Month: June 2003 Page 1 of 2

Palmer Park. There’s a street that I pass nearly daily, called Palmer Park. Weee-eeell. Until Sunday I did’t know that there’s also a park called Palmer Park.

I had intended to take Ray to a playground on the corner of Academy and Maizeland, when I noticed a road leading to the north from the turnoff into the park.

Neat!

It’s almost like having a state park in the middle of town…you can’t hear, let alone see, traffic. Hiking trails, picnic tables, rocks suitable for jumping on…

Of course, balancing out the day was the time when Ray got carsick on the way back from Woodland Park on Hwy. 24. Ewwww.

Buffy. Just a though on something Doyce said the other day…I’m working my way through the fourth season DVDs. He was talking about how the creator, Joss Whedon, wasn’t willing to pull punches, even though it might make people uncomfortable, “make for bad TV.”

Now, I haven’t felt uncomfortable watching any of the fourth season episodes.

For me, the times that were hard to watch were when Buffy was fighting with her mother. The “Ted” episod–the one where her mom falls for this authoritarian guy that turns out to be a psychotic robot–was the most painful episode I’ve ever had to watch.

Watching her mom, I kept thinking, “I never want to do this.”

Watching the Ted episode, I just wanted to leave…

Update: Okay, I take that back. The last half of the Faith episodes gave me the creeps.

I feel more sympathy for Faith as a character than Lee does.

Talking.

Ray’s talking.

You have to pay very close attention, because she isn’t very clear, but it’s there. Mixed about forty-sixty with babble.

Also, she’s about the most obliging toddler I’ve met. Any request she understands (that doesn’t involve walking away from a cartoon, mind you, but that’s almost too much to ask for at this stage), she will happily do.

Unless she’s teasing you, in which case she may run around in circles and squeak for a while first.

Ray.

Ray went over to her friend Brenna’s house. Brenna is a month and a half older than Ray and can talk very clearly, in complete sentences. I’m a jealous but supportive mother.

Brenna was playing with a toy broom when Ray decided she wanted the broom. Rather than taking the broom, she picked up a big ball and played with it until Brenna decided she wanted to play with the broom.

Ray dropped the ball. Brenna picked it up, and Ray went straight for the broom.

Brenna played with the ball for a few seconds before realizing she’d been had.

“Mine!” she said.

Brenna’s mom, Kirsten, had missed this. “Be nice, Brenna,” she said. “You need to share.”

I told her what Ray’d done. We laughed.

Ray dropped the broom, and Brenna picked it up. Then Brenna offered to give her back the broom. They dropped everything and chased each other through the halls, squealing happily.

All is well in toddler land.

P.S. I remember my best friend when I was little, a cousin of mine. We’d play and play and play, and then there would be a couple of hours when we hated each other. I don’t remember trying to trick her out of stuff (that was for my brother, Matt), but there you go.

Iron Fist, Velvet Glove.

Yay!

Jewel wrote!

Er? You say.

Well.

She started a writing/poetry list called “Darkwaves and Larkwings.” Know where I learned to be (somewhat) brave enough to share what I write? Ta daaaaa! She put together a book, an actual book, and I had poetry published in it. You should see it–it’s a better edition than I’ll hope to be published in for my first novel, let me tell you. And she published a ‘zine called iMPS iN THe iNKWeLL, with all kinds of saucy tidbits.

She is, as Lee says, one of the three poets he can stand to read…Bukowski and me, we’re the other two, see?

Yay!

Spirit. I’m thinking about this today because I’m doing the writeup tonight for the Nobilis game at Doyce’s tomorrow. If that doesn’t make sense, never mind.

I see a lot of things in the terms of their spirits. For one random thing, it summarizes the reason I’d rather live in Colorado Springs than Denver.

It isn’t just the natural place itself, although that’s part of it. Sure, there are mountains and trees. The weather is just so (and just so without mosquitoes). Sunshine, prairie to the east…all of these things are important. But Tesla lived here. Heinlein lived here. NORAD is here. There are military types and mystical freaks. The contentious Independent. Some good colleges. The battle of local coffeeshops with Starbucks…a million different details. None of the roads go where they’re supposed to go.

It’s a place here.

–I’ve done it with people, too. I close my eyes, and I can see them as children. Not necessarily the children they were, bu the children they have inside themselves now. (The child I have inside myself now is happier, for example, than the one I had then.)

Well, it sounds fruity, but there you go. Some of my best writing–the stuff that non-writers remember–comes from translating what I perceive as spirit into something other people can read. The novel comes from that…the image of the prairie as an ocean, and wondering if my parents, out working the fields while I’d been left with my little brother in the back of a pickup truck with a stack of books, were going to just vanish one day and never come back.

Where would they go? What lies underneath the illusion of all the flatness?

Something fun that I’ve done in the past is imagine what types of monsters go with what places–now there’s a good way to find the darkest parts of the spirit of a place.

Hm…

I could go pick up the new Harry Potter book at midnight tonight.

Hm…

Let me check my planner.

Appointment. We had the one-stop shop doctor’s appointment the other day: Ray had her 18-month checkup (quite late, but acceptable) and I had the birth control shot.

My shots hurt a lot less than Ray’s. More fact in my butt cheeks than her thighs…and the needle’s proportionately shorter. They tag-teamed her this time, two shots at the same time, with the third just seconds later. Quick and…

Ouch.

Organization. I took a class for work on time management. The instructor, of course, made a point to point out that we don’t manage time itself.

I decided not to go all quantum on the boy.

Anyway, I’m carrying around a month’s worth of planner, which contains my values in life, weekly goals, daily to-do lists, and a schedule for answering my email at work. And quotes. A quote every day! It’s like a gold mine. This week’s quotes for the newsletter came totally from the planner…not quite in itself a sound investment, but there you go.

I literally feel like there’s more time in the day. Of course, this isn’t such a good thing at work, where I’m looking at the clock, going, “Could this day get any longer?” But at home I feel…busier, but satisfied.

Hm…If only they’d put in that quote about spending long hours doing something you love.

Yeesh.

Nearly a whole week since the last post.

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