Songs to sing

I know, I just posted. But this thought seemed incongruous with the (I can't believe I spelled that long word correctly) post below.

from Annie: "Just thinking about tomorrow....I love ya tomorrow, you're always a day away."

and the Mr. Roger's song: "And you'll have things you'll want to talk about, and I will too."

community in the crying room

Our church meets in an old church that is now a community center. Pottery studio downstairs, a café up front, and we meet in "The Great Hall." The café is air conditioned and has a boy and girl separate bathrooms and comfy chairs. And there are speakers, so you can hear the sermon if you're in there. The café is closed Sundays, so it's a great place to nurse, or let your child ask "What's her middle name?" of all the women sitting around, away from the heat and the congregation.

I don't have a child, but I often am my very own reason to be in the crying room--if the sermon is too sensitive, or I'm too sensitive, or I just need to be alone. When I went to a Baptist church in NoVa, when I lived on Nut St. with the 'rents, I went to the church's library and read Today's Christian Woman magazine back issues. But the sermon wasn't piped in. Which probably was good, since I often left because the sermon was too much for my at that time depressed brain. I'm not depressed right now (yet) (Hallelujah!) but I feel oppressed, tired, and whiny. I thought I was better, and I am better than I was, but still not healed. Yuk. Also, summer is not my favorite season--all the mamas have their children home and they go off on family vacations and oh, it was truly wonderful to talk to Sally on my cell phone this evening, as she waited for a delayed plane in an airport somewhere. I missed her so much this week. Watching her cat, sleeping in her house, helped. Reading her copy of Plan B was comforting, like having Sally in another room, but not really.

Last summer was the summer of weddings: I think I went to five. This summer seems to be the summer of boyfriends and babies: all of my friends have either new babies or new boyfriends (at least 3). I don't think I'm close with any of the pregnant women (pre-babies), but I know at least three. Unless I'm counting Charlotte York as my third pregnant woman--no, I was at a party last night and there was one house-sized mama and one with a cute bump. (Guess which one is having her second?) So that brings the tally to at least four.

And not that I don't like babies or boyfriends, but as a woman with family out of state mostly and the family that is in-state is five hours away (Kiki...) I feel my support systems are getting distracted. Which then makes me even more weepy, because, shouldn't I be happy for these women, not counting and keeping track of the moments they will not have for me?

So: to those of you that are in my life reading this: I love you. I rejoice with you for the new men and children in your life. Because they bring you to life, and I can see the joy in your eyes. Just don't lose me--I am going to hold on like h-e-double hockey sticks.

There are new people coming into my life, if I let them in, and that's good too. Holding on by the skin of my teeth, I am. What a fun play that was.*

Hogs and quiches,

SL

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It played at the Bonn Community Theatre when I was in first or second grade. My parents tell me I went twice. I guess my desire for repetition in theatre (live or filmed) came early. I then remember catching it on PBS and thinking, this looks familiar, why? It was the part about the toilet being American Standard. I heart Thorton Wilder. Our Town is a good play too, but SOOT is just wild. I read the play at the Lake one year, it was a volume that had all three of his famous plays.

Oh, and this heartbreaking news just in (early last week) : we won't be at the cabin this August. Sigh. The owners have need of it. Bird and I have that week off for work, so we'll do something else. It better involve swimming, that's all I can say.

Over and out, off to bed.

Sarah Louise tries to stay solvent...

My dad has this saying: If your outflow exceeds your inflow, then your upkeep will be your downfall.

I've been living the downfall part since I graduated with my B.A. in English, 1993. I had three great years. They were the years I lived with my parents as I figured out my bipolar diagnosis. So I know it's possible. But not easy. And when gas is $3.95 and more a gallon...

So I've been trying a few things. Mint.com is one. Except that they really stick it to you--right now, there it is, on the screen: I'm not in the black. I'm solidly in the red.

Another thing I'm trying: to eat in more.

So tonight, after I called my friend and she was already making her dinner, I thought, oh, I should go out to Gullifties or something and then I thought NO! I want to make this solvency thing work. (I do want to write a post about being a single woman eating alone at a restaurant. That's another post.)

So I ate my leftovers from Mad Mex (Wednesday) and watched Love Actually, which is such a wonderful movie. Rough around the edges in the sense that the people are really real, which, you know, is sort of shocking.

******************

And I WAS on the radio this morning! (After making several illegal U-turns because part of 579 is shut down and there are no marked detours.) There were 9 of us librarians. It was a lot of fun. We had brunch at Panera afterwards and it broke into talking about how crazy different people's bosses are.

There's a Pittsburgh job--Kiki on the phone yesterday, "But I didn't think you were looking in Pittsburgh." Um, well, I wasn't. I'll spare the details just because, you know, it's the Internet, and you never know who's reading, but it's a kind of cool job. You should have seen Marian's face when I told her I was going to apply. Look up "grin" in the dictionary and you'd see Marian's smile.

Of course, if I were to stay in da Burgh, no one could visit me in NYC, I'd still be at my church with all its imperfections, and I'd still be living in the third floor walk up with Max on the first floor.

So...I don't know. It's all fantasy until I send the resumé, and even then, you know, the interview...

If I did stay, I'd ask my landlord for new floors, and I'd get a paint job. Maybe have this room pink. Not bubblegum pink, something soft-ish.

*************

My dad took my mom to a MLB game, the Senators against...um. The Senators won. (I think.) Anyways, it was an exciting game, in the way that Game 5 was exciting for me. So it was fun to talk to my dad about it, even though I don't get baseball and he doesn't get hockey, we could share the excitement we experienced.

*************

So, SATC-TM (Sex and the City, the Movie) of course has caused a hubbub. No doubt. And being that I have always grappled with being a red blooded Christian woman and my love for Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte, I thought I'd pass on a few links of some folks and what they're saying. And let me say how much I respect Christianity Today for
a) giving Camerin Courtney, a single woman, the job to review the movie
and
b) coming clean with the fact that a lot of people couldn't believe they reviewed it at all. "You reviewed WHAT?"

Camerin did not love the movie. I did. For me, it was a perfect mix of escapism and the reality of what happens when relationships break and how you try to repair them.

But here's a quote I liked from from Camerin's review (and really, if you're not sure if you want to see it, read Camerin's review, she lets you know what you'll see, just so you're not shocked when you get to the theater.)

Most of the few Christian voices speaking to the growing single segment of the population offer ten easy steps to find our soulmate. As if it's that wondrously simple. Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda, however, show how challenging it really can be for intelligent, accomplished, and admittedly neurotic women to find lasting love. They, unlike many Christians, don't insult my intelligence. Instead they speak to the complexities of relationships in a postmodern age—addressing baby lust, the mommy wars, sexual temptation, dating outside your "class," commitment-phobia, the reluctant desire to be rescued by a man, and the simultaneous fear that you'll lose your own hard-won identity in the process. Yes, materialism and hedonism abound. But so does a messy wrestling with complex new realities of life that I wish I saw more of in Christian circles.

That one line: They...don't insult my intelligence. Yes. Yes. YES. Because love on either side of the wedding is not easy. And American Christian culture doesn't do a good job of communicating that. Or, if they do, they speak only to those that are on the wedding band side. If there was a book called: So, you're single? Finding your Christian soul mate in 36 excruciating steps that may not work for your personality or situation, I'd buy it. Because at least it would be honest.

Because, honestly, I have no idea if I want to get married. Kids? I'm sorry, having something inside me for 9 mos and getting bigger does not appeal to me in the least. Plus, I'd have to change my psych meds. It's not that I don't like kids (hello, I'm a children's librarian) or that I don't think there are any great men out there (but they're all too young or married...) Okay, this is one of those train wreck paragraphs.

And possibly one of those train wreck posts. Here's another reason I blog anonymously: there isn't pressure for every sentence to be poetic, or funny. And inevitably, the posts that I think are lame are the ones that get comments, and the ones that I think are brilliant get none. I allow myself, in the words of Natalie Goldberg, to just write trash. I can't find my copy of Writing Down the Bones at the moment to find the quote. And in blogging, I allow myself to publish drivel. Because I just want to connect. Yes, I should be using my writing energy to write a novel, or work on my 15 year old novella, but I'm not ready yet. And just like trying to stay in and not eat out (as much) and doing things like trying to keep track of where my money goes are small steps, so is blogging.

Okay, I think I'll go make a cup of hot tea. Or gargle. Or something to be healthy.

A Sunday afternoon letter

Dear readers,

How are you? I am fine. The weather in Pittsburgh is warm--in the upper 50s. I haven't gone for a walk yet, but I did go to Mickey D's and got some food. I read a great book, A Crooked Kind of Perfect,* by Linda Urban, which is WONDERFUL. I read it in one sitting and on my brand new stationery from Walgreens, I'm going to write a by hand to the author letter. Having my own private mental health meltdown, it was a relief to read about a father who had agoraphobia and a mom who worked too much and a girl who like me, dreams of playing piano at Carnegie Hall, like Horowitz.

At Walgreens, I also got more Boost and some Michelena's frozen macaroni and cheese. And two magazines. Martha Stewart's Weddings (it's been years since I've bought one, it was a weak moment) and a magazine with Britney Spears on the cover. Who knew that me and Britney would ever have anything in common? I don't know if she's I or II, but she's been diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. Well, if I thought that she'd get the letter I'd write her on my Walgreens stationery, I might write this:

Dear Britney,

You will make it through. It will be a very bumpy road, but you will make it through.

Yours til Niagara Falls,

Sarah Louise, Bipolar II, diagnosed in 1998.

I had a coupon for $1 off Boost, so my total "retail therapy" session was under $40. And no, I didn't need the $8 pink pajama pants, but the clear container is a way to start a dent on my dishes (they didn't have dishpans at Walgreens.) Well, no time like the present, I'm going to go take a walk. For real.

Yours til the side walks,

Sarah Louise

P.S. I have a new blog wherein I'm me, not SL. I'll link it up soon. It's sort of bizarre to think that I'm "coming out of the closet," and what that means...but the other blog is my "professional" blog, wherein I talk about writing and librarianship, not the fact that I had a Big Mac for brunch.
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*Link includes an "anonymous" comment from Linda herself.