I can be on the computer with more leeway on Saturdays. Must state that exception to the rule! But I'm also trying to exercise moderation. I've only been on for an hour! (I know. You're rolling your eyes, perhaps, and only pretending to be impressed.)
I just really hate Saturdays. Endless stretch of nothing.....but our tax return arrived and Phill called this morning to say: At 4:30 the computer man will come and install our new computer and transfer all necessary stuff from old to new. All will be taken care of.
He fixes things even from far away! Or, well, just buys things and sets appointments from far away. But I'm still impressed, nonetheless.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Fixed and Flourishing
If you love me as much as I on-my-good-days assume, then you may have wondered where I have been the last, oh, two weeks.
Or you might have said, "Oh, she's probably cranky. Rae gets quiet and snappy when she's cranky."
OR if you have a tiny window into my life, you might have said:
"Maybe her computer finally died."
Which would be halfway true.
It is a law of life here in the DeVault home: When Phill leaves, things break. Our hearts (okay, they just fracture a little bit, and then sew right back up when he's home again), our patience, and of course: something in the house.
The day after he left, I noted that the computer was not on. This was a little strange, because it's usually on, but not that strange, because we have a 20-month-old in the house.
So I turned it on. First, "COMPAQ" came on the screen, and I thought, hm, that's not what usually happens when I turn this on. Then a message in white letters appeared on a black screen, a message that laughed and mocked me: Keyboard error something-something-something. OR: Your computer is dying and your husband isn't home to fix it. Ha...ha....HA. (insert evil robotic laughter)
So I said to the computer's face: I don't care. Fine. You just be that way! I'll show you! I'll show you I don't need you! Go ahead. Be that way. Jerk.
And I only tried six more times that day to get it to turn on and do something more than tell me that an error was happening. After the first week, I was really starting to believe I could be okay without a computer. By the middle of the second week, I was shooting glances in its direction, thinking mean thoughts at it and then running over to apologize and try to start it up. Once, it actually booted up properly, stayed on for an hour, and then froze.
By today, I was sick to death of my computer's temper tantrum, and I resolutely told it that I am the boss and I am going to fix it. After calling The Smartest Computer Guy in the World (it's a good thing we're best friends with him and his family, because I think he's given us $5,000 worth of free computer help), it booted up--with no sign of the internet. None whatsoever.
Heh....I exhaust myself: Long story short: After my obliging friends let me use their internet to download a pesky necessity called a driver, and after setting it up, turning things off, fiddling, turning things on, and repeating said process again, all while on the phone with that marvelous computer friend of ours, hallelujah. I'm back! (for now!)
Our motherboard is seven years old and our computer is five years old, and it's always been cantankerous. A new one is definitely in order. Thank goodness it's tax return time. *sigh*
As for my reading and commenting on your blogs, oh, be patient with me, please. I know you're not waiting on pins and needles--but I am. Google Reader said 255 when I at last opened it up today, and in an hour I only culled it back to 154.
In the realization that being without a computer for the first three weeks of Phill's absence forced me to be more present here at home, and provided me with a good solid start to these six weeks he's in San Antonio, I have made a prayer-clad vow to not be on the computer unless A)I have to google something, B)someone calls me to tell me to check something, C) Reed is at school & Savvy is napping & Jax is happy or D)the kids are in bed.
If you've wondered how I have handled the last couple of weeks, know this: We are being blessed! Our ward has risen up to help and I am feeling able, happy, and comfortable. The kids are happy and active and dealing very well with daily everything. Sometimes I even feel like I might be getting good at this stuff. I sure hope so. But oh, I miss my Phill. I just want to sit on the couch next to him doing nothing. Just sitting and being.
Or you might have said, "Oh, she's probably cranky. Rae gets quiet and snappy when she's cranky."
OR if you have a tiny window into my life, you might have said:
"Maybe her computer finally died."
Which would be halfway true.
It is a law of life here in the DeVault home: When Phill leaves, things break. Our hearts (okay, they just fracture a little bit, and then sew right back up when he's home again), our patience, and of course: something in the house.
The day after he left, I noted that the computer was not on. This was a little strange, because it's usually on, but not that strange, because we have a 20-month-old in the house.
So I turned it on. First, "COMPAQ" came on the screen, and I thought, hm, that's not what usually happens when I turn this on. Then a message in white letters appeared on a black screen, a message that laughed and mocked me: Keyboard error something-something-something. OR: Your computer is dying and your husband isn't home to fix it. Ha...ha....HA. (insert evil robotic laughter)
So I said to the computer's face: I don't care. Fine. You just be that way! I'll show you! I'll show you I don't need you! Go ahead. Be that way. Jerk.
And I only tried six more times that day to get it to turn on and do something more than tell me that an error was happening. After the first week, I was really starting to believe I could be okay without a computer. By the middle of the second week, I was shooting glances in its direction, thinking mean thoughts at it and then running over to apologize and try to start it up. Once, it actually booted up properly, stayed on for an hour, and then froze.
By today, I was sick to death of my computer's temper tantrum, and I resolutely told it that I am the boss and I am going to fix it. After calling The Smartest Computer Guy in the World (it's a good thing we're best friends with him and his family, because I think he's given us $5,000 worth of free computer help), it booted up--with no sign of the internet. None whatsoever.
Heh....I exhaust myself: Long story short: After my obliging friends let me use their internet to download a pesky necessity called a driver, and after setting it up, turning things off, fiddling, turning things on, and repeating said process again, all while on the phone with that marvelous computer friend of ours, hallelujah. I'm back! (for now!)
Our motherboard is seven years old and our computer is five years old, and it's always been cantankerous. A new one is definitely in order. Thank goodness it's tax return time. *sigh*
As for my reading and commenting on your blogs, oh, be patient with me, please. I know you're not waiting on pins and needles--but I am. Google Reader said 255 when I at last opened it up today, and in an hour I only culled it back to 154.
In the realization that being without a computer for the first three weeks of Phill's absence forced me to be more present here at home, and provided me with a good solid start to these six weeks he's in San Antonio, I have made a prayer-clad vow to not be on the computer unless A)I have to google something, B)someone calls me to tell me to check something, C) Reed is at school & Savvy is napping & Jax is happy or D)the kids are in bed.
If you've wondered how I have handled the last couple of weeks, know this: We are being blessed! Our ward has risen up to help and I am feeling able, happy, and comfortable. The kids are happy and active and dealing very well with daily everything. Sometimes I even feel like I might be getting good at this stuff. I sure hope so. But oh, I miss my Phill. I just want to sit on the couch next to him doing nothing. Just sitting and being.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Creating (Loudly)
I started this belly-aching post, all about how I just don't feel like doing what I should do (i.e., embracing my nemesis, Early Morning, and overcoming my recent hatred of working out). And then I realized that it was really getting me nowhere, and that you all must be mighty tired of hearing me complain for the last few days....weeks? I hope not weeks. Anyway, I had to change the direction of the post, and I'm struggling to change the direction of my thoughts and inject some motivation into my lazy self. So I thought, instead, that I would write about this beautiful book I've been reading, as the contents of said book have been banging around my head for a few days.
Let me read you the back cover:
Silences [by Tillie Olsen] draws on the lives, letters, diaries, and testimonies of many writers, and on the author's own life, to examine the needs and work of creation, and those circumstances that obstruct or silence it. Circumstances--which include one's sex, economic class, color, and the times and generation into which one is born--crucially determine whether creative capacity is used and developed, or impaired and lost.
I'm only a few pages in, and already there are several quotes I could transcribe here. But the message is one I can sympathize with. There are plenty of creative things I enjoy. There are just a couple of creative things that I passionately love to do.
Of course, there's photography. I realize I haven't actually written much about why I love photography. Part of why I don't write about is simple insecurity. At the back of my mind is the nagging question, "What if someone reads this and says, 'How can she claim to love it so? She's not very good at it.'" I know, I know--my imagination is mean to me. But I'm going to be brave and say: I like to notice the secret stuff. I like catching things that aren't so obvious. I like photography because I like to look for beautiful things. I like to preserve things that are significant to me. And I love the look on someone's face when they realize, "Oh! That's how you see me? That's me?" I like helping someone see their own beauty. Now that I say it, it almost sounds shallow, and I'm halfway regretting writing about it. (And that's what makes me silent in this particular area....what if someone says I'm not that good? What if I'm just stuck in a rut and doing the same thing over and over and don't really have something interesting to contribute?) There's probably more to it, but my introspective powers fail me at the moment. Moving on.....
Once upon a time, I played the cello. I started when I was 11, and stopped when Phill and I were married (seven years of playing), because we couldn't afford my phenomenal teacher, we were moving, and I was tired and wanted a break. I haven't had lessons since, and I've only taken the beautiful thing out of its case a handful of times in the seven years we've been married. I tell myself it's okay, that I have three small children, that this isn't the season for it. But quietly and painfully I wonder if I've turned my back on a gift, even when my memories of it are at once frustrated and joyful. Do you know what it's like to try and make a beautiful sound from something somewhat unwilling? Something that has the capacity to replicate a cat's shriek, but also the ability to sound like the most beautiful voice you've heard? I still remember the disappointment when my technique suffered or my mind was too tired or my hands needed better muscle memory. I remember sometimes wanting to throw that beautiful cello across the room, feeling that I just shouldn't touch it because our cooperation was faulty. It is a tumultuous relationship, my cello and I. Because while I remember those frustrations clearly, and still feel shamefully inadequate the few times I chance to take it out of its case, another part of me remembers the moments when something good would happen--technique, my ear, my fingers, my mind, my emotions--when all would work in harmony to create a perfect sound and eventually a finished, polished piece. I wonder how I could dare to pretend that I'm not ridiculously, hopelessly, inevitably in love with the art of making music. And I wonder how it is that everyone who knows me doesn't necessarily know about this aspect of me. How could I neglect something that was once such an essential part of me? The guilt can make me sick, if I let it. And in my fear of touching the cello again and hearing my awful, seven-years-off technique ringing through tortured notes, I am paralyzed. I hate the disappointment; I don't know if lessons/necessary practicing will get me back to where I was. Isn't it vicious? So a part of me misses that. But the bigger part won't let me touch it again. (The paralysis of perfectionism again. Wait a while, it makes a re-appearance.)
And now, my third, perhaps most precious, passion. The scariest one, because it's the one at which I most want to succeed. I love to write. I love to write something well, and read it, and feel the glow of having done my best. I love when I write something that makes people think, feel, talk, dream. I want to publish a book, and I have hopes that it will be loved by those who love me most. I want to say something good, say something different, say something that makes life a little sweeter. And yet, I'm silent.
Not one chapter.
Not a single page of a story that has a possibility of continuing.
Just my blog--which is good, because I'm writing, but not so good, because I'm hiding; hiding and silent. I'm too afraid to write and mess up. I told Phill last night on the phone that I'm afraid to write something I love and have it received badly. He reminded me that I have no control over others' reactions, and that I ought to write just because I love to write. (He's right. Write.) I read something--shoot, where was it? that said if you want to write, then write with all your knowledge and love, and write as if you are writing to the people who love you best. I suppose that at this moment, all I'm lacking is a certain direction for this "book" I have floating around in my head somewhere--an embryo of a book. I can't claim that I don't write more because of my kids. That's just not true, because as I've written this post, which I think is cohesive and understandable, I have had to get up no less than seven times to either tear my children apart or change a diaper or hug. I can work around interruptions. I just like to tell myself I can't, because then my procrastination is justified.
This book is amazing; it makes me contemplative and it makes me burn with a desire to write and make music and take photos and all sorts of other things that I tend to push down when I'm feeling fearful.
Maybe since I've written this post, I can't deny that I feel this way? And won't be so silent anymore?
Let me read you the back cover:
Silences [by Tillie Olsen] draws on the lives, letters, diaries, and testimonies of many writers, and on the author's own life, to examine the needs and work of creation, and those circumstances that obstruct or silence it. Circumstances--which include one's sex, economic class, color, and the times and generation into which one is born--crucially determine whether creative capacity is used and developed, or impaired and lost.
I'm only a few pages in, and already there are several quotes I could transcribe here. But the message is one I can sympathize with. There are plenty of creative things I enjoy. There are just a couple of creative things that I passionately love to do.
Of course, there's photography. I realize I haven't actually written much about why I love photography. Part of why I don't write about is simple insecurity. At the back of my mind is the nagging question, "What if someone reads this and says, 'How can she claim to love it so? She's not very good at it.'" I know, I know--my imagination is mean to me. But I'm going to be brave and say: I like to notice the secret stuff. I like catching things that aren't so obvious. I like photography because I like to look for beautiful things. I like to preserve things that are significant to me. And I love the look on someone's face when they realize, "Oh! That's how you see me? That's me?" I like helping someone see their own beauty. Now that I say it, it almost sounds shallow, and I'm halfway regretting writing about it. (And that's what makes me silent in this particular area....what if someone says I'm not that good? What if I'm just stuck in a rut and doing the same thing over and over and don't really have something interesting to contribute?) There's probably more to it, but my introspective powers fail me at the moment. Moving on.....
Once upon a time, I played the cello. I started when I was 11, and stopped when Phill and I were married (seven years of playing), because we couldn't afford my phenomenal teacher, we were moving, and I was tired and wanted a break. I haven't had lessons since, and I've only taken the beautiful thing out of its case a handful of times in the seven years we've been married. I tell myself it's okay, that I have three small children, that this isn't the season for it. But quietly and painfully I wonder if I've turned my back on a gift, even when my memories of it are at once frustrated and joyful. Do you know what it's like to try and make a beautiful sound from something somewhat unwilling? Something that has the capacity to replicate a cat's shriek, but also the ability to sound like the most beautiful voice you've heard? I still remember the disappointment when my technique suffered or my mind was too tired or my hands needed better muscle memory. I remember sometimes wanting to throw that beautiful cello across the room, feeling that I just shouldn't touch it because our cooperation was faulty. It is a tumultuous relationship, my cello and I. Because while I remember those frustrations clearly, and still feel shamefully inadequate the few times I chance to take it out of its case, another part of me remembers the moments when something good would happen--technique, my ear, my fingers, my mind, my emotions--when all would work in harmony to create a perfect sound and eventually a finished, polished piece. I wonder how I could dare to pretend that I'm not ridiculously, hopelessly, inevitably in love with the art of making music. And I wonder how it is that everyone who knows me doesn't necessarily know about this aspect of me. How could I neglect something that was once such an essential part of me? The guilt can make me sick, if I let it. And in my fear of touching the cello again and hearing my awful, seven-years-off technique ringing through tortured notes, I am paralyzed. I hate the disappointment; I don't know if lessons/necessary practicing will get me back to where I was. Isn't it vicious? So a part of me misses that. But the bigger part won't let me touch it again. (The paralysis of perfectionism again. Wait a while, it makes a re-appearance.)
And now, my third, perhaps most precious, passion. The scariest one, because it's the one at which I most want to succeed. I love to write. I love to write something well, and read it, and feel the glow of having done my best. I love when I write something that makes people think, feel, talk, dream. I want to publish a book, and I have hopes that it will be loved by those who love me most. I want to say something good, say something different, say something that makes life a little sweeter. And yet, I'm silent.
Not one chapter.
Not a single page of a story that has a possibility of continuing.
Just my blog--which is good, because I'm writing, but not so good, because I'm hiding; hiding and silent. I'm too afraid to write and mess up. I told Phill last night on the phone that I'm afraid to write something I love and have it received badly. He reminded me that I have no control over others' reactions, and that I ought to write just because I love to write. (He's right. Write.) I read something--shoot, where was it? that said if you want to write, then write with all your knowledge and love, and write as if you are writing to the people who love you best. I suppose that at this moment, all I'm lacking is a certain direction for this "book" I have floating around in my head somewhere--an embryo of a book. I can't claim that I don't write more because of my kids. That's just not true, because as I've written this post, which I think is cohesive and understandable, I have had to get up no less than seven times to either tear my children apart or change a diaper or hug. I can work around interruptions. I just like to tell myself I can't, because then my procrastination is justified.
This book is amazing; it makes me contemplative and it makes me burn with a desire to write and make music and take photos and all sorts of other things that I tend to push down when I'm feeling fearful.
Maybe since I've written this post, I can't deny that I feel this way? And won't be so silent anymore?
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
HERE'S what they were talking about.....
While I was very vocally complaining (May through September) about the 115-degree summer, kind friends here kept saying, "Oh, you'll love being here when it's winter. You'll love it here." So I waited. And waited. And waited....to be happy about the weather here. (Trust me, I love everything else very much.)
Today, it happened!! I was joyfully shocked to find that the sun was shining out of a bright blue sky, and no goosebumps raised on my arms when I dropped Reed off to school.
Then I got home, and it was still warm. (Sometimes I think it's warm and then I'm tricked because it's NOT.)
It was 63 degrees. (Just SAYING it is like a blanket on your shoulders or the sun rising at 5:30a.m. instead of almost 8:00a.m.......) I knew it was a good time to tackle one of the huge jobs I've been purposefully procrastinating since.....well, since May. When we moved in. I cleaned out the garage. The finished product wasn't as incredible as the end picture in my mind, but I cleared about five feet of space, which means that when Phill comes home, he will easily pull the car into the garage, without having to maneuver around the bookshelf and stroller and three bins and two bags, etc., that didn't belong in the garage in the first place. And there are no marshmallows on the garage floor, and no more secret spiderwebs in children's playing blocks. YAY!
And in my busy goings-on, I had barely any time to think of how much I wish Phill was home and not in his car on the way to San Antonio (barely). And I took the babies to the library. And I took the crap to D.I. (And I watched a guy donate a toilet, while I loudly guffawed in my car, probably the perfect picture of Crazy to any onlookers.) And I vacuumed.
It was a good day.
Thank you, 63 degrees in January.
Today, it happened!! I was joyfully shocked to find that the sun was shining out of a bright blue sky, and no goosebumps raised on my arms when I dropped Reed off to school.
Then I got home, and it was still warm. (Sometimes I think it's warm and then I'm tricked because it's NOT.)
It was 63 degrees. (Just SAYING it is like a blanket on your shoulders or the sun rising at 5:30a.m. instead of almost 8:00a.m.......) I knew it was a good time to tackle one of the huge jobs I've been purposefully procrastinating since.....well, since May. When we moved in. I cleaned out the garage. The finished product wasn't as incredible as the end picture in my mind, but I cleared about five feet of space, which means that when Phill comes home, he will easily pull the car into the garage, without having to maneuver around the bookshelf and stroller and three bins and two bags, etc., that didn't belong in the garage in the first place. And there are no marshmallows on the garage floor, and no more secret spiderwebs in children's playing blocks. YAY!
And in my busy goings-on, I had barely any time to think of how much I wish Phill was home and not in his car on the way to San Antonio (barely). And I took the babies to the library. And I took the crap to D.I. (And I watched a guy donate a toilet, while I loudly guffawed in my car, probably the perfect picture of Crazy to any onlookers.) And I vacuumed.
It was a good day.
Thank you, 63 degrees in January.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Growth
Last night we had something of a milestone reached in the form of Reed taking a shower.
That's right. He just stood there and laughed crazy-happy while the water poured down. And Jaxon decided it looked fun, and still thought it was fun when he got a turn!
What's happening? They're growing way too quickly! I HATED showers until I was 15. (That is to say--I took baths whenever I could and hated showers unless a bath was impossible.) Actually, sometimes I still hate showers. (Because I love baths that much.)
Anyway, tonight, I decided to put Savvy in the shower, too. She sat on her tiny hiney and quietly enjoyed the steam and the spatter of water nearby, but was furious when I stood her in the actual stream. (Go figure. She's only 19 months--the crazy-happy laughter will take some time, I suppose.)
It cut our bedtime routine in half. And made it easier. And the kids were cleaner.
They're just so.....growing.....fast. (sigh)
Speaking of growing. Phill leaves for the second half of BNCOC (Army training that Phill has to complete to have a chance of being promoted) starting tomorrow.
He'll be gone for six weeks.
I've been pondering ways that I can grow during this little while, as opposed to regressing and turning into a cranky hermit. (As I seem to do when he's gone.) I'm making myself a list of tips, because I become lazy and overwhelmed and forgetful when he's gone, instead of doing the things that I know will make his absence less difficult. (Mostly.)
Take the kids somewhere each day or at least every other day. The park. The post office. The library. The grocery store. On a walk. To a friend's. Anywhere! Just not at home all day every day, while they beg to "do something" or "go somewhere". This isn't good for any of us.
Ask for help when it's really necessary, but just buck up and do it when I can. *I have a hard time with this one. I am either too afraid to ask for help, even when it's really necessary, or I cease to function under the incorrect and uber-dependent assumption that I can't do anything without Phill.
Do something good for myself each day. This usually falls under reading my scriptures and working out, but I need to work in Girls Night In or Go Take Photos more often. I get so destructively detail-oriented ("Reed, please put your shoes in the drawer facing the other way," I've heard myself say....) when I don't take some good old down time, or even just the pre-requisite scriptures/workout/shower/makeup routine.
I did just come off of a little break in the form of going to Payson to be in the temple with my cousin, who received her endowment. So at the moment I'm not necessarily hungry for an escape. I'm tanked up and ready to go, so to speak. I'm just being mindful of the way things tend to go, which is why I'm making myself a list.
Feel free to add on your own advice!
That's right. He just stood there and laughed crazy-happy while the water poured down. And Jaxon decided it looked fun, and still thought it was fun when he got a turn!
What's happening? They're growing way too quickly! I HATED showers until I was 15. (That is to say--I took baths whenever I could and hated showers unless a bath was impossible.) Actually, sometimes I still hate showers. (Because I love baths that much.)
Anyway, tonight, I decided to put Savvy in the shower, too. She sat on her tiny hiney and quietly enjoyed the steam and the spatter of water nearby, but was furious when I stood her in the actual stream. (Go figure. She's only 19 months--the crazy-happy laughter will take some time, I suppose.)
It cut our bedtime routine in half. And made it easier. And the kids were cleaner.
They're just so.....growing.....fast. (sigh)
Speaking of growing. Phill leaves for the second half of BNCOC (Army training that Phill has to complete to have a chance of being promoted) starting tomorrow.
He'll be gone for six weeks.
I've been pondering ways that I can grow during this little while, as opposed to regressing and turning into a cranky hermit. (As I seem to do when he's gone.) I'm making myself a list of tips, because I become lazy and overwhelmed and forgetful when he's gone, instead of doing the things that I know will make his absence less difficult. (Mostly.)
Take the kids somewhere each day or at least every other day. The park. The post office. The library. The grocery store. On a walk. To a friend's. Anywhere! Just not at home all day every day, while they beg to "do something" or "go somewhere". This isn't good for any of us.
Ask for help when it's really necessary, but just buck up and do it when I can. *I have a hard time with this one. I am either too afraid to ask for help, even when it's really necessary, or I cease to function under the incorrect and uber-dependent assumption that I can't do anything without Phill.
Do something good for myself each day. This usually falls under reading my scriptures and working out, but I need to work in Girls Night In or Go Take Photos more often. I get so destructively detail-oriented ("Reed, please put your shoes in the drawer facing the other way," I've heard myself say....) when I don't take some good old down time, or even just the pre-requisite scriptures/workout/shower/makeup routine.
I did just come off of a little break in the form of going to Payson to be in the temple with my cousin, who received her endowment. So at the moment I'm not necessarily hungry for an escape. I'm tanked up and ready to go, so to speak. I'm just being mindful of the way things tend to go, which is why I'm making myself a list.
Feel free to add on your own advice!
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