It seems to me, that children spend a great deal of time wanting to grow up and do what they want and when grown, most adults wish they were children again, or at least act like they are younger than they are and do everything they can to stay young. America is an increasingly youth driven society. Crazed by it. Fifty years ago, were women lining up around the corner at the "Good Doctor's" office for botox, butt implants, boob lift, lipo, and whatever else they do now? I wonder, but I really don't think it was a focus. I am all for self improvement and if I had the money, I would probably be one of the first in line waiting for any number of improvements on my problem areas. Conversely, shouldn't we embrace what is ours and just enjoy the moment for what it is? I know, I know, I can say this now because I am 28 years old, but is being young really all that great? I can't help but think that people look down upon the young and yet they want to be one of them. We look up to the elderly for their wisdom and yet fear becoming them. We live in this crazy catch-22 of our minds and in society. Will it never end? I am the biggest culprit, so I am not pointing any fingers. I need to hear this to make myself feel better, in the least which is why I am writing it.
Embrace the moment and what is in front of you. This moment is only here now and then, truly in a breathe, it is gone. What are you living for? What is it that you have always wanted to do and haven't done yet? Live. Do it. As my looks start to go (and don't get on my case, I know I have a baby face and porcelain skin, but I see my flaws facing me in the mirror every day just like everyone else does), and my eyes start to strain, and the weight doesn't want to come off like it used to, what else do I have? A lot! Being young isn't everything. It's what you do with the life you have. It seems best to stop getting hung up in the little things that snag on us on a daily basis and focus on and enjoy, even if they are small and few and brief, those moments that give our life it's meaning.
One of my favorite quotes is from Ralph Waldo Emerson- "Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."
US essayist & poet (1803 - 1882)
Let us ignore our blunders and absurdities. Do what my mother taught me and "Celebrate the moment!" Young, old, in between, whatever, don't let the nonsense get you down.
And I leave you with a catchy little song that helps me along...
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Cast On, Cast Off
I learned to knit, yes I did say knit, when I was a child. One of my mother’s friends taught me. I cannot remember who this was or how it all came about, but there it is. Some lady gave me some yarn and needles and taught me to knit. If only I could remember who that was I would search her out and thank her to the point of embarrassment. Okay, so maybe not that far, but I would love to thank her. So whoever you are, wherever, little Jenn Veillette says, “Thank you. So much!”
As of late, I have realized that there is a wonderfully wide world of yarn and knitting and all kinds of creativity of that sort out there. I do say as of late because it really just occurred to me. Truly. How stupid must I be that I never gave it much thought? I know I am not a dumb person, per se, but I really feel like one of the rounder crayons in the box over this one. Knitting was knitting and you made scarves. That was that. I knew how to do a simple knit stitch on the needles that I had, and you started and you knitted and you stopped and there you had it- a scarf. What else was there? Well, there is a lot more than that, my friends!
There are many occasions in my life where if I could, I would do almost anything it took to go back in time and walk right up to myself to just smack myself in the face if it would assist in my figuring out a few things just a tad faster than it actually took me. Over this, this is one of those things
A dear and very crafty friend of mine who crochets lovely, lovely things mentioned that she was going to sell her wares online (http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=6783596)
and that was my 60 watt moment; a revelation, sadly enough. A light flooded a dark, damp room in my mind, “I can make things! I can knit! Why haven’t I ever done that before?” Short of the odd knitted scarf here and there, why had it never occurred to me that booties, socks, finger puppets, hats and so on and so forth forever and ever amen, were literally at the ends of my pink aluminum needles? Now, I have learned since that spark of creativity hit that just because I can knit two, purl one, does not mean I will just automatically start churning out crazy creations worth actual money. I still, obviously, have much, much more to learn and I am working on a few things and challenging myself, but in the past few months I have made three scarves (I know, I know, more scarves, but I was practicing different stitches and patterns on something familiar first!) and a hat for my son which turned out to be a tad too big and I didn’t finish it properly so there were holes left at the top, but the point is, I did it! And I am going to keep on doing it.
Maybe I will put up some pictures when I start making impressive things, so stay tuned until then! Oh, and Ms. Knitting Lady who taught Little Jenn V. to become all she could be with her sticks, I would love to knit you a pretty little throw and kick my heels up and say, “Look what I can do!” a la Stewart.
So, if there are days when you don’t hear from me or see me online, don’t freak out. I am either with my kids and keeping them healthy, fed and clean, or I am on www.purlsoho.com (Again, props to Dana!) racking up a bill of yarn and tidbits for my husband to pay and getting my knit on.
As of late, I have realized that there is a wonderfully wide world of yarn and knitting and all kinds of creativity of that sort out there. I do say as of late because it really just occurred to me. Truly. How stupid must I be that I never gave it much thought? I know I am not a dumb person, per se, but I really feel like one of the rounder crayons in the box over this one. Knitting was knitting and you made scarves. That was that. I knew how to do a simple knit stitch on the needles that I had, and you started and you knitted and you stopped and there you had it- a scarf. What else was there? Well, there is a lot more than that, my friends!
There are many occasions in my life where if I could, I would do almost anything it took to go back in time and walk right up to myself to just smack myself in the face if it would assist in my figuring out a few things just a tad faster than it actually took me. Over this, this is one of those things
A dear and very crafty friend of mine who crochets lovely, lovely things mentioned that she was going to sell her wares online (http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=6783596)
and that was my 60 watt moment; a revelation, sadly enough. A light flooded a dark, damp room in my mind, “I can make things! I can knit! Why haven’t I ever done that before?” Short of the odd knitted scarf here and there, why had it never occurred to me that booties, socks, finger puppets, hats and so on and so forth forever and ever amen, were literally at the ends of my pink aluminum needles? Now, I have learned since that spark of creativity hit that just because I can knit two, purl one, does not mean I will just automatically start churning out crazy creations worth actual money. I still, obviously, have much, much more to learn and I am working on a few things and challenging myself, but in the past few months I have made three scarves (I know, I know, more scarves, but I was practicing different stitches and patterns on something familiar first!) and a hat for my son which turned out to be a tad too big and I didn’t finish it properly so there were holes left at the top, but the point is, I did it! And I am going to keep on doing it.
Maybe I will put up some pictures when I start making impressive things, so stay tuned until then! Oh, and Ms. Knitting Lady who taught Little Jenn V. to become all she could be with her sticks, I would love to knit you a pretty little throw and kick my heels up and say, “Look what I can do!” a la Stewart.
So, if there are days when you don’t hear from me or see me online, don’t freak out. I am either with my kids and keeping them healthy, fed and clean, or I am on www.purlsoho.com (Again, props to Dana!) racking up a bill of yarn and tidbits for my husband to pay and getting my knit on.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tedious Reading
I have been reading Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness since sometime last year and I just cannot get into it. I thought that it might have something to do with it being “boy” literature. I had the same problem with Melville’s Moby Dick. I can appreciate certain works as classic and give them their due for their arching scope, but there are some books that I hate reading. I can hear the gasps.
I thought that maybe I just like “girl” literature because, well, I AM a girl and grew up reading Little House on the Prairie and Little Women, one of my absolute favorites of all time, but I love Orwell’s 1984 and Heller’s Catch 22 and Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. If those would need to be classified as well, they would be either/or if not “boy” literature. So that cannot be it.
Perhaps, it isn’t male versus female types of literature. Reading can be subjective. Not completely, however, because I am a firm believer that certain works should be read and have value whether one has the passing whim to like it or not. While one may or may not like a work, as long as they understand and can appreciate the weight of a piece, then consuming it was not for naught.
This is where I am with Conrad. Here’s hoping it starts to hit me…
I thought that maybe I just like “girl” literature because, well, I AM a girl and grew up reading Little House on the Prairie and Little Women, one of my absolute favorites of all time, but I love Orwell’s 1984 and Heller’s Catch 22 and Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. If those would need to be classified as well, they would be either/or if not “boy” literature. So that cannot be it.
Perhaps, it isn’t male versus female types of literature. Reading can be subjective. Not completely, however, because I am a firm believer that certain works should be read and have value whether one has the passing whim to like it or not. While one may or may not like a work, as long as they understand and can appreciate the weight of a piece, then consuming it was not for naught.
This is where I am with Conrad. Here’s hoping it starts to hit me…
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
My Apologies to the Neighbors
It’s been almost three years since we first moved into our first some-what permanent home, our little condo. A lot has changed since first signing those papers and moving in. One thing is that we now have neighbors. Down stair neighbors.
When my little family moved into our current little condo in the summer of 2006, we were just that, a little family. My daughter was just six months old and our pug, Sebastian was a year and a half. We had been actively looking for a place to call home for some time and weren’t quite able to make the financial stretch it would take to purchase a house, so we settled on a cute little condo that we felt would suit us comfortably for three to five years even in the event of another little arrival. Two bedrooms, gleaming hardwood floors, access to washer and dryer in the building, balcony perfect for a little grill and planters for flowers and a teeny herb garden. And it’s on the second floor. Since a condo was the direction we had decided to go, I wanted something off the ground floor for security purposes because Andrew traveled so frequently. Both condos downstairs were vacant. We, of course, thought nothing of it, as it was no concern to us.
Fast forward to today. We are now a burgeoning family of four with the dog making five. And we now have neighbors who live in the condo below us. I just hope that they bought that home with the knowledge of our existence. Perhaps they were showed the place in the dead of night. God only knows. All I know now is this: we are loud and they aren’t deaf.
From the hours of six in the morning to, at times, well past the hour of nine, they are privy to the crazy cacophonous symphony of stamp, crash, bang, smash that has become our daily lives. Let’s face facts- three year olds and one year olds are not quiet and neither are dogs. Well, ours at least. He likes to alert us of all the non-existent dangers to which we are apparently exposing ourselves such as the vacuum woman who cleans the vestibule and the elderly man, Mr. W, who lives in the unit above. Should he have gotten used to all this “noise” by now? Probably. Has he? No. Now, I know the neighbors can hear us. I am certain of it. How do I know this? Because I can hear them. Especially in the bathroom. Nothing gross, but a particularly loud and well-timed sneeze, cough, or bark of their dogs resonates well in that portion of our home. I can only imagine what they must be thinking at times. What appears to the naked eye, I am sure, is not at all how it must sound at any given time to the errant bathroom listener. Picture this: a young mother such as myself (or maybe exactly like me) bringing her little daughter to the potty, getting ready to get her settled down to business, and there is a minor struggle of wills until the child eventually does what she needs to do to move on with the day. Now, with the volume turned up, one might hear a completely different and invariably skewed version to the story. Block the picture and the sound goes something like this:
Mom: It’s time to go potty.
Child: I don’t want to.
Mom: It’s time to go potty.
Child: I DON’T WANT TO!
Mom: We are going to go potty before we do anything else. Sit down, right now!
Child: I DON’T WANT IT! IT HURTS ME! I DON’T WANT IT!
Ad infinitum. And I am pretty sure that the “Mom” part is not heard over the healthy young lungs of the child. So erase that part and you really get an interesting ear full. One that I pray doesn’t ever bring the police along with Child Protective Services to my door.
We know a change will be beyond necessary very, very soon, if not, yesterday. So until then, my sincerest apologies to the wonderfully patient and longsuffering couple that lives below. May God grant all your wildest wishes for putting up with our racket and sweet silence and peace upon our departure.
When my little family moved into our current little condo in the summer of 2006, we were just that, a little family. My daughter was just six months old and our pug, Sebastian was a year and a half. We had been actively looking for a place to call home for some time and weren’t quite able to make the financial stretch it would take to purchase a house, so we settled on a cute little condo that we felt would suit us comfortably for three to five years even in the event of another little arrival. Two bedrooms, gleaming hardwood floors, access to washer and dryer in the building, balcony perfect for a little grill and planters for flowers and a teeny herb garden. And it’s on the second floor. Since a condo was the direction we had decided to go, I wanted something off the ground floor for security purposes because Andrew traveled so frequently. Both condos downstairs were vacant. We, of course, thought nothing of it, as it was no concern to us.
Fast forward to today. We are now a burgeoning family of four with the dog making five. And we now have neighbors who live in the condo below us. I just hope that they bought that home with the knowledge of our existence. Perhaps they were showed the place in the dead of night. God only knows. All I know now is this: we are loud and they aren’t deaf.
From the hours of six in the morning to, at times, well past the hour of nine, they are privy to the crazy cacophonous symphony of stamp, crash, bang, smash that has become our daily lives. Let’s face facts- three year olds and one year olds are not quiet and neither are dogs. Well, ours at least. He likes to alert us of all the non-existent dangers to which we are apparently exposing ourselves such as the vacuum woman who cleans the vestibule and the elderly man, Mr. W, who lives in the unit above. Should he have gotten used to all this “noise” by now? Probably. Has he? No. Now, I know the neighbors can hear us. I am certain of it. How do I know this? Because I can hear them. Especially in the bathroom. Nothing gross, but a particularly loud and well-timed sneeze, cough, or bark of their dogs resonates well in that portion of our home. I can only imagine what they must be thinking at times. What appears to the naked eye, I am sure, is not at all how it must sound at any given time to the errant bathroom listener. Picture this: a young mother such as myself (or maybe exactly like me) bringing her little daughter to the potty, getting ready to get her settled down to business, and there is a minor struggle of wills until the child eventually does what she needs to do to move on with the day. Now, with the volume turned up, one might hear a completely different and invariably skewed version to the story. Block the picture and the sound goes something like this:
Mom: It’s time to go potty.
Child: I don’t want to.
Mom: It’s time to go potty.
Child: I DON’T WANT TO!
Mom: We are going to go potty before we do anything else. Sit down, right now!
Child: I DON’T WANT IT! IT HURTS ME! I DON’T WANT IT!
Ad infinitum. And I am pretty sure that the “Mom” part is not heard over the healthy young lungs of the child. So erase that part and you really get an interesting ear full. One that I pray doesn’t ever bring the police along with Child Protective Services to my door.
We know a change will be beyond necessary very, very soon, if not, yesterday. So until then, my sincerest apologies to the wonderfully patient and longsuffering couple that lives below. May God grant all your wildest wishes for putting up with our racket and sweet silence and peace upon our departure.
For a long time I have thought that posting a blog for purposes other than updating family and friends on major life events was and is slightly, if not blatantly, narcissistic. Even reading blogs and especially reading them and not commenting or letting the reader know you read their blog is voyeuristic. Stalker-ish even, maybe? Mea culpa, but I digress and that is another story. My husband has been on my back for a long, long time trying to get me to set up a blog. In fact, he did this for me. Thanks, by the way, Andrew. I have balked it for a long time mostly because I am a private person and have never been one for “tooting my own horn” or making a display of myself. The web log, “blog,” is the Internet Age’s way of screaming, “Look at me! I am a person just like you, but I MUST be so much more interesting than you are because I am writing online and I have gotten people to read it.” Comments equal love and popularity. You are one of the “cool kids” if you blog. Slightly distasteful, in my meager opinion. I still hold these opinions, but here I am, anyway. Look at me! Read me! I am important, too! There. Happy? On to “tooting”…
Since my childhood days of learning the alphabet, I have had a love affair with the written word. At the age of nine, I had these little notebooks and I would jot down little tidbits and simple little poems about nature and time. I started journaling in earnest at the age of eleven. I started my first novel at the age of twelve on a little electric typewriter. Clack, clack, clack; clack, clack. I loved how important that noise sounded. At fourteen my absolute favorite Christmas present that year was my Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language. I have grown up being a reader. I recall a fourth grade field trip walk to the library and frozen yogurt shop that went awry and the library visit was cut and we went directly to the yogurt shop. I may have been the only one totally disappointed to get a frozen yogurt sans book. I majored and earned my B.A. in English because I wanted to go to college, but all I really wanted to do there was read and dissect novels and writing. I brought three books on my two-week honeymoon and after the first week I was finished with them all and searching for anything not in Spanish at the resort in Cancun. I brought books with me to the hospital for the births of both of my children, just in case I had any spare time to read. It’s a life long story. All that to say this: Any idiot can blog, but if there were qualifications, I would have them.
It is not in my personality to do things like this, but perhaps it’s about time I checked that portion of my personality. Maybe I do have something to say and it’s worth something and perhaps someone does want to read it. I have wasted so much time worrying about what others might think of me, how things reflect upon me. I have held myself to these lofty ideals. “Blog? Nah. It seems so narcissistic, don’t you think? ”
Behold yet another Narcissus. And we all fall down.
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