Author: afthead

Three Random Rants

On By aftheadIn Tickles my afthead6 Comments

A few things have been swirling around my mind lately and I need to get them off my chest.  Three rants are below and are unrelated and unequal in magnitude.

#1: The acceptance of Caitlyn Jenner does not mean that the good ol’ USA is like Brave New World or 1984

Okay, folks, let’s chat shall we?  Regardless of how you feel about Caitlyn Jenner, her choices, or the attention the media is giving her can we try to agree on one thing?  Who she is and the choices she made has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the classic novels 1984 and Brave New World.  This Washington Post article drawing similarities to conservative’s apocalyptic views and those two books has left my friends and family sick of listening to me.  There was no freedom and no individuality in those books!  That was the point!  Yes, there were all kinds of perversity happening, but not this kind of perversity, if you consider this a perversity.  Do conservatives not know that those who don’t agree with them worry that their policies direct us into the world of Big Brother and sameness?  Pick another metaphor people!

Phew. On a non-rant note, I really appreciated Laverne Cox’s take on Caitlyn’s unveiling.  At my local bagel shop there was an employee who had manicured nails, make-up, and a husky female voice and she/he didn’t look like Caitlyn or Laverne.  I don’t know which gender she/he most identified with, but she/he was always polite, always had a smile for me, and was really a happy person.  Working at a bagel shop isn’t going to give you the means to become Caitlyn, and that’s okay, so long as people respect who you are on the inside and outside.  I hope she brings us a step closer to this kind of universal respect.

#2  Toilet stall doors that close by default are a horrible design

Okay, I hate walking into a restroom where all the doors are closed regardless of whether or not there is someone in the stall.  Who decided that was a good idea?  Walking around hunched over peering under doors or through cracks makes me feel like a hunchback voyeur.  Make the doors open by default.  Also, this format causes unnecessary lines for those unwilling to be creepy or rude.

#3  Hobbies and avocations are unexpected bridge builders

I met a new client this week who introduced herself by saying, “Oh, I know you.  The owner at the local knitting shop said to watch for you at work.”  Uh, what?  This new client liked me before I ever met her because she knew I was a knitter.  How awesome is that?

The end of random ranting.  I feel better now.

Finish something 

On By aftheadIn Uncategorized12 Comments

It’s been quiet on the Afthead blog lately, and for a very good reason. I’ve been writing elsewhere. I went to go see one of my top 10 favorite authors, Neil Gaiman, speak at an event called Pen and Podium. For two hours he told us stories of becoming a writer, read to us from his newest book of short stories, gave advice to aspiring writers, and answered questions from the audience. It was surreal to see him standing up in front of me.  Normally his melodic English accent emminates from the heat vents in my car while he narrates his audiobooks.  I took away four things:

  1. He said that all aspiring writers should call themselves writers.  If you are writing you are a writer.
  2. He said that all writers should write something, finish it, and get it out “there” wherever there is.
  3. He told a story about how if he hadn’t become a published author he imagined he would find himself at 80 saying, “You know I really think I could have been a writer.”
  4. He mentioned a project that he “didn’t have time for” so he stopped reading before bed and wrote 50 words before he went to sleep.

I’ve heard the first one before and really struggle to embrace that message.  I don’t feel like a writer, and when all the writers gathered around after the session I didn’t chime in about my blog and my novel.  However, the other three really made me sit down and prioritize.  I’ve got a novel to finish, and while I love this space and love my friends I’ve made here – you especially Amie and Kathy – I also need to keep writing there.  So I took a break from Afthead and churned out 4500 words in 9 days, bringing me to a whopping 83,800 words in my novel.  (Not a Stephen King-esque pace, but darn good for me.)

I think I can be finished in another 7,000 words (10,000 tops) and that would be a great first draft length.  I’m a taker-outer, not a putter-in-er so I can get my novel to 80,000-90,000 words on a second draft.   I’m so excited to have momentum again and I feel like I can keep it knowing I can write 50 words a night, if nothing else.

When someone you idolize gives advice, you take it.  Also, Neil Gaiman is now my BFF because he replied back to a tweet I sent him, so I really have to pay attention to his wisdom.

The Best Sessions You’ll Never See – Birding

On By aftheadIn Best Sessions You'll Never See3 Comments

I love real nerds.  People who revel in something arcane or unusual or boring to others and feel no shame.  Me, I am a knitter.  I read knitting blogs.  People buy me yarn as gifts, and I like it.  I teach children to knit in hopes that there will be a new generation of knitters to follow me.  I can explain a purl, knit, seed, and rib stitch, but I won’t.  I am already boring the non-knitters out there.  Don’t leave yet, I’m just trying to show that I understand and appreciate dorky hobbies.

My in-laws are birders.  They will bore you with their fascination about the list of birds they have seen in their life (which has an official name that I can’t remember) because they are passionate about birds.  Recently they went to The Biggest Week in American Birding.  Did you go?  I bet you didn’t. It’s in Northwest Ohio, the warbler capital of the world.  Really it is.

For some reason I got curious about what was involved in this festival, so I looked at the agenda.  It was amazing.  Here is what you missed:

Session 1: Skydancing:  Woodcocks on the Wing

WOODCOCKS?  My in-laws told us all about this amazing bird without once giggling. Really, it’s called a woodcock.  When I told my parents about the session my dad said, “Woodcocks are good eatin’.” Again, hysterical!  In case you were wondering, no, my parents and in-laws are not close.  However, they do have in common that they are both more mature than I am.

Session 2: Bird Tattoo Contest

I was so excited to hear about this contest from my in-laws.  Were there people trying to put the best tattoo in a tiny bird?  Were they racing to tattoo some kind of numbers on birds to track them as they migrated?  Were they looking for the best tattoos of birds inked on people skin?  Were they live tattooing people with bird images at the festival?  (I wonder what body part you would tattoo a woodcock onto?)    Were they dipping woodpecker beaks in ink and having the birds peck designs into people?  (Holy crap.  Woodpecker is hysterical too.)  The options were all amazing.  The tragedy was that my in-laws didn’t go!  I had to look up what happened online. First off, I learned the tattoo contest was followed by karaoke, which made it that much better.  Second, the bird tattoo contest was people showing off their tattoos of birds. The winner was pretty impressive.  I wonder if they sang songs by The Eagles and The Byrds after the tattoos were displayed?

That’s what you missed in Ohio.  My brother is at Comic Con right now, so I’m going to go check out the agenda.  I wonder what awesome dorky things he might be missing right now.

End of School – Pain or Pleasure AKA Introvert or Extrovert

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In the Afthead house we are plowing through to the end of the school year.  Combined with Mother’s Day and little Afthead’s birthday, this time of year is non-stop parties, events and social obligations.  This past weekend’s schedule for my family was:

  • Friday – School, soccer game, family birthday party
  • Saturday – Soccer game, arts festival at school, performance of Frog and Toad at school, sleepover
  • Sunday – Soccer game, birthday party with 10 girls

Note that we only have one kid!  How is this schedule possible?  We made it, and Monday morning I dropped my exhausted daughter off at school and trudged back toward my car.  When I saw a mom who I knew had a soccer party for 15 boys Sunday night I was excited to commiserate.

I started the conversation, “I hear you had 15 boys on your trampoline last night.  You must be crazier than I am.  I only had 10 girls and a swing.”

She looked at me and said, “Oh, it was so amazing last night.  I looked at all those kids and all those families and just thought about how lucky I am.  The kids got along so well, and the families were so great.  I am just so grateful for this amazing school and these experiences we get to provide our kids.”

I think I may have managed a grunt in reply, which was way better than what I was screaming inside: “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT LADY?!?  AREN’T YOU TIRED AND CRANKY AND OVERWHELMED FROM ALL THIS STUFF!?!”

On the drive to work I evaluated the situation and, before I felt too bad about my reaction, a light came on in my dazed attic.  I am an introvert.  When things get crazy I want to lock myself in with my family and hide from the world.  Sometimes it gets so bad that I don’t even want my family.  By Monday I did not want to make small talk with some almost friend about how lucky we are.  I wanted to hide, but her gushing made perfect sense.  She is an extrovert.  She was probably so energized by her weekend of soccer, festivals, performances and parties that she was ready to explode, but in a good way.  Not the way I was ready to explode.

I tested my theory at work.  Sure enough my mom friends who are extroverts thought my weekend sounded amazing and glorious.  My introvert friend said, “this time of year is just survival mode” and she is so right.  It makes me sad that I can’t revel in this situation.  I want to be able to find utter joy in the past weekend, but I can’t, and that’s okay.  I am so fortunate, but I am not lucky.  I could use a week between each one of the events so I could be present and recharged and delighted for every one of them.  This time of year the extroverts are lucky.  I am going to avoid them until school is over.

Rebranding a dreaded dinner

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We have a favorite dinner at the Afthead house.  It’s called “a feast.”  How do you make such an amazing meal?  Let me tell you.  You take everything out of the refrigerator and put it on the counter.  Then you heat up the food that is still edible.  You add in some crackers, pepperoni, and cheese.  Then make quesadillas from the very last bit of cheese.  (Don’t grate your fingertips!) Here is our feast from tonight:

Then you make it really special.  You put a big beach towel down in front of the TV in the basement, or in the back yard, or some other non-traditional-dinner spot.  Tonight we watched hockey playoffs during our feast.

“Wait a second!” I hear you shouting.  “We have that same dinner.  It’s called leftovers and we serve it at the table with sides of complaining and whining.  You tricked us!”

“Cast off leftovers!  Let that dreaded word never cross your lips again!” I shout back.  Now, In a week, have your first feast.  Make it mostly loved food with a few leftovers thrown in.  Two weeks later put in a few more leftovers and a few less mini-corn dogs and potstickers.  (Randomness is crucial to a successful feast.  It should trascend rules of geography and cuisine.) Before you know it you’ll make entire meals out of food in your fridge, and let me tell you, magic will happen. Tonight I had mini-meatballs dipped in green chili which was a never before tried delicious combo.  This is no trick.  It’s a feast!

The wisdom of older age

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As I get older I have moments of clarity where I suddenly see things with a different perspective or understand things that seemed mysterious.  For example, there was the day I dropped my daughter off for a “sleepover with Nanna” and in her excitement I saw the joy of my childhood nights with my own grandma.  Then the light bulb turned on: my parents ditched me with my grandparents so they could go out and have fun just like I was doing with my kid.  Those weren’t just my special nights, but theirs too!

This morning I had another realization as a tweezed away the first of three offensive grey eyebrows.  “Holy crap.  This is why Aunt Bert had eyebrows drawn on with a pencil!”  I left the other two.  Random grey eyebrows is better than bald eyebrows.

The Liebster Award

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Well, as a result of a recent follower/followee relationship I have been nominated for the Liebster Award.  Thank you so much Kwoted by K E Garland!  If you haven’t read any of her stuff, check her out. She’s a great storyteller with a unique perspective.

As part of receiving this award I have a bunch of questions to answer.  It’s like blogging award homework.  So, without further ado:

1. Plastic or paper?

If I don’t remember my own bags, it’s plastic.  I’d rather sacrifice a plastic than a tree.  We have this thing that looks like a pregnant patchwork maggot that holds our plastic bags until we can recycle them.

2. Book before movie or movie before book?

I am a snob about this question.   Book before the movie, always.  I read upwards of 50 books a year and see six movies if I am lucky.  (Not including repeats of kid movies.)  If I waited for the movie I’d never read anything.  Also, I like reading the unabridged story before seeing the abridgment on the big screen.

3. Oprah or Ellen?

I’m not a big talk show person, but I have to go with Oprah.  Although, I’ve most recently seen Ellen on some HGTV design  show.  They are both strong, passionate women, but having lived in Chicago for a couple of years nudges Oprah ahead in my book.   “You get a car!  You get a car!”

4. Writing in public or writing in your home?

Writing at home, preferably in my studio with the door shut and space heater on surrounded by my fabric and yarn.

5. Married or single?

Married to a vocabulary challenged mate.  (Love you Mr. Afthead!)

6. Dog or cat?

I hate this question.  I always feel unpatriotic when I say I don’t like dogs.  Cat.  Two of them usually, but one is sick right now.  I also have a hamster, snails and pillbugs in my house (on purpose.)

7. Healthy lifestyle or who cares?

Well this is a tough one.  From a working out and physical health perspective I’d pick healthy lifestyle.  I try to run 2-3 times a week and used to do crazy things like marathons and triathlons.  I get grouchy when I don’t work out.  However, as I finish off a bag of Hot Tamales with a Diet Dr Pepper, I can state with certainty that I don’t practice a healthy lifestyle when it comes to food.

8. City or Suburbs?

City.  I’ve lived in New York and Chicago.  I want to retire in San Francisco, at least for awhile.  My theory is that people only live in the suburbs because they get lost in the maze of similarly named cul-de-sacs, ways, circles and lanes and just give up and buy a house at 123 SE Marigold Way.  Once they move in their neighbors tell them how to get to Walmart after they pay their HOA fees and join the pool.

9.  Limited choice or complete freedom?

I guess limited choice, even though it makes me squirm in my chair to write that down.  I believe that people should wear motorcycle helmets because if they fall someone else is going to have to pick their brains off the road.  I won’t ride bikes with someone not wearing a helmet because I don’t want to be the brain cleaner-upper.  I think complete freedom is great so long as you are a hermit living in a cave by yourself and your choices only impact you.  (Trust me, sometimes I really want to go live in a cave, but I would wear a helmet in case a rock slide hit me in the head and some unsuspecting future hermit found me with my grey matter leaking out.)  Brains play a big part in this belief of mine.

10.  Rainy day or snowy day?

I live in Denver, so snowy days happen frequently.  Rainy days are limited to spring, especially right-now-ish,  I love the smell of rain.  I love sleeping when it is raining.  I love the sound of rain and thunder.  I love my raincoat.  I like the word galoshes.  I gotta go with rain.

11. Writing on a device or writing by hand?

Writing on a device.  Man, if I had to write by hand no one would ever understand a word I put to paper, including me.  Terrible handwriting coupled with terrible spelling makes writing by hand a bad choice for me.  If it was 1915 instead of 2015 I’d have no dreams of being a writer.  Even I can’t read my chicken scratches.

This was fun!  Thanks again to Ms. Kwoted at https://kwoted.wordpress.com/ for the nomination.  My blog picks for this award will be coming soon, so write something awesome!

Black and white cat in the garden

Dying cat

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My cat is dying.  I’m watching him fade away, lose coordination, and stop playing.  Six weeks ago I took him to the vet because he just wasn’t right and they diagnosed kidney failure.  We weren’t sure if it was an acute issue, like an infection, or a chronic issue that would kill him.  We did dialysis to the tune of $2000.  He’s a young cat at 8 years old and if he was only halfway through his life it seemed worth it to try.  He came home feeling better, and then he started sliding downhill again.  The vet gave me a list of things to try: special food, anti-nausea drugs, fish oil supplements, subcutaneous fluids delivered at home or at the vet.  He won’t eat the food.  I don’t know how much Pepcid to give him to help with the nausea.  He hates the fish oil, and and I can’t imagine giving him subcutaneous fluids (and I gave my last cat two insulin shots a day for her diabetes).  So he’s dying.

Tuxedo cat at the vet
Hazel at the vet when we first adopted him almost four years ago.
We haven’t had him for long.  He came into our life July 2, 2011.  We adopted him from the shelter and the top of his head was shaved from the removal of something.  My husband nicknamed him “Head-wound Harry” but his shelter name was “Hazel.”  We kept it because he looked like the bunny from Watership Down, which is one of my husband’s favorite book.  He quickly stole our hearts.

Black cat and black and white cat on a bed
Nothing to see here….
He’s a weirdly social cat.  If you are a cat person or have had cats you know that cats kind of tolerate each other.  Not Hazel.  He has loved our other cats: both Neko, the diabetic, and Katie our kitten.  We find Hazel and Katie in all kinds of compromising positions.  They fight, slow fight, bathe each other, sleep together, and eat together.

Tuxedo cat bathing black cat.
Cat bath
Now he’s dying.  I’ve come to terms with it.  I don’t know how much longer he’ll have, but I’ve decided that his last days will be filled with walks in the garden (he’s too slow and fragile to run away) and tuna.  I don’t want to torture him with the vet anymore.  I don’t want him to have to eat yucky kidney diet food.  I don’t want to try filling the area under his skin with fluids.  I want him to enjoy the time he has left with us.

Don’t turn me into the ASPCA.

Vocabulary fight

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Last week was a crazy busy week.  Thursday night I should have worked, or I should have worked on my book, or I should have worked on this blog.  I didn’t do any of those things.  I sat down and thought through my options and consciously said, “Screw it.  I am tired.  I am watching TV.”  I sat my butt down on the couch and tuned out.  I didn’t knit.  I just sat there like a big lump and did nothing.  I felt a bit guilty, but I consciously made my decision to shirk responsibility for a night.

My husband got home, walked in the door and said, “Wow, remember Monday when our house was clean?”  Dagger through the heart.  See, I’d gone through my list of things I thought I should be doing and chose TV.  I did not go through the list of things others thought I would do.  That’s when I realized my major life frustration right now.

“Ugh, do you know what I hate about our life right now?” I asked.  “There is no fun without repercussion.”

My husband looked at me and said, “I think that’s the wrong word. I think you mean consequence.”

(We have an ongoing fight at our house about who has a better vocabulary.  Mine is better, in case you were wondering.)

Then he went on, “You know repercussion is like percussion.  What does that have to do with what you are talking about?”

I rolled my eyes because my mechanical engineer of a husband should not feign expertise in word derivation.

Cue the English teacher.  I called my mom the next morning and told her about the fight.  Then I asked, “So is it no fun without repercussion, no fun without consequence, or no fun without ramification?”  I’d added the last word to the list during my nightly musing on the argument.

Cue the dictionary.  Not the Google one, or the online one, but the big heavy red one that sits next to my laptop.  Mom got hers too.  Here is what we decided:

  • Repercussion – there are unintended results to what you did
  • Consequence – can be good or bad, and you pretty much know what’s going to happen
  • Ramification – a derived effect of an action

So, mom and I decided I was right with my original thought.  I don’t like the fact that every time I have fun there are unexpected negative consequences, and that equals repercussion.  Before my husband showed up and yelled about the messy house I just had consequences.  Had I been reprimanded at work the next morning for not doing something Thursday night that would have been a ramification.  Glad we got that settled.

Cue the husband again.  I explained to him our research, our logic, and our conclusion and he just looked at me like he couldn’t give a crap about the exact nature of my current frustration.  That, my friends, is why I have a better vocabulary than he does.  Because I care about the right word enough to hypothesize, research, and prove my case and he does not.  I win.

Cue the raspberry noise!  Phlbbttt!

Redefining our nation’s future (a message of hope)

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This week one of my co-workers is getting married to her partner.  She is so excited.  They’ve been together forever, but finally they can have a real wedding.  She’s excited and giddy and cute in a totally not-her kind of way.  I’m not one for weddings.  My husband and I eloped.  But this wedding, this one feels special to me: fragile and new and filled with hope that things are changing.

We’ll be in her performance review together when my phone will buzz.  I’ll check, because I always check.  My kid might be sick.  There might be an emergency at work.  This time the message will be from the Washington Post.  It will announce that the Supreme Court has decided that marriage between two adults who love each other is A-Okay whether you are a man and a woman, a woman and a woman, or a man and a man.  (The message will be much more professional in it’s phrasing.)  I will tear up.  I will show her the note.  She will tear up.

We will celebrate together that for the first time there isn’t a question if her relationship or my relationship is more official.  We will both know that if our spouse is sick we will be able to visit him/her in any emergency room in any state because she/he will be recognized as our spouse.  We will know that when our spouse dies or we die our assets will go to our partner automagically.  We will have the same hard choices if our marriage doesn’t work out.

I hope that the Supreme Court makes law what I know in my heart to be true.  Adults who love each other and are willing to commit their lives to each other deserve the same rights and recognition regardless of the individual’s genders.  I hope I can tell my daughter someday about this week with pride and joy.  We are at a crossroads and I hope we go the right way.