marquettegirl

words that irritate

2011-09-26T11:20:00.000-07:00

Who made up the word "commentator"? These people comment on the news, therefore they are commentors. Who decided that word needed another syllable? Did they think commentator sounded more important, more official than commentor?

Meeting the man

2011-08-16T17:41:00.000-07:00

When I was twenty, I worked as a checkout girl at the Zayre's store in Addison, Illinois. There was a guy named Herb who used to come in and flirt with me frequently, but I wasn't really interested in him. Then one day Herb had another guy with him when he came in . . . a guy with dark, curly hair who was dressed in army fatigue pants and a sleeveless t-shirt. He had very muscular shoulders and a deep tan with a funny little white stripe across his forehead from wearing a headband to keep his hair and the sweat out of his eyes when he was roofing. They came through my checkout lane and Herb introduced me to Jimmy, who was buying a new pair of work boots. As they were walking away, I couldn't help but think about how cute those fatigues made Jimmy's butt look.

The following week, I went to a party at Herb's house. I saw that Jimmy was there and immediately worked my way nearer to him and started a conversation with him. The first thing he said to me was, "I'm sorry, but I'm really bad with names. What was your name again?" I told him and we talked for a while. He left the party early and I didn't see him go, but I thought that it was obvious that my attraction to him was kind of one-sided. I stayed and had a pretty good time at the party.

On the next Friday, Herb came into the store and said that he was having a party at his apartment again. He hoped I could make it. I had only been in Addison for about a month, so I didn't have any other friends. I told him I'd be there. When I walked in, I could hear Jimmy laughing - he had a great laugh. I got a drink and started working my way around the room to get closer to him. I said hello and he said, "oh, hi. I'm sorry, but I'm not good with names. What was your name again?" I told him and we had a conversation with a couple of other guys that he had been sitting with when I arrived.

There were a lot of drugs floating around Herb and Barb's place always, but it was 1971, and there were a lot of drugs floating around everywhere it seemed. After a while, I noticed that Jimmy wasn't where I'd left him, and although I looked for him, he had gone home. I left soon after I realized he was gone, with Herb and Barb saying "Come on over anytime. There's always a party going on here."

The next weekend, I talked myself into stopping over at their place to see if there was a party going on and there was. Herb and Barb were busy doing stuff in the kitchen, so when I saw Jimmy, I walked over to talk to him. He looked up and said, "Oh hi. What was your name again?" I started to laugh and said, "What difference does it make, man? You're not going to remember it." He laughed and apologized saying that if I told him one more time, he'd remember. He said that he usually left Herb's parties earlier than most people because he worked on Saturdays and started as early as possible so that he could get off the roof before the afternoon. He asked where I was from and what had brought me to Illinois. We talked for about an hour before he said that he had to leave so he could get some sleep.

The next time I went to Herb and Barb's, Jimmy wasn't there. One of his friend, Mike was there and he was playing a guitar when I saw him. I went to listen to him for a while and ended up singing while he played some songs that I knew and loved. He said, "You have a pretty good voice. We've been thinking about starting a band. Would you be interested in singing with us?" He went on to say that Jimmy was his roommate and the two of them lived in the apartment right above Herb and Barb's. He said, "Let's go talk to Jim about this," and we left the party and went up to their apartment.

When we went upstairs that night, Jimmy said hello to me and called me by my name. We started doing music together that night. We met another guy who could play keyboards and as soon as we had enough material together, we started gigging in local bars. I was friends with all of the guys at first, but by the end of the summer, Jimmy and I were more than friends. I moved in with him after about three months and we were married a year later.

We have been married almost thirty-nine years now and whenever people have asked me how we met, I've always told them how we kept seeing each other at parties and Jim could never remember my name. But a couple of years ago, we were out at dinner with two other couples and someone started talking about how they had met one another. They turned to us and said, "So how did the two of you meet?" I looked at Jim and he said, "The first time I saw Charline, she was working at a Zayre's store and she was wearing a little orange dress, and her legs went on and on and on."

post transplant realities

2011-08-15T11:26:00.000-07:00

I had a liver transplant 20 years ago because my liver was destroyed by Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis. At the time I had the transplant, I had young children who needed their mother, so I had a very strong incentive to survive. In the hospital, post-transplant, I can vividly remember thinking, "I can't die . . . I have prom dresses to buy."

I also remember the medical personel telling me that my life was going to change drastically. It would be more like "managed care" than living. That has not been my experience. The only constraints I have as a result of the transplant experience are that I have to remember to take my medications twice a day, and I have to go in to see the transplant docs once a year. A pretty small price to pay for having extended my life for the past twenty years, I'd say.

Recently I went in for my annual checkin with the transplant docs and I was asked to fill out a survey before I went in. When I looked at the survey, I was surprised to see that it was geared toward finding out how I felt about my life in general and how I felt about having had the surgery that saved my life. The questions were all multiple choice. An example might be "over the past 4 weeks I have felt I had no-one to turn to" with the answers ranging from "frequently" to "not at all." I filled out the questionaire and then went in to see the doctor.

He had good news to report - my bloodwork all looked good and the ultrasound they had done a month prior to this appointment showed that all the flows were good through my liver. We talked briefly, and he checked the incision scar to look for any signs of hernia. All was fine. So afterward, I said, "I kind of gathered from the survey you had me fill out that not everyone does as well as I have emotionally or psychologically after transplant." He sat back and seemed to choose his words carefully. He said, "A lot of people have a tranplant because they don't want to die. Than after the transplant, they find that the whole world is open to them . . . and they don't know what to do with themselves. It's hard for some people to find that they have a lot of time ahead of themselves and no idea what they want to do with it." I said, "My daughters were only 5 and 9 when I had this done." He smiled at me and said, "You had a lot to do. Was there ever a question in your mind about whether you wanted to go through with this?"

And there never was. When they told me I needed a transplant, I immediately asked to be put on the list. I never considered not doing this. I had too much left to do, and I wanted the time it would require.

I've been "out" (that's what they call it after transplant) for 20 years now. They don't have statistics to tell me what to expect anymore. They could tell me that my heaviest chance of rejection was during the first year. They could tell me that skin cancer is about a 50/50 propostion after 10-15 years. But they can't tell me what to expect anymore. I guess I'll help them tell the next person what to expect.

Broken

2010-11-16T16:34:00.000-08:00

The very first time I saw a sand dollar, it was in the living room of a girl I had just met in Marquette, Michigan. Growing up in Michigan, and having travelled very little at that point in my life, I had no idea how fragile it was. I picked it up to look at it closer, and of course, it broke in pieces in my hands.

I felt terrible. Here was this girl in Michigan who had a sand dollar on display in her home and I had come in and broken it immediately. I apologized to her profusely and she insisted that it was no big deal, but I walked away from that experience feeling like I had made the world a little less beautiful.

Now I've travelled more. I've been to beaches where the sand dollars were plentiful lying in a riverbed when the tide had gone out. And I realize that she probably meant what she said. It probably wasn't a big deal to her to lose that sand dollar because she had seen them many times before and knew that she would be able to replace it at some point if she wanted.

It's all in one's perspective.

What is erotica?

2010-11-11T22:53:00.000-08:00

What is erotica? It is what the observer sees as erotic.

This Friday, Avanti Art in Greenwood is going to have an opening of a new exhibit. The subject of this month's show is erotica. Artists who work in a variety of mediums are participating. There will be drawings and paintings, wire sculptures, and probably photography as well.

So in this case, erotica is what the creator/artist sees as erotic. It will be fun to see if I find these works erotic too.

The end of the line

2010-08-12T14:13:00.000-07:00

Recently I participated in a photography swap. The host of the swap listed 30 things and we were to take pictures of at least 15 of them to send to our partners. Some of the listed items were pretty straight forward, like "something red" or "something shiney". Others left room for the participants to read into the listed item.

One of the things on the list was "the end of the line". I recently purchased a new sewing machine which I have wanted for at least 8 years. It was the one I wanted to get when I bought my last machine, but I settled for what I got because of cost considerations. Well, here it is, 8 years later, and although the machine I had was perfectly functional, it still wasn't the machine I wanted. I spotted a really good deal on the one I wanted and talked it over with my husband and we went and picked it up.

I cannot see myself ever being at a place where I want a different sewing machine than this one. I am astonished at some of the things that it can do. So, I sent my partner a photograph of my new Bernina as my interpretation of "the end of the line". Undoubtedly, it is not a photo that she will find artistic. But it is what it is.

An Unlikely Christmas Story

2009-12-30T19:22:00.000-08:00

Do you remember the theme song from the movie MASH? It was a song called "Suicide is Painless". It's not.

On Thanksgiving Day our family and friends all gathered at my daughter's house for a wonderful feast. Her housemate, Stephani, had done the bird, and I can honestly say I have never had a turkey that was more perfectly done. She had done a salt brine on the inside of it and then a rub with wonderful herbs and spices. We were all up and happy that day, with lots of laughter.

Stephani has spent the past two Christmas Days with our family. Her family is all in Tennessee, so she opted to stay in Seattle and celebrate with us. I made her a Christmas Stocking at the same time as I made the ones for my son-in-law and his sweet daughter. My daughter and her husband and Stephani had talked about what games to bring with them this year for that after-dinner, after-presents lull.

On December 10, 2009, Stephani ended her life. She researched it thoroughly and found a way that would be fairly easy. She timed it so that she knew none of her housemates would be home until that night. And at about 11 am she left this life.

This event has blown apart everyone whose life Steph touched. All of us who loved her - and still do - are left feeling shocked, angry, betrayed, hurt, and deeply saddened. She very effectively hid what was going on inside her from all of us - even those with whom she lived.

She left all of her belongings to the young man who she knew would be the one who found her. She left letters for the other housemates, but no explanations as to why she chose to do this.

There was no way to have our usual Christmas just two weeks after this happened. So this year, I bought an artificial tree with fiber optic lights and place plain silver balls on it instead of our usual hodge-podge of ornaments. My husband and I decided that we wanted to have food that was totally unlike what we usually have for our feast too. We decided on Asian food. We had Butter Chicken and nan, and Mongolian beef and pea pods with water chestnuts for our main meal. We had crab rangoon, coconut shrimp and pot stickers for appetizers. We had that wonderful chicken and coconut soup with the lemon grass and cilantro as our second course. And for dessert we had a rice dish with nutmeg, cinnamon and coconut milk that was sweet and lovely.

Maybe next year we will be able to go back to some of our traditions . . . but I think none of us had the heart to do it this year.

Stephani - wherever you are, I hope that you are at peace. I love you and always will. And damn it, I'm going to miss your laugh.

No means No

2009-07-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

My daughter and I had an interesting conversation about something that had come up between her and her husband. Her husband was trying to take her picture in the car. She didn't want him to do this. He did it anyway.

Later, she told a third party about this. The woman said, "why did you not want your picture taken?" She said, "because when I look at pictures of myself, they don't look like I feel, so I don't like to see them. They make me feel bad about myself. So I don't like it when people take my picture."

The woman turned to my son-in-law and asked, "Why did you insist on taking her picture when she was telling you not to?" He said, "Well, I was teasing her . . . it's kind of like when the little boy pulls the little girl's pigtail. The girl says she doesn't like it, but it makes her know that he likes her."

The woman said, "Women do not like to have their hair pulled. And that piece of thinking that you just described is the reason that we are living in a culture where rape and abuse happen to women. When a woman says "No," it means "No."

I thought about this for a long time after my daughter told me about it. These are the things I feel about it.

1) I hate the fact that my daughter feels the way she does about having pictures taken. I completely understand it, because I feel much the same way. But I hate it anyway. She is a beautiful young woman and I wish she recognized that in the photographs she sees of herself.

2) Her husband is one of the sweetest young men I have had the pleasure to know. He was raised with a whole bunch of sisters, so you would think he has a better understanding of women than most men have. And yet he still believes that teasing is fun. Has teasing ever been fun? If you are the teaser, it's like being a bully and that can't be fun. And if you are the teased, you are the victim and that's not fun.

3) When and why did boys learn that when girls say "no" it means "yes?" And why don't men realize that if they learned that somewhere along the way, it was erroneous? When these men were little boys and their mother said "no," didn't they recognize that she meant "no?" If a man is working for a woman and she says "no," he knows that it means "no." So can men accept a serious "no" from a woman who has more power than them, but not from women who don't have that kind of power?

The escapades of Dutchy and Buster

2009-07-11T00:46:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

My mother came from a family of four kids - two boys and two girls. There father worked for the railroad, so they travelled around the northern Midwest while they were growing up. Places like Minneapolis, Superior, WI, and Marquette, MI were their homes. Mother was the third born, with one brother and her sister being older. Her younger brother was very close to her in age (about 11 months I think) and he was the one she was always closest to in her family.

When the two of them would get together as adults, I would hear stories about the time they found a rowboat tied up in the dead river, so they stole it and made it their transportation to go out to a small island in the middle of the river where they could drink beer while underage and fish to their hearts' content. Later when their newly acquired boat was stolen from them, they were irate and felt that it was completely unfair - never thinking about the fact they had done exactly the same thing to someone else.

Another thing they used to love to do was hop freight trains. They would just ride them for a few stops and then get off and catch another one going back in the direction of home. It was just an act of a couple of kids who were looking for fun and adventure and were clueless about their own mortality - as are we all in our youth.

They were growing up in the depression, so they made their fun in ways that didn't require money. Sometimes when they would jump off the freight trains, before they could catch one back home they would find themselves starving. My Uncle was a handsome kid (became a handsome man) so he would approach people's houses to ask if there was anything he could do to earn some food. If he got a chore, mom would help him complete it quickly and then he would share whatever food he received with her as they made their way back to the tracks and headed home.

When they were very young, one time they decided to ski off the top of the roof of the house. They found appropriately long pieces of wood and strapped them onto their feet. Well, they didn't think about where the trajectory of their flight would carry them, so they sailed off the roof only to land atop the outhouse, which was occupied at that moment by their strict German father. Needless to say, Grandpa was not amused, and their skiing days were over.

The Blame Game

2009-07-09T15:25:00.000-07:00

Image via Wikipedia

Trying to keep a journal has always been a challenge for me. I would start out with this beautiful blank book and go great guns for a while, writing about books I was reading, reflections on how things from those books applied to my life, what things were happening in my kids' lives, expressing feelings about people in my past or current day-to-day life. Then one day I wouldn't write in it - and suddenly a month had gone by with no entries. In this, like everything else, I seem to be really good at starting, but not so good at finishing things.

Today I will throw the blame for this deep character flaw of mine squarely on the shoulders of my parents. Perhaps if I had done something like learn to play an instrument, and they had made me stick with it even when I fussed and said, "I don't wanna," I would have learned how to discipline myself regarding seeing things through. My parents were always otherwise occupied. They didn't have the time or the inclination to press things in this manner. I started learning to play the violin in grade school, but neither of my parents showed the slightest inclination toward making me practice. And when I WOULD practice, my older sisters would all complain about the noise until I stopped. So much for playing the violin. I'd climb the tree in the back yard with a book stuck inside the waistband of my pants, and read until someone called me back in to eat dinner. That seems to be the one thing that I required no encouragement to do - read, (although I guess noone ever encouraged me to climb trees either, but I did that as often as I could).

Ah, those crazy French

2009-07-08T13:19:00.000-07:00

Image by Brooklyn Museum via Flickr

Cleaning my bedroom today, I stumbled onto photographs my daughter and I took when we were in Paris. There is one shot that truly gave me pause. It had the same effect on both of us when we took it in the first place. It's a photograph of the American Embassy in Paris - but the thing that is noteworthy is that the steps in front of it are completely covered in socks. Both my daughter and I were completely perplexed by this scene. We assumed it was meant as some sort of protest - but had no idea what was being protested against or why.

While I was thinking about Paris, I also reflected on recent news I had heard. Apparently after Michail Jackson died, there were a large number of his fans outside Notre Dame Cathedral. What I heard on the news was that a crowd had gathered and they were "moonwalking" around the cathedral. It seemed like such a strange juxtaposition to me - the celebrity of Michael Jackson and the somber nobility of Notre Dame - strange bedfellows, as the saying goes.

walking and quilting - not simultaneously

2009-07-06T09:33:00.000-07:00

Image by fiveforefun via Flickr

Went walking with some women this morning first thing in an attempt to get my required exercise in before I was fully conscious. Mall walking is good if it's raining or too cold & windy to enjoy being out of doors in the elements. I saw all sorts of people in the mall this morning. There were elderly couples - who might feel more sure footed on an even walking surface. There were a couple of people who seemed to be training for fast walking races. There were some who were out there for a leisurely stroll.

It's actually pretty pleasant to be in the mall before any of the stores are open. There aren't crowds milling about that you have to either wait for or get around. I tend to avoid shopping malls as much as possible usually because I don't enjoy being in groups that large.

On the other hand, if I am attending Sew Expo or the Houston Quilt Show, I don't seem to even be aware of the crowds for the most part. My attention is focussed on the fabrics, the quilts, the beauty of the things surrounding me and not on the people in those instances. I have only attended the Houston show once but would love the opportunity to do it again. There were incredible quilts of all sizes and descriptions, made by women (and some men) all over the world. Some of the pieces I found particular interesting were the small quilts that were called Journal Quilts.

The idea is that you make one quilt each week (or in some cases each day) that somehow shows what is going on in your life at the time it's made. Some people begin that kind of series when they are confronted with a difficult passage in their lives - an illness in the family or a death of a dear friend, something of that magnitude. They find a way to work through the feelings they are experiencing while creating something that will be meaningful for them always.

2009-07-05T12:44:00.000-07:00

Image by Mr Magoo ICU via Flickr

Fourth of July was kind of a fizzle of July for me this year. It was way too hot for my taste. We went to an open house at a friend's new home and then came back home and listened to all the popping and cracking that always accompanies this particular holiday. I did a few water color washes to use as backgrounds for some ATCs and called it a night.

I'm currently reading David Guterson's The Other. It is set in the beautiful northwest (like his Snow Falling on Cedars) and the landscape is lush and green - the aspects which make me love living out here in the Seattle area. I am hoping to get over to the Olympic Peninsula this summer. I have never gone all the way to the coast on the peninsula, so I would love to see the Hoh River.

The Victory Gardens were a little too early for my awareness.

2009-06-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

However, our next door neighbors always had a huge garden where they grew lots of vegies, but also strawberries and raspberries - which were delicious right off the bush while they were warm from the sun.

They had a number of sons in the family though, and their sons were always out digging the weeks from the garden. I don't have sons, or daughters who are willing to help with that kind of work. My husband doesn't do it either. There was only one year when I had a good vegie garden - in Illinois when I was pregnant for our first child. I grew brocolli, carrots, beets and zuchini. We also had two wonderful peach trees in our yard which I would dry for my daughter to chew on home-made fruit leather.

This year, my flower gardens have gone completely untended, due to my arms being injured. They are overrun with weeds I'm afraid.

I'm sending my daughter and her new husband to Italy for their delayed honeymoon. The plan is that they will go in either October or in January. They will see Rome, Florence and Venice. David has never been there, so Emily will enjoy showing him the places she knows and they will find more together I'm sure.

creativity snafoo

2009-06-14T19:50:00.000-07:00

Six pages of this little zine seemed to come together fairly rapidly and smoothly. Now the last two blank spaces are staring me down. I seem to be in some kind of creativity black hole. Q'est que c'est?

swap-bot and trades

2009-06-11T20:46:00.001-07:00

Today I finished up a swap called "getting to know you". It basically involved writing a two page letter telling my partner about myself. It felt kind of self-indulgent to me when I was writing it, but I know that when I received the one from my other partner, I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Hopefull this woman will find mine as interesting.

I have just finished a little thing called a "button fairy" for another trade. Today I went out and bought a box so that I can send it without it gettting damaged en route. It was fun to try my hand at something new and she turned out really cute - I would be happy to receive her. That's sort of the way I guage the things I make for these trades. If I would be happy to receive what I make, then I can send it on confident that the person receiving it will be happy with it too. That is one of the things I have enjoyed about the trades in Swap-bot. They have enboldened me to try making some things I had never done before.

I'm currently working on a zine for another trade in that group, and I'm enjoying the process involved in creating that. I have received zines from a few people before and I always think they are pretty cool little snippets of where the person is at when they compose them. I'm finding that it isn't easy to do them though. Since it's in writing and it'll be out there in the world, I want it to be good. It is supposed to be eight pages long, but the host of the swap wants them bigger than you would get from a single page of 8 1/2 X 11 inch paper, so I've made it out of two pieces and will staple the end result together.

physical therapy

2009-06-11T20:38:00.000-07:00

I've been in physical therapy for tendonitis in my lower arms since April. Today was my last scheduled session and I am glad to be done with it. The PT clinic I've been going to is very good, with friendly, professional staff on board, but I'm just tired of the routine of having to go into the clinic twice every week to deal with this.

The tendonitis is much improved, and I've been much more careful at work to try to not complicate the problem. I will continue that plan of action, along with the strengthening exercises the PT people gave me to do . . . and hope I don't have any repeat of the pain I was dealing with in April.

Welcome to my blogsite. Come in and get comfy.

2009-06-04T00:39:00.000-07:00

I'm not quite sure what purpose I want this blog to serve for me at this point. I'll set out on my journey and share the things I see and find. Feel free to make a comment anytime.

Right now I have a lot of things going on in my life that aren't usual. My husband is in a profound depression and is temporarily off work because he cannot function in his job in the state of mind he is in.

I recently injured my arms - tendonitis - badly enough that I had to take a month away from my job just to rest them and work with a physical therapist toward getting them better. They are much improved, but I am being very careful at work not to reinjure them. Because of my arms being injured, I have done no yard work this year. My daffodils and irises have been beautiful - but you couldn't see them for the dandelions I'm afraid. I have also stayed away from sewing or making anything since I didn't want to make matters any worse than they were.

I'm looking forward to getting started on some new projects soon, and to finishing up the few ufo's that stare at me each time I walk into my sewing room.