AliThinks

Goin' Up The Country

This is not the road the house is on, but it's close enough. Walk down a ways, turn right onto another dirt road (right where those white specks are in the photo; those are kids, running to the house), walk over the corrugated steel "tube" the creek runs through, go up the hill a bit, and turn onto the lane. Walk another few hundred yards until you come to a clearing. There's the house. This is the place we'd go for a month every summer when I was a kid. It's one of my favorite places in this world.

Tomorrow morning Allan and I are heading to Pennsylvania for a "work weekend" there.  My dad recently had some major improvements made on the place, and now it needs some finishing touches. Okay, so it needs a lot of things done, not just finishing touches. Who am I kidding?

So the four of us and our significant others are gathering to work. My brother Nate knows what all needs to be done. I'm just going with able arms and hands. I suppose, however, it is a family reunion of sorts. I expect to have an excellent -- if tiring -- weekend. May yours be excellent as well.

1000

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. And now this blog is worth a thousand posts.

Posted for Self-Portrait Tuesday.

Snark-O-Rama*

*Alternative titles: Snark On A Plane, Snarkalicious, Nearer My Snark To Thee, and Snarkicity.

Poor Allan. He has to put up with me. The real me. She Of The Snarky Comments.

Now, none of this is directed at Allan. I don't make snide remarks to him about him. I talk about other people. Behind their backs.

I can hear you all gasping "You BITCH!" right about now.

Don't worry. I'm probably not talking about you.

Do something stupid, though, and you are fair game for my biting tongue. Yes. My tongue has teeth.

Thoughts About VH1 Classic

It's fun to watch these old videos. In a sense, it's a kind of time warp, since I pretty much stopped paying attention to music videos in about, oh, 1990.

The weirdest thing, though, is that these musicians were younger then than I am now.

Right now Echo and the Bunnymen's "Killing Moon" video is on, and Hello, babyfaced Ian McCulloch! What was he, 17?

Oooh. Wait. It's 9:00. Time for the finale of The Next Food Network Star! Back later.

Edit: Okay, so I wanted Reggie Southerland to win the contest, but Guy Fieri will make a great TV chef. Hey, maybe I'll enter next year's contest.

A Not Completely Off-Topic Post

In an internet forum that had nothing to do with yesterday's post, I wrote:

I am just hesitant to invest money in makeup that I won't wear on a regular basis -- I have gotten pink eye from "old" mascara. I definitely have a girly edge to me, but I rarely express it*. Because I am a cheapskate and don't want to pay for makeup I am not going to wear!

*Give me a tiara, though, and anything goes.

And my friend NewWaveGurly* responded by posting this:
 

Tell Me This

I tried to put my thoughts into words for Allan, but it didn't come out right. He thought I was nuts. And maybe I am.

Here is what happened: we were having dinner in a busy restaurant, and while I ate my grilled salmon, I watched people coming in. The place was packed. There were lots of women my age or younger, and most of them had a casual-chic look. Their hair was styled, they had makeup on. They looked nice.

I was wearing black yoga pants (the ones without the hole), a moss-green sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. My hair was twisted into a chignon. I had no makeup on my face. (Yo, Alison. You NEVER wear makeup. - Ed.) It must be said that this dinner at Atomic Café was a whim kind of thing while we were already out. Otherwise I might have worn my pink suede shoes and a different top. Heh.

But I noticed a couple of things happening in my brain. First, I was looking at these women and imagining some of them to be snotty bitches. WHERE did that come from? That instant judgment -- it must be left over from high school or something. Really. And it's ridiculous, you know, because I have met enough people from enough walks of life to understand that you can't judge a book by its cover.

Second, and this is what I mentioned to Allan, I felt a bit intimidated when I looked at some of the women. Was it their put-togetherness: the blow-dried hair and snappy purses? I don't know. As I was thinking this, I realized how dumb it was to feel belittled by the mere appearance of a person. I mean, really. I'm a good-looking woman. There is absolutely NO reason for me to feel insecure, yet I do. A lot.

A few years ago I might have spent a lot of time embracing the negative energy in this (gosh, I sound all New Age-y now!).  Tonight I am just curious as to why I have these thoughts: judgment (read: competition) and insecurity.

I suppose that's a step forward.

Home Improvement

I wish ALL the staples had been like this. Allan and I removed hundreds of them from varying stages of, uh, insertedness.

These stages ranged from Not Stuck In Real Far (pictured above), to Pull Hard, to Use A Screwdriver To Jimmy It Out And Try Not To Scratch The Floor, to Grit Your Teeth, Grunt, Then Curse, and finally, to Pound It In So That No One Will Get Hurt On It (luckily, this type was mostly in corners, where one doesn't usually venture with bare feet).

If you would like to see more photos of our kickass carpet removal, visit my Flickr set dedicated to this afternoon's activity. We're both pleased as punch about the whole thing.

Here. Have A Cookie.

We Now Return You To Your Regularly Scheduled Blogger

Didja miss me? Huh? Didja?

Even if you didn't miss me, here I am. Of course, I was never really gone. I didn't go on a Caribbean cruise or an Outward Bound expedition. Nope. I stayed right here. My laptop was never very far; in fact, with it I handled the e-mails and entries from my guest bloggers. Weren't they great? I have to thank them all for coming through for me at a time when I was feeling drained and dry.

I wish I could tell you that during my hiatus I discovered what I want to be when I grow up (or some other such profundity). I also wish I could say with certainty that my "idea well" has filled again. Can I once again look at the world with my AliEye and find the quirks, the details, the amusing bits? I'm not sure.

It must be said, however, that when you go to the DMV* and Elvis waits on you and calls you "darlin'" -- well, you realize that the subject matter is out there, and it's yours for the taking. 

* Yes! I got my Kentucky driver's license!

Guest Post: Liberty Line

I'm known for my mix CDs. Note, I didn't say I was known for the quality of my mix CDs. Almost any occasion is a reason to put one together. Even a guest blog post. And since Ali and I met through music, it seems appropriate.

So here it is, a mini-mix. Each of these songs is available FREE from the artists' websites.

1. Liberty Line by Griffin House

2. Girl On A Wire by Swan Dive

3. Painted My Dream House Blue by Jeb Loy Nichols

4. All In Your Mind by Astropuppees

5. No Blue Sky (live) by Shawn Mullins

6. Golden by A Girl Called Eddy

edieraye

Guest Post: Things Aren't Always What They Seem

It is a thrill and an honor to be able to anonymously guest post for the infamous AliThinks! When asked if I would like to guest post, my immediate thought was "Yes!" The next thought was, "what in the world can I post about, that will even come close to doing justice to her blog?" Well, after much thought and deliberation, I have decided that perhaps I should just post about something that I would not normally address on my own venue--- something that is near and not-so-dear to my heart, and something that I struggle with that may be of some benefit to others.

Allow me to preface this by saying that I don't "know" Alison; I have never met her in person, never spoken with her on the phone.   I do feel like we have some attributes in common, and I admire and respect her as a woman, mother, and friend.

Who am I?
I am Jane Doe.
I am everywoman.
I am a middle class, Middle America, white-anglo-saxon-protestant working married mother.
I am the woman in front of you in the grocery line, rooting through her purse for her debit card. I am the person on the other end of the phone handling your questions.
I have advanced degrees, have been a stay at home mom, and have finally found some semblance of balance between my working life and my home life, although it is a daily struggle.
I am reasonably attractive, moderately intelligent, can glibly carry a conversation, and am quick on my feet.

But.
There is always a but, isn't there?

Guest Post: What To Send That Homesick American For Her Birthday

or Why All Americans Eventually Go Home by Christine

I don't watch much t.v., not because I'm on some sort of anti-t.v. bandwagon or anything,  I think it's just because of where I live.  You see t.v., ummm regular t.v. in France that is, really seems like something produced in somebody's basement.  It positively reeks--trite,  propped-up, pathetically sarcastic hosts doing talk shows, interviewing the same people over and over week after week.   Ugh! It's beyond horrible and makes a person either a) lose consciousness for long periods -or- b) rub their eyes really hard until they  can't see straight and yawn over and over searching frantically for air -or- c) all of the above plus dry retch vomiting.   I prefer to simply stay uninformed if it means wading through that load of crap.    Oh sure I may watch something once in a while, like something on Arté which sometimes airs top notch programs of The Discovery Channel variety or Bon Appetit Bien Sûr, a really good daily cooking show featuring regional French chefs,  but on the whole it's a big waste of my t.v. tax* euros to be paying for what amounts to a glorified video/dvd monitor.  That's all I really use my t.v. for these days anyway.

Guest Post: I'm a Klutz

Dag nab it, I hate innovation.  I finally got an iPod nano and that little wheel on the front-- the one that is supposed to be so cool-- is a trial for me.

I can type very well and push buttons with the best of them, but the click wheel on the front of the iPod nano is nothing but trouble for me.  All I’ve been able to figure out definitely is that:  1)  if I hold on too tightly to the wheel it won’t go round, but if I don’t hold on tightly enough to the iPod nano it’ll pop right out of my hands; and 2) the little wheel will move to somewhere I don’t want it to be when I put the iPod nano in my jeans pocket.

I bought a book about iPods thinking that it would help me understand how this little techno thingie works, but the book is so poorly written that if I was Cleopatra I’d have the author chained for life to an oar on my barge.   Every time I look at the book I get
so irritated that I grip the iPod nano even more firmly, and quick as a snap I’ve popped the little thingie right out of my hand.

I figured I was alone with my difficulties until I happened to mention my problems to a friend who is a massage therapist.  She laughed and said that she had an iPod that she hadn’t used since last fall because, like me, she found it difficult to use.  She’d thrown
hers into a drawer and forgotten about it.

While I haven’t gotten quite to that point, my iPod nano is currently spending some quiet time by itself in a room far away from me.   Until it decides to behave itself and meet me over half way, we’re not talking.   Little thingies with bad attitudes need time outs.

By Ally Bean 

Guest Post: nwgThinks

*newwavegurly walks around AliThinks and gives the tires a kick*

Hmmm, not bad, not bad at all. I think I could take a ride in this baby.

For better or worse, I agreed to be one of Ali's guest bloggers. I am not here to pimp my own blog, I'm here helping out a friend. Really I am.

Some of you are wondering who I am, some of you have seen me hangin' around here at Ali's blog before, some of you know me the same way Ali knows me, and some of you probably don't give a damn who I am, just as long as I get on with the blog entry. I have some choice words for all of you (some choicer than others), but as this is Ali's blog, and I promised her a guest post, I shall proceed.

Sh*t, after all that, I'm not quite sure what to say. That says a lot, because I am rarely at a loss for words.

Okay, let's give it a try.

Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation: conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Crap! That's already been done before, hasn't it?

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

Damnit, that one's been done before too.

The only thing we have to fear... is fear itself.

Yeah, I know. That's not original either. Hell, it was even sampled at the end of that Living Colour song "Cult Of Personality". 

That's it. I give up. Looks like all the truly unique and inspirational words have already been used. So let it be written, so let it be done.

Guest Post: Change

I bet Alison thought I would never get this post through to her.   When she asked me last week to guest post here I said yes but I honestly wondered why I was even invited... My own site bores even me to tears!  I have turned into one serious lazy-ass blogger lately.  It's been over a week since I've posted on my own site and really, I have thousands (well maybe dozens) of things I could blog about but it all seems so tedious and trite when I start to post it.  I'm even too lazy to organise one of these little hiatus thingies of my own!

Anyway... I have been thinking a lot about 'change' lately because it seems to be the one 'constant' in my life.  It seems to be the only thing I can count on to, with out a doubt, be waiting for me just around the corner.  It has been all my life, and yet I am still knocked off my guard when I round that bend and 'change' is there to smack me square in the jaw.

What amazes me more than being caught unaware by 'change' is the fact that I actually seem to embrace it!!  I find my happy face and my happy heart and just start marching.  If I were someone on the outside looking in, I would even venture to say that I thrived on it...  But I'm not so sure.  Being the one on the inside looking out, it feels more like I am just putting a brave face on.  Somewhere, in my depths, I am sure I am a Stay-er, not a Go-er.  But 'change' never lets me be who I want to be.  I long to plant a wisteria beside a sunny wall in the dream-courtyard of my life and watch it grow, year in and year out: creeping and climbing on the stones and supports, flowering, shedding its leaves and repeating its cycle until the trunk and branches become thick, gnarled, twisted wood.  But no... *sigh*,  'change' says it is time to go again. Now, where did I put my happy face?!

I guess I better get back to packing...

Amber

Guest Post: Let's Talk About Cars

Daisy of Chasing Daisy wants you to talk amongst yourselves today:

I don't think this is a genuine advert (more likely an imaginative car salesman wanting to get some attention) but it got me thinking - if Ali were a car, what model would she be? A sleek red sporty number? A tough, practical off-roader?

What do you think? And what make and model would you like to be?

Guest Post: A Small Slice of Life

Let me just start by qualifying this post with a few important details: First of all, I have never posted anything on the internet and so this is a HUGE deal for me, considered by some to be The World’s Most Private Person.  Secondly, I do not even remotely consider myself a writer, although it’s a label I wish I deserved.  I am a big reader and thus very fond of many writers, which makes me wish I qualified as one of them.  Ali is one of my favorites, as she well knows, and the thought of replacing her, if only for one day, is a bit overwhelming.

However, I promised myself a few months back that I, The World’s Most Private Person, would get out of my shell a bit and put myself out there in the world, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity….So here I am!!  Talking to all of you fine folks out here on the internet.  Whhoooooeeee!!!! Let’s just say this is a life changin’ experience for me.

At first, I found this all too strange, and I couldn’t think of anything to say.  After brainstorming awhile, it occurred to me that since this IS Ali’s blog, I should talk about something she can relate to, something that neither of us has ever discussed with each other, and something that I would like to share with her, as well as all of you, here on AliThinks.
With this settled, my mind began to wander back to my memories of Ali, which takes me to a very different time, now long past, in both our lives…

Seven years ago, I traveled to Small Town France (though not so small a town as the one Ali recently ended up in) as an exchange student.  Ali was the English teacher at my school, and one of the only Americans I knew, and this was all it took to start a friendship.  As I recall, we spent a couple of hazy nights drinking wine and eating some of her DELICIOUS cooking (To this day, I remember how she would just chop everything up and fling it into a skillet, like one of those Iron Chefs on cable TV)…we talked a lot, we drank even more, and it was loads of fun.  In fact, it’s been awhile since I’ve had that good a time (cue pathetic music).

All this happened a long time ago.  I returned home 5 years ago, finished school, forgot most of my French, and headed off to other faraway places in search of my life.  Many things changed for Ali as well. 

This past year brought us both back home—and by “home” I mean the US, the country where we were born.  The stress and exhilaration of returning to the “familiar” after so long that it is no longer familiar to us is a challenge we both face every day.  And for some lucky reason, after 5 years and all the other people and places and things, we found each other again, and thanks to the internet, we are able to share these experiences.

In writing this entry today, I wanted to share with you the experience Ali and I shared with each other, a long while back in another life, in another time, and in another place we call Small Town France.

Written by Aly

Guest Post: Love Is A Windy Dancer

I always have hated doing dishes.  However, in an old farmhouse where I lived at one time, it was bearable.  I had four small windows just above the sink looking out over a field.  I would stand looking out these windows daydreaming about life and my future while doing the dishes. 

I have always had a very vivid imagination.  At this time in my life, I was learning about love.  I had recently found that love is not perfect.  We have moments where our hearts burst with love for another and moments where we are simply content to be with that person.  There are bitter sweet moments and moments when we feel totally lost and out of control as well as moments that our hearts are broken and our souls scattered.

I was around seventeen years old when I thought up a story about two lovers while watching the tall grass being blown by the wind.  Here is a version of the story from memory:

I find myself standing barefoot in a long flowing nightgown looking out a large, open window framing a field lit by a full moon.  I can see the long, thin grass just on the edge of the field being courted by the wind. 

The grass, a graceful dancer, bows low as the wind greets her.  The wind takes her long thin arms throwing them up into the sky swirling her around and around to a secret music that only they can create together.  The wind presses his force upon the grass.  The grass begins to gently sway to and fro in his strong embrace.  Her long skirts swish as they dance out into the field under the moonlight as one. 

As the wind picks up speed he finds more beautiful dancers waiting for his touch.  He deserts his new found lover for the sweet embrace of a new partner.  He picks his new companion up only to quickly fling her aside for another and another creating huge ripples in the field. 

After some time he becomes exhausted and saddened.  He misses his lover.  He races to her side, gently caressing her slender, fragile figure.  She bows low for a long time, thinking if she should return to his arms or not.  He teases her with bursting steps of energy promising to never leave her side again.  The grass spins slowly around knowing that her heart will not flutter uncontrolably without the winds force tickling her into life.  She surrenders and returns his gusts of love with quick and steady leaps.  They step back out into the field prancing and laughing together just as the music softly starts.

By Pumpkin

Guest Post: Tilting At Windmills in the 21st Century

Hi! Hiding behind my anonymity as owld_skipper, I have leapt into the void created by Ali’s search for a little R-and-R. It wasn’t until I actually started to put some words together that I realized what a challenge being a fill-in blogger would be. I have been reading AliThinks for some time now, and I know what a personal thing her blog is. AliThinks is very much Ali, and she and I have very different histories and experiences. So, I wondered what I could write that would complement and add to what she has created.

One thing that Ali and I share is the experience of viewing North American life from the perspective of living in Europe. Eighteen months ago Ms. owld_s and I moved to Spain as part of her let’s-have-an-adventure project. I expected a different culture and a different way of life, and I haven’t been disappointed.

Where I have been disappointed is in my inability to master Spanish the way that I know Ali mastered French. I am nowhere even close to her kind of proficiency. Oh, I’ve taken some courses and I read the newspaper everyday (I can actually read more than I can speak) and I try to tune into some Spanish TV. The problem is that the spoken language comes into my ears as one long, continuous sound – one lonnnnng, continuous and meaningless sound. Sure, I can hear the lilt, the crisp vowels, the rolled ‘r’s, and the ‘c’s that are pronounced like ‘th’, I just can’t hear words.

What makes it worse is that if I speak a little bit of Spanish the person I am speaking to makes a leap of faith and assumes that I am “fluent”. They just speak more quickly and I just hear noise at a faster rate. ¡Que pena!

People tell me that I just have to keep plugging at it and one day it will seem like someone has thrown a switch and understanding will come flooding in. Hate to tell you this, but I’m still waiting for that day. Never mind though, I’ve found another class, a more relaxed slower-paced class, more in tune with the rhythms of life. Twice a week I meet with a really good teacher, three moms and their three one-year olds.

The theory is that the tots will play while the adults learn Spanish. The truth is that when the going gets tough, owld_s scoops one of the little guys up on his knee and helps them scribble all over his notes.  A very quixotic approach to the whole process, ¿no?

Guest Post: What Makes A Blog?

When Alison sent out her request for guest bloggers, I immediately said, "Yes!" Then I had a brief panic attack because it's OK to spout a bunch of boring drivel about my family, my job, and my life on my own site, but NOT on someone else's.

I have put inane quizzes on mine that have identified me by holiday symbol, animal, musical group, etc... I have written whiny posts that I have looked at afterward with loathing.I have solicited other people's advice on parenting, teaching, marriage, and issues that have impacted me. I never would have imagined all the day to day and bigger events that I have blogged about. Two years ago, I would have laughed if anyone had told me that I would include photos, video, and links on my site. I could barely even remember how to post, much less do anything I considered "fancy." I would have been shocked to realize that I share some pretty personal issues with other blog buddies--and they understand me better than many who know me in real life.

Perhaps it's partly the distance; it's a kind of safety net. Bloggers can deal with each other by choice--every day, once in a while, or never. I can just stop going to a site, or start visiting a new and interesting place. I choose what to write about, when and how often. I am still amazed, and delighted that people read anything I write or comment on it. I have come to value the connection as much as the journal itself. So, what is a blog then? It is anything and everything we want it to be--that's the power and wonder of it all.

By Margaret