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Bubble Blower Traits and Tendencies
Bubble Blowers live in a constant state of reinvention. They thrive on trying new things — foods, countries, careers — and their look is always changing (from mod to soup dragon to robot chic). This endless string of transformations would be disorienting if it weren't for the one constant in their lives: the reconnection they find night after night in The Bubble Blowers pose.
ARACHNAPHOBE WARNING! This is a black widow I made for a swap last year. InSeven of Nine471's she was talking about some spiders who had taken up residence in her laundry room, which is what made me think to post this. I know this is weird to some people, but I think black widows are really pretty spiders - all shiny and black and red.
Got this from Zebra_Slut. He gave me the letter "H" to list five things that mean a lot to me.
If you would like me to leave you a letter, leave a comment and let me know!
Here's what I came up with:
Home. Not in that cheesy, materialistic, susy homemaker sort of way. But my home is central to so much of my life - it's where my family lives, it's where we do some of our homeschooling activites, it's where my dance studio is located, it's where my supplies and workspace for makin' stuff is located, it's where the pups play in the front yard.
Husband. These are making me sound sooooooooo much more traditional than I actually am! But, the man I married is my best friend in the whole world, and just an all around fabulous guy. I am glad he and I have built our lives together.
Hilarity. Much of the glue that holds my family together is laughter. We laugh and have fun together. A LOT. Part of the fun in watching my children grow up is seeing them developing their own, unique sense of humor, and their own ways of making us laugh. Bannanarama has a sly, sarcastic sort of wit, while Zorro is all about the pratfalls. If we are stressed, if we are angry, nothing can help us get through the tough times better than laughter.
Human-ness. This is where Jules goes all woo-woo. I like meeting people, talking with them. It always amazes me how, when we are willing to just neglect all those labels we feel the need to claim for ourselves and others, and just get to know people as themselves, as individuals, how there is usually some way in which we can connect. Despite all the red state/blue state/mars/venus/liberal/conservative/atheist/religious/boxers/briefs boxes, in the end, we are all just human beings, muddling through this world as best we can.
Hot Chocolate. Cause, baby, when it's cold outside, nothing beats curling up with you loved ones and drinking something warm and sweet. (And y'know - CHOCOLATE!!!)
Okay, been spending some time poking about Yahoo! answers, and have just found what I find to be the most fun section.
"Mythology and Folklore"
Where else would you be asked to give your opinion on if Australian zombies speak with an accent, if a mermaid would lay eggs or give live birth, and if an elf and a vampire had a kid together if it would be half elf and half vampire, or if the elf's immunity to disease would cancel out the vampirism. (OR something like that, anyway. I wasn't actually a D&D nerd, I just hung out with them 
)
I find it amusing that even though the section is called "mythology and folklore," and at least some of these people freely state in their questions that they know it requires a total suspension of disbelief, etc., there are still people who feel compelled to point out that, "There's no such thing as a mermaid, vampire, elf, etc."
I know that. You know that. (Well, if you are above the age of five, I certainly hope you know that.) It doesn't make these sort of questions any less fun to turn around and about in the 'ole brain pan though, does it?
A tradition I could do without...
There is a tradition, an apparently time-honored ritual, that I had sincerely hoped would dissappear as I grew into adulthood.
And that, my friends, is the "The women-folk clear the table and wash the dishes while the men-folk watch TV" tradition.
I resented this as a young girl, and was sure that in my ideal, egalitarian marriage, that there was no way I would be clearing dishes while my husband watched TV with the other men-folk. This magical state of affairs has not come to pass.
Note, I have no objection to helping clean up when we have gone to another family member's house for a meal. In my book, it's courteous and polite. My choices, as I see it, are be kind of a jerk on the premise that this role is being fulfilled solely by the female half of the population and refuse to help, or help and once again find myself firmly ensconsed in the gender-sterotyped roles I have been trying to escape.
The scene: a mother's day barbecue.
And after we have eaten the delicious meal, who is making multiple trips out and in to clear off the table?
Why that would be the three mothers in whose honor this meal was supposedly held.
Who is in front of the TV?
Why, our menfolk, of course.
Mark Wahlberg is hosting "Antiques Roadshow" on PBS. Ay yi yi - I feel rather old.
And I really do strive not to be a vain person - but dangit, what is with the indignity of getting grey hairs and pimples at the same time? The joy of being in your thirties, I suppose.
The warmer weather has truly arrived - squished the first earwig of the season. oooohhhh, I hate earwigs. Which is actually the slightest bit odd, because I rather like most bugs, have had a hissing cockroach as a pet, and think a lot of spiderss are really pretty. But earwigs? ewwwwwww (shudder)
But just in case you share my phobia because you are concerned about them getting in your ear:
The ear-wiggy truth
Ahh..gotta love snopes. Nice to know my brain is safe, but I still hate the little buggers.
We rented some movies this week - Murderball (Which I haven't watched yet,) Rize, and a couple of episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
The hubby and I had actually seen Rize already, we went to it at the lost and lamented Lamphouse Theatre in Twinkie Flats. (Sigh, just when you think you are finally getting a bit of culture and diversity in your corner of the world, you find yourself knocked back into the S.o.S.) We had seen Tommy the Clown perform on an awards show on TV and neither of the kids got what we were talking about, so they watched most of it with us. They were impressed by the dancing, and a bit disturbed by the dangers that affected the lives of these kids.
We also curled up on the couch for a Buffy marathon. We recently rented the first season DVDs, and the kids were fast fans. And why not? It's funny, smart, and action packed. (Not too mention the regularity with which young people are saving the world. ) I actually missed this one the first time around when it was on TV - I was busy with college, and then later with parenthood. And now I am rather relishing getting to go back and enjoy the show.
I was thinking about what draws me into the show so thouroughly, even though I'm a good decade away from teenage-girlhood. It's very simple, really. If you grew up female in this culture, you probably know the whole drill. The Keep-Safe Drill. Avoid going out after dark alone, lock you car doors, park by lights and in view of the building if at all possible, have the security guard walk you to the car, have your keys ready when going to your car, hold them between your fingers to use as a weapon, consider carrying pepper spray, stick to well-lit areas, etc.etc.etc. And there's the whole 'if you are attacked' strategy to consider - should you run? scream? be silent in the hopes you won't lose your life? fight back? what?
Very simply, if you have lived with this sort of low-grade version of fight or flight mode every time you have left the house alone after dark from the time you were fourteen and had learned of words like 'rape' and 'assault,' it is nice, cathartic even, to see someone fight back and win. (Okay, so I know it's vampires she's fighting off, and that vampires are pretend, but can we just assume that there's a level of metaphor involved?)
I have decided that in my thirty-two years, I have had to go to far too many funerals of people who died too soon.
Five Years Old
My folks recieve a panicky call from my grandmother ("Nana") that my oldest brother has been hurt working on his car at the farm. They call the doctor (ambulance? this is blurry, I was five) and rush out the door, leaving my second oldest brother in charge of me, my older sister, and my younger brother (baby at the time.) He tries to get big sis and I to bed (I assume the baby is already sleeping) but Kathleen insists on staying up until we hear word about biggest brother. I have a severe case of hero-worship when it comes to big sis, so I, also, insist on remaining conscious. I distinctly remember thinking that everything would be okay, because I was five, and happily living with the belief that bad things simply did not happen to our family. This belief is thouroughly shattered when my mom walks in the front door, her face red, puffy, tearstained, and blurts out that my brother is dead.
Eighth Grade
I am called out of band, my last class of the day, when a note from my parents arrives. Apparently, they had scheduled a dental appointment for me and forgot to tell me and make arrangements for me to get out of class ahead of time. When I ask my dad, who has come to pick me up, about this strange occurrence, he simply tells me that I don't really have a dentist appointment with his jaw muscles clenched. He is tight lipped about why I have been taken out of school. (The 'most important thing' in my life right now, according to the parents.) When I get home, my mother sits down with me on the long brown and avocado couch, and tells me that the girl who was my best friend all through elementary school, her sister, and her mother have been shot by her dad, who had been my elementary school principal for many years.
Nineteen Years Old
I am working a summer job at a local Chinese resteraunt. One of the owners is hugely pregnant, and only occasionally comes in to work and check on how things are being run, her husband is given the unenviable task of getting us trained into halfway decent waitresses. The baby is born. One day, as I am preparing to go deliver chow mein to hungry costumers, I get a call from another waitress.
"The resteraunt is closed today," she tells me.
"There was a sign on the door that says, "Closed due to a death in the family."
We both worry about who could have passed away. We find out that it was the baby, dead of SIDS. It seems - it is - so very unfair.
It is a grey day when we attend a graveside sevice for the little one. His normally very composed mother is literally screaming her grief for her baby to the heavens.
Thirty Two Years Old
My husband comes home and tells me that his cousin's child has died. This little boy had been weelchair-bound for most of his life (though I find out later he had recently taken steps with the aid of a walker) and had various developmental problems. I had never asked for details, because this kid had a smile that could light up a room, and once you saw it, that was all that mattered. When we attend the funeral, the moment I see the picture of him smiling his crooked grin, the tears begin to roll.
It is just so hard when someone young dies. It is always difficult to lose the people we love, but at least when they are older it feels a bit more to be in the natural order of things.
When someone dies, I take comfort most in the memories of that person, the ways that person touched my life, and the knowledge that I will strive to share those qualities with the people who I love in return. My grandmother's enthusiastic encouragement, my Nana's fierce love and toughness, my Grandpa Leir's love of reading, My Grandpa Barker's amazing hugs.
It's just difficult when those memories are fewer, when the time given to someone to be a part of our lives is short. But those memories are there. I have had to learn of KJ's kindness and love for all of us mostly through my sibling's stories because I was so young, but it is there. I still have the memories of how wonderful that giggling, telling secrets, stealing candy canes off the Christmas tree kind of friendship was with Kori. The newborn baby I did not ever meet, but he taught me how very fierce and strong a mother's love could be. And Jessie helped to remind me that even a short life could be a good life, full of family and friends and smiles.
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