Writer's Block

I’ve sat down a bunch of times to write -  I get a thought in my head, YES!  Whoo hooo something to talk about…and then mid way through the first or second paragraph…nothing.  I lose my writing mojo.   It isn’t enough to sustain an entire post--  delete delete delete..  and try again.

I write this little blog as a catharsis for myself.   I lack that other grown up person to babble to at night about the arcane (and maybe not quite so) things that went on during the day (or in my head).   I need an intellectual release and so, I write.  And delete…. And write….and delete

And sometimes it makes it to “publish” where those of you that actually follow my ramblings can be held captive (or frightened) by the mind that is me.  Majority of you have known me forever, thank you for that, and so read to support me in this random endeavor.  

I fall in love with many different projects all the time-  I have a cabinet full of baking supplies, I have a drawer full of ribbons and pretty accessories, I have boxes of fabric, Rubbermaid totes full of paper, glue, glitter, and the like.  I flit from one thing to another as the mood hits me.  My projects are always creative in nature.  I jump in, get covered in glue and flour.  I lean too close to the sewing machine and get smacked in the forehead with the little arm that drives the needle up and down.  I make a huge mess and then become disenchanted when I realize that the maid I thought I hired isn’t coming.

I can laugh in the wake of all of this because I know myself.  I know that I am more driven in my own mind than in practice and with proper channeling, I could amaze even my own self with my efforts.  But I don’t do it.  That’s just me, I accept it and grab onto my creative spurts and ride the wave while it lasts.  

I, like most of my peers, am on Facebook.  I’ve reconnected with numerous friends and made incredible new ones through this website.  I get lost in playing games and wandering through peoples pictures of their happiness and heartbreak.  Lacking the adult conversation sometimes in my own home, I love spending time chatting with others, laughing at what they send me, debating what we might disagree on, learning about things I didn’t know about.  From time to time, people do these lists of seemingly random facts about themselves:  Get to know me, what you didn’t know, hopes and fears, etc.  I read them eagerly to learn more about my friends, but I never actually do them myself. 

So here, on my space, with my writer’s block intact, I’ll give some random facts.  And remember, you came here voluntarily…

I was born in England-  As a child, I was tormented with the fact that I was a Tory.  I cringed whenever we studied the American Revolution because I knew someone would revel in the fact that I was “the bad guy”.

I wore glasses, big coke bottle glasses as a child until my grandmother got me fitted for contact lenses.  I once fought with a boy, I punched him, he punched me back and broke my glasses.  He got in trouble.  I started it.

I had a beautiful 10 speed bike when I was younger.  I went too fast down a hill and flipped over the handle bars, sliding down the hill on my back and elbow.  My back healed nicely after they picked the pebbles out.  My elbow still shows the scars.  I never rode that bike again, it rusted sitting outside.  I am ashamed about that.

I am horribly afraid of fire.  I can deal with it in a fire pit or fire place, but the idea of a house fire terrifies me to my core.  If I watch a movie where there is an uncontrolled fire, I hide until it’s over.  I cannot watch Backdraft to this day because it scares me to death.

I hate Braham’s Lullabye.  Mary Ingall’s baby died in a house fire (see the correlation?) and they were playing that tune during that part of the show.  I refused to play any music boxes with that song when my children were infants.

I love dragonflies.  This one isn’t that big of a mystery, pretty easy to guess if you even know me a tiny bit.   I find peace and happiness when a dragonfly chooses me to visit.  I know it’s crazy, but I greet them as my friends and talk to them whenever they come around.  I talk to most animals and believe they understand me.  

I won’t eat mushrooms or eggplant.  The textures creep me out.

I’m stubborn.  I might appear to be easy going and relenting, but I’ll dig my heels in like a mule if there is something I don’t feel like doing (right or wrong).  I am working on that.

I’m insanely loyal which is a good thing, but sometimes it clouds my ability to be objective.  

I think I am tougher than I am.  I forget sometimes that I lack height.  

In college, my parents let me borrow our old Nissan Sentra for the last week of classes.  My dad filled the tank before I left.  I was to drive it to KSC and park it.  I did not do that.  I drove all over the place all week and wound up breaking down on the way home from school, car loaded to the roof with my belongings.  I had to walk to the Yarn Barn to call my mother.  She came to rescue me.  I was caught because I told them that I had stopped to put gas in before I left to head home.  They were not happy.  The car never ran again.

I was taught by example.  One day I got a flat tire in Marlborough, NH.  I called my father to come help me as I did not know what to do (I was all of 18-19).  My father drove 45 minutes to come help.  He jacked up the car, took off the old tire, put on the spare and brought the car back down.  Then he put the car back up, took off the new tire, put back on the flat tire and lowered the car.  He handed me the jack and said, “now you do it”..  I have never forgotten that-  I have never been stranded with a tire on the side of the road again and more over, that gave me the where with all to figure things out in a time of need.

And lastly; I think that I am a great singer in my car.  I hold rock concerts and I am the star.  I always have my hairbrush poised for my incredible vocal stylings.

Ellie Reincarnated-Grace Personified

As a little girl, I was lucky-  I had Gram and Gramp in the house and Gramma and Grampa in the trailer (they had a 5^th wheel camper that they camped everywhere in, no..they weren’t nomads, they did have a home!)  I grew up through most of my childhood with full family Christmases, lots of noise, presents and grandparents. I have incredible memories of my grandparents, my grandmothers in particular.  They were both so cool, but so totally different in almost every way.

My grandma Ellie had to be about 4’11’’ with size 4 feet.  She was tiny with a head of poodle tight curls.  Looking back, she might have been all of 50, but she looked like a grandma-  She drove a big huge car (with air conditioning, such a luxury back then..hmm...actually it is as well now too seeing that my poor car’s is broken).  I remember driving with her to do errands and how she’d always peel out at the end of the road.  She was wild and she had a hell of a lead foot.  Ellie had an 8 track player and an organ in her den.  I remember being the star of my own show, banging away on that organ.  I sounded so awesome.  My cousin Kenny and I would put on performances to Islands in the Stream, I can still see us now- Talking through the news was forbidden—“Shush, listen” she’d say.  Midday she watched her “programs”, again, it was very important for us to listen.  I never quite understood that as a child, but I now realize she was nicely telling us to shut up!  

My grandpa used to travel when I was a kid and since they lived right down the road from me growing up, I would go down and stay with her when he was away.  She didn’t like to be alone at night.  I had the fortune of really knowing my grandmother well, maybe better than my brother or sister did-  She wore little tiny Minnetonka moccasins, had a craftmatic adjustable bed with a “puff” (her word for comforter), couldn’t cook an unburned piece of toast to save her life and always had a milkglass full of m&m’s.  

She passed when I was 16 and the world became just a bit less cool-  I take those wild and fun parts of Ellie with me, though, I think through my life and now through my daughter.   The little spitfire that lives with me is her mimic, down to almost the same way she speaks.  My daughter,  Ellie has a little Massachusetts/Boston accent that I did not put there.  Just as she looks like I did, this kid is all Rathbun, she favors her “gramma gramma” in an amazing amount of ways.  I am excited to see what more comes as she grows.

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My Gram, Grace, passed away 13 years ago today.  It is in her memory that I am writing, she is my muse today.  I find myself thinking about the lessons she taught me, the wisdom she passed along and realize that I carry these teachings with me in my life now.  It is common in my family to stop and wonder: What could Grace do?  She had a serenity that I strive to achieve.

She was named aptly: Grace.  My grandmother always had a regal air about her, but she wore it humbly, you would never describe her as haughty or stuck up.  Her hair was pretty much always spot on perfect.  Even in her robe, she was put together.  Lips painted, maybe a necklace and earrings, perfect.  She always looked what I imagined a 1940’s film star would look like once she got a bit older and retired from making movies.  She was classy.  Pure and simple.

I am the oldest grandchild on both sides of my family.  I might be the wildest of the bunch, I am not sure, but when I hit puberty, Gram took control in reeling me in.  She decided it was time for me to understand how to be a “lady”.  There was a store in Windsor called Sage Allen’s (or Sage’s as Gram called it) and I was taken there to go shopping.  I had a little brother and sister by this point, probably 2 little crazy cousins too, so a trip with Gram all by myself was something to celebrate.  I am sure we made a day of it, maybe some lunch, I am not sure.. Definitely a stop at Geisler’s on the way home to get some nice bread and maybe things to make a green salad, but the day was all mine.  Yay.  We hit Sage Allen’s and walked right back to the intimates department.  Dear Grace had decided that it was time for me to properly “fit” for a bra.  I still had no clue what this meant.  How naïve I was..  fast forward about 15 minutes and you have me, beet red, standing in a dressing room being measured, pinched, pulled and inspected by not only my grandmother, but the sales associate as well.  I wanted to crawl under a mannequin and disappear.  But, my grandmother looked me in the eye that day and told me something that I carry with myself to this day.  She told me to be proud to be a woman.  Stand up tall, pull your shoulders back and lift your chin up.  Walk with purpose and grace…and “for godsakes, Hezer Ree, please make sure you learn how to walk in high heels, there is nothing worse than watching a woman clomp about in shoes she can’t walk in”

Holidays were always fun.  After 8's, gherkins & olives, pickies... Our family has a leprechaun, Michael Patrick.  He came every year, his arrival singled by a bell, leaving us goodies and presents.  When I was really little, my aunt and uncle were still in high school/college and Christmas Eve at their house couldn’t be beat.  As an adult, I always wanted to enjoy a Christmas Eve like the ones I remember.  Pictures of those nights make me smile as I can now understand how much fun the adults were having.  She was one of the best cooks I have ever known and handled her kitchen with an ease I am still trying to mimic.  She commanded a room with a glance, god help you if you were on the receiving end of one of her stares.  Well deserved of course, but you would be stopped in your tracks without her ever needing to say a word.  (I still need to learn how to do this better, I haven’t fully mastered the stare)

The attic on 40 Wilton Rd is still the coolest attic I have ever seen to this day.  Nooks and crannies of stuff!  Boxes of my mom’s old school papers that we’d look through over and over again.  That box was so much cooler in the attic than it was when it was finally brought down when they moved from that house.  She had these garment bags hanging up there and we’d hide in them, jumping out to try to scare an unsuspecting grown up.  Styrofoam mannequin heads that terrified you as you came up into the attic, made worse by my uncle (ask Jeremy about that one).   Christmas decorations, furniture and I am sure more than most of it was just “junk” but to us, it was a treasure trove.  There was a huge radiator in the kitchen with a metal lattice looking grate.  I think I must have put at least 2 full barrels of monkeys down through the spaces in between.   When I remember my grandmother, it is this house where I have her placed in my mind.  I can still remember everything, the calendar on the door to the cellar, how shiny the staircase was and the wallpaper in the dining room.

Memories of Gram sitting at the table, plastic cup of warm Coke, playing cards in hand-- Making lists of things to do, presents to buy.  Notes in the margins, reminders of what someone liked, or would possibly liked.  She dotted her i’s with a circle.  Watching her dance with my mother and aunt in our living room to Strokin’, I remember being so horrified that day-  my mom had just discovered line dancing and was teaching some moves.   Going out for dinner at Sapino’s (spelling??), down to the Elks Club-  everyone knew her and loved her.   She truly came from a different age, she personified grace.  She was a true lady and I only hope to be half the woman she was.  

I never realized it when I was a child, but I had the incredible fortune of knowing my grandmothers.  They were so totally different from one another as they could have possibly been, but I am the better for what they both gave to me.  I miss them terribly.  I wish they could know me now and guide me when I struggle.  My daughter embodies them, although right now I believe she only carries Grace in name more than manner, but I’m patient.  I hope that they grow up with the warm memories of their Gramma’s house that I do.  And with Michael Patrick set to arrive in less than 2 weeks, I think they might be off to a good start on that--

She’s Come Undone

I’ve always been “good”.   I am traditionally a good girl.  I am reliable, responsible and respectful.  You can count on me.  I will be where I say I will be, normally 5 minutes early.  I will volunteer to bake cookies or treats.  I will jump in and offer to decorate.  I will create, print, sew, stir, bake, and execute whatever needs to be done.  That is me.  That is who I am and what I do.  Even stretching myself sometimes to a point where I am overwhelmed, it will still be me who raises that hand and says, “What needs to be done? Count on me”

And I do like that person, I will not change that for the world.  That is my “job” that I have assigned to myself.  I like that others know they can call on me for help and I’ll step up and do it. 

But… I believe that I might be coming undone…

I’ll explain-

I just turned 40.  I don’t actually feel 40. I hope that I don’t look 40, or if I do, that is a good thing and not some decrepit sea hag reference.  I can’t change it, I cannot age backwards.  I am not going to become one of those women who start dressing like they are 20 trying to compete with the younger crew.  Not a chance.  

The other day, my mom turned to me and said that I am doing exactly what she did when she turned 40.  She went out and got a tattoo (I am actually going to get one as well, my dragonfly, once I get the spare time to get it done).  I believe that is when she started wearing cowboy boots, black jeans and discovered line dancing.  She might have gone a bit wild, become a bit undone.  And that’s a good thing.  She still went to work, she still kept up with her responsibilities, she just changed a bit of who she saw when she looked in the mirror.

And why not?  You’ve made it to a point where you are officially an adult.  You aren’t young, but you aren’t old either.   You are.  You are a grown up, most likely with a grown up car, grown up job, your own dishes and silverware and ability to run a washing machine without overloading it or flooding out the basement with too much Tide (although, I have two words for you:  Tide Pods… awesome)

You can buy a bottle of decent wine and can drink it on a weeknight if you want to.  You’ve earned the right to have a glass of wine all by yourself and you are oddly ok with that.  

If you are like me, you’ve saddled yourself with the “good girl” moniker your whole life.  You did everything “right” in the eyes of society.  You went to college, you found a career, then got married, had children and settled into life.  End of story, you live life and so it goes around and around and around.

Not me… I’ve come undone.  

2 years ago I made the decision, with the help of my family and friends, to throw a kink in the works.  I moved away from my marriage.  I left.   I figured life would be better for my children and for myself if we left the path I was already on and ventured off onto a new road-  I took the Heather Mold I created for myself a long time ago and shattered it into pieces.  On the cusp of becoming 40, I discovered that I can be happy, fun and silly.  I had missed that part of myself.  I had become weighted down with the emotions and trappings I had accepted for myself, so much, that once I broke free of it, I started to find who I want to be.  

Because I am still the good girl, I still remain who I am in my heart.  I still raise that hand to help and love doing it.  I just have a spark, a spirit that I had lost a long time ago and I’ve seen it venturing out more and more.  By becoming “undone”, I’ve started full circle to realizing who I am lucky enough to be for the next stage of my life.  Call it becoming a bit wild, a bit untamed, but I am seeing it as a return to the passions of who I am.  Who I want my children to know, and who I want my friends and family to see. 

Ode to My Car...More Heather Ramblings for No Good Reason...

I've talked about my car before... It's not brand new, it is only sort of shiny at this point (so badly in need of a bath it isn't funny) and no matter how many times I organize the back seat, it is always a pig sty.  But, I love it.  It's fast-- it's got this wonderful Turbo thing that makes me go nice and fast while allowing all of the gas I just put in to go bye bye..  the seats are comfortable, they hug you and they are heated too..  Nothing better than having warm, hugged buns...  Yes, I do love my car-- High mileage and silly quirks in all.

There is this "saab thing" I have learned about...  and like anything in my life, I made sure to learn about it in the hardest, most inconvenient way possible.

Before I share my life lesson, I need to give a fast back story--

When my Dad and Jeremy changed out my car door (remember Car Yoga?), we did not change out the door lock thingy in the door.  Basically that means that the key that starts my car does not open my door.  Saab also only equips ONE door with a key thingy, so that means you cannot gain entrance via other doors with your key.  The Saab people were also so worried about multiple key door usage issues, that they also did NOT put a key thing on the trunk either.  That day, back in early June I think it was, my father turned and looked at me and told me to A. NEVER run out of batteries on my key fob thing as it will be the only method to allow me to gain access to my car and B. consider NEVER locking my car ever.  ever.

So, that was months ago.  During this time, I locked my car doors.  I did.. alot..  I used my key fob like a wild woman: lock, unlock, and repeat..  

Then one day I turned off the car, took the key out of the ignition and the radio kept playing.  Hmmmm.. I put the key back in, back out, back in, back out and finally it turned off.   I figured it was an isolated incident and went on with life.  

Then it started doing it a bit more frequently and I discovered if I took the key out and then beat on the ignition, this little center circle thing pops up a bit.  Aha.. I am a genius, I have figured it all out!  Why is this happening, I have no clue, but I can make my radio go off, yay me.    I later learned via the Saab Guru's that this is a common issue.. even better, I stand in a group of ignition beating people that have bruised fists and look crazy when parking their cars.  

We got into a routine, my car and I.. Sometimes everything turned off ok, sometimes I had to inflict brut strength, but it worked well and I continued to lock my car.  

Until that day....  

I had a day off from work (was actually scheduled to get repairs done to said car but had to cancel at the last moment) and had decided to go out to the grocery store in the middle of cellular service nowhere.  I parked my car, turned it off successfully and locked the door.  Off I went--  

When I came out of the store, I popped the trunk using my key thing and put in the groceries and CLOSED my trunk as a normal person does.  I went to unlock my door: nothing.  I tried again: nothing..  I tried the trunk again thinking I could climb through: nothing.    At this point, I call my dad who tells me to go to the hardware store (conveniently located right next door in the same little mini mall) and try to get a new battery.   Hardware store doesn't have the right size (??? what???).. go back to Market Basket with my key fob taken apart and start analyzing batteries, candles, tea lights, anything that might take the right size--  No luck.  

Back to calling my dad.  He graciously agrees to drive out to rescue me and once he gets there, we decide to go down to the Walmart and get a battery there.  I buy the battery for about $10 and off we go to my now melting grocery laden locked up car.  Good news!  My other battery was NOT dead.. Bad news!  I now have $10 less, a battery I don't need and my car is still locked.  

My dad, oh so awesome dad, discusses my options: locksmith (left message), breaking the window and replacing it with the spare we have at home (remember the old door?), or trying to use some metal something to get into the car and pull up the lock...  We chose option C.  My dad did have help from some random guy that honestly looks like he might have jimmied a lock or two in his life..  Car is unlocked and I got to show my dad how my ignition beating up skills are put to use.  

A new layer to my car, sometimes the radio will go off, but that little metal circle in the center still doesn't pop up.  Good to know.. better to remember not to lock my car anymore.   I believe my father made himself clear this time.  I guess I should listen because I have a feeling that I might be spending more time waiting for rescue the next time.. 

So...any would be robbers, feel free to steal what you want, that's fine.. but do me a favor and clean up the back seat while you are in there and if you think of it, beat up the ignition for a moment or two just to make sure I'm not killing my battery, ok?