TwoFish

My ideal scenario was that I would start the Compact and find all this time and energy to write about it, time and energy I can’t seem to find. (Time and energy may be a pseudonym for some other force that I don’t recognize)/

The Compact is like our new child. It is more important to us than some silly vow, it is time consuming, it teaches us lessons and we love it.  Finding the words to document our experience without misrepresenting it have proven a task I’m unsure of.

I’m not sure if I’m hesitant because I’ve stuck my hand out and got bitten, or if I now prefer to keep more to myself. I know for sure I’ve settled into a position of experiencing more, instead of shouting from the roof-tops. In the past few weeks I’ve been doing a lot of self reflection (always a favorite past time). This isn’t always productive.

This blog has a touch of vague, which I hate in writing, that is deepening my discontent with verbalization. 

This is a product of writer’s block, but I’m really more of a documenter.

One of my boys informed me of this rather heart breaking idea. If I don’t have my vanity any  longer, or at least transform my vanity, what will I be left with in it’s place?  Will I be able to go bra-less, barefoot, make-up free one afternoon without being keenly aware that I am all those things?  If you are grossed out by any of those thoughts, I apologize, man-made beauty has become a bit too normalized.

This is my first step twoards releasing my vanity back on it’s creator.

I will tell you a tale of bad parenting and procrastination.

On Sunday Nick and I agreed that my car needed two new tires. Our plan was as follows-friday (as in two days from today) we would put on our grubbiest clothes and trek down to the ‘Pick-n-Pull’ to purchase two used tires. Nothing says ‘hottie’ like a chic gripping a tire iron, right?

Tires were, from that conversation, dubbed ‘very important to buy used’ by nature.

On Monday the second element of this tale materialized. The toe headed two year old became disinterested in the back and forth tennis match that his father and uncle were engaged in. I on the other hand, was entirely interested. My husband had just carelessly flung his sweaty T-shirt by me. I was examining his nooks and crannies like a flock of gay men checking out Michelangelo’s David when the two year interrupted me.

“Mommy, Can I play with Daddy’s keys?” Obviously, I should have said no. But I didnt’.

Flash forward to Tuesday afternoon. I’m driving home from work, it’s 94 degrees in my car and the leather is burning my ass. The shorts I am wearing are ill fitting black cargos. They are too short and always slipping off my hips. They also have a small hole on the front right side that I stitched together with white thread. You can’t tell as long as I wear black underwear.

I was planning on throwing them out the previous week, but ran out of clothes and resorted to them one more time. They are desperately uncomfortable to walk in. My pinkie finger was pushing apart the weak white thread to get at a mosquito bite when my car suddenly veered into the ditch.

I was one mile from home, one and a half from my mechanic’s. I had two completely bald, defeated rubber flaps hanging onto the wheel, but barely. I instinctively picked up my little blue phone and dialed 2, Talk.

My husband answered cheerily. Cute, I thought, shouldn’t his spidey senses be tingling? His woman was in distress! Much to my surprise, I wouldn’t be rescued by anyone, super hero or not. The key that would be needed to operate the rescue mobile was hopelessly lost in the grass around the tennis courts.

Consequently, I rolled ever so slowly to the mechanics and left my car to be repaired. I threw my bag over my shoulder and started the hike home, stopping ever so often to hike up my shorts or pull the inside seam down.

I am now the not-so-proud owner of two new tires.

We have been on the look out for an appropriate, fitting, Britt and Nick matching piece of art work for this vast gray wall in our living room for the past seven months of apartment dwelling. Many were considered, but deemed unworthy. When the compact started, it inspired Nick to create our own.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t willing to pick up a pencil or a brush so I grabbed the first tool and his sister, Lindsay used the second.

This is the beautiful result.. Our Tree of Life.

It’s like stepping outside in the early morning and the ground is wet, the air is heavy with the stench of wet earth and you didn’t even know it rained. We know change is constant yet it still surprises us. I choose my road, but I feel my road was paved a long time ago.

The journey of youth is the single most important trip you will ever take, where it leads is almost impossible to leave from. Too many of us neglect the road until it is a slope that you don’t have the energy to climb back up.

Wisdom is a magnetic stone that is able to attract iron from dirt. The filter we use to decipher good advice from bad or neutral must be maintained like a machine. The wise are able to set aside ego and collect the maximum amount of valuable advice they are offered.

The truly wise can recognize that wisdom is rarely self taught.

Sorry about the background changes.. I heard complaints that a white background was not pleasing on the eyes to read. ( Whiners)

Then the new one wouldn’t show people’s comments. Please let me know if this one works for you guys…

I’ve noticed something remarkable about becoming vegetarian. It is something that it not self induced, other than the actual choice to become a V.

I am consuming (that is an important word in my vocabulary) like 30% less food. Normally my plate would have meat, carbs and a veggie like substance. This would fill me up, make my belly bulge a bit. I call it my food baby. Not very cute.

Now my plate looks the same minus the meat. I have not felt the need to compensate! I have lost some poundage, my belly is flatter, the jeans that make my ass look slamming make my ass look God-like!

Most importantly, I am taking in less resources all together which is the point. Less is more!

This picture made me so happy when I found it on my computer today.

We have a measly deck. The deck is dull and uninviting. Company is coming..What to do??

Off to the Salvation Army, our salvation. We scoured the rows of stained rugs and plastic flowers leaving feeling completely defeated.

Alas! It was pure luck we struggled to find a parking space because much to our surprise, snugly tucked behind the S.A. was our holy land.

The ReStore! Hurray! It is a mecca for home improvement and it is all used and donated! Apparently stores like Lowes, Home Depot, and Menards donate all their “left overs” to the ReStore who then turns all thier profits over for Habitat for Humanity.

 Tanya, Nick and I spent last night building a kiddie bench (needs more stabilization) and hanging a beautiful lantern. Nick revisited the ReStore first thing this morning.

Life is so good.

We don’t live in Utopia, and frankly I don’t want to. The probability that I’d get to be the one calling the shots while my worker bees live in “happiness” is unlikely. All I want for this broken nation is a more even playing field. This is my inspiration for compacting, going into the field of social work, and my voting record.

Today I have a festering frustration with our health care system. There is a hospital bill with my husband’s name on it in transit to my mail box right now. The post man is probably sliding it front of the Hernandez family’s mail to be delivered today. The number on that bill is going to be more than the dollar amount I have earned since I started working at age 16.

We don’t have insurance right now. We don’t have insurance because we can’t afford the $700 a month to pay it. That doesn’t mean we deserve to be treated for serious medical conditions. There is a possibility the government will pay for some of this bill after many hours sending paper work back and forth like a chess game. If I play wisely I may save our family from bankruptcy.

My story is pathetic compared to the thousands of families who have gone bankrupt and sometimes died because of our health care system. This is immoral.

It is IMMORAL to think that because you have been lucky enough to “earn” (earn my ass) good insurance that you shouldn’t have to compromise that for a universal health care system. It is also just plain wrong. A mix of private and public insurance will ensure that you greedy richies will get the best of the best and the rest of us will get what we need. Maybe.