December 2008


Dancer husband just called me, on his way over to put dinner in the oven at my sister “Barbie’s” house. Apparently the wood chip stealing psychopathic neighbor’s family has been holding a $20 grudge against us. Yes, over the woodchips. WIth a little verbal huffing and physical threatening, the brother-in-law was able to get the $20 back from Dancer husband.

Huff. Puff. Let it go. I wanted to go across the street and hit him with our 93 year old neighbor’s big metal shovel. But I didn’t.

My motto for now and into the new year: There is only room for love. If you steal my chips in love, so be it. If you are full of anger and rage over your living situation, it is your anger and rage, not mine. If you don’t shovel your sidewalk, ever, it is your Karma, not mine. 2009 is the year of love. There is room for nothing else.

Angel Baby showed this to the entire mall AND bus ridership of the 32 to/from Rosedale Mall.

We were running out of time to see the big man in red, so Angel & I donned our winter gear and hopped the 32. No rush, no bustle, just did it at 4:58. By the time we got to the St. Anthony Village Mall we remembered Santa’ gift. We hopped off the bus, dashed across the street and did a re-do. Back to the house, grab the gift, out to the bus again.

Santa was surprised by the gift and gave Angel Baby a hug. “You have to share it with Mrs. Claus,” he said.

It was super cute. The photos are awful. Full of love, but the camera dude is a little on the DSMIV range. Too scary to get a smile.

I wish you all love, healing and the ease of an eco-friendly New Year.

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I really need to change the settings on The Big One’s youtube account AND get rid of my three foot tall bookmark bar. Angel Baby recognizes the you tube logo from the Under Our Skin video was able to click to “How to have sex in a car” and one about a humping dog.

Angel baby. . .Angel Baby. . .ANGEL BABY!

I was going to post the video from the University of Phoenix, but I decided, with my young readers, it might not be such a good idea. It is good to know that a car-light family can learn about all the benefits of having a vehicle.

Tomorrow when I head out to the acupuncturist’s office and to teach yoga, I will begin my winter cursing. My republican neighbors (there aren’t many in Northeast Minneapolis) down the street refuse to shovel their walk. I don’t mean once in a great while, but NEVER. I’m not kidding. Last year I called on them each time I fell. This year I think I will call each time I walk by.

This is on Lowry avenue, two houses in from Johnson Street. On the way to the Bus. As I type this I still remember my run to catch the bus to the YMCA for an early morning swim. I flew my feet in the air and crashed on my left hip.

If you really want to shovel your walk, you do it. Even my 93 year old neighbor shovels her walk. These non-shovelers live on a hill and on “the hill”. Since they can’t see the sidewalk, maybe they think it isn’t there. We all have our quirks, I guess. This year I hope they have a few fines from the city as well.

I am a meanie.

On the other hand, I can be nice now that I have wheels. I took a soup to the Vet house where Dr. J., Vet Nutritionist Extraordinaire has the worst case of the flu I’ve ever seen. If I didn’t have the red wagon I could NEVER have gotten there with that big ol’ pot of soup. I hope it works. The soup cooked all day and I cleaned parts my chaotic house with “Feng Shui Susan”. I know that I need to eliminate the chaos as best as I can to prepare for what “Lyme Disease” treatment holds for me. After I’ll take any help I can get. Even from my messy friends. They don’t need to be Feng Shui Goddesses, just handy with a dish towel. If they can say, “get rid of the chair, Jeanne,” that is helpful, too. Calm. Peaceful. Say no to everything. Simplify. The best way through it is through it. Lots of new mantras for me.

I’ve never posted a video before, but I think this should work. This is the trailer for “Under Our Skin” the documentary about Lyme. There are many different parts of the documentary on youtube. My in-laws saw it and don’t think I need it cloud my healing process with the images. But you can.

It’s been a little over a month since we bought The Little Red Wagon. I knew that I would eventually see our Wonder-Man Mechanic and his 3rd Generation Mechanic son, but I wasn’t expecting to need to call them so soon.

I have this character flaw that drives Dancer-husband crazy. I don’t take the time to tighten the caps on things. Veganaise, Ketchup, Salad Dressing. When I need to hit the sauce, I want easy access, so I always leave them a little loose.

Since our trip to Manitoba, I’ve only fueled up twice. Once to get me to the U to teach (no lectures, please) and then yesterday after I went to visit Dr. Voodoo our New-Age Chiropractor in Excelsior, on fumes.

It played out like this:

Dancer – Husband: “We need to get gas before you go anywhere.”

Me: Thought flit and float from side to side in my Lyme-brain and now they are. . . .GONE!

Start the car. Already late. Mad about the lack of petrol.

Drive from Northeast Minneapolis past the West side of Excelsior.

Me: “Say a prayer, Big One.”

I’ve just been interrupted by The Big One for an important announcement.

“You actually said, ‘Cross your fingers’, Mom.”

My apologies.

We made it there, we got our Voodoo treatment and supplements and zipped across the highway and parked under the canopy. It read: “Thousands of Iraqis died for your senseless trips.” We purchased gas and truly did say a prayer. I swear I closed the gas cap. Or, at least I think I did. I love that volvo caps are permanently attached. I’ve lost a cap or two in my driving days. Today, on my way to hang out with the Step-Rock-Steppers, I saw the light.

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Dancer-Husband called Volvo-Grandpa’s office, talked with Volvo son and he told us to check the gas cap, drive it for a week and see if it resets itself. Cross your fingers for the reset.

I’ve missed my mechanic.

If you need your volvo serviced, please bring it to the Glasgow family. They’ll treat your car like it was their own. They still give you a bill, but it is reasonable and you feel good about the business you are supporting.

Okay. I know I’m in a fairly serious healing crisis. I know it was the practical thing to do, but it is really screwing our life up. Twice this week Dancer husband thought he could use the car, I thought I could and we ended up being frustrated, angry and stranded.

There is little thought anymore. Little coming together. Little dialogue around schedules. We flit and float and all those things the damn von Trapp kids did on their way to bed at night. Here’s my new joke, “What’s the fastest way for a car-free family to lose consciousness and become completely ego-centric? Buy a car.”

Yes, dear readers, you one-car families get it. It is harder to be car-light than car-free.

On the brighter side, I drove the little red wagon to pick up “Knows-how-to-relax” Becky on Saturday night. I was tired. Okay, I was exhausted from cleaning for three days to just get my house passable for a post-Thanksgiving in-law event. Not my idea. I swear. I didn’t want to go, but I pulled myself up from my stirrup tights, circa 1985 and talked myself into getting to the Ritz.

“A Very Brady Christmas,” the holiday show of Electric Arc Radio was divine. I loved the New Standard’s rendition of “Androgynous,” regardless of its brevity. I belly laughed and I listened to Power Suit Peterson whistling like we were at a mud-wrestling contest. I was proud that Sleany McFear found refuge in my city. I beamed with hope over Herbach’s love for Clerkie and most of all, I wept in joy when I finally figured out that the final song was by WHAM. “Last Christmas when I gave you my heart. . . ” When I arrived home, I wasted no time to check google for the lyrics. I stood for a moment like the Statue of Liberty. My tablets read, “I survived the 80’s without knowing any WHAM songs.” My life is so good.