Is it just me...?

What the crap is this nonsense? I go away for a few months and then when I come back, Blogger's all different. You've changed, Blogger. You're not who I thought you were. Can't we just go back to how things used to be? I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore.

 But perhaps it's simply one of the more visible indications of the craziness that is 2012. Has anyone else noticed this? It's insanity. In my life, I've had two friends get engaged, another got married. Three friends (or is it four? I think it is four now) are preggers. One very dear friend ended a long-term relationship. My boss's father died; my colleague's partner died. My sister is on the cusp of big changes in her love life. Another boss is retiring, and that's just the tip of the personnel changes at work. And most immediately, Himself and I are finally moved into our new home.

People, it's not even May yet. I'm actually a little worried to see what else this year is going to throw at us. It's just so--change-y!

Change. I get it, I really do. Life is change. The only thing that stays the same is change. There's a lot of other cliches you can throw out here about the necessity and/or the inevitability of change, and hey, I'll be on board with it. Like most of all y'all, I'm a creature of habit, but I've got a little something going for me: I'm a Gemini. I'm versatile. I adapt. Each time I have moved to a different city, I've blown everyone away, because I just hit the ground running. I'm not saying I thrive on change, but I am saying that I will never let change make me its bitch. Sudden change will catch me off guard and leave me shocked, but then I recover and barrel my way down the football field, balls to the wall, ready to hit that home run.

Sports is not my forte, by the way.

Of course, bragging about my ability to withstand change is just begging for the universe to make me lose my job, or both my arms to fall off, or my cats to contract Hanta virus and croak. I'm onto you, Universe! Think of some other way to dismay me, please!

Anyway. Change is totally a double-edged sword, but the most spectacular changes are metamorphoses. You know, catepillars to butterflies, and all that. And there's something magical about that. So here's hoping we all take these changes that 2012 is hurling our way, and turn them into opportunities for profundity, or making a lot of money, or emerging more dazzling, confident versions of ourselves, or maybe even just surviving through the grit you never realized you have.

Adapt or die.

Me in Real Life

At long last, the house hunt is (we hope) done. At the moment, we are in escrow, waiting for our bank to go through the process of fact-finding and paperwork-generating, all with the ultimate aim of giving us the loan in fact that we were pre-approved for, back in December. All par for the course, or so I've been told. There were setbacks and disappointments and many stresses along the way, but the incredible thing of this process has been that the house we ultimately ended up with was the house that we had wanted the most, all along.

I try to live as though I believe that the universe is looking out for me. And sometimes, it obligingly provides proof that it is.

So, in the middle of all the scratching-together of the down payment and the closing costs, in the middle of figuring out how to pay for a new pool pump as well as a washer and dryer and fridge, in the middle of arguing about what color to paint the master bedroom, I just try to keep it all in perspective and remember to thank the universe for giving us this:

It's got built-ins out the wazoo, which delights me to the core of my practical, Midwestern soul. It's got a waterfall pouring into the pool, and a lazy susan in the kitchen, and the most glorious walk-in closet imaginable, and five bedrooms. Yes, five. Needless to say, we'll be taking in renters.

But I still get a room for my craft studio! Of course, I had one here at our condo, but it became a craft room for me. It was turned into that rather haphazardly, with the end result being very much a room that looked as though it had become something it was never intended to be. No matter, I created plenty in it, and that's what's important. But at the new place, I'll be able to plan my room out just as I want it to be, from the beginning. Lots of shelves, lots of tables (lots of Ikea love to enable both), and perhaps a window seat somehow will become part of it.

Once we're all settled into the new place, there will be, in all likelihood, another craft that I take up: dollhouses and miniatures. I'm very excited about this, and yet...I have reservations.

I was a miniaturist once, long ago, when I was 11, 12 years old. Christmas 1991, my grandparents got me a dollhouse kit that my grandfather carefully, painstakingly put together for me over the course of the next few months. Every afternoon, I would come home from school and eagerly see the progress that he had made. It was actually the highlight of my day--for you see, I was otherwise a deeply unhappy child.

Even now, I loathe talking about this, even though I try to admit it for my own sake. I was an awkward kid, not shy so much as just clueless about social interactions. My eldest sister has since described me as a "strangeling." Now I know it was just one of the signs of my rather mild case of Asperger's Syndrome.

I tried to talk to kids my own age, but my interests were rather queer. In the odd sense, not the gay sense. Plus, I was kind of ugly and I didn't like to bathe. The end result was actually that, not only did I have no friends, there were times when many of the kids in my class and at my bus stop actively tormented me. "Aids lady" was their favorite name, followed by "lesbian". (Now, as an adult, their ignorance and implications trouble me on a variety of levels.) They would follow me home from the bus stop, screaming taunts at me; they wouldn't let me sit next to them on the bus and in fact would shove me out of the seats. My response was to retreat further and further into the world of dollhouses and the lives I created and imagined within the walls of them.

Well, that period of my life was brief--in retrospect, at least. Middle school came, and I went to a different school, which almost none of the little assholes attended. I found Jesus (fortunately, lost him again a few years later), joined a church, made friends, learned how to imitate the social skills of others. And of course, that little dollhouse eventually got shunted aside. I begin to wonder about the hobby of miniatures--Aren't people who spend so much time building, decorating, playing with dollhouses ultimately trying to avoid living their ACTUAL lives?

That is still a question that rattles around in my brain. Indeed, I certainly had no desire to live my real life when it was so miserable, and so that could explain my fascination with it. But now, I'm an adult, with a (too) full life and a wonderful career and Himself and family and friends who love me just as I am. Also, I bathe a lot more. But the interest in miniatures still exists back there in my head. And I think it will soon be time to dip a toe back into those waters.

I've been cruising around the blogosphere, checking out miniature blogs. And the tagline of one really caught my eye: Mel's Miniatures says "Because only in miniature can we create a perfect world." Leaving aside the subject of perfection (itself a troubling concept), I do believe she's got a point. Perhaps it's a form of escape, or solace, or perhaps even control. The trick is, of course, balance, keeping it fro m overwhelming your real life, and still living the actual life. But maybe that perfect little dollhouse can be the home within my home at the end of the day.

But I always, always need to remember which is my real life, and my real home.

Mi

Songs of Leaving

At this moment in time, I am at a bar in the Indy airport, nursing a gin and tonic and occasionally glancing out the window at the winter-grey sky outside. My flight begins to board in 45 minutes, and then I will be leaving on a jet plane ( technically, three jet planes before the day is done) and heading west. West to Himself, who, despite having endured two weeks of grueling 16 hour workdays, followed by less-grueling but more demanding parties at night, will be at the airport to pick me up. West to my cats, sweet Austen and grumpy Magdalene and frisky Indiana. West to my job, which delights and amuses and challenges and educates me. West to my condo, which is with increasing speed becoming less and less of a home as we pack up in preparation for our move, and which, as Himself put it last night, looks "like Hurricane He'll tore through it" (that is not exactly what he said, but it is the best my gin-addled brain could conjure). West to my friends, and my colleagues, and an incredible amount of potential, in all things. West to the rest of my life.

Travel is stressful and crazy and expensive and for some reason leads to constipation. But, perhaps due to the liminality of the whole experience, it is also exciting and stimulating, and full of the potential to learn profound lessons about one's self, and one's life, if only one is able and willing to listen and observe and learn. And so, about six years ago, I resolved to learn something each time I traveled somewhere further than 90 miles, or else for four or more days. And here are my lessons from my most recent foray into darkest Indiana:

1. I dd not enjoy my time in Indiana as much as I should have done, and took many people and things there for granted. The same will not happen in California.

2. The gods will not waste their gifts on these who are ungrateful. In my Indiana life, I was guilty of gross ingratitude (see #1.)

3. Just as my California life did not transpire as I imagined (although, in all frankness, I imagined very little about an ideal "California life" other than LEAVING IT) my Indiana life would not have transpired like I imagined, either. So, given that there is no "might have been" the way that I imagined, it is time to get the fuck over it.

I'm luckier than I have any right to be. But by golly, I will be grateful for every blessing that I have. I will learn to say "thank you"--both for the Indiana life that I had once, but more importantly, for the amazing life that I have now. It's the life that I am flying back to, and it's the best life one could ask for.

Winter sunset over Southern Indiana, January 15, 2012

(Oh, as a post script: I understand that there may be some new readers around. To Lisa andShannon, hello! Don't be shy! Leave a comment or ten. If anyone else stopped here by way of Lisa's blog, be sure to linger and share in the magic(k).)

Back Home Again in Indiana

It's a sad commentary on how stressful and upheave-y my life is right now that I booked a long weekend vacation to Indiana.

In January.

To stay with my ex-boyfriend, Mr. Indiana. And his son. And his son's mother. Who, incidentally, hates my guts.

That's right, you read that correctly: I am flying from sunny, beautiful Palm Springs, California, for a vacation to Middle America. Deep in the heart of winter. Where I will be staying with a deeply dysfunctional family. And I am...oddly ecstatic about it.

None of that is bothering me one jot. What is bugging me is that it might be a trip loaded with its own special kind of burdens. Whilst I've been back to Indiana a couple of times since I moved, both times it was August that I went: late summer, humid, lazy. It's the first time I've been back to Indiana in the winter since I lived there, and I am afraid of the different, perhaps more sorrowful memories it might bring. As well, I'll be journeying down to Evansville for a night with my "Indiana family." They are not my true blood relatives, of course, but they could have been my family, if life had gone a different way. I have not been there in Evansville since December 2005, when I was planning a Midwestern life in the most sickeningly smug yet naive way imaginable. So much has altered, so much water under the bridge.

I think it's entirely possible I might cry when I get there.

It will be a rushed trip, fraught with old memories and people long gone and a disapproving woman who is convinced I am returning to either stalk her, kidnap her child, or steal her man. Or perhaps all three. I'm not entirely certain that she won't try to kill me while I sleep.

But hey, at least I'll die in my favorite place in the world, right?

Anyhow, in anticipation of my upcoming journey, my mind has already taken a melacholy turn, so I cooked up an 8tracks mix with some of the most haunting, melancholy music that I listened to in Indiana. Come on, angst with me! There's plenty of magic(k) in some good, honest wallowing.

Back Home Again in Indiana from astrangevictory on 8tracks.

The Magic(k) of 2011

Continuing a tradition I ganked from Librarisaurus, many moons ago, here's my 2011 in revlew.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you never did before?
Had a miserable vacation in Hawai'i. It was a nightmare!

2. Did you keep your resolutions?
Hell, no. I don't even remember what they were.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No--no one close, anyway.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes, I lost my Aunt Carla at Thanksgiving, and two social/professional acquaintances passed, too.

5. Where did you visit?
New Jersey, Florida, Hawai'i, Arizona, Catalina Island

6. What would you like to do in 2012 that you did not do in 2011?
Keep a tidy, clean, well-decorated home.

7. What date will remain in your memory for 2011, and why?
May 1--the day Osama bin Laden was killed. It felt like the bookend to September 11.

8. What was your biggest accomplishment of 2011?
Whitewater-rafting without getting pitched over the side of the raft!

9. What was your biggest failure?
Not losing any weight at all.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Yes--a stomach flu and 4 sinus infections!

11. What was the best thing you bought?
My iPad

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My husband's and colleagues' for putting up with me

13. Whose behavior was the most appalling?
The beauracracies that shut down the Occupy Movement

14. Where did most of your money go?
Discretionary income went mainly to plane tickets, going out to eat, and shopping. Lame.

15. What did you get most excited about?
The prospect of buying a house!

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?
"Pumped Up Kicks" by Foster the People, for no other reason than it being the only song from 2011 that I remember

17. Compared to last year, are you
Happier or sadder? Maybe a bit sadder
Thinner or fatter? Probably a little fatter
Richer or poorer? On the cusp of being much much poorer

18. What do you wish you had done more of?
Writing and exercise

19. What do you wish you had done less of?
Shopping, eating, and playing Angry Birds

20. How did you spend Christmas?
Quietly, with my sister and husband

21. Did you fall in love in 2011?
I stayed in love

22. How many one night stands?
375 (more stands than nights!) (Of course, I am kidding)

23. Favorite tv program
The Tudors, Parks and Recreation, and Downton Abbey

24. Do you hate anyone that you didn't before?
I try not to hate, but there is some pissed-offedness going on.

25. What was the best book you read?
Can't choose just one, because it is a trilogy: The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins

26. Greatest musical discovery
Didn't have one :(

27. What was your favorite film?
X-Men First Class (I know, so classy, right? Highbrow I am not)

28. What did you do for your birthday?
We had a join party with a friend who had the same birthday, and I got drunk on hefewiezen beer. I turned 31.

29. What would have made your year immesaurably more satisfying?
If I had taken care of myself, my home, and my finances more and better

30. What was your personal fashion concept of 2011?
Cat hair-encrustation

31. What kept you sane?
My work, my cats, my family

32. What celebrity did you fancy?
Michael Fassbender--he can bend my fass any day!

33. What political thing stirred you the most?
The judicial system in general

34. Who did you miss?
My sisters, my mother, my grandparents, and my Indiana clan

35. Best new person you've met?
No one person comes to mind; I have met so many!

36. Valuable lesson:
Remember the mercy of the fallen

37. Quote a song lyric that sums up this year:
"And you asked me what I want this year
And I try to make this kind and clear
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days."
-Googoo Dolls

House-proud

Many years ago, back when I was living in Indiana and was surrounded by approximately a zillion farmhouses, bungalows, Victorians, and cottages, I thought that one day, I would live in a home with Character.

Also known as an older home. Or, more accurately, a money-sucking fixer upper.

Oh, how I looked down my nose at what I saw as soulless suburbia! Ranches and tract houses were the stuff of the devil, in my estimation. Oh, how many frigid nights I spent hunched over my computer, listening to Dead Can Dance as I perused MIBOR for the perfect bungalow home for me and my then-boyfriend, Mr. Indiana!

Oh, how reality has since smacked me in the face!

A few years passed, and I had long since moved to California and rather unceremoniously dumped Mr. Indiana. We stayed in touch, however, and one night, as I was walking around one of the tract-house neighborhoods near where I lived, I called Mr. Indiana up. We shared a chuckle over my old house obsessions, and then the tone grew serious.

"Remember how snotty I was about brand-new houses?" I asked him.

"Of course," he replied, and then dutifully added, "Ugly things, they are."

"Yeah, but...I was just thinking. I walk all around a neighborhood that's filled with them." I glanced around at the various houses in question. "And I have to ask, what have I got to be so snotty about? I can't even afford one of these soulless houses. I should be so lucky to be able to purchase a house like one of these."

It was one of those humbling moments, when you learn your lesson (and even better, learn it all on your own, without the benefit or prodding of some painful change of life circumstances.) And it was a moment that I have thought back on many times.

Lately, I've thought back on it even more often, particularly as I am now patiently trolling about MLS sites, trying to find a home for us. You see, Himself and I have decided to take the plunge. We've gotten a pre-approval, and so we are looking for a house to buy. Forget bungalows--out here in the desert, they are scarcer than hen's teeth, and twice as expensive. I'll settle for one of those bland tract houses. So long as it's big enough, and updated enough, I'll settle for it quite happily and learn to create character in what I have...not what I wish for.

More stories on Project House Hunter coming up soon!

Blog Party Goodness: Yule Magic(k)!

In our current, modern world (at least, our current modern First World), with its grocery stores and mechanized big business farming and free trade and climate-controlled buildings, it's incredibly difficult to maintain an awareness of the significance of winter. When one can go the store and buy bacon and bananas, when one merely needs to turn up the heat (or vacation to Palm Springs, as the case may be) what need is there to recall the historical significance of the coldest and deadliest season of the year? Food and warmth are in abundance, so what's there to worry about?

There are plenty of other blogs out there that are even now currently ruminating the history and origins of Yule and the Winter Solstice, so I won't bother to re-invent the wheel. (Although, I must ask: why is it often called Midwinter if it's considered the beginning of winter? And why would it be considered the beginning of winter if in fact the days lengthen--a good thing, I would think--after this point of the year?) I'm only going to say what I often say: Life is short, and it's shitty. Celebrate however you can, when ever you can. Since I am free of the miseries of cold and hunger, the Winter Solstice does for me the same historical significance that it did to your run-of-the-mill Anglo-Saxon farmer. But it can still be significant; the message is still the same: no matter how dark and long the night (then literal, now metaphorical), the sun will rise again, the earth will carry on, the seasons will change. Hold on to that knowledge and know that even if for some reason you're not around when the wheel of fortune turns, it's all part of something bigger. The earth will be reborn and redeemed in the spring, and hopefully we will be around for that time. Not to put too Christian a point on it, but hey, that's what Christmas is about, too: a divine entity coming to life to bring hope to the world. For the Christians, it's eternal life. For us pagans, it's eternal hope, eternal rebirth. Po-tay-to, Po-tah-to.

In the meantime, light a Yule log, make out under some mistletoe, wassail your ass into next Wednesday, and remember: Life is short, it's shitty, and nothing is guaranteed. So celebrate, party, and believe in the life-giving rays of the sun, creeping back into our world once more.

And with that, I give to you all the gift of balance--after all, one cannot have the joy of spring without the bleak despair of winter--and of hope, and the belief in the renewal of life. Through babies, through healing, through springtime, whatever. Accept the sorrow, revel in the hope for renewal, and strive for the balance of both.

Happy Yule, Happy Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Boxing Day, Happy Festivus. Fuck, celebrate them all, you'll be the better for it.