Mother to Son

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on them steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

Langston Hughes

I love this poem not just in itself, but because of the memories attached; I was made to memorise it in the seventh grade by one of the awesomest teachers I've ever had in my whole life, this tiny wrinkled white lady with an accent stronger than Klatchian coffee. When I recite it, I sound like her.
This weekend has been full of old friends; those I call The Gang, who will always be family, and then various people who I know and like who are friends of various members of The Gang. I've highly enjoyed myself, but it's led me to two conclusions:

1) I seem to have moved to the next stage in life, the stage mostly my married friends are hitting: less noisy parties and flirting and silliness, and more the desire for interesting conversation and people whose company I'm already pretty sure I'll enjoy. I seem to have become an adult when I wasn't looking; I'm quite enthused about throwing a dinner party.

2) Wow, but it's interesting to see what these people think of me. Not in a bad way, or anything, but they knew me incredibly well four years ago and now see me once every two or three months, and--yeah, I've changed. Part of it, of course, is that when they do see me I'm surrounded by them; I'm chatty and happy because I'm with a whole bunch of people I'm already comfortable around. Tall Guy said, "Make Lu call the restaraunt, she's social," and--yeah, both I and Friendiest, who I see far more often and is my partner in psychoanalysis, burst into giggles. I have a psychosis about crowds and I'm shy with strangers and I'm incredibly introverted--none of this is new, it's been true since long before I knew them (though it's worse now, obviously) but these people see me completely differently, because they only see me on my home ground. They simply know me as I think of myself, strengths and weaknesses; it's incredibly reassuring to realise that for some people the me who lives in their heads is the ideal me. I've drawn strength this weekend from it--from being the chatterer and the affectionate one, the mother hen and the comforter; from being sure of my place in the world. I've been hating school, where I'm entirely unsure of what kind of impact I'm welcome to make on anybody, where I can't quite make myself engage with people except on the most superficial levels. This weekend I got the chance to feel safe in being myself, and I think school this week will be so much better.
In retrospect:

This time last year, I didn't watch television.

No, really. I watched movies, and some DVD Season sets of shows, but I wasn't watching any shows regularly.

Now there are FOUR.

I find this sad.

And disturbing.

But not enough to keep from watching them greedily.

Between the House opening sequence and the abuse horror stories I heard in class tonight...I think I want to NEVER EVER GO NEAR A CHILD AGAIN for fear of physically and mentally scarring him/her.
Cleaning out my closet just now, I discovered an ENORMOUS spider creeping on one of my skirts. Being a strong, sensible woman who spends her days changing diapers and wiping snotty noses and being the sheltering arms that small children run to...

I shrieked like a seagull.

And spent five minutes whimpering while my brother chased it.

And then I hit it with a big stick until it stopped twitching.

...totally diversionary tactics. *cough*
Go to the Quotations Page and hunt through it until you find five ten quotations that you feel really sum up who you are. (NB. if you register you get the use of your own personal quotes page where you can store quotes you like the look of, and pick some suitable ones off there afterwards). Post them on on your LJ. Watch as other people go "ooh, shiny!" and copy you in wasting the entire afternoon/evening on the site.

I couldn't resist )
You know your wardrobe is unique when it is possible to pull the wrong polka-dot dress out of the closet.

I hate waiting for my fic to go up in anonythons. I don't mind waiting to get, but I hate waiting to give. In MS the fic that I wrote was up in the first three days, and the fic for me was posted the very last day. To me, that was perfect...I got the nerves over with and then I kept on reading the new ones every day in case mine was up.

Anonythons seem to bring out the weird side of me--the stuff I'd never try to write on my own. Which makes the nervousness about seven times worse.

Cut for self-analysis Yes, related to each other. )
ETA: LOL, thanks you guys...I am aware this is normal, it is not worrying me or anything, it just struck me as funny and interesting, that's all. I'm trying to get more of the self-analysis into the record for when, y'know, I'm thirty-five and want to know how I screwed up my life so badly. *g*
Musings on the friend thing:

I have, in different senses of the term, two best friends. IRL. Let's not even get into the web ones.

One, of course, is my [ profile] adalanne. The two of us understand each other's sense of humor, and we keep in contact across the country (while she is in school in NY), and we can laugh at each other and celebrate each other's lives, and be easily happy in each other's company. We understand each other instinctively. It never matters how long it's been since we've seen each other, we just pick up where we've left off. We live so far apart now that we aren't up on each other's everyday life, but it isn't important, really.

The other, of course, is my [ profile] kiwi_cow. We share a life. We live near each other, and see each other at least once a week, and we know each other's rants and wishes by heart. Both of us have a habit of contemplating the things about us that make us ourselves, and having discovered that, we talk about it. We know each other through being there and talking each other through each new discovery, each new aspect to life. The moment we see each other we ask things like "So, what's new with so-and-so?" and "What did you think of insert-movie-name-here?" and "How are you doing with that class?" We know each other well because we're an intimate part of one another's everyday lives.

I was just thinking about this last night, because--well, there's a long complicated story about a boy involved, but both of them responded the way that I needed them to, and this is sheerly because of how well they know me and how they know me.

I'm lucky. I have them both. And I have the understandings of them both, in different ways, and it's very very wonderful.

Okay. I'll shut up now. I'm just...babbling...
My apologies. My maunderings on mottoes, words to live by, etc. under the cut.

Read more... )
Third dream in two weeks in which am pregnant.

What is subconscious trying to tell me and does it mind if I find someone willing to kiss me first?

But no, seriously, could one of you psych-majors out there tell me what it usually symbolises? Because I'm going mad.
You know, I was going through crazy time when the whole womanhood-manhood thing was going on, so I hadn't time to respond; and Arch having just brought it up again--I'd like to share my thoughts.
You can ignore this, I'm rambling )
Five question meme! Comment, telling me to ask you five questions. I'll reply and ask you, you answer them in your journal.
Here it is... )

My opinion on the noms: Sean Astin was ripped off. Otherwise, YAY LotR!! Love that Pirates got so many, too. And Nemo's little ones were cute.
Have to post this because Whitney is so talented and she made it for me:

(It looks better bigger)

More funeral maunderings, more for me than you )
Flight was long; shuttle was boring; hate cell structure; hate trying to be emotional about something I feel no emotion for; FINALLY fixed my compy so YAY!! Also got my instructions for being a CM beta so watch out, queue, here I come. As soon as I've finished the last bits of The Pheonix and the Serpent. And I've had a funny bit of inspiration and a dramatic one, so I may do some of my own writing, as well. And I finally re-found that essay I was looking for to quote in mine, so yay!

Yes, work will abound. Work gooooood.
A flame is an insensate attack on you by an online person. In this case it was a review of my newest and tenderest fic, telling me that my version of R/H love was twisted and sick and that he/she/it would never see Ron in the same light again.

I didn't realise how much being flamed hurt. I mean, I knew it happened, but I figured it was just one of those things you laughed off. And sure, I've laughed at some of the ill-spelt and incoherent ones I've seen.

But something that accused my work--my sweet innocent little fic of being perverted cut a little too close to the bone.

And what was twisted about it anyway? Has this person read no other fanfiction at all? That fic is cliche from beginning to end and that version of Ron is taken from over half the fics written with him in them!

Blast him. Her. It.
Because someone on my flist went all maudlin for a moment, I began to think about my old entry on this subject, and realised it could probably do with some revising. *g* (written 11/07/06, for the record)

Mom says that she doesn't think it's fair to ask a parent/sibling/spouse/child to speak...if they like, write something to have read, but not speak. So...I'd like Amelia to sing. "Come Follow Me." Amy and Jess and Kimi--and maybe Jen? to speak. Not for too long, people came to be celebrate my life, not to celebrate you stopping speaking. ~_^ Ever since a Seminary exercise I've known I wanted Rev. 7:17 on my headstone. And I'd like to have a copy of GoF, my blanket from Kimi, a pic of my family and of the gang, and a red pencil in my coffin with me. Also, any pictures you can find of my kids, my copy of Where's My Cow?, Padma's wedding bouquet, and the Three Wise Monkeys Ady brought back from Europe for me.

Make sure my mom lets all of you go through my books before she donates them. The little sandcastle that lives everywhere I live has my muse living in it--Ady, take her and be good to her for me. She's a bitch, but she's part of me. One of you take my JKR napkin, k? And Harry the plant...he's survived me, he could survive any of you. Anything else that's up for grabs is yours, of course...but those three things I want to go to you lot.

Ady, you probably saw this, but there's an extra entry flocked just to has my password in it. If you could announce in my LJ whatever's happened, and that I love them all, I'd appreciate it. I know I'm asking a lot from you, speaking and muse-sitting and now that, but I figure...hey, I'm dead, what can you refuse me now? *g*

All of you, know that I love you and will miss you, wherever I'm headed.
I never realised, exactly, how much STUFF I own. I mean, yes, I've always known I had an extremem case of packrat-itis, but it never really hit me how much it all means to me.

Yesterday we started packing u p my room. All that energy wasted...I spent hours agonizing in case the doll that I wanted was gone before I had saved enough...and now the only ones I'm keeping were gifts, and I'm only keeping two of those...

All my pictures down, all my knicknacks packed away...the room is so bare. Mom and I spent a couple of hours just talking, talking, talking...about Grandma Phyllis and Gram, about packing and life...

I have so few memories of Grandma Phyllis...Just that one birthday, the wind blowing dust in my eyes and making the birthday wishes...laughter echoing in warm, buttery, periwinkle twilight...

And I have lots of memories of her dying...her funeral, how badly we wanted to go...that early morning rocking, after Mama told me that she had died...the little bag of hers I got afterward...

Gram, of course, I remember more about...but real MEMORIES, the sound of laughter and affectionate exasperation when Natasha Jane spilled all over...bagels in the dining room, asking to use the spoon collection...prisms dancing rainbows all over the kitchen...cherry-coloured snapdragons and the smell of earth...

I realised that most of my clear memories are of light...lamplight, rainbows in sunshine, twilight, green-filtered light...I suppose it's part of the "visual learner" thing...but light has a great effect on my memory...



April 2017



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