Short post due to sickness

I'm fighting a cold; I'm tired; I don't want to spend lots of time fulfilling my 365 post obligations today.

So, click here for a classic video from when Sarah was a three-year-old.

(In this video, infant Grace is asleep in the other room. That's why you don't see her here.)

"Corde du roi"

It's been a grim, depressing few days here on WWYG?! so I am attempting to move on with myself today by shifting the focus to one of my themes that has lain fallow for a while . . .


The Clothing Project!

Today, I am choosing corduroy pants as my clothing to ruminate on, in part because during the fall and the winter months, I almost entirely live in corduroy pants.


A few of my potential readers might have their own particular associations regarding corduroy but that is mostly a joke for some of the insiders.


You aren't here to figure that out. You are here to learn about what corduroy means to me and what it might say about my personality and my own life journey.

Well, I'm afraid I don't know how to answer that question. I'm just going to sit here and look at my corduroy pants--I've got six pairs of them--and free associate.

Let's begin . . .

As you can see from the photo, I've got quite a few pairs of cords here. I favor the wide wale type of corduroy--meaning that the fabric bunches in thicker "ropes" rather than in a more numerous thin pattern. Back in high school, when I first decided that I liked the soft feel, warmth, and drape of the corduroy pant, I wore a more narrow wale, but once college hit, for whatever reason I don't actually recall, I went exclusively to the wide style.


I only wear them in the cold weather months, of course, but during that part of the year, I wear them almost constantly. I have a brown pair, a tan pair, and a black pair that I rotate through with regularity. As you can see from the above photo, I have some color duplication. That is a result of the expanding and contracting of my waist over the years, not because I need to have more than one of a color.


You can also notice that I have a dark blue pair. They are probably too snug for me to wear right now, but they are distinctive for the fact that they are the only pair of pants that I have ever paid a seamstress to have the length adjusted. I bought them, oh . . . about six or seven years ago now when we were living in Hilliard. Previously, when younger, I had always had my pants hemmed by Mom or been careful to purchase pants that were length-appropriate. I think these were given to me as a gift. I don't think Lynda knows how to hem (but I guess I've never had occasion--except here--to ask . . . and they say people who are married for a long time have nothing new to discover about each other), so I had to find someone. I recall simply looking in the yellow pages under seamstress or some such appropriate key word until I found someone close to where we were living then.


I drove over on a Saturday morning and felt distinctly foolish and apprehensive. I carried the pants with me, thinking it was inappropriate (?) to wear the garment to the appointment. But, as I approached, I wondered if there would be a place for me to change. And then I'd have to stand there while a stranger crouched at my feet and adjusted and pinned. It was just a newly odd experience. This kind of thing used to be quite common, I believe, but I've never had it done to me in a business-like fashion. (And it was before I became a Harry Potter fan, so I couldn't distract myself from the awkwardness by imagining I was shopping in Madam Malkins or Twilfitt and Tattings.)


I used to get good-natured jokes aimed at me in the office for my constant wearing of the corduroy pants. And I just shrug it off. (There are much worse things to be defined by. . .) But this year, my uberboss stopped me at the start of the Fall season and asked me point blank why I wasn't wearing my corduroy pants yet. He pointed out that HE was already wearing his--and he was quite happy about it too. I don't think he made our sartorial solidarity known throughout the office, but I took that as a point won by me.


And ultimately, I don't care what anyone says. Comfortable pants are not to be scoffed at, no matter the fabric or season.

Tired

Hannah was sick again on Monday. Feverish, cranky, disruptive. It seems that someone in the family has been sick since before Christmas. Frankly, I am extremely tired of the coughing, wiping runny noses, checking temperatures, and constantly wondering if the kids will stay at daycare all day and whether or not I (or Lynda) can work at the office for a normal amount of daily work hours.

It was my turn Monday (or so I calculated). I even put my name, and my name alone, on Hannah's morning sheet when I dropped her off at the daycare. But I guess I was not explicit enough, as Lynda still got the call first. She called me and I told her that I would get Hannah and try to continue working from home.

If the kids cooperate, I can--in fact--manage a facsimile of working at home. The laptop can access the work files remotely and while it spins a bit more slowly, I don't have to carry half of a filing cabinet of papers home when I am forced to relocate. I can also stay up with emails and project progress from home as well. But I don't prefer working outside of the office. I rather like the forced concentration of being in public, having managers able to call and check on progress. At home I could slip away from the laptop and watch a cooking show for thirty minutes or just sit and eat cookies or something.

I chose to take the bullet and stay home today in part because Lynda is (no surprise) behind in her current project. That seems like it is a constant description of her working . . . more so than is common with me. I don't know for sure if that is a reflection of our two working styles or the amount of work they expect of her as opposed to me, but it always seems to describe her more than me.

And that does bother me. Sometimes I feel that I work for one-and-a-half departments (my own and part time as babysitter for hers). But that is just my surliness talking and I try not to let it get to me too often--thought Lynda would probably disagree . . .

So, I'm trying to catch up on some stuff that I might have completed in the office. And I am anticipating some opportunities to relax and get away from the laptop for a while. But who knows what Tuesday brought? Who knows if Hannah will be suitable for daycare and who knows which of us, Lynda or myself, will be staying home if she's not?

*****

NOTE: I found the missing commercial that I originally wanted to pair with this post of a few days ago. Go check out the updated post.

Thoughts on Sarah and creativity

Many of you who have read my blog for years know that I have been tracking Sarah's writing and drawing projects. In the beginning I scanned a lot of her pictures and small stories into the blog and had fun interpreting what she was drawing and writing.

And then came our voyage through the Harry Potter books. We read, reread, discussed, and examined a lot of the seven-book story. And Sarah convinced herself that she wanted to be a writer. (There was the brief time when she wanted to be a writer/film director . . . but the film part of it has died down some when her friends weren't able to completely commit themselves to being actors in a film that she had no script for and no serious equipment to film this potential film on.)

But she still spends much of her leisure time writing and drawing stories and I love that.

But, there is something that I wish she would NOT do . . . understanding as I do that she is still very young and is likely to grow out of this.

She is a story chameleon.

Whatever book or author she is currently reading is the story that she emulates . . . and this emulation is complete. (For example, right now, she is filming a small video about making cakes and she drew a picture of her future wedding cake . . . because we spent a while down in the basement watching a wedding cake competition on Food Network.)

So, after we read through the Harry Potter books twice, she wrote stories about Harry & Co., featuring magic, Hogwarts, and all of that. After we finished reading The Westing Game, she wrote a story about the murder of a man named John Westing. And as she is reading The Goose Girl, she drew a map of a two kingdom countryside with a forest in between. I am sure that if we were reading The Wizard of Oz, she would be drawing flying monkeys and tornadoes in the Great Plains. If we read The Lord of the Rings, I can expect to see lots of hobbits, dwarves, and golden jewelry.

Another thing that I wish she would not do is abandon one thing for the next, newest author that she is reading. For example, the story about the murder of John Westing absorbed her thoughts and time for about three days. She wrote it on one of her blogs and had already written about three and a half chapters. But I found out the other day that she had stopped working on it and (even worse) had deleted the entire draft, without anyone reading the partially finished work.

I understand that she is absorbing ideas. I just hope she starts to show her own particular spin on these ideas into new, original creations that can carry on with their own life once the covers of the book are closed.

[no title]

Saturday marked  the end of the first month of the 365 Post Project. I'm frankly surprised that I made it through all of January, but the prospect of keeping it up for 334 more days is even more daunting.

But I guess I shouldn't think about it. Much like exercise, dieting, 12-Step programs, or any other repetitive endeavour, thinking about it increases the possibility of caving under the pressure. One must simply Abide in the moment and focus on the moment. Counting, becoming Aware leads to downfall. 

So, I'll just move on.

Saturday was not a great day for me. I just was not in a good, cheerful mood. Hannah and Grace were feeling ill and the snow and cold outside, combined with the fact of sick children conspired to severely limit the possibilities of things to do.

Also, Lynda was crushed with work and I tried (in an admittedly begrudging way) to keep Hannah--at least--away from her so that she could keep plugging. 

(I have my own work to do, but as I write this on Saturday night, I can easily feel my brain talking itself out of committing to sit down and do any of it. A decision for which I will pay on Sunday, I'm sure.)

And so, the weather, the sickness, the work obligations . . . it all just put me in a pisser of a bad mood all day long. I just didn't feel like I did anything like living today. I simply abided with those around me and turning around loads of laundry. And not in a calm, relaxing way. It was a rote, effectless sort of day.

Man, that sounds really, really bad. And I'm sure people will be disappointed by my voicing it. But that was how it was.

Hopefully, Today/Sunday will be better.