Day 29 Thriller

I just showed my class the extended Thriller video by Michael Jackson.  They had so many questions and observations-

"Why is he so happy when his girlfriend is scared?"
"What are those things coming up out of the ground?"
"Oh no! What are they going to do?"
"Why is she running to that house?!"
"Doesn't she know they are going to eat her?!"

as well as:

"Michael Jackson was so young."
"He was so thin!"
"He looks really different."
"He was black!  I didn't know that."

The 80s- what a time to be alive.

Day 28 JP and the hair

In a dream, I was talking to JP in his lab.  There was some small talk and then he said, “So, are you ready?”
I said, “Yeah!” and I propped my leg up on the table.  I pulled my pant leg up and revealed a Very Hairy leg.  I mean, I am a hairy girl, but this leg … even I was impressed with the quantity and quality of the hair presented on my leg.  It was black and full, and glossy- like a well-fed and groomed gorilla’s leg.

JP said, “It looks great! Just go down the hall and turn left.  My lab tech is in a room on the right.  He will wax your legs.”

I said, “Okay,” then I started walking toward the lab tech/leg waxer.

In my dream at this point, the situation struck me as a little odd. 

First of all, in real life I’ve visited JP’s lab approximately never times, also I don’t have well-groomed gorilla leg hair in real life. 

In my dream, I rationalized the situation by telling myself, even though I didn’t really know why I was letting JP’s lab tech wax my legs, I’m sure it was of some benefit to JP and his research.  He was probably researching how to cure male pattern baldness, and something about my luxurious leg hair and follicles was going to lead him to a glorious insight about how to stimulate inactive scalp hair follicles and ‘cure’ baldness once and for all! 

Why would I think this?

JP was bald when I met him.  We were in our 20s.  It is unusual for a man in his 20s to be bald, but since he was already bald when I met him, I never thought it was unusual for him.  When I think about JP now- I don’t remember him by what he looked like.  I remember him by our interactions, and his attributes I noticed because of those interactions.

I think everyone would agree that JP was (and still is I’m sure) very smart. Back then he was studying biochemistry and working in a cancer research lab. I think fewer people knew that JP’s first language was not English.  Although he seemed to perceive in himself some deficiency in English, in fact, his pronunciation was American native-English-speaker and his spoken and literary vocabulary and fluency were by far better than most US-born university graduates. He came across as well read in not only science but also religion, philosophy, social theory and of course general world knowledge. (Which again is far better than can be said for most US-born university graduates.) 

JP was funny and curious, and most importantly- JP was kind, and I’m sure he still is.

I am an introvert and JP was an introvert; so, it seems odd to me that the first memories that came to me when I started thinking about JP were all at parties.

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JP and I are at a party.  We are sitting on the floor in a corner from which we can see both the front door and the center of the room.  We are talking to each other about the people we know and the people we don’t know.  We are making observations about what is happening and predicting what will happen next.  He says, “What do you think will happen if I go over there and . . .”  He proposes some outlandish course of action and sets in for that action before I answer.

JP was willing to watch, discuss and take action too.

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JP and I are at a (different) party.  I’m sitting on a sofa.  He’s sitting on a stool in the center of the room.  I watch as people he knows and people he doesn’t know walk up to him and chat, as though he is some sort of interactive display at a museum.  I notice one particularly long conversation with a girl we’ve just met.  As I walk by to get a drink, I hear a bit of their conversation.

JP says, “Oh really?  That’s interesting, can you tell me more about that?”

She says, “Yes, it means . . .” and she proceeds to expound in great, and somewhat inaccurate detail about a topic which I know full well he knows more about than most people in the room, including the new girl.

When I walk past again, I catch his eye. There’s a sparkle there; he is really enjoying this conversation.

When they are finished, I go back to his ‘interactive display’ and say, “Why did you ask her to explain more about a topic you know more about than she does?”

He says, “I wanted to know what she knew.  I wanted to know her perspective.  I knew it would be different from mine.”

I say, “Did you learn something?”

“Oh yes,” he replies, “I learned so much.”

“I don’t suppose you told her you have taken several classes on that subject?” I ask.

“No,” he says, “no need for that.”

JP made it a point to have time to listen to other people, even when he knew what they were probably going to say.

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JP and I are at Mardi Gras in New Orleans. We are standing shoulder to shoulder in the French Quarter with thousands of drunk people.  Our feet are planted on the pavement, but the crowd is undulating like a flag in the wind.  I look at him wondering to myself “What are we doing here?”  He looks at me like he knows what I’m thinking but doesn’t know the answer.

JP pretty much always up for an adventure.

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‘Crazy Betty,’ my roommate is hysterical when I walk in the apartment.  She says, “I think a terrorist called us!” 

It’s late in 2001 and she’s already told me she thinks I might work for the CIA. I denied it of course, but isn’t that exactly what a CIA agent would do?  I calmly ask, “Oh? Why do you think that?” 

She says, “Listen to this phone message!”  She hits play.  It’s JP ranting something in Arabic, laughing manically and hanging up.

I cover my mouth the hide the smile. I cough.  “It was probably just a wrong number,” I say.

She looks skeptical.

JP was a cheeky monkey.

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I’m standing next to JP at a party.  Someone walks up and introduces herself.  She says, “Hi my name is  …”

He says, “Hi, this is Shannon, and my name is K…”

She says, “K…” rolling the name she’s never encountered before around her tongue.

I just look at him.

The girl walks away.  I say, “Why did you tell her your name is “K…?”

He says, “Because, that’s my name.”

I say, “Then why have I been calling you JP all this time?”

He says, “That was my nickname, but I think I’ll go by my name now.”

“Did you just decide that right now?” I’m somewhat incredulous about this name revelation.

“Yeah,” he says, and walks off.

JP was unexpected on a regular basis.

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In my dream, I walked into the room where the lab tech had his back to me.  He didn’t notice me, and suddenly I got the feeling that the whole situation was really weird.  Why was I getting my furry leg waxed by a lab tech?  I walked out of the room before he noticed me.

When I got back into the hall JP was walking towards me.  He said, “What’s going on?” 

I was embarrassed.  I wanted to help him, but it was all so strange. 

I said, “Oh, I wasn’t sure if this was the right room.” 

He said, “Yes, come on, I’ll introduce you!”

We went into the room and while he was introducing me to the lab tech his boss walked into the room.  His boss was praising him and telling him how happy he was about this hair research.

I thought again this must have something to do with male pattern baldness, but when I looked at the three men in the room, they all had beautifully full heads of hair. 

Then I thought, ‘I was wrong to suppose this was about selfish ambition or personal benefit,’

and I also thought, ‘has he always had that hair?’

and I also thought, ‘that’s really nice hair.’

The ‘procedure’ was accomplished as planned, and I gave my goodbyes to the tech.  On my way out I passed a lecture hall.  The boss-guy was presenting a case study. I stopped by the door and heard him talking about a terrible disease.  Hundreds of people had already died, and many more would die if they could not find a cure.  The only thing that all the victims had in common was unexplained hair loss.  He was very excited to announce that he and his staff were currently conducting research using healthy (glossy, furry-monkey-leg-hair) donated fresh hair follicles to crack the case.

And so- I learned, do not assume you know the whole story. You will rarely know the whole story- unless it is your story. 

It’s okay to ask. 

It’s also okay for the answer to be, ‘I’m not ready to share right now.’

It’s okay to get your monkey-leg-hair waxed by a lab tech in the name of research.

day 27 cinnamon

The children of an English Teacher:

L: How do you spell 'pool?'
E: P -o-o
L: O?
E: O-o
L: O-o?
E: Yes, O-o
L: Oh! O.  Hey, 'oh' and 'o' are the same, but not the same.
E: Yeah, they're synomoms.
L: They are not cinnamons!
E: I didn't say cinnamons! I said synomoms!
L: What's a synomom?
E: It's when two words sound the same, but they have different meanings.
L: Oh! That's good.

Me listening from the front seat: This is wrong on so many levels.

day 26 that's true

I haven't been feeling great lately and had not eaten a lot,  so I was a little hungry.  I was standing in line.  The woman behind me was talking, "blah-blah-blah-taco." 
My stomach said, "Yes, that's true."
My brain said, "Oh you don't!"
Stomach plaintively said, "taco."
Brain said, "NO! we have leftovers at home!"
Stomach growled, "Taco!"
Brain would not give in, "So Many Leftovers!"
Stomach was sullen.
Brain thought she had a good compromise.
The 'leftovers' turned out to be rum raisin ice cream and Totinos pizza rolls.

Stomach; however, has not forgotten.  "Yes, that's true."

DAY 25 PARENTAL APPROVAL RATING: LOW

The parental approval rating is currently LOW for the middle child who is upset because; 1. I'm not magic 2. I didn't fix the unfixable thing 3. I lost her fitted sheet (I don't know...) 4. it's an hour and a half past bedtime, and she can't find broccoli (which is her favorite stuffed toy.) The rating is only slightly higher for the oldest because I didn't let them sleep in the living room even though they "don't have school tomorrow and it's a special day since it is Lailah's birthday!" (all in one breath)  It's at about 50 percent for the baby at the moment but is predicted to plummet once I take action to put her in bed.

A bad chest cold- hey I just learned that bronchitis is a chest cold.  Yesterday  a nurse in the family said, "Sounds like you might be getting bronchitis!"  I said, "I hope not!  It's just a bad cold."  I thought bronchitis was something much worse than a cold- but I just learned from WEB MD that it is the same as a chest cold- she was right- bronchitis it is- bleh.

It's fall break for me and the girls today and tomorrow. 
D came home and said, "You kept them all day?"
I said, "Yeah." 
He said, "Why didn't you take them to daycare?" 
I said, 'I wasn't thinking straight." 
He said, "Yeah I noticed that you took them for a walk ... in the rain." 
I said, "Well, it was a warm sprinkle, but again, not thinking straight."

 “When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.”

Winnie-the-Pooh Quotes by A.A. Milne - Goodreads

day 24 girl with cat

Girl with Cat by Ammi Phillips  1814

I've been to the Amon Carter Museum several times.  Sometimes this portrait is displayed.  I love it.
The first time I saw it I saw a description that said something to the effect that in the early 1800s there were traveling artists who would paint portraits.  Of course, the artists who were very good could charge more, so they had the upper-class clientele. The ones who were not so good could still find work in the middle class.  Many times the name of the artist was unknown for these middle-class artists. 
This piece was attributed to Ammi Philips- who was a traveling artist.  I'm sure the art people to grouped this painting with Ammi Philips' other works know more about technique and style than I do, but, I didn't see any other portraits which have been attributed to him with these crazy eyes.

The first time I saw it I thought, "Whoa! Look at those crazy eyes on that girl."  I wonder if she really had those crazy eyes, or if the painter was having a really bad day and said, 'Screw it! That's as good as it gets!'" Then I looked at the cat's eyes and I felt it was more likely the second option. That cat has creepy-people eyes. 

I don't know where that girl is looking, or why one eye is bigger.  Maybe she really did look like that- bless her.  It's just that usually artists would romanticize portraits.  They would fix flaws, but this artist's 'leitmotif' (I just learned that word, it means "a recurrent theme throughout a musical or literary composition, associated with a particular person, idea, or situation.") was that he would create “correct likenesses.” 

If this is a 'correct likeness' I guess I'm more worried about the cat than the girl.


1815c MaryAnn Gale

Also attributed to Phillips.   Same chair, similar curtain, strong jaw, but much less crazy-in-the-eyes, although I suppose the right one does look bigger than the left. Looks like her cat ran away.


1820c Nancy Caldwell Church Robinson

Look at her with the book, the chair and the curtain, no cat and really normal-looking eyes!  I totally believe she looked like this.

day 23 5:23 am

There is no good reason to be awake at 5:23 am. The problem is I've been awake for much longer than that- but since I don't have a working watch, my phone wasn't charged and Alexa thought I said, "Set an alarm for 5:15" instead of  "5:50" I decided to get up.

Maybe it's anxiety.  I don't have it together.  I can't get it together.  Every time I even start to get my crap together someone comes along and scatters the crap to the four corners.  That's not even metaphorical. I mean literally, boxes of junk I've gathered to throw away, donate, sort through to redistribute in more logical places- scattered by someone- usually a very short and cute someone, but also sometimes just by me because I'm looking for something frantically.

Laundry, dishes, dirty bathrooms- toys everywhere and of course the scattered junk.  So, when I get up early, what do I do to alleviate the anxiety?  Blog of course.  I have goals to meet.

I'll do useful things too- I'm already charging my phone and my watch.  I'll make some tea and maybe fold some laundry.  It's almost time to get up anyway.

day 22 30 days 365 days

I started my 30 day challenge at the beginning of November last year- this is my pathetic chance to actually finish my 30 days before the end of a year.  I have 20+ days to think of and write 9 more blogs. It's possible.
Ha!
Make that 8 more blogs- I'm counting this one!
There are no further details.  This is my game-my made up rules!

day 21 be nice

Last night I had one of those dreams that keeps you thinking about it all day.  

       I’ve had all kinds of dreams that do this to me.  I’ve had prophetic dreams, dreams which contained people, places or things which symbolized issues and concerns I was facing and dreams like this.  They are dreams from which I wake up with a realization.  I know the realization will be something that I’ll need to ponder- really consider carefully- and possibly take action on.

Last night I dreamed many things- a jumble of places and faces- but one part of the dream has had me thinking.  I dreamed of an old friend.  It is a repeat version of a dream I’ve had several times before. I dreamed that quite by accident I ran into a friend from many years ago.

Now, there are friends you have for many years- whom you love. There are friends who come and go- whom you have loved. Then, no matter how brief the time you spend together, or no matter how long you’ve been apart, there are friends whom you have loved and love- dearly.  It’s an indefinite love- you can’t put your finger on what it was that bound you together in the first place.  It’s improbable. It’s a friendship that was and is and is to come- Seeing this friend in my dreams is a glimpse of heaven- since that is the next place I expect to see him.

In the dream I was walking into a building; he was walking out. He was looking down, so I saw him first.  I stepped into his path and when he looked up I knew he recognized me. I was pleased in the dream because it’s been a really long time. What my dream-self did not register was the look of social panic he expressed, the awkwardness of his greeting, the unstated desire to be anywhere but standing in front of me.

That was it.

I woke up and my conscious brain began to understand what my unconscious brain was trying to tell me.

It was a process- When I first woke up I thought as I have in the past, ‘Well, it was nice to see him again.’

As I thought about it later in the morning-  I realized that he had been trying to avoid me.  I didn’t really like that idea.  I was still thinking about it halfway through the day when I realized that all my dreams that included him were similar, and one of those similarities was that he was trying to avoid me. In the past that had not really bothered me, but today I found myself greatly affected by the idea.

Here I am- all offended  by my unconscious brain’s imagined meeting with a representation of a dude who is just out there somewhere, minding his own business, busy with his own life, and not worried about people he hasn't seen in a million years - neither is he concerned for how my feelings were hurt by what never happed- or that  I was blaming him for it all day.

So now I’m all down about being avoided, and I remember something he used to say.

I would say, “See you tomorrow.”

He would cheerfully say, “Not if I see you first!” and flash a dazzling smile.

Well- there are some people who say things like that and flash a smile- and you know they are kidding.

There are other people who say things like that and you wonder if you have miscalculated the true nature of the relationship.

I had always assumed he was the first kind of person, but now I was beginning to wonder …

Finally, on my way home from work- I began to understand the dream(s); my feelings, and more about life and God in general.

I believe God was showing me what most people feel when they are avoided. Why would God need to show me that? Well probably because I avoid most people a lot of the time.  I also rarely mind being avoided- since if someone else is going to the trouble of avoiding me, it means I don’t need to go to the trouble of avoiding them.  I’m what normal humans call anti-social.  I think it runs in the family.  The struggle is real for extreme introverts. It’s probably the only thing I’m extreme about.  I know many people would say that doesn’t describe me at all.  That’s because I’ve used all my social energies interacting with them (usually at work) so the rest of the time I’m all, “Go away—forever, but not really because I love you. But still-- go away-- for now.”

The take away is this:

I should, (must) make an effort to stop avoiding people. It may make them feel sad, unsure of themselves and relationships in general. So- you know-

Be Nice.

That’s it.

It’s not always deep and dark.  Sometimes it is easy and it just takes a while to get through to my silly brain.

It was and is and is still to come on the other side- I hope that is still true for you.  I truly have all the best wishes and feelings for you- I'm over my bad imaginary situations feelings.  :)
Philos, friend.