Nymphomaniac

Tom and I saw Nymphomaniac Vol. I and Vol. II, yesterday afternoon.  The movie(s) were released here in the U.S. in March and April, but here in Cincinnati, it will play for just four days in the local art theater.

It was showing in the modern day incarnation of a "double feature," (for anyone old enough to remember that once commonplace movie event).  We three went to try and see it on Saturday afternoon, but there was a technical problem at the theater (or so we were told), and the first volume was not able to be shown.  So, we chose to see it on Sunday.

It was, besides being a long afternoon of movie viewing, and intense experience.  Despite the fact that there are lots and lots and lots of unsimulated sex scenes of all sorts, I really didn't experience the movie as sexy or erotic.  Interesting.  Compelling.  Thought-provoking.  Challenging.  Beautiful.  All of that, but not particularly sexy.

It was well worth the time.  See it if it comes to a theater near you.

Summer Bag Saga

That's the whole story for this summer ... I am a confirmed bag counting crazy woman.  Working most days to weed out and pare down the belongings that are jammed into every nook and cranny of this place -- things we neither need nor use.  Not very exciting stuff.  For exciting stuff, you need to check the archives.  That is all here, too.  Just look back, back, back.

For today -- bags.  Today, I've bagged old towels (some of which made the move with me from Colorado), and bath mats.  Three bags full.

Bag total has now reached 35.

Tai Chi Thursday

Tom started taking Tai Chi classes last winter.  The instructor continued into the summer, and Tom asked me if I wanted to join the class while I am off.  That's how it came to pass that I haul myself out of bed at a totally unreasonable hour of the morning on Thursdays and go off to spend an hour looking like a total klutz.  It turns out that Tai Chi does not come easily or quickly.  Duh!

Did I mention that I have balance issues?  Or that I cannot readily remember which is my left / right hand?  Yeah.  Klutz.  

The good news is that I'm not very far behind most of the members of the class.  They began together in April I think, and had 8 classes together before I dropped into the whole thing about three weeks ago.  At least I am surrounded by people who sort of know the forms I am trying to learn.  And they all keep reminding me that everyone learns at their own pace.  Is klutz a pace?  

However it goes for the rest of the summer, I hope to gain a bit better balance, maybe some improved muscle tone in my legs, so that my knees won't hurt so much.  That's probably worth the getting up early on Thursday mornings.

Hats and Gloves

Yesterday's bag for the Goodwill was filled with 13 ball caps, 6 summer weight, wide brimmed, straw hats, and a dozen pairs of gloves/mittens.

They are no longer cluttering up my shelves and drawers, and hopefully, they will be going to others who can use and enjoy them.

Another bag bringing the total to 33.

Rearranging Things -- Bag Count

I worked today to reconfigure the small bedroom space that has served as our exercise room, library, and general catchall space for assorted crap of all sorts.  It has, for years now, held a treadmill, an exercise bike,

and another piece of exercise equipment that is called a health rider.  The three pieces of equipment were crammed uncomfortably into the relatively tiny little room in such a way that it was a chore just to inch between them.  Added to the general chaos of the place, a large purple core strengthening ball rolls around in the cracks depending on what else we are trying to do in there.

At the same time, we've had various home office furniture scattered here and there -- a desk and a printer stand tucked into the living room behind the couch, and a two drawer credenza file acting as a catch all in the entry way.

Tom uses the treadmill regularly.  He likes to put the TV on and just go after it.  I seldom use the treadmill because the room itself is so ugly it makes me crazy -- I just hate to go in there.  Neither of us are frequent flyers on the exercise bike or the health rider.

I've been looking at it all for awhile now; poking at it in my mind; trying to make it all fit better and work better, and maybe even look better.  Gradually, I came to see a realignment of the parts and pieces that would make it all work better.  The simple story is that I moved the treadmill out to the space behind the couch where the desk and printer used to live.  I pushed the health rider and the exercise bike into opposite corners, and then moved the desk so that it is perpendicular to the book shelves, facing the window.  I moved the file cabinet so that it backs up to the desk -- making a sort of office furniture peninsula.  Then I put the printer stand at the end of that grouping.

• The little room is much tidier.  Looks neater.  Makes some sort of visual sense now.
• The space behind the couch is cleaner looking, without all that desk and printer clutter.  
• He and I can now use the treadmill without having to be isolated in the small exercise room.  Treadmill-ing can now be a more sociable activity.
• A large, unattractive, dusty, silk rubber tree plant has been loaded into the car to be hauled off to the second hand store.  
• Three sets of ridiculously heavy dumbbell weights (15 pound, 20 pound, and 25 pound) have been, likewise donated to Goodwill.  
• Likewise, the giant purple core exercise ball is on its way to Goodwill.  

With all of that, and a few other odds and ends cleaned out from the garage over the weekend, the "bag" count is up to 32, and things are beginning to feel more livable around here.

On Second Thought --

Actually, I DO have something to say about that "c-string" bikini thing, and that would be, simply, "WHY?"

Why bother?  If we have come to this:  micro-bits of clothing intended to emphasize (rather than conceal) the body parts that we have customarily kept out of sight, then we have come to the point of foolishness.  Let us, as a culture, just admit that our goal is to put genitals out in plain sight, and then do that.  Leave the coy, peek-a-boo nonsense behind, grow up, and just let everyone who wants to do so go naked.

I do not object to visible body parts.  The human body is not at all shameful, and there is no reason, beyond culturally imprinted prudishness (or religious practice), to hide the fact that we are male and female.  If we do not value modesty, and a cursory perusal of our music, our movies, our advertising, our sidewalks and public places would indicate that we do not, then let's just stop playing this game of sartorial chicken.  I am pretty sure that I'd be more comfortable with simple, honest, straightforward public nudity, than I am with the intentional application of pseudo-clothing that is intended to scream, "LOOK everyone, I have a vagina/penis."  Since the anatomical reality of that statement is pretty much a given, the whole business is clearly about adolescent attention getting behavior.  For my money, if you are wanting everyone to notice your man bits or lady parts, then just put 'em out there, and let's all take a good look.  Maybe then, we would all finally come to understand that anatomy does not equal sex.

C string?

I am way, way past my bikini wearing days.  Truth is, I haven't had a "bikini body" since I was 15.  So, there is no chance that this newest "thing" is ever going to be anything more than a passing bit of amazement in my world, but still...

This "c-string"...  Is just pretty amazing:

More Bags

I finished the work in the garage this morning, and then went right on to kitchen cupboards.  That resulted in 8 more bags which brings my total to 29.  I am finding it disconcerting to notice how motivated I am by this count thing.  What can that possibly say about me?  Oh well, whatever it is, my house is getting tidier by the bagful.

Constructed / Organic

We began, a very long time ago, to construct a relationship; founded on friendship and shared desires.  Like others before us, and around us, we piled up expectations and agreements and rules and routines.   For a time, we added metaphorical rooms and hallways and stairs going up and down -- all built with stuff pulled from within our own selves, and the edifice was a shining wonder.  We thought.  The ground shifted and the ensuing quake shook the walls to rubble.

It turns out that constructed reality is susceptible to the forces which may tend to deconstruct.

We have chosen, in these later days, to adapt to our assorted defects, learning to offer one another goodwill and gentleness.  We are forming the habit of taking pleasure in one another; in being together.  What grows from that; a more organic sort of being alive, we hope will be firmly rooted in the ground on which we stand.

The Garage

If you are one of those long, long, long time readers, you will remember that my annual nemesis is THEGARAGE.  I don't always get on here and whine about my less than glamorous adventures in the garage, but trust me it does happen.  You can read about my ongoing effort to keep our garage organized here, and here.  It is a battle that I lose on a regular basis.  That is mostly because, the only real storage spaces in our condominiums are the one-car garages.

Every summer, as soon as I can get rested enough to feel like tackling it, the garage becomes a priority on my list of things that must be taken care of.  And, inevitably, by the time I get to the point where I feel like I can face it, the weather here in Cincinnati has turned hot and muggy.  Today is THAT day.  Hot and muggy.  Garage clean out day.

I did not get it all finished.  I would have, probably, but my car is too small to haul everything that is going to Goodwill.  So, I'll have to make that run tomorrow, and then finish the garage.  I am close.

And...  I tossed out, or boxed up to give away, 8 bags/boxes of junk.

Total for my summertime bag challenge = 17 bags/boxes.  :-)

Grill -- Gone

Cooking is a "thing" around our household.  I cook.  Pretty well.  T cooks too.  Maybe better than me.  OK.  Sometimes better than me :-)  Tom?  Grills.  If it is to be cooked over a fire, Tom does that.  Very, very well.  He is the "Grill God."  The Grill God cooks over a charcoal fire -- in a Weber grill.  There have been

two grills on the patio for as long as I can remember.  Two.  One large and one small.  Not all grilled meals are the same after all.  Some are, well, large -- and others are, of course, small.  Two grills.

This morning, early, T left to drive off and visit her niece and niece's guy.  In the back of her car...  was packed the small Weber grill... a gift for the young ones.  And, today, for the first time in forever, there is ONE grill on the patio.

One grill equals one bag.  In my calculus it does.

Current bag challenge status = 9 bags.

VCR Tapes

I have collected stuff over the years.  There were, stored in bins under the bed in the guest room, VCR tapes -- lots of them.  For the youngsters among you, that's "video cassette recorder."  Movies used to come on

VCR tapes, and we often went out on Friday night with our kids and rent VCR movies for the weekend.  Over the years, I accumulated a pretty good collection of them, but then there were DVD's and now, of course, movies can just be "ordered up," on demand.

I actually still have a VCR player, but I'm pretty sure I haven't tried to play a "videotape," for years and years.  So, today, the three bins of VCR tapes were loaded in my car and hauled off to Half Price Books (yes, they still take them, thank goodness).

I saved Tom's spanking videos.  I saved our autographed copy of Jay Weissman's "Introduction to Rope Bondage."  I saved "Singletails in the Scene."  I also saved "Mindwalk," and "A Brief History of Time," just because they are interesting and arcane bits of cinematography that I expect would be hard to replace.

Bag Challenge total = 8 bags.

Refrigerator

Summer time and the living is easy...  Or not.
Summer is the time that I take care of the projects that I do not get to during the school year.  As the years go by, and I get older, that list seems to get longer and longer and longer.  And, always, at the very, very top of the list of projects I put off as long as I can possibly get away with it (any excuse will do), is cleaning (really cleaning) the refrigerator.
Oh...  I take care of the easy stuff; cleaning up the spills that sometimes happen, trying to maintain some sort of order.  Yeah.

It is the full on, pull out all the stuff, empty the beast, remove all the shelves and drawers, scrub the insides, rinse the insides, reassemble the insides, vacuum the coils and the fans and the whatyamacallits, fix the stupid water line (because moving the thing always causes it to leak on both ends), push it back into its spot, reload all the junk -- THAT kind of refrigerator cleaning that I avoid like the plague.  Oh, and did I mention that there have been summers lately where I haven't gotten to it at all -- post-surgical nurse duties made a very convenient excuse, don't you know?
Today, however, was the day.  It needed to be done.  Desperately.  Even I couldn't put it off any longer.  I will spare you the gory details.  Suffice it to say, it is done, with significant help from Tom.  Done.  An accomplishment.  How pitiful is that?

Of course, I DID keep track of the fact that I tossed out a trash can full of jars with just that little bit in the bottom -- the bit that is such a shame to waste.  Today, I was determined to not keep the tablespoon of pickle relish, or bit of grape jam that wouldn't manage to cover even one piece of toast, or the salad dressing that no one in the house likes.  Yup.  Gone.  So add that to my bag challenge -- up to 5 bags.  So far so good.

Decrapifying

I work with Catholics.  I spend my time listening to them talk, and I pass through the year with them, so there are things that go on in their world that I am party to at some level.  This year, one of THOSE conversations took place around the liturgical season of lent.  A colleague of mine spent those 40 days working on a challenge that she referred to as "40 bags in 40 days."  The idea, as I came to understand it, was to simplify and lighten her life and her home by getting rid of things that she did not want/need/use any longer.

Watching and listening from the edge, as the mostly disinterested spectator, I found her 40 day journey interesting.  Some days, she was exuberant about the sheer volume of stuff that she was eliminating from her world.  On other days, she despaired of being able to keep on, and I'd see the exhaustion and sense of overwhelm on her face.  But, she kept on, and day by day, spoke to the feeling of lightness and openness that was coming to be in her home and in her life.

So, now, I am off for the summer.  I have about 76 days before classes begin again in August.  Can I manage to lighten up here in that amount of time?  Forty bags?  Maybe.  Maybe more.  I really do not have any sense of just how much excess stuff there is around here, but it is significant.

I started today, working to sort through the volumes on my bookshelves, choosing what to keep, and what to do something else with:  send to the grandkid, move to my classroom library, sell at Half Price Books, or just plain toss.  I am figuring that there are probably at least three or four boxes (a box is like a bag, right?) of books that will not be in my house anymore.

Yellow

OK.  Nothing heavy today.
School is out!  Out for the summer.  Longest, most difficult year I have ever had in over 20 years in the teaching profession.  Not the kids.  They were great, and I did fall in love again.  Always.  But the hierarchical, political, theological nonsense -- exhausting, depressing, frustrating.  I am worn out with worry and hurt and sorrow for what might have been and what has been lost.  However that all works out in the end, THIS year is done.  I am DONE.
So.  It is summer.  Yellow sun and yellow flowers and yellow song birds.  Luscious, yellow, summer fruits:  apricots, peaches, mangos, pineapple, and lemons.
It is a season for resting, playing, finding the lightness in life.  I am ready for some light times, for some fun, for some silliness.  And so, to wrap up this meander through the emotional color wheel (and yes I know I didn't do orange or purple -- feel free to pick those two up if you are so inclined), my warm, energetic, inspirational, laughing, confident, and optimistic weeks of summer break lie ahead.  I intend to bask in the sun and take in whatever there is of happiness to be had through these next few weeks.

Red

I have tried to address the color, red, several times, and I am finding it very, very difficult to get to.  Red is not like those softer, quieter, calmer colors.  Red is the most emotionally evocative of all colors.  Throughout human history, the red hues have held sway in powerful ways.  In fact, as I think about it, humans are not the only organisms that find the color red to be intensely attractive.  Insects, birds, and even some mammals are drawn to or aroused by the color red.

The powerful emotions that are characterized by the color red, remain problematic for me, personally:  love, rage, passion, courage, even faith.  I look back over the years, and I believe that I have made choices based almost entirely upon passionate love.  The roaring of lust and love and sensuality have, more often than not, over-ridden my normally cool analytical way of viewing the world around me.  I have never, once, ever negotiated carefully when it comes to my love life.  I fall in love, I ignore all the sensible, reasonable voices, and I plunge in head first.  I lay my heart open, and I choose to make myself entirely vulnerable.  If I love you, I will bleed for you and cry over you and hope and believe with every fiber of my being.  For all that I am cynical about romance, Valentine's Day, and happily ever after stories in general, I absolutely believe that MY story will ultimately be one of enduring, passionate, and wondrous love.  Not hearts and flowers, but a hand to hold and a dearly loved companion on life's journey -- always and all ways.

The physical imagery of the color red is a whole other thing.

 BDSM is a sexual and erotic way of intimate expression that is painted in two colors; black and red.  Leather and blood.  Black leather falls against glowing red skin.  Pain and pleasure mingled in a fiery brew that consumes everything that is not utterly pure and strong and committed and dedicated.  The red I have known; the red that I have borne in my flesh is not a fantasy painting; not a flowery story.  Red for me is struggle, and sex, and power, and connection at a level of soul that defies simple descriptions.

For me, forever, being female, if it were a color, would be red.  Blood.  Menstrual blood flowing forth, defining everyday of my adult life, washing me away in its tides, pausing only to announce the advent of my two children -- who came bursting forth from my womb, bathed in my blood.  For me, that bloody passage through the female landscape stopped abruptly and thrust me out into a cold, dark, black emptiness that forever changed how I live in my physical body.  If red represented the fullness of being alive and female, then the blackness that followed represented the utter loss of that life.

Red is just... complicated.