Buggirl's Increasingly Strange Tokyo Tales...

Oh, yeah.
I didn't forget about 100 days of decluttering.
I "just" fell into a depression/ was busy/ had legitimate clusterfuckery events to deal with.

And I promised myself at 50 I'd get some more yoga-capris.

Tonight, after I got choreography all polished up for tomorrow's classes (we have a cherry blossom festival students will be performing in next weekend, so they need to finish learning the choreo....) I decided it was time to declutter some more. And, yes, it was a ritual purge that was more about the last few weeks then it was about the objects in my apartment, but I didn't have to hunt too hard for items to get rid of.

I didn't need my too-large-for-me, not-worn-for-3-year red two-peice swimsuit...because I have another not-quite-right-for-me PINK one I bought for D's disaster of a visit here the summer after the earthquake when I realized I needed professional intervention for depression issues. Now I'm down to one meh swimsuit.

I've made a sizable dent in the photos. I now only have one cardboard file cabinet of them, not two! This gives me space for teaching supplies. I started bringing teaching supplies home a few days ago...when I was ready to run away to the circus/pre-schools...because they are over-flowing the city-hall space we have for such things. Now, because I'll be going to so many schools, it'll make sense to have them on hand when I set off in the morning...and I'll be the only one of the three of us needing the items for 1st-4th grade.

My mother also continues her "inspired by me" declutter. Her task is twice mine, because she has to deal with the items I've left (kept) back home. It's not all bad for her, she's got a delightful collection of expensively framed itaglio prints, but she also encounters things like this:

"For many years there has been a metal, rectangular box in the basement near the now visible furnace. I have moved the box around from time to time, for some reason believing that it contained old art supplies of yours. Tonight I decided not to be overly nostalgic about outdated art supplies that I would never use and you will never need. So I dragged the box over under a light and opened it. That wasn't easy. The locking device was unusual. But I persisted. The box is empty. It is not an art supply box. It's a World War II-era live trap for large racoons or small bears. WTF? How did this get into my basement? Do you know? "

I do not. I suspect that it was the sort of thing I probably brought home from time to time when I was away at art school...figuring I'd find some sort of purpose for it. If I did, I don't think >I< knew what it was. I no doubt thought it was a sinister-looking-box that should be made into some other sort of sinister-looking usable item.  When Dean Mommy first sent me the above mail I couldn't picture anything...but now I've got a vague shape my head that may be what she's talking about. I've asked for photos to jog my memory.

I talked to the Dean Mommy today. All is good.

I've shared with you how the Dean taught me about the squirrels.

Now, if you're wondering how my mother ended up like she is...here's two great pictures of my (now passed away) grandmother.


That's her under "Crick Prince" getting her first gas mask!...as Christina she somehow ended up being nick-named Cricket.



And Grandmother durring the 7 year courtship of her third, final, and best husband, Bob. She wasn't planning on making any mistakes. The two of them biked all around California, hiked, and more. In this shot she is proudly wearing a shirt with Malcom X on it, as Dean Mommy had become a principal (and teacher and admin) of Malcom Shabazz City High in Madison, an alternative public high school. My grandmother, having been a teacher herself, thought most principals were pricks...but eventually supported her daughter in the transition.

I often sleep in my own Malcom shirt and Malcom X and Virginia Wolf were early t-shirt figures in my home. Virginia Woolfe was on the Room Of One's Own (one of America's longest running feminist bookstores where my mom was a member of some sort AND the Team Of One's Own softball shirts, which also featured the woman symbol, with a fist in place of the circle, with a catcher's mitt behind it...GOD I wish I had one of those now.

Other Grandma stories.

http://parasitegirl.livejournal.com/770527.html#cutid1
http://parasitegirl.livejournal.com/770194.html#cutid1
http://parasitegirl.livejournal.com/769433.html#cutid1
http://parasitegirl.livejournal.com/764977.html

Just a reminder...please don't fall prey to the idea that Easter is about a bouncy little rabbit. That is pure propaganda....and bullshit.

My motehr was progressive enough to sit me don and explain to me that all that hard work is done by the Easter Squirrel. Unfortunately, squirrels get a bad rap for being rodents and, in the past, were considered far less marketable, so Hallmark and other companies created the front-man of The Easter Bunny...who has essentially stolen the glory and the paycheck of the squirrel.

It was often hard for my mother to find cards that celebrated the squirrel. Once, in my childhood, she gave me a card with an illustration of an elephant wearing bunny ears. Under the greeting inside she simply wrote "The Easter Squirrel has friends...."

And let's not get into the Easter when I went to stay with my grandparents and my born-again aunt, uncle, and cousins. My aunt attempted to explain to me that squirrels were not the reason for the season, Jesus was, and told me a story which I could only relate to because some of it overlapped with lyrics I'd heard my father sing in his bluegrass band.

But, things are looking up for the squirrel which is why my mother sent me this...

( The TRUTH! )


...some of you may believe that I have made up the above story, I have not...which should explain a lot.

My mother's very very very early birthday gift for me arrived today.

( LUCY! )

I am surounded by ceramic cats, bears, and rabbits.

Damn, my family can talk. And we have been swapping stories which I will try to record later including:

-When they met the backwoods members of the family, heard the N word a lot, and met their stupidist relative.(related stories "drank moonshine" and "hit on by own cousin")
-The time they couldn't cash grandma"s pay check because Uncle Bob bit some lady in the butt.
-survival skills in high school and teachers who looked embalmed.
-cars owned and wrecked...

My mother has been scanning a lot of the pictures she got from Grandma about a year ago when Grandma was moved to hospice. This is just a few but should bring joy to vintage photo lovers. I will post more later. Doing well.
( Picture Pages. )

The obituary, which is very much the product of both her children (including the typos of the two, she taught for 35 years):
http://obituaries.citizen-times.com/obituaries/keepsake.php?id=64031

FYI: I go to 15 different schools. If I recognize you and remember that you taught last year at a different school (and which school that was) and you’re not part of my support staff, it means that you managed to make an impression on me. This is even more amazing if you are not a homeroom teacher.

 

Last school year this woman annoyed me.

 

This year…she picked the wrong day.

 

( Shut, the fuck, up...please. )

Attention San Fran and bay-area folks. In an attempt to run away from winter blues Dean Mommy and I may be in San Fran from Christmas until the 4th.

Dean Mommy and I will of course wish to spend some time together, but I keep worse hours than the Dean so I should be free some evenings, afternoon, and late nights (and new years eve,duh). I will need transportation help, due to my lack of a drivers license. I am also going to be emailing Elizabeth Strong about drop-ins and private lessons.

Let's see a show of hands as to who all is in the Bay Area now.

I'm taking it easy on the wrist, no complicated crafts.

Alas, my flannel pajamas with the penguins on them are near death. I can ill afford to be without pajamas. I seam ripped the almost threadbare bottoms of my pjs and am now constructing new flannel-lined pajamas. They have to be lined because the fabric that I found isn't warm enough. I need to go back and get some more top fabric because I underestimated how much I'd need. I finished the pants lining today. I do love my serger. It took about 10 minutes.

Behold, my fabric:
Dean Mommy will also be contributing to my winterwear. Today's email tells me:


I sent you a package yesterday. I found a gift for you at a local artisan show. I hope that you enjoy it. Will soon be followed by some very warm moccasins that I am making for you. (Be forewarned.)

Readers new to my blog can be forgiven for wondering why moccasins made by my mother are something I must be warned about. They might even wonder if my hand crafting is something I learned from my mum.

My mother is not gifted in crafts, but this does not stop her. She has taken up knitting and will attack a ball of yarn until it is long enough to be a scarf or square enough to be an afghan square. If the result is in-between or amorphous it is stitched around some catnip and becomes a toy for Ozma, her cat.  If you click on the mother tag you'll learn more.

But she is my mother. In the same mail she notes:
"I hope that you can keep busy and happy enough to pass through the Four Evil Dark Months. I am in a pretty good depression-fending-off knitting, photo, reading binge myself. Bought some equipment to cut my own mats. "