In which I admit my hypocrisy

Published October 1, 2015 by livinggraciously

When it comes to language, I am a proud Luddite. I cling to the proper use of grammar. I object to people using the word “problematic” to mean “a problem” when the actual definition is “questionable,” and agree that I can hand you the remote, but you haven’t asked if I will. I insist on spelling out words in texts, eschewing “cu l8tr” for complete sentences with proper punctuation. I champion the Oxford comma.

And yet.

And yet.

I now regularly use “ima” in place of “I’m going to.” Oh, not in writing. But speaking? “Ima stop at the grocery store. Want anything?” I hear myself do it, at least part of the time, and reflect upon this slippage of my speech. I know it’s not the only example of my speech getting slangy, it’s just the one of which I am most aware.

There is nothing about this phrase that is superior to the other phrases that I reject. It just works on my tongue. I have to admit, then, that language is a living thing that does, in fact, move and change.

But I still believe that grammar and vocabulary are important. Precision of thought requires precision of language. Communication beyond the basics is deepened by mutual agreement about the meaning of words.

Ima keep fighting the good fight.

Full House

Published September 17, 2015 by livinggraciously

My younger daughter has just moved in with us for a while. Her big sister is moving to Colorado next week. Her furniture and belongings are all being hauled away in a truck this afternoon, so she, her boyfriend, and their dog will be staying with us for the next week. There will be five of us, and one bathroom.

I can’t wait.

I feel so grateful that my daughters have both grown into women that I love to be around. They’re thoughtful, intelligent, and wickedly funny. We can talk about everything. They are both passionate about the world they live in, and insightful.

The years of raising kids were not always easy, but having adult children who are such a delight is such a blessing. I’m thrilled that my snowboard-passionate daughter is getting to fulfill her life-long dream and move to the Rockies, but boy am I going to miss her.

For the next few days I will be cooking for five. I’ll be making all the kids’ favorite meals and we’ll talk and laugh and probably argue over the stupidest damned things. Because we’re still family, and family means we rub each other the wrong way now any then, particularly in close quarters. Both girls have tempers, and like all sisters know just how to get each other’s skin. I have a bit of a temper, too, and they can trigger the “mom voice” in me. But we will have a great time together.

Junk drawer

Published September 15, 2015 by livinggraciously

I get so irked at myself for not taking before and after pictures of things. Suffice to say that I stumbled into accidental dejunking today when I went to look for something in the junk drawer.

The problem with junk drawers is that every house needs one–that repository for batteries, lighters, takeout menus, scissors, tape, pens–but they quickly become the tossing place for everything that comes into hand but you don’t have time to deal with. “I don’t want to throw this out, but I don’t have a place for it. Hey, the junk drawer!”

Also, I live in a household where certain people (not naming names) have a tendency to change the battery in something and toss the dead batteries back into junk drawer. Also to treat empty tape dispensers like they may grow new tape if they’re left alone in a dark place for a while.

I, on the other hand, have a tendency to receive photos of friends and family and, not knowing what to do with them in that moment, toss them into the drawer. The thing is, I *do* know what to do with them; I have a special drawer just for photos. Only I forget that. All. The. Time.

I’m as guilty as anyone else in the household of not wasting the brain power to figure out where a thing actually goes. So the drawer had reached the point of needing to be jammed shut.

Not anymore. I put away, or threw away, at least 60% of what was in there. It’s neat and organized, and I found that pair of scissors I’ve been irritated had disappeared. I feel very accomplished.

It will last about two weeks….


Published September 10, 2015 by livinggraciously

In this day and age, when everyone has jumped on the superhero bandwagon, there are a lot of people sounding like hipsters: “I was into the Avengers before they became popular.” For many of them, it’s kind of a disappointment to find that the passion they’d learned to embrace as the thing that made them different is now shared by millions.

To me, this is great. My biggest fandom is Star Wars, and having all this new merch around is fun–even if I buy next to none of it. I’m not worried about over-exposure. I love what I love, and seeing Star Wars stuff everywhere makes me happy.

I learned many years ago that there is a difference between fandom and geekdom. When visiting a friend for the weekend, I was informed that, though I had not watched Star Trek: The Next Generation, that night was the finale, and she was watching it live. She’d watched the whole series, and she wasn’t about to miss the end of it just because of out-of-town company. So we watched, and seeing that final episode was the impetus behind my going back and watching the entire series in reruns. Since it was on 5 days a week, I accomplished in just a few months what she’d taken seven years to complete.

The movie Star Trek: Generations came out a couple weeks before another visit. When I got to her house, she asked if I’d seen it. I told her yes, and then excitedly expounded about how, in the last iteration of the time loop, we hadn’t actually seen Lursa and B’etor die, and so maybe those characters had survived and could come back.

She gave me a kind of side-eye look and said, “You’ve gotten way too into this….”

That’s when I realized that there will always be levels of fandom, and that I would always be the kind of person who, when I fell in love with something, took it to extremes that other fans wouldn’t even imagine existed.

And that’s cool. My friend isn’t less of a fan because her fandom doesn’t drag her into a depth of passion that mine does me. I can love the Marvel movies and DC television shows even though I don’t have an understanding of the history behind the characters that Ferrett, as a comic book geek, has. I’ve seen his glee, while watching The Flash, at the introduction of characters, and I know that he’d “getting it” on a far deeper level than I am. But that doesn’t mean I’m not having fun.

Yes, you are probably much more of a geek about the things you love passionately than other people who like that thing. But it’s a big tent. We can all fit in it.

365 degrees

Published September 3, 2015 by livinggraciously

I have been slaving in the junk mines, hauling enough crap out of the house that Ferrett has started having dreams about moving–his subconscious can’t believe that there’s this much activity going on without us actually changing residences.

So why is there still such a mess? My dining room is currently giving my agita. My sewing machine is on the table, along with all the detritus of making a quilt. There is packaging for a piece of furniture that just arrived. Erin left behind some things when she picked up Summit after we dogsat for a week. There is fur everywhere, waiting for me to get enough picked up that I can actually vacuum.

I turn around in a full circle, and all I see is the mess. Then I turn just a little further and I am reminded that this is a home. It’s a living, evolving space, not a museum. Messes are going to flow in like the tide, and then flow out again. And my friend Lucy, who was over yesterday evening, helped me with perspective. I was complaining about it, and she said. “It’s not really a mess. It’s just a mess compared to what you want it to be.”

I admit it. I find sparseness restful. Ferrett, on the other hand, finds it cold. When the house is as clean as I want it, he feels like he’s living in a hotel.

So I make concessions. There are toys scattered on the living room floor, because dog. In one month, all the Rock Band instruments will come back up from the basement and clutter my living room with plastic. But it’s plastic that bespeaks friends and fun, and so I will live with the drumset that’s about the size of a VW Beetle. Because several times a month my house will be filled with laughter and music, and that’s a good thing. A bit messy, but still good.


Published September 1, 2015 by livinggraciously

We have been living with two dogs for a little over a week now. My daughter’s dog, Summit, is a white, shorthaired mutt. My dog, Shasta, is a black, shorthaired mutt.

Together, they apparently believe they fight crime. Judging from their barking, at least.

Shasta’s short black fur hides pretty well on the furniture, but Summit’s white is another matter. My carpet looks like it’s grown elderly and needs a dye job. I haven’t vacuumed because Summit goes home tonight. Tomorrow, there will be vacuuming.

In the meantime, however, I am adding to the mess. What I’m shedding, though, isn’t fur. It’s threads. I’m working on a quilt for Ferrett, and hauled my sewing machine and equipment upstairs. Because I am insane, I chose a pattern that has over 3500 pieces, many of them not much larger than a quarter. This has led to a lot of thread bits, many the same length as the dog hair, scattered on the floor, the carpet, tumbleweeding companionably with fur in corners.

So, yeah, pretty much the whole family is shedding. Oh, did I mention that Ferrett is balding as well…?

Melanie Wilkes is my copilot

Published August 31, 2015 by livinggraciously

My friend Bart spent yesterday evening on Facebook, live-tweeting his experience of watching Gone With the Wind. He made the argument that it is, for the most part, incredibly feminist and progressive. He concentrated on Scarlett, of course. But to me? The real badass is Melanie.

People miss this, because Melanie is kind and quiet, and because our main POV character is Scarlett. Scarlett doesn’t get Melanie until the very last. But when she does, she realizes that Melanie was her true champion all along.

So let’s break it down. The first time we see Melanie, she’s all mousy in dove gray, and Scarlett attempts to make her jealous and convince her that Ashley is a lying scoundrel. Melanie hears what Scarlett says, and her reply is the sweetest, “Well bless your heart, aren’t you the cutest thing?” dismissal of Scarlett’s venom. She pulls Scarlett’s fangs, and our little belle doesn’t even realize it.

Melanie is never physically strong, but she’s the one who keeps going at the hospital. She’s the one who’s got the guts to assist the doctors while Scarlett runs away.

And when they get to Tara and Scarlett shoots the potential rapist in the face? Melanie’s the one who’s all, “You go, girl, let’s loot the body.” She keeps her head, keeps the rest of the family away with a quick lie, and keeps Scarlett focused on dealing with the body.

Melanie is the one who, in the midst of a very judgmental society, accepts the generosity of a prostitute when all the other “good” women sneer at her. She’s the one who is not just willing but proud to acknowledge her gratitude and debt to Belle Watling.

It’s not that Melanie is weak-willed. No, when India Wilkes catches Scarlett in the arms of Ashley and scurries off to tell Melanie, Melanie is all, “Bitch, get out my face, out my house, you dead to me.” And that’s the end of India. Ashley’s sister has to wait until Melanie is on her deathbed for dispensation. Melanie rules with iron.

And that iron is surrounded in a velvet so soft that most people don’t realize the iron is under there. At the Atlanta ball scene, Melanie–who can’t be more than 20–is considered such an important pillar of society that her endorsement of unconventional behaviors makes them acceptable. While people may regard her acknowledgement of Belle Watling as naive, no one looks down on her for it. Melanie calmly lies to the face of soldiers, cool enough that butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and they believe her because she has always been genteel. She saves Scarlett’s reputation–and Bonnie’s future in society (had she lived) by her acceptance of Scarlett into her home.

Melanie’s kindness and gentleness gave her the latitude to be ruthless as hell and get away with stuff that no other woman could. And everyone around her loves her–even Scarlett.

Yeah, Scarlett’s got all the flame, blazing on the surface. But Melanie? Melanie’s the hot coals at the base of the fire, where the real work gets done.


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