Squirmy Wormy

Was going through my home movies and found this of my belly when I was still pregnant with Greyson. This about a week before he was born. Totally weird to see it again!

Two-Thousand Eleven

Do you think I'm too late to post about my goals for 2011? Hope not, because that's what I'm doing...

I have several things that I really really want to accomplish. Number 1 thing: Pay off all bills. I just let us get so behind on everything. And I'm proud to say I just scheduled all payments and signed up for AutoPay on mostly everything I could. And you might think that to live richly you have to spend money but I've found that's not true. I mean have you ever met a rich person who doesn't pay their bills? No. Rich people are good bill-payers. I guess it works sort of like tithing - the more you give the more you receive.

And speaking of tithing, my next goal is to BELIEVE in something. I had an epiphany last night. I've been really wanting to believe in Christianity as a whole. I LOVE the goodness it stands for and the community of church, but I'm also a superskeptic when it comes to certain things too. Like, I just can't bring myself to believe that there's only one path to God (pause: I'm using God here as a word to define the undefinable, and to explain the unexplainable. The word "God" I think is the ultimate "for lack of a better word"). Ultimately I believe that if in your heart and soul you are good then who can fault you? So my turning point last night was when I was reading the book Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (I haven't seen the movie, but I like the book so far) and she had her A-Ha moment when she found a Guru she adored and that Guru was her path to God. I don't know if I'm going to find my own spiritual Guru or if I'll end up with the Original Guru That is Jesus, but I really do want to find my Something To Believe In. P.S. Anyone with any compassionate and level-headed suggestions is welcome to leave a comment. I don't think I've said anything offensive and if I did, I didn't mean to offend.

Another goal of mine is to get one of my many ventures really going. You all know I'm selling MaryKay, I'm also rekindling girlFriday, I've got an Etsy shop going (see my Etsy Mini on the right) and I'm selling stuff on Ebay. I've also been watching my friend Beth's kid 2 days a week and have another friend interested in me watching her baby. On top of, of course, being a full time Mom and making dinner, and occasionally cleaning the house *wink*. So yes, I'm busy, but I'd really like to focus half-an-eye on one of these things full force.

Also, after I've weaned Greyson from me (no plans to do that yet, but it'll happen this year for sure) I think I've decided to go vegetarian for awhile. While I do believe in the ethical treatment of animals, my decision has nothing to do with eating Bessie. I just think that my body could use a good cleanse. And yeah, have you ever met a fat vegetarian? No, didn't think so.

Let's see... I also want to focus on my marriage. Nothing's in trouble but it's sort of flattened out since Greyson because well, he's my everything. I've got to work on giving my husband the attention he needs and deserves. He's a great provider and there's no way I would've been able to stay home this long without him. I'm not saying it's all me, but I definitely have room for imrovement.

Oh! I've already failed this one but one goal I wanted was to seriously clean one room in my house a day. If I did that I think my house would stay pretty damn clean. It really wouldn't take all that long to do either but hey, I've been busy.

Well if I think of anything else, I will post it. But thanks for reading, and yeah, comment me if you want!
xoxoxo
C

The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot

I'm still thinking about this poem but I love the prose so I had to share. I'm not sure if it's a sad poem or a happy one but I still love the language. It's a little long but I think it's worth it. I think I've found a favorite poet!

 LET us go then, you and I,


When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherised upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats 

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question …

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.



In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.



The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.



And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.



In the room the women come and go 

Talking of Michelangelo.



And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 

[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—

[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.



For I have known them all already, known them all:—

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?



And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 

And how should I presume?



And I have known the arms already, known them all—

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]

It is perfume from a dress 

That makes me so digress?

Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.

And should I then presume?

And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 

And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes

Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…



I should have been a pair of ragged claws

Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 

Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep … tired … or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,

Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 

And in short, I was afraid.



And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while, 

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it toward some overwhelming question,

To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 

If one, settling a pillow by her head,

Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.

That is not it, at all.”



And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while, 

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—

And this, and so much more?—

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

Would it have been worth while

If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.



I grow old … I grow old … 

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.



Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.



I do not think that they will sing to me. 



I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.



We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.