Thursday, December 29, 2005

Resurrected and Resuming

"Fweww." Anya sez, bracing against the kitchen sink. The food poisoning or gastro-intestinal flu mix-up change-up hybrid has left the building after setting up camp the the last 3 hours of a road trip to Dallas on Christmas Eve, a tour through Christmas Day, stopping over at the Presbyterian hospital around 4:00 pm for stabilization visit which included morphine, 2 liters of fluid and some other drug and x-rays. This lasted until far beyond bedtime.

It wore out it's welcome long before the 10 hour drive home to Kansas City the following day and decided to hang around for the grand finale on the 27th--all day. Our water bill will reflect it's curtain call next month. Yes, an exhausting guest. After waking up, I took inventory of myself, a roll-call of my extremities first, then from head-to-toe internally. I have an amazingly resilient immune system, ask anyone, ask my mother. This stuff must have sharpened it's teeth before ringing my doorbell.

Now, I am well.

I woke up from a dream this morning, in which I was explaining to a rural resident, with typical Anya brand zeal and methodical detail, how together with an out-of-town attorney, we could win a Brockovichian style lawsuit against his local law enforcement, city and county for the gross negligence and abuse he and his family have endured at their hands. Something about giant, water-filled sink holes in the roadways and easements.

Yeah, me either.

Friday, December 23, 2005

What's Your Anti-Venom?

Chances are, I'm in need of the book I'm writing as much or more than my eventual audience. I'm becoming more acutely aware of what used to be pre-recorded responses, auto-piolot routines and self-preserving protocol I've apparently developed throughout my life thus far. I believe that this process of birthing this work will be deeply cathartic and will shock me as much as it thrills me.

I'm game.

Morissette rhetoric tugging my shirt tale:

"Do you go to the dungeon to find out how to make peace with your days in the dungeon?"

Why would you? Why do we?

Go feel good today.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Your Calling Card

Somewhere between then and now I stopped to think about what it would take to interrupt the self-feeding, cyclical currents that keep a person arrested in development, time, and prevents them from fully realizing their 'mission'. Motivation has shifted and will continue to shift like a glacier. We've all been waking up for a long time and with each hot drought, the awakening becomes more pronounced.

So, to the subject line. What's on your Calling Card? One woman I met recently is, "a mom of 3 who just can't get a break from cleaning toilets, making lunches, tangling with her ex-husband and being over weight and trying to be the best wife she can to a supportive, adoring husband". She wears it like a badge of honor almost and as much as she feels she can't turn loose of it, she hangs on to it white-knuckle.

That's a helluva calling card. What if her calling card read, "Loyal, Confident, Capable, Honest, Brilliant, Charismatic, and Cherished"? What if she started there?

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Now Showing

So I sent out this, "One Word" feedback email to a select group of my people ('my people', little do they know). It goes like this:

"Okay, All. I found this on an interesting blog and couldn't resist. I hope you'll participate and follow through for yourself.

Describe me in ONE WORD...just one word! Send it to me only, then send this message to your friends and see how many strange things people say about you! This could be fun! Just hit reply and send me my one word back.

Then forward this message on to your friends (including me) and see what they say about you!"

So far, two words that have bounced back are, "Genuine" and "Passionate". Nice. I like to think so on both counts.

Mr. is in San Jose on business until tomorrow afternoon and has been gone since EARL-LIE Tuesday morning. I might just make the trip with him next month on the turn-around. A little ocean will do the girl some good me thinks.

The Big One was home sick from school today with the crud she's reportedly had since Thursday night, the Middle One came home sick from school with the stomach FLU, had it all day. The Bitty One is just a super-charged, turbo tyke today with an agenda that rivals a pack of chimps in a fruit factory. The Big One is hitting the sack right now, the Middle One has been instructed to do the same and Crazy Britches is mounted on her super-pony rocking horse, throwing back a sippy cup. It's 9:29 and she's fully alert.

I was just thinking of a word my mother coined the other day. "Hork" or "Horking". Apparently, this is the word she uses to describe my dad's morning hack. Now, this isn't just her husband, because mine 'horks' in the morning too. Not for a long time or even persistently. It's just a brief 3 or 4 'horks' that vibrate my eardrums like an airhorn going off-indoors. So, to be clear, it's more than just a hack, it's a 'hork'. I'd be willing to wager I'm not the only woman who hears horking in the morning. Could you imagine if either one of them were smokers?

Forgive my reference to the syndicated sitcom, "Friends". I know most of you are over it, and perhaps even some of you don't know enough about the show or it's characters to appreciate what I'm about to say; however, I'm finding out, a little bit at a time that I have, for those of you who DO know what I'm talking about, the Monica house cleaning thing. Now, Ms. Zinka has the same illness and whether my mother knows it or not, she has it too and I don't think any of us would have it any other way.

"Hello, my name is Anya and I'm I have OCD with Monica Gellar overtones." (All together now, "HI, ANYA!") As far as psychosis goes, I'll keep that one.

Here's something I can say around the house and folks know what I'm talking about. Today, I spent an inordinant amount of time cleaning my master bathroom and after it was finished, it made the noise. Yes, 'the noise'. It's the noise clean things make in the cartoons, "DING!" with little sparkly-sparkles floating in the air. Uh-huh, I know. So I tell the Big One and the Middle One, "Now, I want you to get your rooms clean--and they better make THE NOISE."

It's funny to even them. They chime in, "DING!" and I say, "Yes, exactly. Now run on now n' get after it. I'm coming up there in a little bit and if I don't hear 'the noise' I'm pulling out my robo-spankers." To which I pretend my arms and hands are robotic spanking instruments presented like two switchblades. They always laugh--I wonder if they take me seriously or they're just waiting to grow up and find a good therapist. LOL.

Over and out. That's the first blog in a series.