The world where "What if" becomes a norm. The positive and the negative. Two opposite charges I know nothing about and the pros and cons of good vs. evil the age old internal conflict. In other words the Heart of Zion is at War.

Kafkaesque? Imbroglio? Natalie said it write.

I could go down the list, give the seemingly seamless argument a page break down the middle (if I knew how to work the text manuever.)

Good: Less freedom? More Power? or More Freedom? Less Power?
Evil: More freedom, Less Power or Less Freedom, Less Power?

The Power Hungry Unite. "In order to be All Powerful we must cut off Cronus's Balls."

Insert Picture of Steve's Eyes for no good reason.

  (Steve is a guy from U.T. Arlington that prefers to be called Man. Not dude, guy, or boy. He is part of an elete group of empowered gentlemen.)

Back to the point, The Subj. Matter: The Book of Life.

Today, My Never Do Well on Purpose Aunt comes traipsing into my Forest. I was busily looking at the Trees and forgetting all about the Big Picture. In other words, I was watching T.V. (I do what I can to lose brain cells except I'm afraid to repeatedly look up at the ceiling using a jarring and synchronized motion hence I don't toss my hair.)Anyway, MYAunt waltzes in and she's a poetic sort of tired that gives her a sense of justice born of knowing she is doing what she thinks is right.

She says something about Stinginess vs. Gluttony, but outloud she says something about Stinginess vs. Generousity.

Then, she made a fatal mistake, she distracted me from an awesome episode of "Charmed." I suppressed my rage. She was in deep trouble. Apparently, my Angelic Aunt has become seriously misguided, and while I Love my supernatural soupoperas, I Love my G-d just a smidge more. I was Torn.

Technically, Steve is Cole or Leo or Coop depending. And I am Phoebe, Piper, Pru, and, ugh, Paige.

That's important!

Meanwhile, in the alternate universe that is my life under this roof where magick isn't real and only working makes any sense, MYAunt is talking crazy talk. Strangely, the only subject that does come up in this house is Stinginess vs. Gluttony.

Since I am the only one in this house that retains the ability to hear Angels, I feel I am obligated to set them straight when they say somethinig Crazy.

Apparently, MyAunt, not only believes that, well nevermind her past mistakes...My Aunt has now professed to DisBelieve in the Book of Life.

I lied to her and told her G-d wasn't keeping Score, but, basically, He is. He just isn't doing it out of spite or Envy or any other sin.

Personifying G-d: Jesus, born Immaculately did not carry over the sins of His
Mother. I think of it like this: She had to tell Him that He was born beyond her explanation.

Anyway, G-d Saw you!

 

 

My mind is strange. So far, I haven't figured out every single aspect of my future children's childhood education, but I'm sure that I don't want to teach them to worship the Almighty Dollar. The subject of my rant: Pigs.

My Chinese Astrology sign is oddly the Boar, not to bore you with details about my Life.

Everyone collects some item. You know, figurines, snowglobes, or music boxes. I got some music boxes from my travels, but I can't really say that I collect them. So early on in my childhood, I was faced with an awkward decision: What should I collect?

It started gathering in my mind, the seriousness of said question. Whatever I collect, people will buy for me, especially, when they don't know what else to buy for Christmas, Chanukah, my birthday, Easter, and all the other Misc. holidays that require them to send me some check or something or other. I decided the best gifts are free, but still, Adults like to buy children something to remind the child of them.

So, I needed something really good. I went on what turned into something like a three year quest, requiring extensive internal examination, to determine for myself the best gift.

By default, I had already begun to wrack up porcelain dolls and their accroutrements. I had about five. I was allowed to play with them, and it was reccommended that I be careful with them or otherwise I might hurt myself on a broken limb. (I will continue that train of thought with my own children.)  I could say that I began to collect ceramic or porcelain toys in general as I did have a porcelain music box from Aunt E. and my china tea set, as well as the aforementioned dolls. But that isn't really collecting. In the end, I decided dolls take up a lot of counter space. (I only had one shelfing unit, the metal one I still have. And a top shelf in my closet, which was too high to showcase my dolls and too close to the ceiling to let them stand up. I was lucky enough to have stands!) I also felt like it was discriminatory to collect only ceramic dolls, and to exclude plastic dolls. And I figured that if I told people I wanted dolls, I'd be in for every kind for more years than I'd be into dolls.

So, porcelain dolls, the obvious answer to my research on the subject of what everyone else thought I should collect, was a decided "No."  

Then, I continued my research, quizzing everyone on what they, themselves, collected.

My Grammy collects music boxes, and so, I inherited one and then my Grammy gave me one from San Francisco. (We got stuck in the airport for 10 hours, which is where my Love of Turkey sandwiches came to the fore in my Life, so this sidenote is suprisingly relevant.) Of course, I had the standard ballerina, music/jewelry box. I also had the porcelain dancer from my Aunt Evelyn, which is the one I "inherited." (She was my penpal, and oftentimes sent me notes and cards, and new gifts, as well as, gifts from her childhood. I love my Aunt Evelyn! Which kind of goes back to my original context: My future children's early childhood education.)

Anyway, I read V.C. Andrews, The Attic, partially way through; I skimmed it, and I saw the movie on Lifetime. So, seeing as how my Grammy collected them up to a point, and the reference, I mostly shy away from collecting the classic collectable, the Music Box.

Some of my research led to undeniable, barely suppressed Jealousy. Some people have all the good ideas. Growing up, I decided, that I was highly unoriginal. (It led to all kinds of analysis as to the merit of originality and a personal halt in Ecclesiastes, which led to my resurface into reality. Thank G-d!)

Down the street from us, lived two sisters, another Brittney and Ryan. They both collected what, to this day, I consider to be the best decisions for themselves as far as what to collect goes.

Ryan collected magazine pictures of horses, specifically unicorns. When I surveyed her room, I felt embarrassed by my face as if it had shown a betrayal of my guilt. Did she know what I was thinking? She had cut pictures out of various children's and adult magazines, and adhered them to her wall. The magazine layout was excellent! She made sure that the small and large pictures came together in puzzle perfect maddness. And all the horses moved together. I understood it was symbolic of her, when she answered my compliments with a comment. (She was older than us, and deep and broody.) She said something like she felt the horse, specifically the unicorn, represented her. That's why I felt guilty. I liked her. She was strange and pale compared to her sister. Her hair was flat, not curly, she was older and habitually told Brittney to leave her room. But that day, she was happy to answer my questions. I decided that while Ryan was uncommon, the unicorn was very common despite its mythological significance.

Brittney collected little, tiny to medium large, chubby, lil' panda bears. They were so cute it filled me with rage the first day I noticed them. I must have walked in front of her panda bear collection a million times. Apparently, they had been sitting on her desk the whole time. Her desk was right in front of the door into her room. And, she had a shelf on her desk, a small shelf just for figurines. The shelf, too, had been there a long time. I became very suspicious of Brittney's sense of honesty after that moment. I was sure that I had never seen the panda bears before in my life, and she went crazy on me, ranting that she had been collecting the figurines since she was three.

I was unable to soothe the situation with any affect towards diplomacy. Of course, Brittney, too well, knew my moves. Once again, I was trying to segway the conversation into something less nasty, but she was fed up with my lack of practicality. I think she was impatient with my mental lapses. I tried genuinely complimenting the sparkles on one of her pandas. I thought noticing the details on one of her animals would remind her that while I don't remember every single thing about who she is as a person, I do notice what counts. Anyway, I thought the pandas were a perfect symbol of Brittney, and saying so, for some reason, wasn't the best idea.

That bit of my research concluded, I was able to say that Brittney, so far, had the best idea about collecting collectibles. She had been collecting since she was three. She had a long range vision of collecting, and actually she fell into it. It made me feel sad, although I doubt she meant to do so or would understand why. But she had had something, known something, about who she was from nearly the beginning of her life, while I found my life to be in constant flux.

So, from that moment on, I took my journey to determine exactly what should be collected with the utmost seriousness. I didn't want to have something like what Brittney had said about her pandas angrily, "They are just cute!" (That's why she had them. She had no "deep" and penetrating secret as to how or why her pandas came to be such as Ryan did about her unicorns. "She isn't her sister!") Although, I didn't really know why, I had thought the pandas were cute.

I wished I could have copied her to this day. She wouldn't have cared. It's just that I knew I'd never be able to collect as many pandas as she did, as she started sooner. I think she would have unloaded all her pandas on me anyway, and then what would have been the point of collecting pandas?! I only wanted them so Brittney and I could both have panda bears.

Brittney reminded me that I had nearly as many Barbies as she had pandas, and that all my Barbies had been given to me in the same manner that all her pandas had been given to her. She never asked for the pandas; although, she didn't mind them. I would have probably given her the Barbies too, or at least 10 or so, if I could have got a Ken doll. I only had one. One hundred and eleven Barbies, and only one Ken doll. I had to cut the hair off one of my Barbies and put her in a tuxedo to make her a boy so that I could get my Barbies married. Or I had to wait for Brittney in the middle of the street to bring her Barbie suitcase over so that she could play my couple's best friends, which was a complete hassle because my Mother wouldn't allow me to leave the house. That meant that I had to wait for Brittney to feel like coming over to This House! It makes sense now that I am older. It was quiet here, which never bothered me.

Anyway, what was most excellent about the way Brittney collected, notwithstanding the fact that she had been doing so for the majority of her life, was that her animal figurines came in different sizes and were made out of different materials, yet they all fit on a small shelf.

I made two decisions. Whatever I choose to collect should set on a shelf, and that it should be a unique item.

I began researching what was commonly sold in stores to determine the uniqueness of the gift which I would require from others. I considered it in their favor to choose something that, while unique, would be available to them. I wanted to choose an item that would be available in stores across the country. Otherwise, it would cause competition in my family. Everyone would remark on what they found and where, how much it cost, and it's composition. 

Not to mention my reaction to it.

So of course, I found out about the Hallmark stores and collectables like Precious Moments, but I decided it was more for an older set to collect. I figured the plaques that were held by the figurines would bore my patrons.

In my world, I understood that gift giving was done by the giver, and to some extent, for the legendary capacity of the Giver. That's because everyone told me so. They told me when I got older, I'd have children and grandchildren and I would want to find them unique remembrances.

I found through my study of why gifts concerned the giver, that what someone presented to another deeply affected them. In some way, the giver wished to effect the life of the person to whom they presented what they chose to present. So, it was told to me by everyone individually, at some point or another, that the reason they chose to gift what they did was because it also reminded them of themselves. They told me they hoped I knew what I meant to them, and that they picked an item "just for us."

Poignant moments rip me to shreds. But, I understand that finding something special for a loved one is more than the fun of finding a neat find. It's almost like this quest.

I wanted to make sure that the person buying me a gift remembered me also. I didn't want the poignant moments to be for Kodak's net profit end report. So, it occurred to me that that was another reason to make the gift I asked of them somewhat difficult to find. I also didn't want the gift to represent any part of my personality. I didn't want it to have a sign that wore its meaning on my shelf. I wanted, by the end of my journey, to make fun of collecting dust. ("Men are like the flowers of the field.")

One can find very nearly every animal under the sun represented in a Hallmark gift shop, not to mention the dollar store. Elephants in ivory actually make their way into mall dollar stores. There is one in Mesquite, Town East Mall, a dollar store, that is, that used to house a plethora of "ivory" animals.

I Liked all of them if you want to know the truth.

But none of my patrons, given their enormous sensitivity to art and form, psychology and the passage of time, would ever feel complete in a task so simple as to buy any ol' dollar store animal of any kind or shape, made from any material, so long as it was small enough to set on a shelf. They wouldn't believe me. They would accuse me of saying something that was an obvious lie. They would say, "Now I know you are too unique a little girl," poke me gently, "to want only...." I know because I tried. Then, they would require me to introspect, and to really determine what it is I wanted.

The saddest thing occurred to me: It is for these patrons that my parents dance.

I stopped giving them cards and relating my satisfaction in my adolescence, and my biggest regret is my final decision last year not to send a keychain I had made for my Aunt E. She died a week later, but she would have just barely received the chain in time. And, it was something in large enough print for her to see. Her name. If she had not been able to see it, she still could feel the beads. So, I became guilty of the same thing I'm talking about. I just couldn't send her the keychain because it was so worthless. And I felt too worthless to confront her with my own news.

(That leads me back round to my future children and my raising style: Whenever my children decide it is too much for them to send "Thank yous," I think I will just write some on behalf of them minus the guilt. My Mother did this minus the guilt on the side sometimes, but she lacked consistency and she didn't tell me she had done it until after I'd guilted myself. She says she did that to "minus the guilt," and I know her feelings on guilt so I believe her. We can't help but guilt to some degree, but with each new generation we should improve and guilt less and less. I learned from one of the ladies I babysat for that "it is no trouble.")

We want to give gifts. Unique ones that stand the test of time. We want to impart wisdom. We want our sins to be forgotten and our best moments remembered. Or that seems to be generally True to me among people. That is, it seems to be a constant.

I wanted to think of a constant in my life that could be represented by a collectible item, which meant that I had to think of a collectible item that met my other requirements. First, to be commercially unique as to satisfy my desire to make people work for it, and second to make sure the figurine could fit on my shelf.

I finally determined that there was no constant in me. I am not always funny, but sometimes humorous. I fluctuate in weight, and that, changes my appearance drastically. I don't particularly favor an animal in form or color. Animal descriptions that I've read have tendency to limit the animal's personality down to a small blip, and while some of it may sound true, not all descriptions to be found about any particular animal ever seemed to always fit. It seemed like I would be lying if I said that that animal really embodied my nature. Not to mention the fact that the animals proposed to be me included the eagle and the ox. I am neither an eagle nor an ox. I almost decided to just take the eagle because it was some kind of compliment, but I remembered that the majority of the eagles I had found were symbolic of the country. Why set myself up for failure? It also made my request less tactful and quite a bit more messy. I imagined the dialogue that would ensue:

"I've begun collecting eagles...."

"Oh, and would you like one for your birthday? Or Chanukah? Er, Christmas?"  or

"Oh, and would you like one for your birthday? Or Christmas? Er, Chanukah?"

(I got presents for both, but not always or from everyone.)

I imagined the lectures that would branch off of any request for such a symbol, and I imagined myself trying to avoid them by continuing my dialogue on the subject of eagles, "I'd prefer an eagle that wasn't a political statement. I mean to say, I'd prefer one without a flag."

"Why don't you want to make a political statement?"

"The crossfire between the Rebulican, Democratic, Jewish, Christian, agnostic, anti-organized religion, left-wing/right-wing V.I.P.S might sully my dress," isn't something I Could say to anyone because I had a tendency to agree with everyone.

Except that I liked going to Church, Chapel, and Synogogue.
(You see, everyone wanted to make sure that I was exposed to every opposing idea so that I could make the decision for myself; and, of course, so that I would, by my innocent, childish agreement, prove them correct on any given point. Not that I blame them.)

I also decided that the debate might influence the competitive side of gift giving to small children. And given the circumstance of my life, that I was in the middle of a crossfire of divorce and religion, not to mention politics, I was prime for instigating an arms race.

And if I've ever been called "Wednesday," here is the reason for it.

I found myself concluding that they only wished to play me to aggravate each other.

Since, no one really wanted to know me, and since I have no reason to let those who would bribe me know me, I should decide to make my gift meaningless. My gift to them was considering what it meant to them to give to me.

"Pigs. I'm collecting pigs."

"Oh, that is so adorable!" Pigs are so digusting and so adorable that maybe that's the reason no one ever asked why I decided on collecting pigs. At least, they never asked it to my face. They did ask my Grandmother, who never asked me about it, and she just remarked that you could never tell with me. Who can say no to a pig, anyway? They are cute, and cuddling and pink, and the worst of them are big fat, hairy hogs with horns. In real life, pigs are dangerous boars, but pigs are always cute in fictitious scenerios.

I'll tell you why I did it at the time. It's because my entire world was run by intellectually superior oddballs. They would never find a shop with a pig in it. All the figurines, in all the malls and shops they would go into would be the same old animals. Frogs and whales and dolphins and bears and elephants. No pigs. Pigs can only be found in country shops along with cows.

My step-Mother, Jeanine, collected mad cows, if you ask me. Her taste, recognizable by the fact that she chose to stay with my abusive Father, was terrible and it reflected her ignorance. I felt bad for what people saw when they looked at her. I felt guilty about how lame I thought collecting cows was. She did have a cow cookie jar, and I always thought it was hilarious.

When I was through looking at how people saw me in comparison to her, I Couldn't completely understand the difference between us beyond our advantages. So, I never meant to put one over the intellectually superior oddballs who fought over my favoritism, so much as I wondered why they Loved me and not her. Why my intelligence guaranteed me a place next to them and a future, and why someone like Jeanine would collect cows in the country, cook for some man, my Father, and why he would beat her for her lack of intelligence.

I wondered why they Loved Intelligence. Jeanine seemed to epitomize stupidity as defined by the socially forward group that nursed me.

I was angry at the adults in my life for being in awe of me so much so that they ignored the problems. I grew up around artistic temperments. I felt that their desire to buy for me had more to do with my attributes, both internal and external, than it had to do with my relationship to them. And to spite off my own nose in an effort to judge for myself if they truely Loved me, I decided to say, "I am a pig."

"Therefore, I collect pigs. Not only that, I am a collector of pigs." I danced and twirled in glee the moment I entered my little room with my little thought, "I shall be surrounded by pigs!"

Short ones, fat ones, tall ones. Pigs that stand up and wear clothes. Pigs in a pig pen. Pigs nursing from the pig mother. Pigs wearing hats. Pigs with bowties. I had in my imagination a fair amount of pigs to come in my future.

I was disappointed when in the future no one questioned my choice, and I really did end up with collectible items. All pigs. I received a wooden curio cabinet, and I displayed them inside. It was small, and they found some interesting pigs.

Pigs became more popular. You can now go to most any gift shop and find them. I suppose that must mean something. I was far ahead of my time?

Lately, I've been reading "Great Expectations." I don't want to get too far before I savor every drop of it. I want to read it slowly and fully grasp the meaning of the words. The search for my collectible was doomed on the outset because I knew there was nothing I wanted to dust that much. I wanted to keep the people in my life rather than objects that served as a reminder they lived somewhere far away or were too emotionally unavailable to do more than buy me some article. Reading that, I've got a fair idea why I thought the world a gift of pigs. All my tutors on this Earth, were fairly bitter. They thought everyone else, who weren't like themselves, were actually, not unlike themselves, in some way or another, on account of their Love for me, a pig. That is to say, that they wouldn't call anyone else, or,er, name any names, as to who exactly was the pig. Only that one sort of behavior or another was piggish. And of course, if I asked the opposing team, that crew would be sure to call the other a wild boar.  

In the end, I am grateful to all for the sense of "noblesse oblige required of the Intelligent sets" that was imparted to me by all the very different and intriguing characters who brought me up by hand. 

 

 

 

I'm probably going to be forced out of my home soon, but it's not much of a home. What really worries me, is the thought of living out of my car. I tried that last year, and, as it turns out, I'm not very good at it. It's cramped and uncomfortable. I want to be able to stretch. I'm afraid that even if I quit smoking, they will say that I am still smoking. Or find some other excuse. I also think that my Aunt Jenny did us all a great deal of damage with her letter to change or move out. Bunnies? I'm thinking about living out of a hotel if worse comes to worse. I do have a job. Or renting a room in some old ladies house. It's possible Lee will want to sell the house, and that's not really a bad idea. Or maybe, horror upon horrors, I will somehow be able to get a really crappy apt. I'm not sure, but I know one thing. I am very resilient. As cheesy as it sounds, I know my home is my heart. So if I loose the roof over my head, all I need to do is keep my heart. I was so worried about coming back here. It's my worst nightmare. I just got adjusted to the change, and okay with being here for a very long time. If nothing new changes, at least, I will be able to start doing some of the things I want without people interupting. Like Shabbat candles. I'm not going to get to make bread as it gets warmer, and my bunny is probably going to have to leave if Lee is getting that disturbed in the hospital. I may have to try finding a place so I can keep my rabbit. And that seems unlikely, but when there is a will there is a way. More than likely, I'm going to have to make a good choice for myself first. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm going to loose him, that Shawnda has stolen him, and that he's really already lost. So I started ignoring him physically, but I Think of him every moment of everyday. And the thought of him keeps me going. So, I'm worried about making sure that Avery and I get to stay together. She isn't coming back home until the 15th. Luckily, Shawnda will take him on a short term basis.