The Garage

Today, Tim and I, moved over his tools from his dad's garage.

Finally ours is built and now organization can finally begin.

I was taken back to when my dad built his garage. we were so sad because we had lost our back yard...but dad now had a place to keep the cars out of the snow.

I spent a lot of time in dad's garage while he worked on his car. I love the smells of motor oil and such... the clanging of tools in his tool box and power that sounded from all of his equipment.

Tim enjoyed re-sorting his tool boxes, I re-marveled at my compound mitre saw and the brad nailer that tim bought me for mother's day, I bought him an even bigger nailer for father's day.

We thought it pretty cool thet we're both into tools.

Tim has a wet saw for tiles, and hopefully I will be able to score dad's router and drill press if mom will ever let me have them.

Next on the list of purchases is a table saw and a storage locker for all of my painting equipment and ladder systems.

While sorting things out, Miss American Pie came on the radio. I stopped, knowing that was mine and dad's song. It was released the year I was born.

I felt that dad had stopped by for a visit to see how things were going in the garage...

I was glad to have his presence there..

I hear that song nearly everyday....

I miss you dad.

Plain Jane Cruisin'

"Where are we going, Jane?"

I was driving to the city to pick up a few items for work.

I glanced in the mirror at the librarians in the rear seat.

They whispered to each other, peering at me and nodding.

"Are you speeding, Jane? You should slow down!"

" A sherriff might catch you when you least expect it!"

I glanced down at my spedometer and reduced the pressure on my foot pedal, setting the cruise control in place so I would behave.

The ladies in the rear seem to speak to me a lot more when I'm in the car.

They know I hate to drive.

"Jane, how long did you say you've been driving?"

"Two Years," I tell them.

Again they whisper, looking at me, scowling, as if unimpressed.

I wanted to pull over and let them out.

"Do you really think you should be speeding if you're just a new driver, Jane?"

I'm not a new driver.

I have driven since I was 10 years old till I was 14.

After that,

I chose not to drive,

I became a cyclist.

My father was a drunk.

I spent years behind the wheel, and further yet , behind my father as I reached over his shoulders to guide the steering wheel.

"Dad, It's just like coloring, Just stay inside the lines."

I reminded him of this every night on our way home from the city.

Still it makes me sick to my stomach.

I couldn't sleep for many nights during those young years...

re-living the pictures in my mind of other drivers we nearly hit,

and deer that ran in front or near the car

...and I was no where near the brakes.

I used to teach pre school...

and parents would tell their children to color within the lines...

Instantly I was taken back to driving dad's car at age 10.

I hated that....

I go to my art class and the other artists there ask me how I manage to paint without a picture to guide me.....

I tell them, "Just stay outside the lines."

I hate driving at night

....because all I see are those lines and the lights coming towards me.

"Jane, That's not where you put your hands on the wheel."

"Jane, use your mirrors more!"

The constant badgering reminds me of telling dad what to do...never once realizing how much pressure was on the gas.

I'm content with the cruise control set to a safe, and guidelined speed.

Now I wish those women would just be quiet!

But I hold my tongue and speak in my head to myself,

"Just shut up and Drive, Jane...

Just shut up and drive."

By Association Only

I write by association..

I see reflection of myself in anything,

like the mirrored pillars at the mall.

Sometimes we do not like what we see,

as it reminds us of a part of us that we used to fight with or be fearful of.

More than anything it's the feelings I associate with those things.

Knowing full well that they are my feelings and not because of the other person place or situation

They are only connected through the association of that memory.

My feelings are my own. If I am happy it is because I choose it,

same with being angry ,

mad,

or even offended. they are my feelings, not anyone else's..

Nor is anyone to blame for how I feel. I choose to be frustrated, I choose to be angry, I choose the dirupted feelings...

No one else is to blame for it.

A lot of people will not travel your journey, or get to knwo you, But first impressions will determine a lot of things.

You are not to blame for how that will make me feel, or react...

those are my choices.

Nor do I care how you walk your walk or talk your talk..

but when it reminds me of me,

or a portion of who I am or who I was...

it has no bearing on you...

My feelings and emotions redirect me ...

back to me...

happy or sad....

dissapointed or mad....

Like watching a movie that makes us cry or brings us fears relived...

that's what it's like to Associate...

to write by association,

things inside of me get stirred up and take me back to a movie in my mind of some part of my life,

and for a moment I relive it.

sometimes, sadly, or gladly, sometimes nervously, or even uncomfortably.

I have a right to my feelings, and associations. they are not blame or pointing fingers. I know full well that pointing one forward means three fingers point back at me..

and that is how I write...

by assoiciation...

referencing the three pointing at me...

Me, Myself, And I.

Remember that parts of who you are ,

can be a mirror of someone else who walks into your life,

you cannot change them or judge them....

you can only change yourself.

You can't control what they say or do...but you can change how you feel.

Your feelings are yours, and not the result of someone else.

if you cannot change your feelings. then only you are responsible.

picasso brain

My day sometimes feels like like I have too much going on and I cannot compute.

Like picasso brain, placing things here and there

....where things do not belong.

I frustrate myself with the ability of trying to figure out where I put something,

mid-transit, while disturbed by something else out of place.

My schedule has been bombarded with appointments.

The only order in my life as of late....

Not sure how this happened after the last 10 years of order that I demanded from myself.

The abrupt changes of being mom and wife, full time, have ultimately put me in a tail spin.

Culture shock!

Like being in a japanese airport and I cannot read the signs.

I stand in my kitchen staring...

at nothing,

trying to retrace my steps,

wishing there were an attendant to help me at times.

I go for the coffee that's been beeping at me for the last hour,

since reheating it in the microwave.

I give it another 30 seconds in the "ZAP".

I'll probably collect it in another 30 minutes.

Tomorrow is saturday.

No appointments...

...Just rain and snow...(In June?)

and laundry and cleaning, and sorting out my closet.

Bringing order until monday when it all begins again, and like Picasso, paint a new picture of home life,

Still Life,

My life....

And what will come of next week.

I had best check my schedule.