Catharsis

Writing really is cathartic for me.  I find that I work through my problems so much better when I've written about them. It's the release that I need to move on to the next chapter. I'm gonna get pretty personal for this post, so if you'd rather read fluff, wait until next time.

I've recently suffered a loss. Two losses actually. My grandmother passed away. A wonderful, service-oriented, bubbly, caring, cheerful, lovely woman. She wrote music and played the piano masterfully. Every time I play one of her arrangements of music, I feel her near me (even before she passed away), her soul is in music. This is how I will always remember her: forever connected to the piano.

I had a miscarriage. The hubs and I were really looking forward to having another little bundle in our home to love and hold, but twas not to be. I don't think that we'll be a single-child family, but if that is to be the case. I have an awesome little man to be grateful for! I mean look at that face, who couldn't love that? 

When I first found out that we weren't going to be having another baby, it was terrible! I cried all the time at the drop of a hat and was mad at every pregnant woman I knew or didn't know for that matter. But after I went in for a procedure, it was like the last punctuation had been placed on the last page and I could turn it and move on.

So that is what I'm doing, moving on. Due to the recent events, I'm no longer working as a vocal coach. My boss felt that I should take this time to heal and we were nearly done with the season anyway. I thought that was very sympathetic of her. I am looking forward to real meal planning again and just being able to use my time the way I want to.

Until next time,

Lady Jane

Scripts

Why can't people just follow a script! Life would be so much easier for me to deal with if they would just react the way I want them to.

I am a product of the 90s. I still think that it was only a decade ago. And because I am a child of the 90s, I glean how to relate with people watching sitcoms and dramas. So it's no wonder that I become discombobulated when people don't follow a script. What do sitcoms reflect if not real life? However exaggerated. How else are they able to portray real emotions unless its coming from a real place? Say what you will about my research, but I think I'm a little ahead of the curve.

I remember having a terrible conversation with an English teacher in community college about art. We were talking about "The Necklace" a short story by Guy de Maupassant where the main character is faced with a moral dilemma: whether or not she should tell her friend about the necklace. My professor proceeded to ask the class if we see examples like this in daily life. I brought up television (big surprise) and how so many sitcoms have used this dilemma. Then she railed on me for using pop culture as a means to prove my point. "Pop culture is down here. It's for the masses." I can still hear her say it, pardon me whilst I cringe. I proudly reminded her that in her first lecture she told us about how art is artificial and good art feels real. Let's just say for arguments sake that pop culture falls under the umbrella of pop art. With that being said, the sitcoms that use these types of moral dilemmas bombard the television screens of the world and almost every 90s family sitcom cued the sappy music to make a point about what was moral and ethical. So what if it is for the masses? It's the masses that are relating to these kinds of ideas. Mass this, professor!


Lady Jane

Third Time Wasn't The Charm

Looks like we'll be putting the home buying process to rest for the foreseeable future. I'm really glad that I haven't told a lot of people about this considering that we were within days of a 30 day closing date and we had to walk away. I should have learned my lesson back in 2005; never, ever try and buy a house from HUD if you're a family. Maybe an investor can come up with $14K cash to bring to the table if he bid too high and the house's worth is too low, but I've never had $14K in my life! That's essentially what happened. HUD does not negotiate and the appraisal company is crap; using outdated and irrelevant information for the comps of other homes in the same neighborhood.

I wish I could verbally lash the appraiser who single-handedly screwed up our chances of purchasing this home. I am beyond livid. All the stress that we've been dealing with that poor F has felt the effects of were for nothing? We were supposed to hear back from our lender on 4/25 if the appraisal management company overlooked the shoddy job the appraiser had done, but we found out on that day, that nothing had been done! So the week that we were sitting on pins and needles waiting for an updated appraisal of the house, was AGAIN for nothing? I'm so tempted to get rid of everyone that has been involved in this process with us, our realtor, our lender. If I were our lender working with a terrible appraisal management company, I'd tell my superiors.

And that was what I was going to say last week about the house. Here's what I'm saying this week about the house: There's a chance we may still be moving in the next few weeks. I know! I didn't think it was possible either. My realtor was fuming at the prospect that the house would simply go back on the market, somebody else would bid, work with a completely different appraisal company and get the house, that he and our lender hatched a plan to pull their money together to get a third appraisal done on the home! Hubby and I would still have to cover the cost of turning on the utilities for the appraisal, but we're willing to risk $100 bucks if it means we might get the house. We weren't so sure to gamble $500, there are other homes out there. Granted, not as many in a good market, but there are others. The nice part about all of this is, if it doesn't go through, we were already in a position to walk away, however the confidence that our realtor has about the home's worth is enough for me.

I still feel the same about the appraiser and the first appraisal process. Just so we're all clear.

Looks like taking my own advice was harder than I had anticipated. Would you be able to stay positive? It's been pretty difficult.

~ Lady Jane

P.S. I hope your last few weeks have been a lot happier and less dramatic/emotional than mine. I will be so glad when all of this is over!

Ode to a Macbook/Writer's Unblocked!

I love to write. I have always loved to write. I'm not sure why or when this particular fancy first made its appearance, but I love that I can sit down at my computer and just jot down any thought that comes to me. I remember a time, not long after my grandmother passed away that I decided to write about all the things I could remember about her. It started with the most recent, the time of her death. I was fortunate enough to be with her and my mother during her passing. That experience alone has been one of the most spiritual I've ever had. Like Goldberg said, you make sense of your life when you write. I think that's what I love about writing; I can make sense of my life and who I am in my own eyes, not through the eyes of others.

"Writing is physical and is affected by the equipment you use." ~ Natalie Goldberg

This is the equipment I use. I've had it since my first semester at ASU, five years ago this fall. Has it really been that long? We've worked on many projects together, written dozens of papers on Shakespeare, films, teaching methods, and books. But my favorite thing to do with my Macbook is write about nothings, somethings, whatever might pop into my head, conscious or subconscious.

I think I type as fast as I think, that's why I prefer using my computer than a notebook and pen. I liked using a notebook and pen when I was in school and had to carry a book bag, but now that I'm a SAHM, I much prefer this method during nap time. I do agree that "Handwriting is more connected to the movement of the heart" but I feel just as connected to this medium as I do to writing. However the key to all this searching and making sense of your life is experimentation.

Just keep writing, just keep writing...

Goldberg suggests:

1. Keep your hand moving

2. Don't cross out (This tip is especially hard for me as I am in editor mode often. One of my favorite pastimes is looking for errors in books I'm reading, or cereal boxes, pretty much anything printed.)

3. Don't worry about spelling (Um, sorry. I pride myself on being an excellent speller.)

4. Lose control

5. Don't think. Don't get logical

6. Go for the jugular (This is the scary stuff deep down inside that you don't want to admit to yourself that you think or have thought about. This is also the stuff that I will never show anyone, EVER!)

Just keep writing, just keep writing...

When I Think of Home...

Due to my incomparable upbringing, I have always had an active imagination. I grew up in the same house for nineteen years, I had freedom to roam our expansive three and a quarter acre lot with trees, grass, our cats and friends. Many nights were spent gazing up at the stars on the trampoline. Running, climbing, and eating filled my days. My paternal grandfather, who I call Papa, planted fruit trees in the backyard. For seven years at least, my cousins and I enjoyed picking the ripe plums, apricots, and pears. Our saliva, sufficient enough to clean them allowed us to move onto our next adventure.

Even when I was a little girl, I dreamed of bringing my children to the home I grew up in to play on the swing set in the backyard, to show them that with enough sweat they could climb the walls with their feet, slide down the stairs on an old mattress or fall asleep on the living room couch as the din of family chatter in the kitchen wafted through the house.

My dream came to an end in 2006. I had no children yet and my parents were being forced out to rebuild a dying company that my father had put his life into. No longer can I bring my children to that home to see their Gigi and Papa and play with cousins uninterrupted in the basement, play a round of 9-hole golf around the house or come over for Sunday dinners.

I hate it when people say, "Let it go" or "It was a long time ago", that doesn't make me feel any better. It doesn't make feel any better to believe that my parents are giving another family the opportunity to make memories in that house too. As childish as this sounds, it was my house first!

The song, "Our House" by Madness, perfectly illustrates the kind of home I had. Needless to say it has become our anthem for my family. We even used it on a video montage for a family reunion.

Father wears his Sunday best

Mother's tired she needs a rest

The kids are playing up downstairs

Sister's sighing in her sleep

Brother's got a date to keep

He can't hang around

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Our house it has a crowd

There's always something happening

And it's usually quite loud

Our mum she's so house-proud

Nothing ever slows her down

And a mess is not allowed

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Something tells you that you've got to get away from it

Father gets up late for work

Mother has to iron his shirt

Then she sends the kids to school

Sees them off with a small kiss

She's the one they're going to miss

In lots of ways

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

I remember way back then when everything was true and when

We would have a very good time such a fine time

Such a happy time

And I remember how we'd play simply wasted the day away

Then we'd say nothing would come between us two dreamers

Father wears his Sunday best

Mother's tired she needs a rest

The kids are playing up downstairs

Sister's sighing in her sleep

Brother's got a date to keep

He can't hang around

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our street

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Our house, was our castle and our keep

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, that was where we used to sleep

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle of our street

I loved my house, still do to this day. I've even thought of knocking on the door just to ask if I could look around. I wonder what stories my house would tell me since my family's been gone? Don't you wish if you just pressed your ear up against the walls hard enough you could hear everything the house has been through?