The coast and the city

I can barely believe that it’s the end of May. Not a lot of posting up in here this month, for a few reasons:

1.       The first part of the month I was getting us ready for vacation. Lots of shopping for the perfect pair or sandals for me, 
      boardies for AD, and small items to keep LG busy during his first airplane ride, along with paying bills, washing, packing, etc.

2.      We were on vacation for a week, during which time I unplugged. No email, Facebook, blogs, Internet-anything. It was 
      amazing.

3.      I was pregnant the whole month. How’s that for a super low key life event reveal? I am currently 12 weeks and due 
     December 8^th. I’ve been tired, nauseated, and hungry.

Besides the vacation and pregnancy, I was also a perfectionist throughout the entire month (okay, throughout my entire life). Though I know things don’t need to be perfect and have come a long, long way, perfectionism still trips me up, wedges itself between me and my dreams, and sometimes paralyzes me. If I don’t have the (time, energy, resources) to do this (blog post, DIY project, event, meal) to an acceptable level I’ve created in my head, I just won’t do it at all.

In terms of the blog, I don’t have the time or energy right now to make it read, look, feel the way I want it to, which has been a stumbling block to recording and sharing what’s been going on in our lives, in my head, and in my heart this year.

Though I wanted to do something fun to highlight my first blogiversary (and Mother’s Day, and the new bebe) this month, it didn’t happen. I did go back and read my first blog post, and realized that I need to get back to where I was a year ago: simply writing as a way to share memories, work out some things going on in my head/heart, and hopefully glorifying God. Not posting photojournalistic snapshots with each post, using the perfect graphic and font, getting followers, getting my projects pinned, etc. So I’m going back to basics for a while. If I have time to get my photos uploaded and edited, great, but if not, it’ll just be memories and meaningful content.

Source

So, here’s what I’m noodling on right now:

Part I

My family (AD, LG, and I) and the fam I’m from (mom, dad, brother, brother’s girlfriend) spent last week with my mom’s aunt’s family at a gorgeous beach house on St. Simons Island, Georgia (it’s on the coast between Savannah and Jacksonville). We had a wonderful time—I will definitely be doing a detailed post about our trip with pics at some point—but what’s really struck me since I’ve been home is the simple beauty of that place.

Last week it was the ocean, beach, and marshes, lush foliage and hanging moss, colorful homes of all types of architecture, vintage-style bikes, the sunshine, the breeze. And this week, driving to the grocery store and looking around, I’m seeing concrete, powerlines, restaurants and strip malls, and house after house after house in one of four styles with grass and one or two trees (in one of five species) in the yard. This culture shock of sorts made me realize what an effect being surrounded by a beautiful environment can have on your spirit. Now, I know comparing an upscale vacation destination and working-class metropolitan area isn’t quite fair. And I’m not saying that I don’t see some beauty in some parts of the suburbs or city, but as indicated in my use of the word “some” in the first part of this sentence, it is often an exception, not the norm; something that must be sought out or looked for, not simply taken in. There are a lot of people who would tell me that I need to  choose to find the beauty in the everyday, blah blah blah.

All that said, I know there are a lot of beautiful places--city and country, in all directions, near and far--that working people can live. While it has been in our family plan to eventually move out to a big piece of land with hills and trees and water and be as self-sufficient as possible, traveling to this beautiful place confirmed it that much more, and brought the goal into finer focus.

Part II
On Tuesday, AD, LG, and I hopped in the car as soon as I got home from work, headed to a nursery down by the airport that has quality plants for cheap. When we got there, we were greeted by a sign telling us that they were sold out and closed until they'd have farm produce in late July. So we took a different way home, one in which we'd pass a few more nurseries. A little way down the road, in a city we only ever pass through, I made AD pull over because my stomach was getting empty and making me feel like I was going to puke. 

The next place to pull over was a gas station with a McDonald's. So we got out of our decade-old car, all of us in t-shirts, jeans, and flip flops, and ordered dinner. And the overwhelming feeling while we were there was that we were not welcome there, mostly because we were not black.

And I just thought, this is BS. I live in this county, my taxes help out here, and I can't get some chicken McNuggets without dealing with crap? And then all of the ranting I hear from my father, who grew up in Detroit but now calls it a dump (among other things), and the comments from my aunt and uncle when they get back from visiting my cousin's family in Charlotte, all started to make sense. I was asking myself, why should I deal with a corrupted city that can't help itself (can we say Kwame?), horrible roads, high gas prices, when I don't have to?

And these musings bring me to an ongoing internal struggle between optimism and pessimism, and a question I ask myself all the time about a lot of things: When do you keep trying, and when do you give up on (your city, job, family, friends, religion, sports team, ____)?

This city has me feeling this way this week, but even more so over the past year, I've felt this way towards the behavior of some people in my life that I care about. As I've grown older, I've become more complacent; less likely to speak my mind if I feel that something or someone has done wrong. I've been wondering whether it's that I'm afraid of the lasting consequences of being really straight up/standing up to someone, whether I'm being complacent because these people are not a part of my everyday life and dealings, or whether an appropriate opportunity just hasn't come along yet. The one thing that resonates with me, though, is that doing and saying nothing just perpetuates a bad cycle that could at least change, and maybe one day end.

Well, this post was...
...all over the place?
...moving in the right direction
...cathartic

 

Gami: Every other kind

Besides being an awesome brother, uncle/Godfather, friend, and so much more to so many people, my brother BZ is a very talented DJ, producer, musician, event promoter, sound/lighting designer--it it's related to composing music or live music, he's involved. I personally love that he's inspired to include other art forms with musical performance.

Anyhow, he just released his first EP this last weekend, and this big Sis couldn't be any prouder. Check it out:

You can listen to his other material here, and you can check him out in various places around Kalamazoo.

Grandmothers

Well, for the past month or so, I've anticipated doing a post today about my Nana (my mom's mom), as today would have been her 85th birthday, September 1st marked two years since her passing, and also because this past summer we finally got to work at her house and had an estate sale and are preparing to put it on the market.

But then a week ago on September 11th, my Grandma (my dad's mom) somewhat unexpectedly passed away. That morning the staff at her nursing home found her unresponsive, and when they got her to the ER, they found she had pneumonia, low blood pressure, and low blood oxygenation. She came to and was complaining to that her stomach hurt, and after further testing, they found that her small intestine was twisted and causing fluid to back up. Some time that afternoon, she slipped back into unconsciousness. Under normal circumstances, the doctors would correct this with surgery, but due to her condition and age (89), they didn't know if she would make it through and/or recover from surgery, but they would do it if we insisted [which we did not]. From there, the nurses explained that we had to decide whether we wanted to try to otherwise treat her by giving her fluids and all sorts of other things through her IV, or if we just wanted to give her pain medication and dopamine to keep her blood pressure up [until family could make it to the hospital to say their goodbyes]. The family unanimously agreed on the second option, and everyone but my brother and one cousin (both out of town) made it to the hospital. When I first arrived around 7 that evening, her breathing was labored, she was kind of curled up on her side, and her blood pressure was registering on the monitor. When we left her room around 9 while a new patient was transferred to the next bed, her breathing had slowed, she looked very peaceful, and the nurse was having a hard time finding her blood pressure. At 10 or so, a nurse came to the waiting room for us. I was confused when we went back in the room. Her body had seemingly straightened out in the bed and it looked like she was breathing, so at first, I thought she had come back to consciousness. But she was gone. She has been visited, memorialized, buried. Everyone has come and gone home and back to their regular schedules.

I was incredibly close with both of my grandmothers--all of my grandparents, really, in different ways. And I was very lucky to have all of my grandparents until I was 22, but now at 30, they are all gone. There is so much more to say here, but I don't think I've even started processing this to a point worth sharing.

Pure Michigan [400]

Another thing you might not know about me: I [casually] follow NASCAR. Growing up, it was the only televised sport that my dad was into, so [old school, Winston Cup, pre-Chase] NASCAR is a part childhood memories of a "typical" weekend. Dale Earnhardt Sr was my father's favorite driver, and I thought the name Dick Trickle was funny. Since Sr's passing, my dad has not found a replacement as his favorite driver, and (not related, but relevant) my mom has gotten really into the sport.

The company my dad works for sponsors NASCAR, and my dad is able to get free tickets for clients and personal use. So a couple Sundays ago (8/19/12), my dad and mom took me [and my brother and his girlfriend] to my first NASCAR race.

I do not have a favorite driver, so here's some of the drivers I was hoping would win:
1.  Mark Martin (because he's old school)
2.  Carl Edwards (my mom's favorite driver)
3.  Dale Earnhardt Jr (it would be cool for him to win another race this year in Michigan)
4.  Joey Logano (he is the favorite driver of one of my favorite blogger's sons)
5.  Brad Keselowski (some people say he's kind of cocky, but he's from Rochester Hills, so it would have been 
      cool for him to win)

Greg Biffle won. I'm cool with that. 

My thoughts: 

I like NASCAR. Though there's quite a focus on branding/marketing/consumerism, I think it's a pretty fun, wholesome sport. You don't really hear about drivers getting in trouble for violence- or sex- related offenses, as you do in other sports like football and basketball. 

I like the fans. Some are a little, er, crude, but they're sincere. You don't really see people in [slutty, skin-tight] designer clothes and four inch heels, like you might do at a baseball game. You might I did see a lady in mom jean shorts and a checkered string bikini top (to which I said, rock out with yourself, lady). 

And if at first glance you thought I was baring my midriff in public, you'd be wrong. That's a military-inspired bag with toggle closure.

Will I go again? Absolutely. Will I go again if I have to pay for tickets? Maybe. Would I ever camp there? Hell no. I have to tell you that LG was with a babysitter that day from 9:30am to 8:00pm, and while I thought about him all day (how I can't wait to take him to a race in a few years--that boy loves his cars--and the comfort that NASCAR will likely one day be a childhood memory he associates with his maternal grandparents), I really enjoyed a day with adults, and it was actually kind of nice that the race was so loud and I didn't really have to do a lot of talking or listening. Although I did ask my dad if the cars drive from side to side during caution because it's fun, to which he laughed and said they do it get the debris out of their tires.

Tomorrow is going to be like Christmas morning

Well, hello there. Though this is my first post, I'm going to skip all of the introductory stuff for now (don't worry, I'll muse about myself, my family, and the purpose for this blog soon). I am a perfectionist (which is a theme I will actually address in this post) and because in my mind there are so many elements to a good blog and I haven't really worked any of those out, I've put off starting this thing. And while I don't have any pictures to complement this post, or a custom-designed layout, tonight I have something to write about, so tonight's the night.

Today was Mother's Day. My second as a mother, and probably my first not spending at least part of the day with my mother. She's alive and well, just on a trip to Savannah with my "aunt" (second-cousin, technically) and my great-aunt to see my "cousin" (third-cousin, I think?). I would have loved to have gone, but:

a) there would have been no one to watch my son, as my husband is a regional airline pilot based out of another city and works every weekend, and my dad, while adoring of his grandson, simply does not have the patience for a 17-month old for six days, and

b) with aforementioned husband's work situation and aforementioned son, I really should be saving the remainder of my unscheduled days off for when my son is sick and can't go to daycare.

Therefore, this Mother's Day was kind of anti-climatic, but that's okay with me. I made my son and dad this new french toast recipe that I found, took a nap during son's nap (I stay up way too late on the weekends), went out for an early dinner with son and dad, took son for a long walk around the neighborhood, and played/weeded/picked up dog poop in the backyard with son.

Once sonny was in bed, I spent another hour and a half outside. I made a diagram of my front flower bed so I will know where to plant bulbs to fill in the gaps this fall, which I've been meaning to do in some capacity for the two years we've lived in our house. You will notice this a recurring theme as this blog develops; there are a lot of things that I want/mean to do, but don't always have the time. Case in point: there are probably gaps in my bulbs this spring because I planted them last fall (2011). Yes, fall is the appropriate time to plant bulbs, but the problem here is that the bulbs were given to me as a housewarming gift (by the aunts mentioned above) in the early fall of 2010 but did not get planted that year. In my defense, though, I was in the last trimester of pregnancy and also live in Michigan, where the weather is unpredictable (can't remember if winter-ish weather came early that year, though...). 

Proof that I am getting better with these type of things is that after I diagrammed my front flower bed this evening, I actually potted the overflow herbs we bought last Thursday that did not fit in our garden bed. In the past, these herbs may have withered away in the little plastic containers; another personality trait of mine (and my husband's, too) is that everything should be done "right." In this situation, doing it "right" meant I needed to pull down my ceramic pots, clean them out with water and let them dry completely, bake them in the oven for an hour and cool completely, and get potting soil--because what's the point of planting these herbs if you're not going to give them a fighting chance with a sanitary pot and fresh soil? A lot of times, my need to do things "right" means things don't get done at all. My husband is much better than I am with completing tasks.  

One related thing that is very much on my mind and hopefully becoming part of my routine is the garden mentioned in the last paragraph. We have planted a garden each of the past two summers and have had mixed results. The first summer the garden did just okay, no thanks to me; my husband started the seeds, prepared the bed and planted everything, and was working a job with regular hours in town, so he also watered and weeded. I didn't help much getting the garden going last year, either, but then my husband got his new job and was away at training for two months, and I was left to tend the garden. The garden did not get watered, weeded, or harvested as much as it should have, and my husband was very disappointed with me. He still talks about the amount of strawberries we'd have this summer if I'd only watered the plants last summer. Once again, in my defense, I had a 8-month old that I was taking care of by myself (with a lot of help from my parents). I will say, though, that my son did have some squash, peas, and carrots that were grown in our yard and prepared in our kitchen last year. So, we planted our garden last Thursday, this year from plants bought from the nursery. We went to get some herbs and tomato and pepper plants, and came home with: herbs (basil, parsley, cilantro, dill, sage, rosemary), vegetables (tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, lettuce, spinach, peas, sweet potatoes, okra), and flowers (marigold, begonia, dahlia, snapdragons, citronella, and some flowers that remind me of Super Mario Brothers) because the place was so cheap and had such a great selection. This year, I am determined to make my husband proud of my garden tending, and am doing well so far. I think the fact that my son stays down once he's gone to bed (and the fact that I'm not breastfeeding/pumping this year) will help tremendously.

The last part of my day, the part that lends itself to tomorrow morning being like Christmas morning for me, is this frame project I've been working on. I got these ornate wooden frames from my grandmother's house (that situation is a whole other post in itself) and wanted to paint them up in funky colors and put a pin board in them so I can very easily and very often switch out the boatload of masterpieces my son creates at daycare. It took me almost a week and several hardware stores to decide on the colors for the frames; I went with coral and periwinkle. Once spray painted, I was planning on brushing a complementary color on freehand, but the periwinkle one turned out well enough that I may just leave it alone. Not so much with the coral one. So yesterday I headed down to Hobby Lobby and picked out some acrylic paint in complementary colors, along with a bottle of stuff to give a crackle finish, and sponged one some Alizarin Crimson over top of the coral. They actually had a bunch of ornately framed pin boards in funky colors at Hobby Lobby, and part of me (the economical side, maybe?) thought that it would probably be cheaper and easier to just to buy a couple there and stick the frames in our upcoming garage sale, but I reasoned that these frames have meaning, because they came from my grandmother's house, and when people complement me on the frames (hopefully), I can say that I made them. Tonight I brushed on the stuff that's supposed to give acrylic paint a crackle finish, and I'm hoping that when I get up tomorrow morning, the red paint will be crackled and the coral will be showing through. So far, nothing. 

While I was brushing on this crackle medium and probably killing some brain cells from the fumes, I was thinking about how good it feels to be working on some creative projects again. Growing up, my grandfather would cut santas, easter bunnies, etc. out of wood and my mom would paint them up and sell them at craft shows. She kept a lot of art supplies around, and my brother and I would sit at the table and make something up while she was painting. I always enjoyed art classes in school, and I would say my creative projects peaked in college. But then came grad school, moving, getting married (though my paper craftiness blossomed and peaked during this time), moving, teaching/working, moving, looking for a house, buying a house, moving, getting pregnant, having a kid, taking care of the kid... and time for projects just evaporated. 

That, maybe, and that perfectionism thing. It is frustrating when you put time and money (however little or much, money's money, and I don't have a lot of it) into something and it doesn't come out how you want it to. Maybe it's easier to just buy what you want, instead of making it yourself (though maybe not for me, as I have been known to spend months and miles and miles on the car shopping for the perfect thing). 

But while I was brushing away, I thought, I am going to be okay with however this frame turns out, and I am going to hang it up. Maybe a little bit of the perfectionist in me has evaporated with all of the living and moving I've done over the past eight years or so. So I'll end this post with a hope and a quote. My hope for today: that I can keep at it, so that one day, maybe on a Mother's Day, my son (and any other future children) will think about me and remember me working on creative projects and maybe reflect that I helped foster creativity in him/them.

A quote: 

"we get a little further from perfection 

each year on the road 

I guess that's what they call character 

I guess that's just the way it goes 

better to be dusty 

than polished like some store window mannequin 

why don't you touch me where I'm rusty 

let me stain your hands 

when you're pretty as a picture 

they pound down your door 

but I've been offered love 

in two dimensions before 

and I know that it's not all 

it's made out to be 

let's show them how it's done 

let's do it all imperfectly

oh, let's do it all imperfectly" 

- Ani DiFranco