exist.
To look at my shovel and it's
Riveted tin patch,
The moisture seeping
From the crumbling, yellow hill at my feet,
The berry stains edging my boot soles.
To think of the trees,
And my father, and his gloves,
And his voice,
Raised in a pure baritone
Over everything else.
To be someplace
Because you were put there.
Because you belong.

Yes, back here,
Amidst, sound and smell,
Sun, and coarse, golden chaff,
An itching cling on my damp skin,
I am alone, and never alone.
Questions, questions, questions dissolve,
Surrounded by what and where and when.
Happy.
I know who I am.
Oddly satisfied.
A strange peace, raw and loud,
Keeps me.
Fills me with home.
Home.

Long Overdue Post

Yes, I'm a bad, bad blogger these days...This place feels like a ghost town! Well, better late than never, right? The boys are OBSESSED with cowboys lately. No more pirates, no more knights, just COWBOYS. They have their own playlist of favorites on my itunes...if I have to hear the Bonanza theme song one more time... Anyhow, exciting news: E lost his first tooth day before yesterday, the bottom right, which, I think was the first tooth he ever got too. He'll start first grade this fall and the Little Bub & Av will start in the Butterfly Garden (Nursery/Kindergarten). It feels sad to me in a way. I wish they could stay little and snuggly and lispy and silly forever. E already acts like I'm the embarrassing Dork-Mom, cramping his style when he's hanging with his gang of cool dudes. At his end of school picnic they were like miniature 13 year olds, tormenting the girls, getting into trouble, and steering clear of the moms. I want my babies back! Sniff. The boys fight like nobody's business lately too. Holy, holy. Makes me insane. And when Av comes over...watch out! Otherwise, we are all busy, busy, busy. Dance classes are going well, some nights way busier than others. Zumba is filled to the max, but clogging is down to a half dozen students. Hip Hop depends, some weeks it's full and sometimes only a handful of dancers. The kiddie Ballet and Creative Movement is swamped for the tiny tot's class, but only a small group in the older kid's class. And Swing this session has just two-four couples. All in all, it's working out for me, and I like what I'm doing, how many people can say that?! We have 567542657087255 projects we should be getting done around here this summer, but as usual, we are procrastinating...plus as soon as Justin gets home from work, I GO to work, so finding time for anything else has been tricky. I feel a bit overwhelmed sometimes, the responsibility of having everything organized, with lesson plans, and new choreography - it takes away all my free time, not that I had that much to begin with. Always a few cons to go along with the pros, I guess! I just feel bad because the kids aren't getting the attention they used to, and now everything's going so fast, I don't want to miss out, you know? Not to mention the fact that I'm just plain BEAT at the end of the day. Speaking of which, I think I'm headed to bed now all. Perhaps I'll be on top of my game and post again in the near future? We shall see! XX00 -Em

SUMMER!!!!

I know, I know, I've neglected this blog terribly lately...SO much going on around here! We got back from an awesome vacation at the beach cabin last week, had a million projects going on around here, etc, etc, etc. I tend to leave my laptop (which is newer and faster than Justin's, and has all my photos stored on it) upstairs to use when I put the boys to bed, so whenever I'm downstairs poking around on the computer, I don't have access to my photos and stuff....a testimony to how lazy I really am, I guess. I can't even drag my sorry butt upstairs and get my laptop. ANYWAY, a beautiful Memorial day weekend. We spent it relaxing for once. No frantic last minute parade float to put together, no potlucks to cook for, no running late for any place...nice. We just wandered around town, watched the parade, enjoyed the festivities, ate bbq chicken, sat in the river... I'd better be careful, I could get used to this! No, this week it's back to normal life again, kicking it off with a rather late and harried arrival at school this morning, with a still half-asleep kid in tow. OK, heading out in the rain into town for groceries, since there is nothing to eat in the house. I'll possibly upload some recent pictures later this evening if I have time. Just wanted to let everyone know that all is well, life is good, summer is here and I'm a happy camper.