I have a wonderful husband who has picked up the slack in some areas. I have had to learn to go to him when I am frustrated or confused, and he does a great job, but he doesn’t fill the entire void. My sister covers a lot of ground in other areas, because she has become my road-trip partner and let me rant to her when I am going nuts at home and just need to feel sorry for myself.

But the biggest source of sadness I have is actually not about me. It’s about her. My sister. She was, in many ways, an only child from late elementary school through college. Even though my mom remarried, they were kind of a dynamic duo. Mom was able to share many experiences with my sister that she couldn’t with her older kids. When mom died, one of my first feelings of sadness was for the many, many experiences that my sister was still going to have that our mom wouldn’t share with her. My brothers and I had had weddings, children, career successes, and hobby successes that my sister had only started to set goals for when she died… I hated that my sister would not have our mother here to share these things as I and my brothers did.

Last week, my sister lost one of her close childhood friends to an untimely death. Mom knew the young man’s family (I say “young man”… he was 31, so I guess he was actually a Man) so her number should have been the first my sister called. They could have shared a common history as they discussed the news. They would have been able to remember some great moments together. Mom would have offered to go with my sister to Dallas for the funeral. Instead, I got the phone call. I am sympathetic, of course. I even cried as my sister told me what she knew about what happened. I remember her friend, and met him once or twice, but it’s not the same. Not even close.

I knew when mom died that I would be taking mom’s place for my sister in many ways. But it doesn’t mean it’s easy when it has to happen. I am happy to do it, of course! But I hate with every cell of my body that I have to.

Some things get easier with time, but I don’t think this will. Ever.

“Hello, New Year.”

That sounded kind of Seinfeld-ey, didn’t it?? Kind of snide… a little dismissive. Not my intention, really. I’m feeling pretty good about 2012. Excited, even. I started to come out of a strange kind of fog last fall and and am pretty confident that the months ahead are going to be full of awesomesauce.

I’ll try again…

“Hello, New Year, you sexy beast!!!”

Well…

I have never been much of a goal-setter. Which would explain the astounding number of cool things I wanted to do when I was younger but never quite managed to accomplish. But this year, this dreamer is going to become a PLANNER!! That’s right, people! I’ll be putting together some action-steps to make some of the things I want to do actually get done, and I’ll start my list right here.

1. Get one home project done each month.
2. Make a plan for Punkinhead that will improve inventory creation and sales.
3. Hone Junque Rethunque’s brand and focus to build business opportunities.
4. Create time to focus on writing portfolio.
5. Spend more time communicating with the divine.

So those are the Big Ones. Those are the game changers that will make 2012 the Year of Change for me. But there are some smaller things, or at least some more daily-life kinds of things, that I’m also going to do to make some changes. Not for me, personally (because frankly, a couple of these will be pretty challenging) – but for my community, my planet, and my children.

1. Carry reusable bags to the store every time.
2. Use my composter.
3. Sign up with a CSA.
4. Buy second-hand.
5. Plan meals and cook at home at least 4 times each week.

I’ve done a lot of numbers 1 and 4 in the past couple of years, but haven’t been as diligent as I plan to be this year. I’ve started out pretty well so far. I think the hardest will be the plan to buy everything I need or want second-hand. I shop at thrift stores often already, primarily looking for treasures for my vintage flea market booth and to use in my hobby business, but I haven’t made a real effort to purchase EVERYTHING I need throughout the year at thrift stores, online, or at yard sales.

Today I caved on the second-hand plan, going to Walmart to buy some Rubbermaid totes when I hit a couple of thrift stores and didn’t find any. I rationalize it because I have to get them filled with fabric to get my organization plan completed in my sewing room. In order to make number 2 happen, I had to go to Walmart. Not sure I can get by with that very often if I want to be successful. I think I’ll keep a list of purchases to compare what I pay second-hand against what I would pay new. At least, that’s a great idea… we’ll see if I can stick to it.

So, what are your plans for the new year?

Hrmmm…

So what DO I want to be when I grow up?

When I attended the Pre-K graduation ceremony last year and watched my son shyly state that he wants to be a Monster Truck Driver, I thought – as many other parents did that day – (especially the one whose son said he wants to be a fish) “Awww, that’s so cute!” And then I thought “I wonder what he’ll really be someday?”

But perhaps I shouldn’t dismiss the dreams of a six-year-old so easily. My mother didn’t dismiss our dreams when we were kids. Mom didn’t doubt my ability in anything I was interested in. She encouraged me to move to New York to pursue my dream of the stage when I was performing in little theater productions in Dallas. She encouraged me to be a designer when I was creating my own holiday cards. She kept everything I ever wrote and told me I should take my humor on the road as a comic. She encouraged me to start a business called Junque Rethunque when I was picking junk up off the curb and talking about redesigning and repurposing.

So why am I still wondering what I am going to be when I grow up?? I think it has something to do with the number of dreams I’m trying to sort out. It’s hard to narrow down the things I want to spend my time on. What ends up happening is that I never move forward very much in any one direction. I collect notes in journals but don’t start writing any stories, I  buy the supplies to create  greeting cards but they sit in a cabinet unused, I fill my garage with “projects”,  and auditions come and go…

So, I am going to have to make some choices. Maybe I’ll get to keep a couple of dreams… maybe some dreams can become to occasional hobbies. But I seriously have to focus so that I can start making some headway and stop feeling so ineffective. So un-grownup.

I’m pretty sure the world doesn’t need another actor, so I’ll just toss that one out right off the top. I can look back fondly on my days on the stage and be okay with that. I am more and more drawn to design and creating, and I still feel compelled to write. So I am going to focus on two main goals: First, building Junque Rethunque into a viable business that I can eventually take from a flea market booth to a brick & mortar shop featuring vintage finds, repurposed “junque”, and local art and crafts. I wouldn’t mind if that went on to blossom into a part-time interior design business either… Second, I’m going to carve out time to write. Write my blogs, write short stories and essays, and perhaps write articles and guest blogs that involve the design and vintage interests I have.

So, for the record… When I grow up I want to be a shop owner and writer. What a relief that I have an answer for my son next time he delves into the depths of my unfocused soul.

But in the case of CANCER, the thing I love so little that I might actually use four-letter words when I refer to it in conversation, that thing has actually brought a wonderful thing along… a really strong relationship with my sister. Don’t worry, this isn’t going down the two-hankie-blog-post path. I’m just saying… I mean, get over it. Just briefly: our mom was diagnosed with brain cancer in September 2008 and passed away in August 2009. In those 11 months my sister and I developed a bond that can only be understood fully by other people who have shared in the work of caring for a dying loved-one and then spent another year and a half figuring out what to do with all their stuff including a house that was built by their grandfather and which ended up in foreclosure. And also including three beloved cats. Yeah… THAT kind of bond. I have a tattoo to prove it.

So, back to the stuff I love… one of those things would be Dave Matthews Band. Another, understandably, is my sister. Another is road trips. And finally, another (the actual list, which includes this photo of my brothers, would be ridiculously long…) is junking/thrifting/scrounging/treasure-hunting. This week the stars are aligning just as they do in super-cool documentaries about the Mayan Calendar and the future of the Universe and things like that, and my sister and I are taking a road trip to see Dave Matthews Band at one of their summer Caravan festivals – as well as a crapload of other awesome bands. On our way, we are certain to be lured to the roadside by junky buildings overflowing with stuff other people would throw in a dumpster or on a burn pile. And we

CAN

HARDLY

WAIT!!!

Okay, I’m not skilled on WordPress and can’t make that centered text look as intense as the waiting actually feels.

The aforementioned sister has been putting together a mix tape (shut up – if I want to call it a mix tape I will!!!) of a bunch of the bands we’ll see over the three day festival. We have been doing stupid little wiggly dances for at least the last two weeks every time we are together and one of us mentions the trip … we have saved our pennies and are making lists of the things we need to take and have a cheap ass hotel room in the ghetto reserved in our name. The countdown is on and this time tomorrow we’ll be lying in our beds unable to go to sleep.

We will be posting pics. We will be slapping on the sunscreen and using our refillable water bottles. We will also be eating cheap food in Chicago that quite possibly will taste better than anything we’ve ever eaten in our LIVES simply because we’re on a road trip.

And that, my friends, will be something to love.

Today, we have TWO moments of hilarity:

On the way home from soccer this evening Enter Sandman by Metallica came on the radio. I told the Boy-child that it is a classic song, and turned it up a bit. I then instructed him in the proper way to “head-bang” along with the beat…  He attempted the move for an 8-count or so, then he announced that he doesn’t like it, because it made his head hurt. I guess his future is in folk or bluegrass instead of metal and prog rock. Hope daddy’s not too disappointed…

Then, tonight as we were watching Glee on Netflix (haters, move along!) they sang You Can’t Always Get What You Want. The Boy-child said “That’s just like me.” He likes to sing, so I asked “Do you sing like that?” “No.”  He likes to dance, so I asked “Do you think you dance like that?” “No.”  Out of ideas, I asked “What part of it do you think is like you?”

“Because I can’t always get what I want.”

Preach it, son.

On the eve of the property being sold on the courthouse steps to the highest bidder, I thought I’d put down a few of my favorite memories…

My grandmother was an artist. She took lessons from one of the leading tole-paint artists in the 1970s and sold her beautiful items at craft fairs throughout the Ozarks for years.  She had a room in the house dedicated to her painting. It was a delightful room full of paint, brushes, bookshelves full of books, and had a large bay window. I loved to watch grandma paint, and have a few things that she let me paint alongside her. One day she invited my brother and I to gather flat river rocks from the gravel driveway and let us paint little faces on them. I was impressed and a little jealous that my brother’s rock faces had better eyes than mine did. No wonder he went on to be a brilliant illustrator.

Walking through the woods in the spring looking for fern fiddleheads and wild violets.

During the summers before central air was installed it was seriously warm at night upstairs where the bedrooms were located. A box fan was placed at each end of the hallway outside the bedroom doors and the windows were opened to allow air to circulate through the house. The fans created a hum that harmonized perfectly with the raucous noise of the cicadas that started up at sundown each evening.  I will always enjoy the sound of tree frogs and cicadas at night – it’s not just a memory but a sensory feeling of peace and security that settles within me when I hear those noises. It’s a sign, to me, that all is right with the world.

Christmases at the farm, when we were there before the 25th, involved scouting out the perfect tree. Very often, grandpa had already located a contender and we would trek with him through the woods or ride in the back of his pick up to the bottom pastures to offer our approval and beg him to let us help with the sawing (the answer was always – appropriately – no). Cedar trees often grow along fence lines on farms in the south, and the aroma of fresh-cut cedar will always be a favorite of mine.

Fresh tomatoes, still warm from the vine, sprinkled with sugar. Mmmmmm….

Another scent that stays with me is a combination: fresh sawdust and cigarette smoke. My grandpa was a Marine in the South Pacific during World War II. Along with all the other GIs, he was provided with free cigarettes on a regular basis. I’m not sure what the reasoning behind that was, but the result was that he started smoking. I don’t actually remember seeing him smoking often, but I know he did while worked in his woodworking shop on the farm. When I went to see him in the shop there was always a specific smell that permeated the air. It was also in his shirt when I hugged him goodnight. It doesn’t sound like a smell that would be pleasant, but I love it.

Helping grandma hang clothes on the line outside the pump house/laundry room.

My grandmother made fantastic home-cooked meals that included a huge selection of vegetables from the garden, canned tomatoes, and beef that was probably raised on the farm. Whenever she made pie crust she cut the scraps of pastry into little strips and sprinkled them with sugar and cinnamon. The pies were wonderful, but the little strips of baked pasty were perfect.

Grandma used to put on rubber boots at dusk and beat the bushes around the patio with a hoe to chase out the copperhead snakes so she could mangle them.

Helping grandma hang clothes on the line outside the pump house/laundry room.

It’s ironic, I think, that on the day that the property will leave our family the trees are bright green from the recent rain, the iris are blooming and the woods smell fresh and musky. It’s one of my favorite times of year there, and every spring I’ll wish I could go back.

When my mom became sick in 2008 my aunt came up from Texas to gather their mom and transplanted her to a nursing facility near her (mom had been her caregiver before that time). These boxes were left behind in mom’s care, but now that she’s gone I need to get them to my aunt. But before they go… I’m making sure I look at it all. My hubby and I enjoy geneology, and he has done a lot of research on our family trees and such. Many of the pieces of ephemera in the boxes would be great things to attach to some of my ancestors’ records online, so I’ve been scanning like crazy.

One of my favorite finds was a pile of folders full of my grandmother’s writing. She wanted to be a writer, and sent things off to different contests and even had a professional writer critiquing her work at one point. It was something that she didn’t find time to make a career out of, what with raising five kids, managing a household, raising and putting up a huge garden each year, helping with the livestock… you get the drift. I hope that eventually I can have those things to put in my own keepsake box – since I’m the one in the family with a degree in creative writing. My aunt pulled aside my grandmother’s wedding dress and such because her daughter has a degree in fashion design, so it seems only fair…

So, a box at a time all of this stuff will be put in the mail to Texas, and I’ll start going through my own boxes. I doubt there are as many things in mine that my descendants will be interested in keeping, so I plan to be weeding out some stuff.

What things are you keeping in your “treasure” box(es)?

One particularly tough moment came at a craft fair my sister and I were selling at in October. As I was browsing the other booths I discovered something that would have been a perfect gift for my Mom and was hit by the stunning realization that I would never buy her another gift. My mother was a joy to buy for. She and I had similar taste in many things – decor, clothing, hobbies. Perhaps that’s why I now have so much of her stuff in my garage? I felt I knew her so well that when I found The Perfect Gift it was a thrill just to anticipate her opening it, let alone seeing her reaction post-reveal.

Another wrinkle this year was the grand-baby in our house. She looks so much like my mother did as a baby – she has her chin and her smile and her red hair!! – and I know Mom would have loved to have a new baby to buy for. I hope I can measure up to Mom’s stellar Nana talents as I learn to be a Nonnie for my little one.

But being with my brothers at Thanksgiving and my sister for Christmas helped somewhat as we move forward “sans mere”. I’m confident we will make new traditions as we learn to share our own homes with each other instead of relying on mom to always be the hub of our family wheel.

Losing a parent in 2009, and gaining a grandchild in 2010 kind of trumped any list of goals I made those years. I’ll give 2011 some thought and get back to you on that.

Until then – I’ll share my mantra for the new year:

Do or do not… there is no try.   — Yoda

I recently found a new blog. More accurately, I discovered a blog that has been around a while, but that I hadn’t seen yet. You know what I mean. The author of the blog, Roni Loren, is actually an Author… soon to be published, award winner, etc… (no, I’m not jealous. Shut up!! I am not!!!!)

Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by my conscience, Ms. Loren wrote about books that she read as a youth that influenced her literary interests and adult reading habits and, ultimately, her writing. I had never thought about how what I read growing up might have informed my writing. I mean, yes… I have heard from professors, articles and books about reading probably 847 times that if I want to be a writer, I need to read. But that was after I decided to write. I never put the pieces together to connect what I write now with what I read before I turned 18.

So, let’s take a look… (I know, you’re sweating with anticipation).

As many kids do in the U.S., I read a lot of Dr. Seuss books when I was very young. My mother read them to me and I learned to read with them. If they influenced my adult reading preferences, I’d say it’s in the area of language. I love words – especially words that challenge and increase my vocabulary. I suppose Dr. Seuss also inspired some fantasy appreciation; my desire to think about my world imaginatively. I loved to build forts and create small worlds in terrariums and doll houses. Certainly, a quick glance through a few Seuss books opens up a world of color and texture possibilities, not to mention the imaginary creatures that become very real through those books.

In middle school I read “Island of the Blue Dolphins” and “The Boxcar Children” series and was again fascinated with environments that were far from what I was used to in suburban Little Rock. In addition, the way that these books portrayed children close to my own age living on their own, foraging for food and shelter – and in the case of the Boxcar series, solving mysteries -  was fascinating to me. Still today I consider the challenge of survival in a wilderness of some kind exciting. I would love to be dropped off in Alaska or be a part of the Amazing Race.

I should say I am still figuring out who I am in terms of writing fiction. I am all about personal essay and creative non-fiction, but have struggled in the process of creating characters and plot lines for short stories or novels. I tend to feel I just don’t have those skills in me, but the more I think about what kind of books I have enjoyed reading I wonder if I need to just focus more on those early influences to help me get started.

Heading into junior high, I discovered Judy Blume, and eventually got my hands on a copy of “Forever”, which was the first book I ever read that had references to romantic eroticism. It was a YA novel, so I wasn’t reading anything Susie Bright would be editing, but it was definitely eye-opening (and mind-blowing) to my 13 year old self. “Flowers in the Attic” was another one that stretched me a little. Or perhaps it was “Petals in the Wind”, the followup to Flowers… I think there was some allusion to incest as well. Quite an education.

I grew up feeling fairly comfortable with my sexual side, and wonder now if it was the books that led me to be curious about that subject, or the curiosity that allowed me to enjoy and seek out the books? Hmmm…

“Thornbirds” was a high school read that was passed along from my mom, as was “A Rose in Winter”. It was really the only time I saw my mom reading for pleasure. She went through a brief romance novel thing. Kind of like when she decided she needed to invest serious time and money in Tri-Chem fabric painting… it passed. Those books talked about “male members” and passion, and as a budding teenaged heavy-petter, they reinforced my belief that the things I was learning in Sunday school about dating and the opposite sex were most definitely not the only options.

“Cannery Row” has to be mentioned, not for the sexual references, but for the way I learned to appreciate even more the foreign environments and, especially here, dialect. John Steinbeck has been a favorite author ever since reading this book in high school English class, and in a similar vein I also love Maya Angelou’s writing for the way her characters are created in large part by their language and the local speech patterns and slang they use.

I’m an admitted narcissist, which I suppose is a good thing when considering my desire to write essays and memoir pieces. But based on this little trip down my literary memory lane, I’m thinking that the idea I had many years ago to write erotic short stories should be revisited. Now, the big question: Pseudonym? Or go bold and just use my real name??

You know, I consider myself a fairly progressive, independent woman. I have worked full-time since I was 18. I have seen to the raising of two fantastic young women who think for themselves and don’t hesitate to state their opinions. I support people and causes in my community that champion the under-served or overlooked. But I also laugh a lot. I enjoy doing things that are not challenging to my heart or head at times… reading fiction, watching Bravo, baking, shoe shopping… you get my drift.

I read something today that has made me so angry, and defensive of all other women like myself, that I had to respond to it. I was going to leave a comment on the original article, but for some reason AOL.com wouldn’t let me set up an account. Whatever, it’s probably for the best since what I wanted to say might have been censored anyway… so instead, I’ll share it here for your enjoyment. Go read the original piece and come back here to tell me if I’m wrong. I don’t think I am.

Dear Donna,

Surely you don’t think you are speaking for everyone who has ever been touched by breast cancer?  Do you truly feel that anyone who has watched a friend or family member suffer through or die (of breast or any cancer for that matter) would expend the energy to be insulted by a trivial game created to raise awareness of the disease? If you do, I think you’re missing the point entirely.

My aunt, who dealt with the disease twice and had a double mastectomy, was one of the people who sent the Facebook meme about purses to me. And she sent the bra color one last year as well.  SHE would be insulted if she thought she was being accused of overlooking the serious, deadly, sobering side of breast cancer.  I know for a fact that she is available for her friends and neighbors when they need her and she is one of the loudest and most courageous of organizers when there is a need for change in her community. And she is the furthest thing from “coy”.  In fact, she probably burned her bras in the 60s and 70s.

I work for a cancer support organization that employs social workers who work with people who are struggling through the treatment process of cancer every day.  Many of our patients die, or have life-altering side-effects of their disease and treatments.  I’m fairly sure that my aunt, my co-workers who have updated their Facebook statuses, and all the nurses we work with at our local oncology clinic who also have updated Facebook would join me to say you are full of shit.  A few of them might be “coy”, but certainly not all of them.

Cancer awareness is vital, even if it’s spread with a smile, and this “campaign” (for lack of a better word) IS creating awareness. My husband asked me about it; a friend recently told me her daughter and her friends discussed breast cancer self-exams because of it.  Whether you like it or not, it’s doing exactly what it was meant to do, raise awareness.  It’s not a fundraiser or a way to eradicate the disease and it was never advertised to be those things.

Maybe you don’t realize it, but your brand of commentary is not only off-putting, it’s demeaning to women.  But that’s because you are completely out of touch with the majority of female society living in 2010.  As you spew this Feminist rhetoric to the internet masses (um… if they pry themselves from the computer how could they read your swill?) you are refusing to recognize that there are a crapload of those very women you are deriding out there making a difference in their communities, driving awareness for important issues, caring for their friends, leading home tours and organizing “Pink Trash Balls” AND doing it in heels and lipstick.  Oh, and they publicize their causes and fundraising events on Facebook, because that’s where people are going to see their message.

Calm down, have a martini, and watch a little t.v. You need to relax. We’ll take over from here and do what we’ve been doing all along… only we’ll do it because we’re passionate about it and it needs to be done, not because it’s what the Feminist Zealots told us to do.

Sincerely and with a smile,

Laurie