Get Your Arse Out of Walmart!

It's funny how we think we know so much about the town we live in, only to discover we knew nothing at all.

We had a lovely, full weekend. On Saturday morning, I got up early--6:30!--so that Nettl and I could hit our local farmers market. I've never been to one of these here in Stillwater. In fact, I've only been to two in my entire lifetime and those were in California. Why do they have to open so darned early? Anyway, we bought some beautiful salad greens, two batches of asparagus, and some locally grown, free-range, grass-fed beef. I cook so little meat anymore (maybe once or twice a week), I'm going to continue to get it from this rancher. Yes, it costs a little more, but at least I'm not feeding my family "pink slime", growth hormones, and plastic pellets.

At 10:00, Allen and Ville came by and off we went to the downtown thrift and antique stores. We all found some great little things we couldn't live without--you know the stuff I mean, two etched crystal sherry glasses for 10¢ apiece, for example--and I got heavily flirted with by a boy who couldn't have been older than twenty-five. I don't mean he looked or smiled at me, I mean he talked to me, followed me around, and led me apart from the others to talk to me some more. I admit that I'm looking better these days, but come on! As Katy Clarke in With A Bullet (book two) says, "I'm not eighteen. I'm, well--I'm not eighteen!"

After that, we headed for the annual Stillwater Arts & Heritage Festival that was being held on Main street. We ducked into a new 50s-style dinner called Boom-a-Rang's for lunch first, then ambled up and down the street looking at the booths full of arts and crafts, all of it really very beautiful. Allen bought a couple pieces of pottery and I bought Nettl a bracelet made from the handles of two sterling silver spoons that just happened to be the pattern of our own silver, which was handed down to me by my mother. Its name, fittingly, is "Eternally Yours". It looks exactly like this, except that the stone is a pearl.

When we finally got home, I had to start dinner because we'd invited friends, Mika and Jen, over. I made two pans of meatless lasagna (one with regular pasta and one with brown rice pasta), asparagus sauteed with zucchini and parmesan, a salad made from the greens we'd gotten earlier, garlic bread, and a dessert of pound cake topped with fresh fruit, and the crème fraîche I'd made the day before. Oh, and did I mention all the wine?

After dinner, we retired to the front porch, where I lit the mason jar lanterns I made a few weeks ago, put on some mellow music, and we talked and laughed and sipped while breathing in the lovely weather and the fragrance of the overloaded honeysuckle vines that cover the fence outside our bedroom window.

It was a great weekend, and I learned that Stillwater, especially downtown, is a great place. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that while we were out, I discovered we now have an Irish pub on Main Street, called Finnegan's Public House. Hey, that's only five blocks from my house, so it looks like I have a local at last!

My opinion of Stillwater has changed. If the only place you ever go is Walmart (no matter where you live), then that's how you're going to think of where you live, but if you get out into the actual community, you might get a pleasant surprise. I know I did. I'm so happy to be living downtown instead of out in the surrounding area now. It's vital in a small city way and I can walk anywhere I want to go: Finnegan's Pub, the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, Aspen Coffeehouse, Crepe Myrtle Market, Zanotti's Wine Bar... Downtown Stillwater has a lot to offer. Too bad it has taken me this long to figure that out.

P.S. The images I used from the Arts Festival were not taken by me. I harvested them from the festival's website and they are of last year's event.

Brain is Fryed

I've been watching an awful lot of Stephen Fry lately. This is what I do when I don't feel well. I watch TV shows on Netflix. Not the usual kind of shows, though. I prefer what Netflix calls, "Understated" TV series" that are more often than not British. And if it's a really good one, I'll watch every episode of every series in two or three sittings.

First, I watched Mistresses, which is about 30 and 40-something London women (not featuring Stephen Fry). I have a feeling it was the BBC's stab at Desperate Housewives, but I can't be sure because I never watched that.

Friends Katie, Trudi, Siobhan, and Jessica find themselves entangled in love's wide-cast web as they live within their relationships and indulge in secret affairs. From failed marriages, balancing careers and romance, fertility anguish and the bonds of true friendship, the ladies bring the laughter and the tears.

I would have enjoyed this show more, had the women not been so stupid, which I account to shortsighted, trite writing. Yeah, a reputable doctor is going to have an affair with a patient and help him do himself in only to start an affair with his much younger son who is clearly a borderline personality out to ax murder whoever his father was sleeping with at the end of his life. No. Didn't buy it.

After that was over, I still had a craving for British telly, so I thought I'd give Kingdom a try. This is where Fry comes in. I fell in love with this show and the eccentric characters in it, especially Sidney Snell, played by Tony Slattery (far right), who, with the right hair and more beard could easily play Noel Saunders, if my books ever become a movie (the wannabe casting director in me is always on the alert).

Stephen Fry stars as Peter Kingdom, a Norfolk solicitor whose quirky clientele supplies him with a bounty of unusual cases, which he juggles with tending to his unbalanced half-sister, Beatrice, and searching for their long-lost brother.

That show could have gone on forever. Better yet, just take me to Market Shipborough and drop me off at The Greyhound pub.

Finally, I watched Stephen Fry in America, which was excellent. Having lived in England for a time, I could understand Fry's mixture of fascination, repugnance, confusion, and infatuation with us Americans as he drove through every state in a black London cab. The series didn't have the in-depth quality that Michael Palin's travel series have, but I imagine his budget was smaller, so he couldn't spend much time in each state. Still, I enjoyed it a great deal.

Next up? I don't know. Maybe I'll give Fry & Laurie another chance. I tried it last year, but it didn't hold my interest. Now that I'm a Fryed-in-the-wool fan, I may like it. What I admire about Stephen Fry is that, while he is an articulate, sophisticated, educated man of letters and possesses considerable talent in a number of areas, he's not above showing his viewers that he really is just a little silly. He's self-effacing, but he's not embarrassed or ashamed about his colorful past, his life as an out gay man, or his unconventional (by Hollywood standards) appearance. I'll be getting some of his books to read--I can't wait to get to know him as an author.

Throw the Sob Story on the Slush Pile

There are all kinds of things that detract us from accomplishing the things we want to do, gaining the success we desire, and even attempting the things we want to try. The worst and most insidious of these, I think, is our own sob story.We develop it and nurture it, then we bring it out as if to show people it's not our fault if we can't get off our butts and go for something that's important to us.

You know what I'm talking about. Those slights and injuries that others have inflicted on us. Parents, siblings, classmates, friends, spouses, life itself, and on and on. But the very worst are the bloody stigmata we carry around concerning our childhood. The need to cast blame holds us back more than anything else, yet we display these wounds to prove to ourselves and everyone just why we've failed, why we will continue to fail, and why we shouldn't even try.

It's always amazing to me how many successful and accomplished people rise up from nothing. Poverty, starvation, abuse, illness, and criticism only seem to fire their ambition and their self-esteem while the rest of us go on and on about how our mommy did this, or our daddy didn't do that... Sure, bad things happen to us, but it's what we do with those things that makes us winners or losers. But some people just seem to have an instinct for turning bad circumstances into fuel for success. Their secret is the ability to truly let go of their injuries.

Hanging onto these things doesn't make us victims, it make us martyrs, and martyrdom is a powerfully passive-aggressive, manipulative control weapon. It holds other people hostage, making them accountable for what we are afraid to do ourselves. But worse, it keeps us believing that things that happened in the past have the power to hold us back in the present. It's an excuse and a cop-out, and it's lazy. Let's let people off the hook and do what we want to do with our lives. Let's not continue to die for their sins.

Simplify

I'm feeling rather minimalist lately. Seized with a craving for less clutter and more space, I began by bagging all of my cold weather clothing and taking it to the garage. I don't have much of a wardrobe, actually. Besides not being a clothes horse and not giving a rat's ass about fashion, I haven't been able to buy clothes in about 13 years. The odd new pair of jeans creep in when they're needed, but even at that I only ever have two pairs at any given time.

This need to simplify has taken other avenues to express itself, however. I've begun to write poetry again (my usual free verse) and this morning I spent over two hours "unfriending" 150+ people in Facebook. They weren't really friends though, just people who fell into one of two categories:

1. Those who sent me a request, then posted nothing but marketing for their new CD, book, or concerts. I like helping people in the arts, but if you're going to send me a friend request and then canvas me with your campaign, at least take the time to actually "speak" to me once in a while. I'm sure they're good people, but I don't know them and, after all, I don't particularly like door-to-door selling.
2. Those who think I'm entitled to their opinion and never address me unless it's to preach about religion, veganism, politics, philosophy, or whatever their spout du jour happens to be. If I need a personal guru / pastor / professor / advice consultant / analyst / mommy, etc., I'll phone you.

I have undoubtedly stepped on a few toes and have probably hurt someone's itty bitty feewings, but it's Facebook and they probably shouldn't take these things so seriously. I don't like hurting or angering people, but I figure most of these had me hidden anyway; they've never left comments (if they're of the first category), nor have they ever posted anything on my timeline (unless they're of the second).

If you were cut and you really do read my posts and like keeping up with my little life, send me another request. I'll be happy to re-add you.

I doubt this will happen though.

I Just Love This