Giving Thanks

Once, I remember during a workshop, we were asked to make a list of what we were thankful for. That same year, I hosted my very first Thanksgiving on my own in my first home. I wanted to carry on that idea, so I set votive candle cups at each place setting, and had each guest light the candle and tell the rest of us three things they were most thankful for. It seemed sort of gauche when I set it up, but it ended up being extremely profound. People become shamelessly honest and sentimental when there's turkey and dressing in front of them, I guess. ::tee hee::

So I made a list this year. It's silly, not very profound, I confess, but it is true. These are not in any particular order; it's taken directly from my addled brain, where thinking of one thing will present other things that I am grateful for. Frankly, I could have probably filled the back of the list page too in tiny print. :)

I'm also grateful for press. We (the ORS) got a very nice article in the Portland Tribune last Thursday for the Winter Ball. Awesome.

I'm also grateful for a four day weekend. SWEEEEET!!!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. May your tryptophan-induced stupors be blissful.

Happy Friday!

Oh, joy, it's Friday. It's been a tough past week. I've been struggling with a cold and sinus infection since last week, and I had to function on a normal level with work, and also to be focused and somewhat coherent for the Oregon Regency Society annual Winter Ball. I expected to rest up a bit on Sunday, but unfortunately, my shop-a-holic sister had other ideas, starting by waking me up early for eggs benedict at the ZigZag Inn.

But somehow, I got through the week. Thanks to Dr. Grise and his kind Rx for a nice six-day antibiotic treatment that has made my painful throat and sinus calm down significantly. I made it! Yay! It's been a looooong week. I've been looking to Friday since Sunday night. ::teehee:: It's time to recoup.

I plan to sleep like I've taken up hibernation as a hobby. I plan to make lots of tea, to sew a bit, but if not, that's okay. I plan to find a good movie on DVD and watch it, or maybe just turn it to Sci-Fi Channel's "Really Bad B-Movie Saturday" all day, and watch bad actors feign terror at badly made distasters and randomly contrived monsters. I plan to speak to my husband and to tell him I miss him at least five times. I plan to give myself a foot-spa treatment, and to do a mask on my face. Yes. I will enjoy the peace and quiet before the sister returns to drive me insane. I will snuggle my dogs prolifically. I plan to wear pajamas all day, every day, and only put shoes on to walk to dogs. I will put my hair in two braids and not bother with it. I plan to make lots of comfort food. I plan to play some games online, and maybe even write a bit. And if all I do is sleep, eat and putter around, big deal. It's my weekend. I've earned it, darnit.

:)

Happy Friday all.

Bad Blood.

I've gone and done it again. I've spoken my mind. I've let someone have it as my husband says; "with both barrels". And the result is bad feelings. I can't help but feel ambivalent to some degree. I upset people who are constantly disappointing my husband, breaking his heart; I enraged people who have been disingenuous and selfish, I laid it all out for souls who pay no attention to us at all, unless they need something, who pretend to care about someone because they seek only financial benefit from them.


So I just can't bring myself to feel bad for speaking my mind. I am only sad that I put my husband in an uncomfortable position.


I am like that though. As a mean, I'm an affable, kind, loving person. I seem like a sweet powder-puff on the most part; but I learned the hard way that it's important to be honest with you sentiments, and it's important to never allow anyone to take away your power by keeping your mouth shut. It's just not worth it. No relationship on this earth is worth swallowing anger, or keeping festering resentment like that. And you push this powder-puff enough, and you hurt or threaten the people this powder-puff loves enough, and I just stop caring about sparing feelings and saving relationships that are not beneficial... and then it all comes out. The Beast is set loose, and my words usually at this point have been stewing and fermenting for a while... aquiring a little sting and some acidity. They spew out in a cascade of the past five year's worth of resentments, and voila. It's out on the table. This is how I really feel. While I've been smiling at you, I've been biting my tongue. And when the Beast comes out, it's usually not a salvagable situation. Usually when the Beast speaks, relationships end.


I was unbelievably harsh, yes. But there wasn't a single thing I said that wasn't 100% honest or truthful in what I expressed. Whether or not it fell on deaf ears at this point, is irrelevant. I don't expect anyone is mature enough to stop, look at what I expressed, and come to some ephipany that will lead to great change or improvement in relationships, or honesty in communication. People aren't like that. When faced with hard truths, people usually choose to return with a counterattack, and to justify themselves, and to shut it down so no effort is further required on their part. It's easier that way.


Well. It's all out. People are up in arms and angry. They don't want to speak to me anymore. I do not feel too terrible about that for some reason. In fact, I feel like I've just removed about 550 lbs of dead-weight off my mind. I'm glad they know where I stand. If their silence is the price, oh well.


In the end there's only one person who matters to me. That's my husband. The people who seek to interfere are peripheral and unimportant. He doesn't usually voice his anger and his frustrations. I have less to lose, so I have no qualms doing so. Maybe, at least for him, it will have a positive effect someday.


So Evil Stephanie strikes again. ::sigh:: C'est la vie.



I think a fat cat is in order. Fat cats are always good to lighten a situation.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

The weather outside's delightful.

A fire would be so frightful.

Our cheeks have a happy glow,

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Yes. I love winter. Adore it. Can't wait for it.

I miss my husband too. :(

New project in the works. I will share when I'm good'n'ready. ::teehee:: It's a thing for my etsy shop.

Mr. Hurried.

Every morning I see lots of things on my long commute. I recognize a variety of cars that share my route. I see lots of people who wait reliably every day by bus stops, and people who walk most regularly to and fro. There are a few that intrigue me.

I've already discussed my affinity for Crazy Asian Guy. I've been missing him a lot this year. He drives down the hill most of the time, I catch him as he is turning around, the yellow bus already through the light. I miss him.

However there is another intriguing character that I see every morning; once again, a denizen of 92nd Avenue.

He's a silver-haired gentleman; not old by any means, but his hair is silver. He is very... prim. By that I mean he has a very conservative, almost British look to him; I swear, a bowler hat would not look out of place on his head. He carries an umbrella, which he uses as a cane when it's not raining, and in cooler months he wears a black or camel trench-coat (depending on the day) that looks very large on his lean frame.

He is always dressed quite immaculately. A nicely fitted suit, shirt, tie, shiny black shoes... and he walks along 92nd towards Sunnyside with a purposeful air, eyes locked firmly on the ground before his feet, his pace quick and most determined.

He has a nice face. A quiet face. The sort of face you'll see atop his slight body, huddled in one of the couches at your local bookstore, little oval glasses pointed at a book you're probably likely not likely to pick up; with a title like "The Evolution of The Trebuchet and Other Ancient War Machines". He seems shy. He seems meticulous. He seems interesting.

I wonder every day what he does. Is he an attorney? An accountant? A Kaizer Permanente Administrative person? Where does he end up at the end of his hurried walk? Where does he emerge from? Is it a tidy space with everything in its place? Does he have a little egg-cup, plate and a coffee cup drying on his dish rack every morning, the crumbs from his toast carefully swept up into his napkin? Are his pencils all the same height? Are the ends chewed? I think not. Is he lonely? Is he married? Does he have someone to kiss his cheek and smile at him? I don't know. But I want to. I sort of feel... connected to him. Like I should wave to him with a smile of recognition if he should happen to look up-just because I feel like I want to know who he is. But that doesn't happen, he always looks down, and scurries along, his umbrella gripped firmly in one hand, and his thin briefcase swinging in the other, his coat whoosing against his pumping legs.

What's his story, I wonder?

Lord Leon De La Forêt

Lord and Master of the estates of La Forêt, Lord Leon is an imposing presence; the pinnacle of a family line that has graced nobility for generations, and the proud cut of his profile is evidence of his refined breeding.

Another Meme and some other stuff...

Stolen from "Posie Gets Cozy", one of my favourite blogs; a one-word answer Meme.

• Where is your mobile phone? Here.


• Where is your significant other? Errands.


• Your hair colour? Natural.


• Your mother? Satan.


• Your father? Fragile.


• Your favourite thing? Creativity.


• Your dream last night? ::shrug::


• Your dream goal? Entrepreneur.


• The room you're in? Office.


• Your hobby? Sewing.


• Your fear? Desolation.


• Where do you want to be in 6 years? Comfortable.


• Where were you last night? Home.


• What you're not? Polyanna.


• One of your wish-list items? Funding.


• Where you grew up? Brabant.


• The last thing you did? Sneeze.


• What are you wearing? Clothes.


• Your TV? Escape.


• Your pets? Manipulators.


• Your computer? Drug.


• Your mood? Ambivalent.


• Missing someone? Wednesday.


• Your car? Stompy.


• Something you're not wearing? Makeup.


• Favourite shop? Ikea


• Your summer? Sweltering.


• Love someone? Irrevocably.


• Your favourite colour? Lavender.


• When is the last time you laughed? Always.


• When is the last time you cried? Yesterday.

Give it a whirl!

~~~~~~~~~
It's been about four days that Husband is home, he leaves Wednesday. My heart is growing heavier with each passing moment. It's been a strange weekend. I took Friday off to spend with him, and the whole weekend just zoomed by. Now I'm at work during the day and he's at home doing his thing. It's hard not to allow my sadness pervade the time we're together. I find myself clinging to him and tears starting to form in my eyes. This is very hard. I don't know how military wives to it; if I get this emotional just for a six-week span, where he's not in immediate danger, where he's still inside our borders... I can't imagine how the army wives can do it. Okay, so most of them have children to focus on, but it is still beyond me. I feel like such a whiner. This is very difficult. I let the dread of the goodbye build up, I blubber like a fool as I send him off, and then I feel numb for days.

I comfort myself in knowing he's working for a good company, and doing something good for the world. He's helping Vestas to build wind turbines.

Anyway...

I'm thinking about selling some of my image originals. I figure since most of them are scanned and available for prints if need be, I might just unload the originals of the 'office specials' I create periodically. I'm curious to see if they sell at all. Maybe I'll frame them up really cute. We'll see.

The ORS Regency Ball is one short week away ::panic:: I haven't even made my ballgown yet. I have the headpiece and the shoes done, but that's it. I may have to go in my Regency skivvies. ::tee hee:: Oh boy. We'll see what happens. :)

An update, and maybe something whimsical soon. I also owe you another installment of The Tredwell Secret. I haven't forgotten.

Tenant problems.

It’s a drowsy Tuesday. It’s damp; my world is covered in a blanket of soggy yellow leaves and the floor of my Jeep has a puddle on it. It is the kind of day I want to stay in bed snuggled with my two dogs and my sister’s dog and cat. Husband is coming home for six days on Thursday. My tummy is all butterflies.

Our roof, it seems, has become home to a few creatures that keep my dogs up all night with their skittering and scratching in the bay window above our heads. A few weeks ago, I discovered the space where they’re possibly getting in—a large gap in the siding under the soffit of our bedroom bay window. Before, I noticed a smaller crack up in the very high eave on the other side of the house, where Batty McBat and the Clan McBat have apparently set up home. I’m okay with bats, more bats, fewer insects… And it’s neat in the summertime, when it’s dusk and you start to see them come out, and you can hear them squeaking just barely within my hearing range. Very cool. They are usually quiet residents, that are largely beneficial (I won’t think about the guano up in the roof space…) however Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel McDouglas, and I’m thinking perhaps many little McDouglases, having fattened up on our plentitude of peanuts and seed and corn through the spring and summer, have gladly taken up residence in the thick bed of cozy insulation; and they are not exactly ideal tenants--especially when every ten minutes, my dogs jerk their heads up and growl at the ceiling all through the night. The only reason I’m getting any sleep at all is because I sleep with earplugs.

I’m concerned about how to evict them. I suppose I’ll have to discuss it with husband when he returns on Thursday (yay yay yay yay!!!). I don’t want to kill or hurt the little guys, but I don’t want them in there, or causing by their presence, other creatures (such as skunks or raccoons) to feel compelled to make it a multiple species unit. Oh no.

I sincerely want to go a full night without hearing the telltale tap-dance of my furry tenants over my head, and then suffering through the unavoidable successions of bristling of canine hackles, growling, staring at empty ceilings, keyed-up alertness and lots of jumping on and off of the bed to investigate possible other noises. Simon and Flower have told me in none-so-many words (mostly in half-growls and barks) that they would be glad to rid me of the squatters, all I need to do is lift them up into the attic-space and let them solve the problem for me. I told them that involving them in the eviction would cause too much of a disturbance for the other upside-down suspended tenants and that it’s not my ideal solution. They do not agree—and they remain most keen on every little noise the McDouglases make.

Hopefully my husband will have ideas for less violent solutions. I hope so, anyway. I foresee a winter of much coming and going for midnight snacks. Oddly, Douglas squirrels are not nocturnal. So then do I have to worry that this is not the McDouglas family up there, but instead the LePew family? Oh the horror.

Be sure to vote today.