Open Letter

Before any of you start thinking this little blog space is all magical fairy doors and pumpkin patches, I'd like to step out of my usual habit of musing on a thing, good or bad, and squeezing every ounce of rambling metaphor I can out it. The following is an open letter that I need to get out of my system so I can face the next several months without shouting expletives so profane they cause the earth's axis to tilt ever so slightly sending innocent penguins hurtling into outer space.

Dear School,

I understand you have had funding cuts...again...and that you will be relying on donations and fundraisers to support your 17,000 pounds of photocopier paper to relay the daily messages about how your funding has been cut and you will be relying on donations and fundraisers to support... (see: Escher, M.C.)

I want this school to succeed in its mission to educate my daughter on the basics. I'll fill her in on all the really important stuff as we go, but I have to speak out concerning the latest fundraiser scheme we are being asked to participate in. Don't you think hiring a company to send home snazzy pamphlets with 3D glasses in them and scripts for the 5 to 8 year olds to beg for money per lap, then make them run on a 90 plus degree day until they drop faster than Icarus at the feet of their guilt ridden parents all of whom advocate rescuing greyhounds from mob bosses for exhibiting less cruelty? Calling it a "fun" run doesn't take the horror out of it. Fun shot, fun root canal, fun colonoscopy. Nope, still doesn't work. So do me a favor and stop manipulating my child's trust in adults, thanks.

And then, then, we find out you only get 10% of the donations. So this company, if it can be called that legitimately, keeps 90% of the money our families have coughed up. I am not good at math, I've been very upfront about that, but even I know the economics of this deal are a wee bit uneven.

I propose you send a nice email or letter for those families that don't have access, requesting a donation for specific reasons because people are more likely to let go of their money if they know exactly what their buying. Then, since you didn't hire a scamathon enticing my child with more plastic junk made by starving children somewhere, you, dear School, get to keep 100% of the monies raised. I know, it's awesome, right?! Thanks.

See you on the field,

Heather

ps- this also applies to all of the charities asking me to mail out letters to my neighbors. Sheesh.

You're Not Hopeless

So, last night, I paced, literally paced, the floor trying to convince myself not to write the really painful scene between my characters. I kept thinking up increasingly ludicrous possibilities to spare them this confrontation, but life is confrontation, right? I mean we don't just all float around in bubbles of foamy bliss all day. I realized at some point, well into the night, that I was breaking my own heart for these imaginary folks. Is that normal? So I did what I do whenever I feel sad or frustrated or restless: I quoted all of my favorite lines from Lost in Translation and stopped when Bob says quietly, "You're not hopeless."

I seriously crush on that movie because I can relate to both Charlotte and Bob; her searching, artistic nature and his jaded, mid life crisis induced depression. I will finish these Hermione's Everyday Socks one day, but not this day. This day, I am going to post boring photos of my feet, accept the fact that I am now officially a soccer mom, and try to go to bed at a reasonable hour. Wish me luck.

Twining

When you plant a dozen or so pumpkin seeds in your largest clay pot full of the fanciest soil the handsomest young man at the hardware store suggests, a curious thing happens. Every one of the many minutes a day I've stood wondering, watering, and wishing over that pot, have come to nothing. I have a pot full of fancy dirt, that has produced the scraggliest, palest, most awkward looking vines. They remind me of those angst ridden boys who flirted with me in high school. But the three seeds I happened to toss over by the wall where the grass never grows? You guessed it. Rampant. Healthy. Virile, even. The seeds I ignored have shown my high expectations and expensive dirt up. You never know the surprises that wait, hidden beneath your feet.

For all of the showy leaves and blossoms, the true magic lies in the twining tendrils. They twist and strive, reaching out for a connection; a hold on this life. Some find themselves wrapped around something pretty quickly, and they hold on tight, never giving the sturdiness of their anchor a thought. Many find, much later, the base is weak and the weight of the mature vine too much for one tendril to carry. Others get swept away, letting the growing vine carry them far from their roots. These travelers don't always have a chance to find a connection but they curl and grasp anyway because it is their nature to find the sticking place to support the vine. Even if they happen to find something far afield to grasp, they have stretched so far, these tendrils end up tangling in upon themselves. Either way, the season will change, the pumpkin will be harvested, the chill air will dry the vine, and those tendrils will be forced to let go.

Change is life. Whether you are a determined or wayward tendril, life will change and you will be forced to change with it. Let's resolve to accept our transitions gracefully, twined together by the knowledge that how we choose to live our life effects the souls of those we briefly connect with. For everyone out there losing their hold and for everyone grasping tightly to something new, I wish you peace. I've done both and will again and again. Happy first day of 1st grade, sweetie.

Again with the Math and Music

Remember a few posts ago, when I rambled on about my love-hate relationship with math? I made reference to the golden ratio (which is the perfect confluence of art and science) in the music of Chopin. While I try to get motivated and snap a pic of the sock I finally finished, check out this entertaining example of art and science that is the pentatonic scale, a language universally spoken, even if you didn't know you knew the words.

World Science Festival 2009: Bobby McFerrin Demonstrates the Power of the Pentatonic Scale from World Science Festival on Vimeo.

I've got nothing. And that's everything.

two farm pictures are in shop now

I am writing a post I try not to write. The kind that you feel obligated to send out since you have been quiet for a week. Have you ever received a phone call from a friend and after you say the hellos, you both just hold the phone in silence, interrupting occasionally with half - hearted
"Well, (long pause) I've got no news" answered with " Yeah, (sigh), me neither." but neither of you hang up? It is a comfort call, a need to feel connected, and to know we are real to someone and not forgotten. This is my comfort call to you.

(Long pause)

Well. I've got no news. (Sigh) But I have been busy. Daughter had a Fairy Tea Party that was a sugar high best fest. I am on the foot of a sock, for me, that has taken me longer than any other sock ever knit. I keep getting distracted by Per Petterson and Haruki Murakami novels. And I have slept less than 5 hours a night for the past three nights trying to write the story of the two characters that are constantly buzzing in my ear and won't leave me alone. I like them, these two made up people, but they are insistent I write it all down and I am becoming a bit obsessed in a sleep deprived sort of way. I am getting prepared for another school year, which begins a week from Thursday. I also am chomping at the bit over the many fabulous knit magazines coming out this fall. And Brooklyn Tweed has a book?! Somebody hide my credit card. Well,(yawn), other than that, I've got nothing. I think that is everything. 'Mkay, talk to you later . Bye. (click)