It's time we said good-bye.

It may be hard for you to understand, but I hope you'll try.  I think if you're honest with yourself, you'll see some of your flaws.  Even though you give the appearance of being easy-going, when you get down to it, you can be really frustrating.  You don't have a lot to offer, and even after the make-over you just aren't what I need.  There are so many others out there, and I think I've found the one for me.  I'm really excited about the new possibilities, and I wish you wouldn't make this so difficult; do you really think trickery is going to convince me to stay?  I'm sure you'll still have plenty of loyal followers even when more people like me outgrow you, because there will always be an endless supply of younger, less experienced, less demanding people out there who settle for your kind of treatment.  But as soon as I can get everything packed up, I'm gone. 

So good-bye, Xanga.  Please stop making this transfer so difficult.  If our mutual friends ask about me, you can send them over to Wordpress.  I'll be there for a while.

Rich men may rule the world, but we string savers hold it together.

And you can quote me on that, as long as you give credit where credit is due.

I come from a long line of string-savers and pack-rats.  My paternal grandfather grew up in the depression and can somehow find a good use for the littlest pieces of trash, like hanging picture frames with coke tabs.  I took that principle and updated it by using the plastic rings from oj cartons, tacked into the wall, to hold fabric refresher and wrinkle releaser spray bottles in my closet.  My maternal grandfather saved every tiny soap and shampoo bottle he ever got from every hotel where he ever stayed – enough to fill up two 5-ream copy paper boxes and then some.  Useless, you say?  Not so; when we cleaned out his closet after his funeral, those two boxes went to a women’s shelter that was very grateful to have them – they make up little “survival” kits for women who come into their shelter with nothing but their children and the clothes on their backs.  Used dryer sheets?  They keep the clothes in my drawers smelling just-washed.  Empty pickle jars?  Just as good as expensive Tupperware and less likely to leak if turned upside-down.  I do have to keep my string-saving and trash-to-treasure do-it-myself-ing in check, because saved string can easily become useless clutter.  But let me tell you, being the one on my dorm room hall who could polish the guys’ shoes and cut their hair, get lipstick off a girl’s favorite blouse, nurse a good friend’s cold with a few home remedies – you can’t beat that useful feeling.  My family teased me during this vacation about being the Michelin Man in my giant ski coat with pockets full of stuff, but when my Dad’s nose started to bleed a bit, who handed him a hankercheif?  When I wanted to capture the beauty of the mountains, who had a camera?  Well, I did have to borrow Alyssa’s when my film ran out, but who had extra batteries when her camera went dead?  Who had the trail map when Mom and Viv and I weren’t sure if we were on the right trail?  And I had food and drink, too – I’m telling you, if I’d gotten stranded, I was at least marginally prepared.  I guess it’s not just being a string saver, it’s being resourceful, too.   

Good example:  my bedroom.  Just about everything in it is a “found restoration”.  Rags to riches, trash to treasure.  Much to the annoyance of a former boyfriend, I have a habit of dragging home things that other people don’t want.  My dresser, found outside a neighbor's house one day (that Denise helped me pull home on an old discarded office chair) is a lovely veneered piece that, as it turns out, matches an entire bedroom suite that belonged to my great-grandmother.  Some of the veneer is cracked, sure, but that’s nothing the daughter and granddaughter of woodworkers can’t someday refinish, right?  Just as I had posted a bookshelf on my wishlist, one turned up in front of the house next door, in just the right size.  Same with the other shelf unit in my room, originally designed to go over a toilet, that happens to fit over a table that houses my laptop; and the silver and glass nightstand by my bed that I repaired with a candle.  All the frames on my wall someone didn’t want.  Two other shelves upstairs in our living room and three other chairs were discarded.  At a time when privacy was really becoming an issue in our basement, I found two large tri-fold screens and paper on sale with which I will someday recover them. And does everything in my house match perfectly?  No.  But does it look like something found in the trash?  No.  Everything has been cleaned and polished and repaired, redone with a little elbow grease and hardly any money.  I take pride in these projects, really. 

So laugh at my yogurt cup of push pins.  Ridicule the way I roll up plastic bags and horde twist-ties.  Recoil in horror when I drag something home that someone else put out.  But you let me know when you can’t get those frames to hang on the wall, and I’ll come tack ‘em up with a few coke tabs. 

Hitting the Slopes

My initial recollection was that it had been a full decade since I’d been up to the family condo in Colorado, though after further thought, I remembered a ski trip in which I met up with my friend Josh (a fellow drummer) at Breckenridge and skied with him for a day, thereby negating the possibility of it having been a decade, since I didn’t meet Josh ‘til moving to Hallsville, which wasn’t quite a decade ago.  (Though it is strange to think that my first ten-year high school reunion isn’t too far off.  Oh man.)  Still, it had been nearly a decade, and I wasn’t sure how well I’d do back on the slopes, despite having gone skiing for a week every year from age 7 to 15.  I made part of the drive from Kansas into Colorado, loving the beauty of the scenery and the feel of the road the whole way, and wondering if I was just setting myself up to break a limb.  We rented skis and then drove up to the condo and got settled in, and even though a few bedspreads had been updated, it felt as if I had been in that condo last week.  All sorts of happy memories came flooding back, both of learning to ski, sleeping in the attic (this was the first time I’d ever not slept on the day bed in the back of the attic), building snowmen, swimming in the indoor pool and spending time in the hot tub and sauna, playing bumper pool and swapping Babysitters’ Club books with my cousin Katie – so many memories of spring breaks and summer vacations in this duplex condo on the side of a beautiful mountain!  I don’t know that I’ll ever tire of Colorado.  I think I could live there.

But I digress; back to the skiing.  We hit the slopes the next day, and it was almost like riding a bike as I locked my boots into my skis and hopped on the first lift.  I can honestly and proudly say that despite the time away from one of the few sports in which I love to participate, I didn’t fall, and I had no injuries!  I got stuck on a lift at one point, which was hilarious to all those watching, because my cousin Viv accidentally hit my ski with the back of hers, knocking my leg back a bit and preventing me from hopping off the chair at the right point.  However, I gave a small “Aaaiaiiiagh!” and the attendant stopped the lift and helped me off as my family watched and laughed.  Not too bad a track record, though, considering that even when I was at the height of my skiing ability (I was never Picaboo Street, mind you; just better at it than I am now) I still sustained two head injuries.  Never a broken bone, though – something I hope to maintain, Lord willing!!  I’m not sure I can even describe the majestic beauty of those mountains, in the morning sun, as the sun set, in a blur of snow, at the peak light of midday – breath-taking.  This year, I had an added bonus – a mini-disc player and headphones.  Now, I must say as a caution, if you are going to ski (or board) with a soundtrack, PLEASE be sure you have the volume very low so that you are still aware of what’s going on around you.  Each day, I’d stay headphone-free to get my “ski-legs” and then phone-up in the afternoon, always making sure the volume was low enough that I could hear the skiers and boarders behind me (and I don’t mean hear them yell – I mean hear the sound of their skis/boards carving powder).  What an experience!  The chill of snowy weather, the smell of fresh mountain air, the glorious beauty of the mountain peaks and fresh white powder, the feel of skis and the rush of adrenaline as you swish down the mountain – nothing else compares.  You just can’t beat it.  We hit a few icy patches on the second day, but they were negligible and the powder was unbeatable with the snow we got the first day.  I love skiing.  I’m no expert; even when I was more adventurous and better on skis, I wasn’t quite a double-diamond girl (didn’t hit one black this trip; maybe next time!), but I still can’t think of any outdoor activity I enjoy more.  Can’t wait to wear the “I LOVE POWDER” t-shirt Mom bought me. 

Sunset Across Kansas and a Cow Dog Named Zeke

Two of the highlights of the road trip from East Texas to Colorado (via Oklahoma and Dorothy's home state).  As per usual, my visit to the Lone Star State that I call Home (in the born-and-bred sense of the word) has been a whirlwind of happy activity.  Thanksgiving was a bit of a blur (who knew it was possible to actually lose wieght the last week of November?), and this Christmas hasn't been much slower.  After getting into DFW a tad late Thursday night (though the delay wasn't bad, the flight was direct, and my seatmate was an adorable guy from Sarah Lawrence a few months younger than my sister), Darling Josh and his minpin Ellie picked me up and drove me home.  The family got up to welcome me, despite my past-2-am arrival, though we all quickly crawled back into bed.  The next day, Cass came to help me create Christmas presents:  Pillows for everyone!  I made decorative pillows that coordinated with the respective beds of the various pillow recipients, all of which had frames on the front showcasing different family pictures.  They were a big hit!  Thanks to Cass for her helpful eye, her suggestion of a "test subject", and to her awesome mom Lucy who machine-sewed some of the most crucial seams; and to Heather for helping with the stuffing. 
That night we had fewer than expected at our house, because I think I invited nearly every Hallsvillian and Kilgorite I know to come by our house to say hi to "the Milton sisters . . . in town for a short time only".  But we had fun, and there were slice & bake cookies and popcorn, as promised, along with a smorgasboard of other munchies (no cream cheese penguins for this shindig, though).  We had a half-hearted but hilarious round of Balderdash, Cass and I finished the silverware bouquets for her kitchen window (why does it sometimes take me years, literally, to finish a project?), and Heather stayed over and we talked the night away while pillow-stuffing.  The next day was last-minute errands before heading down for a tamale dinner and a round of Christmas presents with Nunna and Uncle Buddy and Marian, though we drove back that night since the family was part of the Sunday service the next day (I'm hoping we'll be able to salvage the recording of my rendition of "O Come Emmanuel").  After church we went to Luby's with the Fritzes; and then later that night it was back to FBCH for the Silent Lord's Supper; and then after that, we opened gifts at our house.  I missed seeing Jeff that afternoon (and thus missed yet another chance to meet Gladys), but what can you do?  The next morning, after a careful inventory of Santa's booty, it was off to Beckville for another family Christmas at Mama Sharp's house, which included nearly 45 of our relatives and a crazy gift exchange, and a TON of food (like we always do).  After meeting my cousin Zack's new baby, Callie Rose, whose birth was heralded here earlier in November, and playing a round of "I'm bigger than you!" with my cousin Mindy's son Colby (now 4), Mindy said, "So Kyleen, when are you gonna have one?"  Not any time soon, I told her; though hopefully eventually I'll be taking a brood of my own to Beckville, and everyone will love them and their Daddy too (though marriage seems so far off for me sometimes!).  

We said our goodbyes, left Beckville, headed home to finish packing up, and then drove to Grannie and PaPa's.  Up bright and early the next morning, we started our trek to Colby (not Mindy's son or Emily's boyfriend but the town in Kansas).  I think road trips may be one of my favourite things.  I love to drive across miles of interstate, taking in the scenery; I love the cat naps in the car (the vehicular vibrations lull me right to sleep); I love having time to read for hours at a time without guilt; I love the munchies we pack to take along the way (SAUSAGE BALLS!); I love the conversations with my family.  I must say that right up there on the list of things I love are the unexpected little joys, like the sunset across Kansas and the cow dog named Zeke.  The sunset was spectacular:  In a state as flat as Kansas, the horizon stretches almost endlessly and the sky is wide and open.  Your view spans miles in a spectacular mélange of blue, indigo, tangerine, crimson, vermillion, violet, scarlet, more colors than I have words to describe, with a richness and radiance even Thomas Kincade couldn’t capture.  Time seemed to stand still even as we moved faster than a mile a minute (more like a mile every 45 seconds if you’re following the proper limit) and the blazing sun set behind miles and miles of miles and miles.  The cow dog, Zeke, was black and white, breed unbeknownst to me (retriever?  spaniel?), with long, soft, thick fur and sweet, caring brown eyes.  As Wendy would say, I’m thankful for interspecies tenderness (and shame on any of you readers who interpret that as anything other than affectionate ear-scratching and fur-rubbing!).  While we were stopped at a gas station just off the interstate, I met Zeke’s owners, from Montana, who were in a rental car and had been mildly rear-ended in the backed-up traffic by a young lady (who hardly did any damage, though they called the state trooper at the insistence of Avis).  That’s why Zeke was allowed out of the car on a leash, and I’m guessing he initially approached me because of my ham sandwich and not because I seemed like a kindred friendly spirit.  (He didn’t get any of my sandwich, but he did get lots of attention!) 

Some people don’t like long hours in the car, but to me, road trips are a lot of fun.  Getting in a car and driving for miles and miles seeing various sections of our great country seems like my own little enactment of manifest destiny – and there’s so much more of the great United States I’d love to see!  (More of the entire world, really, but you can’t exactly cross an ocean in a Pontiac Aztec.)  And that’s just the half of it!  The vacation had just begun, really, when we checked into the Super 8 and supped at Montana Mike’s, but I’ll save the rest of the story for another entry.

Aural Fixation

I don't think it has reached the point of obsession, but lately I've been listening to Sarah Lentz's "Boomerang" on repeat.  It speaks to me.  It strums a slightly melancholy, wistful chord in my innermost psyche.  It makes me wish that the song I wrote had a bit more embellishment (not that I can't fix that).  Hell, it makes me wish I could write more songs; I'd love to have a repertoire as full as Sarah's.  Hopefully I'll be taking piano lessons from her in the new year.  Until I start writing songs of my own, I leave you with her words:

Boomerang

I wanted to show you
How I changed
And I wanted to know you
All over again
And I wanted to touch you
Remember how you feel me
Then I wanted to throw you
Away

And have you come back to me
Like a boomerang
And have you come back to me
And everything be okay

Okay

Yeah, there's never been
One to shine more than you do
I'm your vastest ocean
And you are my moon
And the chances they are golden
That I'll see you again
But will you come back to me
As a lover or a friend?

So won't you come back to me
Like a boomerang
And won't you come back to me
And everything'd be okay

Okay, okay

Okay well I know you're somewhere out there listening wondering if this about you
Or him
So let me just decide for you now that it isn't
Oh, you push them all away to find out
Who will be the one to fight back, to stick around and I'm the only one who stayed away
Away, away
Away, away

So won't you come back to me
Like a boomerang
And won't you come back to me
And everything'd be okay,
Okay, okay
Okay, okay . . .

Currently Listening Everything's All Right By Sarah Lentz 4) Boomerang see related