dance

There are so many things in flux in my life.  Too many.  I feel overwhelmed to be honest.  When I feel overwhelmed, I sit on the floor with my face in my hands and refuse to do anything.

Well, metaphorically speaking.

Truthfully, I back away for a bit and sort of ignore things.  It's terrible, I know, but eventually I get back to life and fix it all.  Right now there are things I need to do and things I long to do.  I wasn't really sure what the longing was for until I meditated: What am I wanting? 

I want to dance.

I want a dress - a red dress, a sexy red dress - that moves with every shake of my hips.  I want Spanish guitar and percussion.  I want hair down to my ass.  I want to feel every bit of air and energy surrounding me.  I want a dark room and hardwood floors so that the echo of my shoes becomes part of the music.  I want to feel that thrill, that passion, that dance used to bring me.

I need it.

RIP Mike

The first time I met Mike Responts, I showed up at the studio in painted, ratty sweats and an old baseball cap.  I was there at midnight to talk about a fundraiser for Team in Training.  I stayed and talked politics until 2:00.  The other guests were drunken barflies who had nicknames based on Jersey Shore stars.  Mike hit on all of them, but I could tell he was irritated, too.  It was comical.  I had a great time.

I guested on his show a handful of times after that, all of them in pajamas.  He would hit on every woman in the place, but never hit on me.  We would bicker and banter and push each other.  It was good stuff.

Months later, he called and asked me to co-host his new time slot.  I said yes and headed down to chat with him.

"Holy shit!" was the first thing out of his mouth when he saw me. 

"What?"

"I didn't realize you were hot.  I mean, I thought you might have potential, but you were always in that gigantic New York sweatshirt and that nasty Yankees cap."

"Thanks, I think."

"This is great!  No, I mean it.  We'll stick your headshot on the one-sheet, and I'll have another hot sidekick.  Yes, this is so great."  He loved talking about how I was an undercover hottie on his show.  Because of his love for strippers, I was never really sure how to take this new monikor...

It was never really our show, either.  600 Pounds of Ugly was always Mike's.  He would prep me for the show with links and soundbytes - all of it controversial.  I would argue that he was stretching the truth.  He would say, "Fantastic! Save it for the show."  We argued a lot and had a great time with Nick, the sound board guy.  The dynamic between the three of us was electric at times. 

On one of our last shows together, before the station pulled us, Mike said this to me, "You know the only thing preventing you from ruling the world?  A sense of entitlement.  You're smart,  you're hot, people like you.  You need to develop a sense of entitlement.  DEMAND things.  I'm a piece of shit -  no, seriously, people barely put up with me - but I make demands and I get what I want.  You could be something really big in the world.  You just have to believe it yourself."

I'm still letting those words sink in.  Mike never let me squirm away from his crass compliments.  "Just nod, GiGi.  Agree with me on this shit.  Argue with me on everything else, but I am the only man on this planet that has never lied to you.  I swear, I never will."

You were a better man than you let on, Mike Responts.  You taught me a lot.  Tell Joe hello for me.

scent of a woman

Had a conversation yesterday that made me realize that the only constant of my adult life is my perfume - Pleasures by Estee Lauder.  I've worn it for nearly twenty years.

I've tried other scents; I didn't feel like me. 

I know Pleasures isn't sophisticated like Chanel #5 or trendy like any by Calvin Klein, but it's the one that has seen me through two broken marriages, one pregnancy, numerous jobs, many visits with my mother, and once got me a free tow.  The driver checked my car insurance, told me the tow wasn't covered, sniffed the air around me, and said, "Um, I swear I'm not hitting on you, but you smell really nice."  He was so embarrassed, he didn't charge me, and even gave me a ride home after dropping my car at the mechanic's.

When I picked it, I didn't think it would become some sort of signature, I just liked that it wasn't too fruity, too flowery, or too Avon lady.  I was beyond the raspberry-scented lotion phase of junior high (and...I didn't want to smell like a stripper...).  I wanted something to make me feel like a grown up.

Nearly every day, someone tells me I smell nice.  One client said his wife was upset when he went home smelling of it after hugging me.  She came to his next appointment.  I made sure to hug her as well. 

It's an amazing thing, how a scent can trigger a memory.  How it can be comforting, alarming, arousing.  How it can become so much a part of you that the cost no longer matters.  Small luxuries and all that.  I was holding my bottle this morning and thinking I needed to start setting aside the money to replace it.  My mind wandered to a time when Rhiannon will choose something for herself.  It was a sweet thought, sharing some sort of rite of passage with her.  I won't rush the time by, but I'll look forward to it.

beauty

Had a conversation with The Guy the other day that I'm sure made him think I was completely judgmental and maybe a little cruel.

It was about looks.

Well, more precisely, it was about how society treats people based on their looks.  I could tell The Guy was looking at me through different eyes, because of what came out of my mouth, but I was pretty stubborn, as only a Clyburn can be.

The industry I work in would not exist, if it weren't for the (unfortunate) importance placed on beauty and style, and I will admit, I'm attracted to beauty.  And style.  This started at a young age because my mom is, well, vain.  And schizophrenic.  Most of my youth was spent being told that I would have to work harder to be considered pretty by others.  Some days she would stare at me and tell me she wished I were prettier.  She doesn't anymore - she claims she never did - but it isn't one of those things a person forgets, you know, being told by her mother that she's not pretty.

The kids in fourth grade proved her right in her assessment of me by being exceptionally cruel.  Nothing was safe: My hair - gross; my clothes - ugly; my face - weird; my intelligence - teacher's pet.  There's something about being told you're weird-looking constantly that makes you start to believe it.

So the other day I said something akin to,"If Pooka's ears stuck straight out like that, I would have them fixed."  The Guy looked at me like I had grown a third eye. 

"What?  We live in a terrible society.  I don't want her to have any immediate disadvantages!"

And it's true.  If you and one other person have fantastic and similar resumes - and you're gorgeous and the other guy is bland - guess what? You're hired!!  In fact, your resume could be less spectacular and you will more than likely be hired.  If you want me to find all the social psychology experiments proving this, I will.  And why do women who really can't afford them buy new boobs?  Because they know they'll suddenly get more attention.  Why do my clients cover their grey hairs?  Sometimes it's vanity, but sometimes it's survival.  A highly intelligent female client was looking for a new job and said,"I have to keep these at bay.  I don't want them to think I look old.  It's an old boys' club and the women they let in have to be cute."

Sad, but true.

What about just about every woman I know worrying about her weight?  When I ask, it tends to go back to their mothers saying something to them. My mom once said, just before I became bulimic,"Boys might like round butts, but they don't want a fat girl.  Did you really need to eat that?"

My daughter will have her bad moments in life, but for the most part, I know she'll be okay.  I know because she's already thoughtful and caring, smart and funny.  And gorgeous, which will get her pretty far all by itself.

I just wish she'd fatten up a bit...

troubling

With all the politics flying around this election year, this post will come across as propoganda.  Try not to let it.

Today I held my seven-year-old's body and hair (it's very long) as she projectile-vomited.  All day she'd been complaining of a sore throat and headache.  Off and on she cried because of the pain in her stomach.  Any other parent would have taken her to the doctor.  I didn't.

She's uninsured.

When you lack insurance and have no money, your options are narrowed.  People tell you,"There's that free clinic on Latah..." Yes.  Thank you.  It's open for two hours on a Monday night.  Today is Tuesday.  They have many suggestions, actually.  None truly work.  So I checked her temperature.  No fever.  That's a good thing.  If she'd had one, I would have taken her to the ER - the only place in town open at that particular moment that doesn't require insurance or payment up front. 

I'm not heartless.  I love my daughter more than anything or anyone.  She is my life.  I want to create the best life for her. 

We live in a jacked-up world.  People decry government assistance,"It's for lazy people!!"

Really? My daughter's LAZY?  Am I?  I once waited for five hours in the Health & Welfare office trying to get her CHIP, Idaho's insurance for children.  I make too much money.  When they told me the amount I'd have to make, I said,"How can anyone live off of that??"  Seriously?  Where would one live?  The homeless shelter??

Five hours is a long time anywhere, but when you're surrounded by crying children and crying mothers it seems to last years.  It was filthy and the workers acted like drones, which breaks my heart.  How can a person pull herself up when faced with that line on a regular basis?  No wonder people give up.

When people talk politcs and favor the tax breaks for the rich and getting rid of Medicaid, I want to scream.  If I were rich - no, WHEN I'm rich - I will gladly pay more to help my fellow Americans.  I donate time now to do that.  I don't have money; I have time and skills.  I do what I can.

What are you doing?

what is passion?

I've been sick for a couple of weeks now.  This week I lost five pounds.  I've been lethargic and tired and a bit grumpy.  My body doesn't feel like my own.

Despite this, there are things I had to get done, like moving and working and being Mom.  So I did. 

This morning, as my body insisted on laying back down after my shower, The Guy snuck in for a pre-work snuggle.  Even tired, I can still respond to his touch.  Even tired, when Pooka cries out in her sleep, I can be at her side in seconds.  Even tired, if Boy needs a piggyback ride, I'm available.

I can be exhausted, but if an idea comes to mind I will quickly write it down.  Sadly, I can be full of energy and writing can be a chore if the ideas aren't coming. I'll still do it, just not as prolifically.

So, passion.  What is it?

For me today, it's the realization that there are things I won't stop doing no matter how badly I feel.  I'm passionate about my family.  I'm passionate about writing.  Let's face it, I'm passionate about social media.  [What?  An audience is important to a performer.]

Passion is what drives you.

What is your passion?  What do you love so much that sickness can't keep you from it?

...and I'm Done Comparing

I woke up many times last night with an upset stomach and my usual overthink.  It was a hard weekend in some ways.  Emotionally, I'm up and down as The Guy and I make it through our first rough patch.  I wish I could say it'll be our only, but I'm a realist.  Hopefully, this one will teach us something about how to handle any in the future.  So far, I think we're doing pretty well.  We were friends first, so we have that.  And then there's that whole love thing I feel for him. 

I'm not naive enough to believe that love conquers all.  That said, I think Love can be a pretty damn good foundation.  Of course, my beliefs on the subject depend on the time of day.  At 4:00 a.m., these sentences may have read differently.  Right now, I feel pretty good.

When I sit down and chew myself out it's usually because I'm being whiny and insecure about something.  I don't have a dissociative disorder - it's hard enough just being one of me, trust me - but I have two sides that war sometimes.  There's my practical side - The Intellectual - and the scared, insecure side - The Whiner.

The Whiner feels that she isn't enough.  Everything worries her: Will people think the mosquito bite on my face is a pimple?  It's a slow week at the salon...does this mean I'm losing clients?  Am I pretty?  Why did I say that?  I'm not loveable.

The Intellectual is a planner.  She's a doer: Really? A mosquito bite?  Fuck them, if they have a problem with you - get rid of them.  Who cares if you're pretty or not?  You have a brain! Pretty isn't real, intelligence is.  You said that because you needed to, so fuck them if they can't take it.  Loveable?  Seriously.  The only way to fix things is to get in there and work.  You need to be proactive.  Loveable is not tangible.  Beauty is not tangible.  Get over it.

The Intellectual is also a bitch, apparently, and swears like a long-haul trucker who spent time in the military.

When The Whiner wins, I'm a mess.  I think that no one ever appreciated the Real Me and no one ever will.  My dad was gone a lot, because he was a long-haul trucker who spent nine years in the military, and I wanted to be the happy kid for him when he was home.  My mom and brother are schizophrenic - 'nuff said.  In fourth grade the kids in school were never going to be okay with me, so I learned how to morph into something that was just quirky enough to be accepted, but still fit in.  It took me years.  Luckily, The Intellectual propelled me through some of it.  Even today I think it's strange that many people feel they know me because of social media and this blog and spending time at the salon with me.  One person introduced me to his friend saying, "This is GiGi.  You'll love her.  What you see is what you get with her."  Wow.

When The Intellectual wins,  I start shutting down the emotional side and just get to work.  I power through in a very practical way, not allowing feelings to dissuade me from getting things done.  Often I think it would be better if she ran the show. 

Ultimately, I am, of course, GiGi.  We are all multi-faceted.  I'm no different than you in that way, right?  On good days, neither of these weird dominant parts of me need to make an appearance because I'm a balance.  I'm emotional, with just enough of the tougher, practical side to temper it. 

Most days are good days, luckily, or The Guy would probably have ran months ago.  I need to remind myself that even the best couples have tough times and cut us both some slack.  The Guy and I are two people who came into this with kids, parenting styles that didn't match, our own sets of friends, exes, and very different backgrounds.  We might have a lot in common now, but we are not the same.  Instead of being sad about that, I should be glad, I guess.  I mean, if I'm insecure about myself, why would I pick someone that is a mirror image of me? 

Our instant connection wasn't, "Yay!  I found you, my missing other half!  The person who knows me after two hours!  I shall love you forever!" - it was friendship.  We liked each other.  Through time, we figured out we loved each other.  Others noticed it first, actually, we were too busy being friends.  Friends who listened and shared and marveled at the other's stories.  Friends who laughed at each other, and friends who cried when there was pain in the other's eyes.  I fell in love with him slowly and was surprised by it.  We weren't playing some mating game, we were just hanging out.  It wasn't a game of twenty questions between people on a date, it was real life.  It was time spent getting to know each other in a deeper way.  It was me showing someone else the Real Me.

All I can do is hope that he's okay with that.  The Real Me and her two weird sidekicks.

...and Love Is Better than Hate

What a cheesy blog title, but...it fits. 

This morning, I treated my daughter to a coffee shop visit before we went our separate ways.  Because she's only seven, she keeps up a fairly steady stream of chatter.  This morning was no different.  Between bites of a Nutella-filled croissant, Rhiannon talked with me about a plethora of things, "Why did your mom always cut your hair when you were little?  Is that why you always cut it now?  Why do you always say my hair looks like I'm training for a career at the Co Op?  I think I look more like you than Dad.  I wonder when I'll see Esther again..." 

And then...silence.

"There's a woman over there with kind of a beard, Mama."

This small remark launched a discussion about transgendered people and being our own true self:

Me: That's because she was born a boy, but feels more comfortable living her life as a woman. 
Rhiannon: Why?
Me: Sometimes, even though our body parts tell us one thing, our heart and soul tell us something else. She'd rather be a woman. There are so many different reasons why.  
Rhiannon: Maybe she can wax her face then. [That's my girl - daughter of a cosmetologist!]
Me: Sometimes people choose to have surgeries to change their bodies or take hormones to do things that would stop beards or change their voices, but they're very expensive. 
Rhiannon: That's too bad. I think people should do what makes them happy. And being a girl is fun; we get to be pretty!

Not once did she say anything derogatory.  She seemed to really understand that our looks/bodies should not dictate who we are. 

This got me thinking on a conversation I had with a friend on Friday about makeup and dressing well.  I have this weird hangup about makeup and trying too hard because, well, because of my mom.  When I was nine, she started harping on me to wear makeup.  NINE!  While other kids rebelled by doing drugs and drinking, I refused to "be pretty."  I still don't wear makeup unless it's a special occasion or I feel particularly low on self esteem, which is a bit jacked-up considering I'm a stylist and own a salon.  My friend said, "Not that you aren't lovely every day, but I have to ask: Why wouldn't you try to be as attractive as possible?  You're insecure, but you don't have any reason to be."

Huh.

So I wore a bit of makeup this weekend.  And got a lot of compliments.  It was...nice.

When others are striving to live as they see themselves in a world that won't accept them, why am I shlumping around like a potato?  Shouldn't I like what I see in the mirror? (Especially since I work in front of one...?)  Shouldn't my boyfriend be proud to show me off?  Shouldn't I live to my total potential?


  

...and Moving On Is Better than Dwelling

My mom and brother are schizophrenic.  I grew up with two people who constantly believe their problems are brought by the actions of others, which is funny since I often start looking at a problem with this question in mind, "What did I do to create this?"

While I think it's healthy to know that most issues have two sides, I'm beginning to realize sometimes it really isn't you.  Sometimes things just happen in your life. This is devastating to a person who is used to being proactive and a fixer. 

How do you fix something you didn't break? 

My horrible flaws are: I worry, I dwell, I overthink to the nth degree.  If the problem wasn't caused by my actions, and I can't fix it, I turn on the hyper-dwell-overthink mode in my brain to give it something to do.  This is not a good thing.  Trust me.  All it does is make you tired and sad.  The only way to be proactive in a situation that involves you - but wasn't created by you - is to move beyond it.  This involves a fuck-ton of forgiving.  It involves a universe worth of love.  It involves trust.

I'm lucky.  I have amazing friends who smack me upside the head and remind me that sometimes there isn't anything I can do but move on.  They remind me of the good, agree with the fucked-up bad, and reassure me that nothing will ever make them stop loving me and mine.  Total support from spectacular people I respect and honor is very helpful.

Once the dwell-overthink thing starts to settle, I immediately move to the future.  The bright, shiny, new future. 

The one I get to help create.

...and Following the Advice Of Wiser People Is Better than Being a Dumbass

I didn't date a lot, but I can't remember a time when I wasn't boy crazy.  I watch Rhiannon around boys and remember what it was to be in first grade and have a boy write, "Justin + GiGi" under the metal slide in the playground.  It was heady stuff.

Romance is tricky.  It shouldn't be, but it is.  We watch movies or read books and there's a formula:

• Boy meets girl. 
• They figure out they love each other. 
• Boy loses girl. 
• Boy wins girl back. 

It's all very...pat.  In the end, everyone's happy and the theater is a mess of popcorn and spilled soda.

In real life, things can be just as pat.  People meet, fall in love, hurt each other, fight, and make it work or not.  But what is love?  Why do some people stay together and others not?

I think it boils down to this: A decision.

Couples I know that have been together decades say they decided  to stay together.  They decided the other person was worth the hard work it takes to make a relationship work.  They decided every day to stay despite all the shitty things that can tear people apart.  They decided everyday to still be in love.

I like that. 

I can be pretty emotional.  That said, I am very good at locking things away and ignoring them, too, especially things that hurt too much when they see the light of day.  I can be quick to react or very slow & dense.  I never know which will happen, either.  I can also be amazingly logical when I need to be.  My dad always told me, "You follow your heart.  That can be good or very, very bad.  What I need is for you to stop for a minute and be logical.  Think things through.  And quit trying to fix everything.  You can't do it."  I still struggle with that, but I do my best for his sake.  I badly want to control my life, but it seems to be forever swirling out of my reach.  Knowing I can decide to be where I am every day makes it seem like I have some semblance of control, however false that may be.

I decide.

I like that a lot.

...and Living In the Now Is Better than Worrying About the Past/Future

Or so they say.

But here I am overthinking again.  It's what I do, especially on nights that are so hot it prevents sleep from taking over.  For me, the way out of the overthink is to talk it out.  If that's not an option, I write.  Once it's out, I hope to rest.

How does one get to the point where she can just be okay with Now? 

Lately, I hear the whole "live for today" thing in a very different way, and it doesn't sound comforting.  I say that as a person who has attempted to plot her life since the beginning and has always struggled with the unexpected outcomes.  Get good grades in high school, and you'll go to a great college, right?  Not if money issues and family dynamics get in the way.  Learn from a failed relationship and make deliberate choices before the next, right?  Ummmmm...I'm on my second divorce.

So let's say I meditate or find my center or whatever it takes to be in the moment, completely letting go of what the Future may bring - then what?  What does that look like?  I know in my practical mind that people can't truly live in the Now without planning for the Future, but I do get the metaphysical aspect of Now being all we truly have.  Still, it makes my brain hurt.  How do we concentrate on what the Future needs to bring if we're only focused on Now?  Fuck.  I suck at this.  Take care of Today, and Tomorrow will be okay?  Sounds close, but maybe I'm not bright enough to fully grasp the concept.  Happy Today hasn't always meant Happy Tomorrow, and that's where my brain explodes.

And what of the Past?  We're supposed to remember it or we're doomed to repeat it, but don't you dare dwell there or you'll never move beyond it.  Ugh.  Who can keep all this shit straight?

AND what if right Now there are things that make your heart hurt?  Nothing real, just your run-of-the-mill insecurities or worries, but still...discomfort.  Isn't it then okay to look to the Future and hope that things once again turn out unexpectedly, just this time in your favor?  Isn't it okay to daydream that your business makes more than enough to just cover the bills, that your child has a long and happy life, that you get to be in love forever?  Sometimes right Now doesn't assure all that, you know?

And here's the answer my befuddled brain just sent me: Faith, GiGi.

I just have to have faith in Tomorrow while I live Today.  Faith in the people I love.  Faith in me.  Okay.

...and Overthinking Is Better than Not Thinking At All

Or is it?

Seriously, I should be on meds.  Things will be clicking right along, seemingly near-perfect, and my brain will notice little things to wonder about.  Then that wonder turns to worry.  Then that same overthinking worry-brain hits critical mass and immediately starts to shut down out of fear to protect itself. 

I picture it like a large old house with all the windows open.  Curtains are lazily blowing through the windows, the sky is blue, the birds are happily chirping in the trees.  I'm standing at the attic window - completely happy - when I notice something small in the horizon.  I don't like what I think I see, but instead of grabbing binoculars to really get a good look, I slam the attic window shut and move to a different window.  If that small speck in the distance doesn't quickly reveal itself, I will shut all the windows and board up the house - no visitors allowed, please push cheese through the mail slot.

So maybe not thinking at all is better.  What do I know?  I'm just a hairstylist.

...and Late Is Better than Never (on being a mother)

I can't remember a time when I didn't want to be a mom. 

I thought, once upon a time, that I would have four kids.  Then it dropped down to two.  Then I held Pooka for the first time and knew I never needed any more.  Even now, I hold myself back from swallowing her everyday, hoping to keep her forever even as I know she'll eventually need - and want - to move on to her own life.

Even when she's whiny and a know-it-all and talking too much, I still want to hold her tight to me.  She is beyond anything I could have ever wished for.

I'm sure sometimes my friends wish I'd let go and go out on the town or do ANYTHING without her, but she'll only allow me to be this close to her for a bit longer.  I want to take advantage while I can. 

So please forgive me if I'm the mom who takes my kid everywhere.  Forgive that I recreated my business to include a teepee for my kid.  Forgive that I'd rather spend the $40 to take her to the movies rather than on a babysitter for her. 

Give me time. 

Eventually she won't want me around, and I'll need you to make sure I leave the house.

...and An Existential Crisis Is Better than Complacency

Bleh.

I have this building dread that I'm supposed to be doing something.  Not just anything, something.  Something that changes the world (or at least Boise).  Now before everyone starts privately emailing me or posting on my Facebook wall that I am special and a great mom (thank you in advance), I want you to know that I understand the importance of being Pooka's role model.  I take that very seriously, and that's just another part of this weird, nagging feeling: What will be the legacy I leave her?

I'm not the world's greatest businessperson, but I manage to scrape together a living being self-employed.  I'm not a Pulitzer Prize-winning author, but I can get my point across on a good day.  I'm not brave by nature, but I have been.

Which means I can be again, right?  If only I knew what I should be afraid of...

So, what is it that is pulling me?  I'm willing to jump as soon as it presents itself, but apparently I need IT to wack me upside the head with Thor's hammer.

What is IT?

Bleh.  

...and 40 Is Better than 20

At twenty, I:

• got married for the first time.  We didn't discuss whether we wanted children (me: yes, him: no), whether we wanted to settle down anywhere (me: yes, him: no), whether we cared if the other was happy (me: yes, him: well, I think you get the picture).
• thought a person had to sacrifice her own happiness and comfort for the sake of another to prove her love. 
• was very unhappy and didn't think it mattered.  Except for one day, when it mattered a lot.  I got over that.  Well, for a while.  Not really.  I mean, we divorced three years later.
• imagined what "someday" would look like, telling myself it would "somehow" create itself.
• contemplated suicide.

At forty, I:

• have been married twice, which has taught me what I want in a romantic partner: someone kind, who truly loves me and communicates well.  So far, so good with The Guy.
• know that one never has to sacrifice her own happiness and comfort to prove her love.  What kind of jerk would expect her to do that??  And that goes for friendships, too.  Only invite those into your life that accept you as is and encourage and cheer you on.  The "others" will find little spots here and there.  Remove them as soon as you realize neither of you brings the other joy.  What is the point in relationships that don't have that comfort?  I have loved many - still love some of them - but I will not model something unhealthy for my daughter.  I want her to have a peaceful, joyful time in her life.
• am doing what it takes to be happy - the word of the decade, apparently.
• know that "someday" is something I create for myself.
• want to live a long damn time and see the world and accomplish many things.

Happy birthday to me.

...and Remembering What It Is To Be a Kid Is Better than Getting Your Way

Today, in a move I learned from my mother, I forgot what it is to be a kid. Actually, to be human.

As people, we all want to be special, but only in a way that doesn't upset the balance of belonging to our peer groups. In first grade, kids are learning what it is to conform to their social group. They're figuring out what it takes to fit in. They want to please. They want to be comfortable in their surroundings, even while they want others to notice they're unique.

My seven-year-old has had a chaotic life. She has the amazing ability - already - to assess her environment and adapt, but she is only a first-grader. While she loves being a little different, she craves community. I understand this; I am the same way at nearly forty years old. And yet, I forgot.

It was only for a moment, maybe fifteen minutes, but it was long enough to make her cry. Because she is already a compassionate, beautiful being, her response to this horrible amnesia was, "I should remember to be more grateful, Mama."

Her kindness made me proud of who she is and ashamed of myself.

Those fifteen minutes, hopefully minor for her even with the distress, will be with me a long time.

...and Taking Your Own Photos Is Better than Google Images (part two)

Gratuitous Cat Photo (Cleo)

All Facebook friends know I declared it Clint Eastwood Friday.  In a lovely bit of synchronicity, this was in the window of the bookstore next to my salon.

Corner of 5th and Main in downtown Boise

One of the large bins at Lux.  Makes me think of my dad...

Shadow of trees in the City of Trees

I cheated.  This was a shot I took a couple of days ago of my tat.

...and Taking Your Own Photos Is Better than Google Images

...though I'm very partial to Google Images.

Today is a gorgeous sunny day in Boise.  I want to try out these lovely new camera apps on my iPhone and putz around downtown before heading in to Illuminate.  Expect many amateur shots.  Just warning you.

Good Bye, Steve

It's been years since I've worked at Micron, but I will always remember Steve Appleton as a great man with a quick smile and a warm handshake.

My heart goes out to his family.

Rest easy, Steve.

...and Getting It Done Is Better than Getting It Perfect

GAH!!  Why is it that I can push myself really hard at times (had a baby without drugs, did a marathon, got published, opened Illuminate Salon), and then turn around and PROCRASTINATE like no one else?

Haven't I learned by now that it's always better to face my fears and forge ahead?  And what is so scary about, oh, creating a ten-page marketing plan for school?  It can only help me when I turn around and make one for Illuminate, right?

And the sooner I get the legal crap with my ex finished, the clearer my head will be so I can concentrate on the MANY other things I want/need to do, like, oh, WRITING.

If only there was a magical cheese I could eat that would push me...or bacon.  Yeah, a magical strip of bacon to give me energy.  That would be good.