Thursday, October 14, 2010

Some notes on October's first weeks

1) People are bringing their apples to our house and cidering.  We keep the pomice (ground-up left overs) for the cows, but we've had more than the cows should eat and can't quite keep up.  I dumped a bucket of obviously sparkling pomice in the field, thinking it was too far gone to interest the cows.  Hendrika slurped it up in no time and then wandered around, approached me for some petting, stared in to space, just like a cow but a little more so.  With a little extra swaying.  Cow tipsy.

2) A day trip to the Barter Fair in Tonasket.  The kids bartered cookies and my wild edible cards which were an inexplicably huge hit this year gaining toys, rocks, pelts, shirts, jewelry, truffles, and verjus.  Lost my train of thought a few times.  "Why is my mind so blank all of a sudden?"  I wondered.  My brother (who we met up with not knowing he'd even be there) said, "Because you're breathing Barter Fair air, obviously."  On the way home we ate at Colville's locovore fancy pants restaurant, Lovitt's. I slurped a perfectly seasoned black bean soup.

3)  Black beans and I don't get along much.  I love the flavor, but the farts leak out without notice.  Suddenly, sounds are coming from my ass and I'm the last to know.  That's special to the black beans.

4)  My biggest public speaking fear is letting one rip while on mike.  I saw it happen to someone once and it's stuck with me, filed in a very special place.

5)  Sunday, I had a public speaking engagement and spent all morning memorizing the children's story while doing the Downward Dog to get it all out.

6) Things went awry.  The first service went well.  It felt natural and good.  And I didn't fart.  Blue tried to correct my story in the middle of it, and I kicked her in the foot - fabulous public persona I have!  I was utterly unprepared for the second service.

7)  The congregation was much larger.  And there were a hell of a lot more kids.  All the familiar faces which I rely on to ground me during speaking were either behind me in the choir or in the Religious Education meeting.  A photographer with a giant camera and a telephoto lens perched in the front row and started snapping photos of me using a massive FLASH!

8)  Each flash was a reset button.  I am on earth.  I am human.  I am standing in front of a couple hundred people.  I am supposed to be speaking.  What am I saying?  Each flash lost my place in my memorized children's story.  I had not practiced with a strobe light.  It had been almost two years since my last children's story.  I am not that experienced of a public speaker.  I couldn't take it anymore and told the photographer to stop.  Then, I was really lost and had to find my place in my notes.  Then, I was so nervous my mouth went cotton-dry and I had to find a glass of water.  I did not run off crying, like I wanted to.  But finished the story, my mouth saying the words while in my mind a Greek chorus sang across the stage: "This is hell.  Someone get me out of here."

9)  In the afternoon, after delivering Blue to a party, I arrived home and dashed past the cidering neighbors and Huck and took some relief laying on the living room floor groaning at the fiasco which I'm sure wasn't that horrible for anyone but me.  I don't actually know anyone who'd be cruel enough (except maybe that lady from a few weeks ago?)  to tell me the truth of how terrible it did turn out.  So far, they are only telling me that I dealt with a bad situation as well as I could.

10)  Somewhat recovered, I go out to say howdy to the neighbors.  Tell them I just had a bad public speaking experience and needed to recuperate for a minute.  "Did you have some chamomile tea?"  "No.  This required rum and coke."  There's something about mentioning hard liquor at 2 o'clock on a Sunday afternoon that drops jaws and renders speechless.  Lesson learned: always lie about hard liquor consumption.  In my defense, it was decaf coke, because I have learned that the dis-inhibiting alcohol mixed with any uber-energizer (such as one drop of caffeine for me) leads to really stupid things.  Even just one.  Also, unlike beer, rum and coke is 100% naturally gluten-free.  (so are potato chips! FYI)

Seriously, I go through about one bottle of gin and one of rum a year.  But I mention it every single time I do.  You talk about alcohol consumption and some people want to peg you as an alcoholic ASAP.  Deny it, and your double screwed.  I am not an alcoholic, so screw me.  I crave one drink about twice a week.  But if I talk about it, it counts for a hell of a lot more apparently.

Public performances, as every priest knows, can sometimes require lubrication.  I was running a fundraiser auction and someone wavered on whether or not the band got drink vouchers.  Duh.  I thought, but said:  They're about to perform in front of a couple hundred people.  Obviously, they get free drinks.

It's fine.  We're all going to be okay.  But today's my birthday, so I'm having another.  And it's not even noon.  Am I bad enough for you?  Hendrika and I, here we sit, staring into space and swaying together.

11)  Huck showed up with a moving van yesterday.  He's a little understated.  No, seriously.  You have to pay close attention to what he's saying or doing or you might miss the most romantic comment ever about the color of your eyes.  He's got no flair.  His voice tone never announces: I am about to say the most swoon-worthy thing you've ever heard, PAY ATTENTION NOW!  It took me a few years to figure that out.  So... he shows up with a giant moving van, which is a giant yellow statement itself, but wasn't all: TADA! LOOK WHAT I DID!! No he's more like: don't get too excited... I don't know if your going to like it.  What went through my mind was not, for the first time in Huck surprise: he's leaving me.  So that was kind of a break through, because unlike any prior surprise, a moving van might actually have indicted that.  It was: pony? king size bed?  A corner office desk.  Used.  And I am totally thrilled!  As he warned, it's not the prettiest thing ever.  But boy, is it big and serious and fabulous and exactly what I wanted, but didn't actually imagine actually having.

12)  Still figuring out how to tell you about why I decided to home school my daughter.  Turns out, talking about it at all, with 95% of people, is offensive.  And I'm nothing if not about not offending you.  But just as a precursor, let me tell you what all but 5% of you are going to choose to hear: your kid is dumb and I hate mine.  There, now we've got that out of the way.  And I've successfully prepped us all for my next blog entry.  Onward and forward with my birthday plans now!  Which include: painting the front porch, washing dishes AND... TADA!! folding laundry!

1 comment:

  1. Hope you are enjoying your birthday drink(s)! And I really want to hear about the homeschooling decision! I think that the chance of being offended is a small price to pay for the opportunity to peek behind the curtain of an interesting mind honestly mulling over interesting questions and decisions.



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