karen rutherford, freelance writer

Every time I think of the word "squarespace",  the Square Pegs theme song starts up. Every time, every single time.

I dunno about this new look. Squarespace did a seamless job with the major-est of upgrades last night, but it forced me to upgrade my look as well. (If only they'd force an in-person makeover too!)

I can play around with the colors and fonts and things, so if you hit here and come back and it looks different, blame it on a mood swing.

I do recommend Squarespace to one and all! They're reliable and nice and customer-oriented and ambitious and just grand.

Every year on my birthday, I read my annual “Today’s Birthday” horoscope message. It predicts how the next year will be. I don’t know that it’s ever been that accurate, but I still do it every year. This year, I found some site that told me about who I am because of my July 17th birth date. Apparently, I should embrace individuality, social skills, and a happy disposition and avoid procrastination, judging others, and self-righteousness. I think I’m okay on the embracing part, but the things to avoid? Now I find this? A cruel, cruel joke. I think I’ll just put off thinking about all that. Oh, must go anyway, there’s someone to judge.

My last experience with a writing class was a bust. I hated the authors that the professor held up as the bar and in the second class, the prof told us that success in writing was “all bullshit”. He meant that writing is one thing, but being successful entirely another dependent upon someone else’s workload and mood. I get that. I didn’t need some guy who also used the F-word like I used to eat M&Ms to tell me that. I went back, but just once. (Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of the properly placed F-word, but its ability to make a person appear different or bohemian has long past.)

But I still love the feeling I get when I read about writing classes. Ami McKay, who wrote The Birth House, a good book full of detail I recently read, passed along something called The Ellie Poem. Supposedly, writing teachers use it as an exercise in class a lot. It is an inventory of self. I thought it was a neat thing and did one for myself. I am posting it here because it’s my birthday. So there. Me, me, me. Hopefully, I’ll get to do another one in 2028 and see if my inventory has moved.

How does it feel to be my age? This week, I've found myself humming the tune in the Activia commercials. And I seem to be the only one who actually drives the worker-zone speed limit. In the far right lane. Like the old woman I am. 

Why is it that I can always spot Atlanta folks on House Hunters? They don't even have to speak and I know. I'm never wrong either. It's a gift, I guess. Or better yet, confirmation that I did the right thing.

Last night, the Atlanta couple walked through the door of a Fayetteville (seriously?) home.

The wife, walking into the foyer, said, “Oh, this is nice and light.”

Then the husband said, “Yes, I like it. It’s very eloquent.”

Ah, Atlanta. I miss you so.

I know I'm supposed to actually WRiTE something on this blog, but MY GOD.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AratTMGrHaQ

Jeff Buckley's bio and "Grace" album details are here:

http://www.jeffbuckley.com/bio.asp

http://www.jeffbuckley.com/album.asp?SecID=2

18. Eight. Teen. The birthday sheet cake from Kroger paled in comparison to the homemade German chocolate cake made by Katie’s father. And you can’t unwrap a forgiven debt.

Of course he had to go as soon as I got home. He took the sheet cake and went to a friend’s house for a birthday spend-the-night bonfire and weenie roast. The cake came back home the next day with only ‘Happ’ visible.

We did have a lovely dinner at St. Elmo’s Steakhouse, though. It was the most we’ve talked in the past month.

He went to IU orientation and registered for classes. I didn’t want to go play the advertised parent-camp games, and he said it didn’t matter if I went, so I didn’t. But when he ran into some people we know who asked where I was, he told them that I told him he needed to go by himself. As if.

The biggest stress of financial paperwork: “I certify that I am registered with the Selective Service.” Penalty is prosecution and up to a $250,000 fine. I never thought I’d have to worry about this, but, I do, certainly now with this country’s collective karma upon us.

On to July, when I too will age another year, but, of course, oh, so gracefully.

_{*Alice Cooper lyric. Son's first concert. Whaddaya gonna do?}

Holy Crap, he’s at it again.

Wasatch Academy leaders know that their employee’s actions killed two kids while employed at Darlington School in Rome, Georgia, yet they have allowed Steve Hall to start a program at their school called "Out and Beyond" and schedule a trip involving water for August 9th. ***UPDATE: The link was removed from the school Website on July 23, 2008, but a PDF of the trip announcement is here and a PDF of their front page with the audacious link is here. I'd like to believe the trip has been cancelled, but that would indicate signs of a conscience I'm not sure exists.*** Even Darlington, albeit after much pressure, made Hall cease and desist. It couldn’t be clearer deja-vu.

Hall’s an egomaniac – I understand how he dares to repeat himself – after all, he never took the slightest of breaks in planning or conducting trips for kids since 2005 (can you imagine?), was at a Darlington soccer game laughing it up four days after the boys’ bodies were found (can you imagine?), and has the thoughtfulness to announce his first official "Out and Beyond" outing the same month that Clay and Sean would have graduated high school. There are devils amongst us, I know. But the school.

What's their reasoning? I have to hope that they have numerous other, and more rational, leaders on this trip, and Hall won't be in charge of anything. He's listed as the main contact, but maybe he's just the organizer - the paperwork pusher - and not going on the trip at all. Unfortunately, the over-the-top trip description screams Hall.

Like it says: Call 435/462-1420 or e-mail steve.hall@wacad.org to ask questions. I’d be willing to bet that, if asked, he would have trouble remembering February 2005 or Clay and Sean at all. I'd suggest that you contact Joe Lofton, the Headmaster, at josephlo@wacad.org or a Board Member. I did, but it now looks like I got nowhere. I'm just one stranger in Indiana, after all, but I would imagine a parent's questions might be better received.

We learned too late from the Darlington experience that the only answers are communication among the parents and their questions and demands of school leaders. Unfortunately, this is the rub. Parents sending their children to private schools are understandably more likely to assume the school their child attends would only employ the cream of the crop.

So, I pray. And hope that a few diligent Wasatch parents research the trip leaders and make their own educated decisions.

And for these diligent ones who find this post, I also offer this: If you have already signed up for this trip and decide not to send your child, email me and I’ll pay your cancellation and non-refundable fees. Send me your proof of cancellation and notification to the school of the reason for your cancellation, and I’ll send you the money you paid.

Apparently, the balance is due today and you can be refunded up to 21 days prior to August 9th.

Until then, I pray that all 10 kids’ parents contact me. After August 9th, I can only watch and pray from a distance, which is what I will do, as long as Steve Hall is allowed to be in the wilderness with other people's children.

I know I’m depressed when I start googling people who aren’t in my life anymore. Nobody in my past life spent as much time at a computer as I still do, so I rarely find much of anything. It’s not a hopeful exercise. Or not hopeful in a positive way anyway. I’ve also run across too many men on their best behavior, which has always unnerved me. My weekly predictions all agreed that I would hear from someone I haven’t heard from in a long time, but that didn’t happen. So I know I shouldn’t believe them when they say that I just entered my birthday month and crazy-good things are going to fall from the sky.

“You may be feeling the empty nest thing, but I’m not.”

I did make an attempt to enjoy a weekend errand by deciding to make my trip to the store early Sunday morning. I actually almost looked forward to it, thinking it would be peaceful and, it being so early, the workers would be friendlier. I wasn’t there five minutes when I heard her talking in her outside voice on her cell phone. Apparently, they were agreeing that a mutual friend was crazy and that neither wanted to attend said friend’s daughter’s birthday party at the end of the month (an obvious emergency conversation that must be had at 7am on a Sunday morning.) I was in produce. She had to have been in the cereal aisle at the very least, but I heard every word. So, of course, I spent the next thirty minutes trying to anticipate where she was going so I could be as far away as possible. That didn’t happen. And I was reminded once again that I will never fit well in this world, because, at my age, I should be able to not let things like this bother me. But, as usual, it stole my entire day and another minute or two to type this.

“You’re going to have to work on that.”

So, I’m in a depressing spot. I want friends and a more active post-single-mother life, but I’m not so good with people, especially those you find in public. Besides, I’m sure I don’t have the most inviting face while I’m expecting the worst.

But what worries me most is that the things I’ve wanted for at least ten years don’t excite me anymore. I don’t know yet what to do about that. I guess the use of the word “yet” is hopeful.

I’ll get there, I suppose. Wherever that may be. I do have faith. And I do have gratitude. I’m very grateful for all our blessings. But too much gratitude and depression don’t mix – they make you feel even less deserving and that the moment is as good as it should be - so I know what I already knew - that the answer is faith.

Eegads, I sound like a country song. How depressing.

The temperature gauge on my car had been heading dangerously close to the red zone for a couple of weeks. I had some upcoming travel for work scheduled, so I bucked up and called the dealer for estimates. She immediately quoted $125 for a diagnostic fee, $150 for a radiator flush service, and, guessing it could be a thermostat issue, another $260 for that work.

I decided to go to Jiffy Lube Joe the next morning to have him do the flush service at the cheaper Jiffy Lube rate (plus, I had a coupon!). At least I'd spend less money if that was all it needed.

Joe popped the hood and investigated. He didn’t think that a radiator flush service would solve my problem but had liability issues offering up an opinion (since they don’t actually do full-fledged auto repair work).

But he put some antifreeze in the radiator anyway (it was empty – who knew!) and declared, “This is the worst water pump leak I think I’ve ever seen.”

He charged me $10 for the antifreeze and sent me to Car-X after calling his friend, who is the manager, for availability and pricing.

Mike, the Car-X Manager, took my keys and asked if I could leave it with him. I said I could go spend some time in the McDonald’s down the road but that I’d have to wait because it was my only transportation. “That’s okay. I’ll push you ahead of someone. It shouldn’t be more than 90 minutes.” An hour later, it was ready, and the bill was only $176 – a full $50 less than I was originally told.

When I say this has never happened to me, in all my driving years, I mean that my experiences have always been the complete opposite. I think there may be positive interference in my magnetic field. I can’t wait for something else to go wrong with the car to test it out. Well, not exactly. :o

And I like to think of this as my paying it forward, although I really can’t claim that, because it was so unintentional. The Car-X mechanic who actually replaced the water pump got in my car to pull it into its stall and, as I walked by headed towards my Egg McMuffin, asked if my car window was broken. I said, ‘Nahh, it’s just moody.” He must have laughed for five minutes. His laughing made me start laughing and we couldn’t stop. I know, right? Not really funny at all.

But I think I made his day, and all three of these nice men made for the nicest broken car day I’ve ever had. I don’t even care that I didn’t get to use a coupon.

"I Don't Feel Like Dancin'"

Wake up in the morning with a head like ‘what ya done?’
This used to be the life but I don’t need another one.
You like cuttin’ up and carrying on, you wear them gowns.
So how come I feel so lonely when you’re up getting down?

So I'll play along when I hear that special song
I’m gonna be the one who gets it right.
You'd better move when you're swayin’ round the room
Looks like the magic's only ours tonight

But I don’t feel like dancin’
When the old Joanna plays
My heart could take a chance
But my two feet can’t find a way
You'd think that I could muster up a little soft-shoe gentle sway
But I don’t feel like dancin’
No sir, no dancin’ today.
Don’t feel like dancin’, dancin’
Even if i find nothin' better to do
Don’t feel like dancin’, dancin’
Why’d you pick a tune when I’m not in the mood?

Cities come and cities go just like the old empires
When all you do is change your clothes and call that versatile.
You got so many colours make a blind man so confused.
Then why can’t I keep up when you’re the only thing I lose?

So I’ll just pretend that I know which way to bend
And I’m gonna tell the whole world that you’re mine.
Just please understand, when I see you clap your hands
If you stick around I’m sure that I'll be fine

You can’t make me dance around
But your two-step makes my chest pound.
Just lay me down as you float away into the shimmer light.

I always knew this was temporary.

Huh?

I mean, it was only a matter of time before you’d meet someone. And that’s the way it should be. They’re exactly right. It’s the way I want it, too. We all want you to be happy.

I am happy.

Well, you could be happier.

I don’t know if I like the idea of too much happiness.

Yea, well, try to keep an open mind.

Things are fine the way they are. I like you. I like hanging out with you. Why can’t I just hang out with you?

Don’t you miss your friends? And dating? And having a special person in your life? All men like that.

I see my friends.

But you know they miss you. Didn’t Jack call just the other day asking if you wanted to do something?

I’ve known him since we were kids. We hang out quite enough. He’s fine.

You need to spend more time with all the people you know, the ones you’ve known all your life. You need to meet some new people. New female people. I’ll miss you, but I’ve known that since I met you. I have to admit that I’m not quite prepared yet, but I will be. I'm fine. Everything's fine. It's been so much fun, and you’re a great guy. Now go forth and socialize. And date, dammit.

I don’t wanna.

Oh, puh-leeze. Of course you do.

Seriously. I don’t wanna.

But, now, you have to. They hate me. They’ll think I never said anything to you, that I really don’t want you to be happy, that I’m forcing you to be here, that I’m glad you feel guilty and sorry for me and have succumbed to the idea of never escaping from me. Please don’t do that to me.

You like lasagne?

Lasagne?

Lasagne. Dinner. I'm thinking we should cook lasagne.

I want to live here. I want to stay here a long, long time. I want to retire here and live out my days. Happily. I can’t do that if the people don’t like me. I want friends or at least to feel like I’m not hated. Hell, I could be shunned.

Lasagne, it is. I’ll be back with the fixins at 5:30. And a movie. It’s my turn to pick, I think, isn’t it?

I’m thinking it’s Saturday night. The best night to start. Call a friend. Go to town. Have a beer and listen to the band at Barnacles. Look around. Make some eye contact. Ask somebody out.

Yea, definitely my pick ‘cause we watched some crap last weekend I can’t even remember the name of.

I’m not going to be here at 5:30, then.

You better. I’ll have all those groceries. You don’t want me left holding the bag, do you?

Oh, good lord.

Take a nap or something. Chill out. Everything will be fine. Trust me?

Yea, but you seriously have to…

Trust me?

Yes.

And with that, he left. Leaving me alone for the afternoon to think about how I could make him leave for good.