Michael and Jaspenelle

Happy 50-somethingth Birthday Dad!

I was looking through the photos on my hard drive today to find an appropriate one for my Dad’s birthday post, instead I found this one. My very first thought was “YES! A mullet! Wait, my dad had a mullet? I don’t remember that…” It must have been when we lived in North Carolina. I have lived in four countries (and two states) because of my Dad’s work and though the constant moving was hard at times I am glad I had a chance to travel the world with him.

Anyhow, with that potentially embarrassing photo out of the way (though I like mullets), this is a more recent photo:

The last time I saw my dad was during our handfasting last summer. My brother and father live in the UAE, where he does consulting (my brother is a lawyer.) I get to see lots of photos of his various adventures over there in his blog. My family is a very complicated topic and growing up with my dad wasn’t always a walk in the park but I can say beyond the shadow of a doubt I am certainly daddy’s little girl.

I can’t find too many photos of us together which is a bit funny because we spent a lot of time together when I was growing up. He usually was taking more photos of me on our outings though. He took this one of me at an abandoned church in Spain we were exploring one weekend. It was a pain to get into, he had to hoist me into a hole in the second floor. We both have a cat like curiosity (and luckily 9 lives it seems) as well as a passion for history and the outdoors. This picture reminds me of the time we rock climbed together in the south of France.

He also took this one of me at a festival of St. George (he also paid for that dye job.) I think this was the same year we got our ears pierced together. Actually repierced for both of us since Mr. Mullet up there had an ear piercing before we moved to France. Father daughter piercing outing, some people find it weird but I think it is pretty sweet. We also went to heavy metal concerts together and ran together at Correfoc. Unfortunately I can’t talk him into the joint tattooing session… but you can’t have it all!

Because of the distance and cost of travel we don’t get to see each other much anymore, adult life does this I suppose. He was at Michael and my handfasting last summer, which was awesome and I figured it would be a couple years a least before he came again… but he is coming to visit at the beginning of August! I am looking forward to him meeting Damian for the first time.

Happy Birthday Dad! I love you.

Happy Birthday Mom

It might seem odd that I am posting a picture of my handfasting cake from last June on a my mother’s birthday post, but truth be told I do not have a picture of my mother. You would think I would have a photo of the two of us together from somewhere but I simply don’t. Maybe it is because she has almost always been the one taking the photos.

My mother and my grandma made that beautiful wedding cake for Michael and my handfasting, and I adored it, not only was it beautiful, it was fruitcake (yes, I am one of those people who adore fruitcake.) My mother is a very creative person, she draws, paints, sculpts, sews (when needed, it isn’t her favorite craft by any means) as well does a plethora of random artistic endeavors (batik, bonsais, cooking, interior design, gardening, mosaics etc.) When I was very young, she made me a tinkerbell costume for Halloween with tiny real lights in the skirt so it twinkled. Everyone thought my parents had bought it for me because it was so perfect. As I got older she began to teach me a variety of arts and crafts, I was never limited in what I was allowed to be interested in (as long as I cleaned up.) She would go out of her way to make sure I had the supplies I needed. I got my creativity “bug” from my mom.

Before my family moved to France, my mother worked for a parasitologist at North Carolina State University College of Veterinary Medicine. There were always tons of cool animals at the university (I often went to work with her before I started school.) Her boss had a tank full of poison dart frogs as well as lots of parasite specimens in jars, which might explain why very few things gross me out… I also got to see white tiger cubs as they were part of a breeding program and lots of other exotic animals. A couple times I went out with my mom to the fish farms she inspected too. I got my love for animals from my mother. We always had dogs and cats and I usually always had an (enormous) fish tank.

After we moved to France a lot of stuff changed, my dad got a really good job and was at work more and and my mother became a stayed-at-home mom. My brother and I started going to private schools and she was always thereto help with the mountains of homework we had, as well as bail us out of the trouble we got into at school (which may have been frequently.) I retrospect I think she had a really hard time adjusting to life overseas, she was half a world away from her family (with whom she was very close to) and wasn’t really ever able to pick up the local languages. I don’t know how she felt about becoming a stay-at-home mom, she couldn’t work as she wasn’t able to get a work visa.

I know that I was very hard on her once I hit puberty. We are both equally stubborn and both have that kind of anger that simmers for a long time before going off like an atom bomb. Whenever we sat down to talk it out it would turn into epic battles. Eventually we pretty much stopped talking, especially after my brother went off to college.

In January 2004 we were living in Spain and I turned 18. I dropped out of school and a week later I had a plane ticket and moved to the USA to live with extended family for a few months. The day I left we did not even see each other as my flight was so early in the morning. Neither of us said goodbye. In September of that year I moved to Spokane to live with Michael. I never called her to tell her I was moving (nor did I call her when we got a civil union in December.) She found out through family I guess. I don’t think we spoke for the first year after I left home, which I am sure was as up and down for her as it was for me, my dad and her went their separate ways in that time (though their relationship is so complicated I won’t even pretend to understand it!)

It was three and a half years after I left home that I saw her again. She came to Michael and my handfasting and was here for a few days. I feel like I should have done more to connect with her but I didn’t, I wasn’t sure how to act to be honest. We had both changed so much but still had a lot of wounds.

My mom and I talk a couple times a year. She lives with my grandma now and they can be quite a challenge to keep track of, moving frequently between Ontario, Indianapolis and Florida. Emailing doesn’t ever seem to work out for us (she doesn’t have access in Canada.) She knows I am pregnant and has sent stuff for the baby as well as for my birthing necklace, we exchange Christmas gifts as well. I will call her after the baby is born of course. I do want her to know her grandson. I want to get to know her again and for her to get to know this very different me but I feel it will take a lot of time for us to rebuild our bridges. Sometimes i wonder if it is even possible.

So maybe this isn’t the most joyful birthday post, but it is honest. We have certainly had our trial by fire but I feel like things have begun improving in the past year. I love my mother very much and I know she sacrificed a lot of herself so that my brother and I could have as stable of a home as possible and a good education. And in spite of the teenage battles to be different from her in every way, we are in fact very similar and I don’t mind anymore.

Happy birthday Mom, I hope you have a wonderful one.
We have been through a lot but I still love you very much, I always will.

Found a Peanut

I have “Found a Peanut” stuck in my head, yesterday it was the tune but today I remembered enough of the lyrics to look it up. I learned then a bit differently but I think everyone does though. Michael says it is a camp fire song, I am not sure when I picked it up…

Found a peanut, found a peanut, found a peanut last night. Last night I found a peanut, found a peanut last night.

Cracked it open, cracked it open, cracked it open last night Last night I cracked it open, cracked it open last night.

It was rotten, it was rotten, it was rotten last night, last night it was rotten, it was rotten last night.

Ate it anyway, ate it anyway, ate it anyway last night, last night I ate it anyway, ate it anyway last night.

Got a stomach ache, got a stomach ache, got a stomach ache last night. Last night I got a stomach ache, got a stomach ache last night.

Called the doctor, called the doctor, called the doctor last night. Last night I called the doctor, called the doctor last night.

Cut me open, cut me open, cut me open last night. Last night he cut me open, cut me open last night.

Took the peanut out, took the peanut out, took the peanut out last night. Last night he took the peanut out, took the peanut out last night.

Sewed me up again, sewed me up again, sewed me up again last night. Last night he sewed me up again, sewed me up again last night.

Left the scissors in, left the scissors in, left the scissors in last night. Last night he left the scissors in, left the scissors in last night.

Cut me open again, cut me open again, cut me open again last night. Last night he cut me open again, cut me open again last night.

Died anyway, died anyway, died anyway last night. Last night I died anyway, died anyway last night.

Went to Heaven, went to Heaven, went to Heaven last night. Last night I went to Heaven, went to Heaven last night.

Wouldn’t take me there, wouldn’t take me there, wouldn’t take me there last night. Last night they wouldn’t take me there, wouldn’t take me there last night.

Went the other way, went the other way, went the other way last night. Last night I went the other way, went the other way last night.

Wouldn’t take me there, wouldn’t take me there, wouldn’t take me there last night. Last night they wouldn’t take me there, wouldn’t take me there last night.

Came back again, came back again, came back again last night. Last night I came back again, came back last night.

Found a peanut, found a peanut, found a peanut last night…

A lot of children’s songs are pretty twisted you know? Food poisoning, medical malpractice, death, resurrection… this one’s got it all!

Baby Toys

Every baby needs their favorite plushy right? I think we should get our baby a Giant Microbe. I posted about these last year, I liked Ebola back then but I am quite partial to the Pond Scum and the Dust Mite now.

Really though, I was reading a study the other day that one toy stands above them all for teaching baby’s about problem solving. Blocks. Yes, just simply colorful blocks. (Yay for cheap!) I want the blocks I had as a kid.

Actually I think they were my dad’s blocks from his childhood. He still has them I am sure. They are wooden and painted and are in a little wooden wagon. I don’t know if I played with them as a child. I do remember my hoards of plushies though, so many that if I put them all in my bed I didn’t fit with them. My brother and I use to play “animal wars”, the red animals against the blue ones. My brother was quite partial to Tonka Toys. Not the crap plastic ones that they have now, but the old metal ones with all those little choking hazard parts; you know, the good ones!

What was your favorite toy as a child?

I still have my favorite, it is a brown horse plushy named Star.

The Fog

The fog is swirling around downtown this morning. The rising sun seems to be thickening it rather then burning it off; everything is glowing. I love the fog, it softens the city’s hard edges and mutes the noise. Fog almost seems an element to itself, one of mystery and intrigue. It memorizes and transports the soul to another place.

Autumn is in full swing. The unpredictable weather, the harvest festivals and the changing leaves combine to create a beautiful mosaic about the fullness of life. I think the leaves are my favorite part of the season, they have always facinated me. When I was a small child I would collect lots of leaves from my neighborhood and stick them in my parents’ books. A few times my mother and I made crafts with the pressed foliage, but mostly they were forgotten then. I wonder if some of them are still there?

One of the crafts we made of “leaf glass”. We arranged leaves overlapping each other on wax paper. Then we placed another piece of wax paper on top of them and iron them. when you peel the wax paper from the leaves you are left with sheet of leaves that looks like stained glass. Today, as an adult with responiblities I sometimes long for the innocence of childhood. I never want to loose the feeling of being subject to whim and wonder.

Yesterday I bought a cookbook (the Better Homes and Garden cookbook) and I brought it with me to work today. As I was walking around the parking lot checking the cars I picked up some pretty leaves. when I came back to the booth and stuck them in my book. Maybe I will forget about them, but maybe I will make myself some stained glass. (I have only been able to find parchment paper in stores though, whatever happened to wax paper?)

When Michael and I have children, I don’t want to live through them, but I do hope that they can experience the same feelings of whim and wonder that I did.

Step aside blondes and brunettes

Cus red heads like to have fun! (Eve you get to be an exception with your beautiful blondeness!)

I was going through some old photos of me and I ran across this one:

I want that hair colour again. I think I went to a hair stylist to get it that red, so I would probably have to do it that way again. I wonder how much it would cost? Can’t afford it unless I sell my plasma for a couple weeks… Still I want that hair colour again, so playful!

What do you think?

Itty Bitty Changes

This picture was taken by my father in October 2003, when I lived in Sitges, Spain. I was 17.

I can’t believe I thought I was ugly and fat. I think I was beautiful and slender. Of course I was a hormonal teenager who only saw the flaws in my self, both physical and mental. In a lot of ways I still hold the same views, I still see the “fat me” in the mirror occasionally. I have realized the negativity that lurks in my subconscious though and I see the progress I am making to fix it. That is the first stage of healing the soul isn’t it? Baby steps.

I love this photo. Over time, I hope to learn to love all my photos as much as I love this one. We are all Goddesses and Gods in our own right.

Marie Claire

When my family moved to France when I was eight, we moved to a town outside of Paris called Poissy. We lived on a small island on the River Seine which had what I remember to have about 20 houses on it. What I remember most is our neighbor, I believe he name was Marie Claire. She was nice and funny and had two dogs Edgar and Charlie.

Something popped into my mind today though, Edgar went away after he bit a child. My mother told me that Edgar was sent to a farm in the country with no children to retire after it happened. Edgar must have been put down but in my naive state as a child I believed it. I am grateful my mother said that to me though, I think it was shortly after my cat died and I don’t think I could have handled another of the animals I loved dying.

I don’t know why he turned mean, maybe he was just old and crank but Marie Claire was always a wonderful person in my memory, her son was nice to, I think he was in his twenties. Though the memory is a little foggier I think my dad, my brother and I carpooled with her to work and school for awhile. I remember she use to hate driving behind big trucks because she thought they were going to hit the ceiling of the tunnels we drove through. Her fear made us tease her but she took it well.

I don’t remember much about myself at that age I use to have a picture of me in a garden surrounded by flowers but I do not know where it is. School sucked, boys were gross and I loved France and my dog and cat. I do not remember much else about Marie Claire either other then tall, think and middle aged but I remember her kindness. The world needs more kindness like that.

EDIT: I even partly forgot her name, correction to that, it was Marie-Claude.

Music box

When I left home I didn’t have much space in my suitcase to take personal possessions after clothing and other essentials were accounted for. Besides that I am a light packer even if I was about to get a plane and fly across the ocean to start my adult life.

I took a number of small items, a gold bracelet my mother gave me, a small brass bell necklace that was my great grandma’s (which hangs in the kitchen, maybe her spirit will help me be a better cook.) I took two things though which I consider to be my most treasured possessions. A journal and a music box.

My father gave me the journal when I was about 17. It’s leather cover is worn and a little dog-eared. It is obvious it was (and still is) well loved. The paper is beautiful but some has been ripped out (by my dad I assume.) What remains is some of what my father wrote when he was a teen and then many blank pages, some of which I have filled but as odd as it may sound I fear writing in it. I want what I write to be as beautiful as what he wrote.

The music box is from a man named Rodney, perhaps the friend that I have had the longest, no matter that he is perhaps 40 years older then I. As a child he was a family friend. I remember him towering over everyone in the room, his funny stories told with the skill of medieval bard (but he is not that old I believe…) I don’t remember how old I was when he gave me the box - I know it was while I was still in France, so it must have been before I was 14. The simple wood box is from Switzerland and has dried mountain flowers pressed into the top, I do not know the name of the song it plays but it is lovely.

I don’t know why I chose to bring these two things other then I couldn’t leave them behind. They connect me to my past and in a way, my future - as I feel I will have them with me for a long time to come.

Moules Frites in Nice. I love the ocean because of you.

The little living room in Raleigh - dancing on your feet. I love the music because of you.

The desert in Mexico - telling me about burial mounds. I love history because of you.

Place d’Italie in Paris - throwing popcorn at each other. I love you because we share simple joys.

Vickie’s house in Indiana - on the phone with me. I love you because you are always there for me.

Dusty roads in Spain - that old burned out church. I love exploring because of you.

The airport in Barcelona - watching me leaving. I love you because I know I will always be your little girl.

Damn you nostalgia.

I miss you Dad.