Happy anniversary! I think.

Somebody (I forget who) said the secret to a happy marriage is a bad memory. If that’s the case, I think Kevin and I are home free.

Yesterday my beloved inadvertently revealed he had forgotten that September 1 is our anniversary; he was thinking it was on Labor Day.  But I remember the date because the exact time of our declaration was midnight, and for years we debated whether we should celebrate on September 1 or August 31.  But I forget who argued for which day.

Then this morning I twitted about how Kevin and I confessed our (at the time) true like a mere fourteen years ago, only to discover a few minutes later that, at least according to last year’s woo-pitching, I am a year behind. Chagrin, i haz it.

Obviously, I no longer consider myself a reliable source. Since neither of us keep diaries and the Rib wasn’t even a glimmer in my eye, my only point of reference for the year of our union is other people.  I’ll have to ask my sister how old her son Ray is, because he was born in the same year. I am pretty sure.

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Consider the acorn

When I was first struggling with writing my story, it was all a great big jumble of random plot points and intensely-felt but undefined characters. Thinking about it was great fun to a point… that point being an abrupt ledge into the deep sea Overwhelm. One afternoon I flopped down on the couch, thinking all this thinking was getting exhausting and I needed a nap.

As I lie there in that headspace between thinking and sleeping, I wondered vaguely how I was supposed to contain all of my teeming imagination into something that resembled a narrative, a coherent story. And then I had a vision, a very clear image appeared unbidden before my eyes: an acorn.

An acorn?

Now I’ve done my share of reading in dream interpretation and symbology and whathaveyou, and I couldn’t really come up with anything better than perhaps an acorn was my subconscious’s way of saying we are all trees. We start out tiny and buried, but within us we hold the stuff that, given half a chance, with a little nurturing, can eventually touch the sky.

That was around two years ago and since then I haven’t thought a lot about acorns. Then the other day I had a conversation with a friend in which we discussed our next steps in Life, like you do when you’re 40-something and start to realize that life ain’t gonna live itself. And I mentioned I’d been always been interested in Jungian psychology, that I feel alive when I read that stuff.

So when I got home I started window-shopping on Amazon and eventually landed on a book by James Hillman called The Soul’s Code: In Search of Character and Calling. It sounded interesting so I bought it.  Imagine how I felt a few days later when I read in the book’s preface that it is all about Acorn Theory.

As stated so succinctly by Wikipedia, “[Hillman's Acorn] theory states that each individual holds the potential for their unique possibilities inside themselves already, much as an acorn holds the pattern for an oak tree. It describes how a unique, individual energy of the soul is contained within each human being, and is displayed throughout their lifetime, and shown in their calling and life’s work when it is fully blossomed or actualized.”

Holy synchronicity, Batman.

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I used to be indecisive but now I’m not so sure

Decided “uppity rib too” has too many syllables. Changed the Tumblr blog name to rib eye.  “babyback” was my first choice but apparently somebody already haz it. I hope they’re happy.

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i haz a tumblr

I often think I shoulda been a Gemini instead of a Leo — I’ve got a dual personality to rival Beyonce and Sasha. Or maybe Jekyll and Hyde. Superman and Clark Kent. Ziggy and Bowie. Anyway, my right brain wants to wallow in image and my left in words. Occasionally the twain meet but most of the time, they have separate apartments.

The interwebs is truly a revolution as far as visual stimulation goes. Back in the dark ages, you had to do things like buy magazines and cut pictures out of them and then stick them  in your fire-hazard of a filing cabinet. Now all you have to do is turn on the computer and surf for ten minutes to find a year’s worth of downloadable inspiration.

Which is what I’ve spent a fair amount of time doing lately instead of writing. It’s occurred to me that it would be fun to share both sides of my brain with my fellow zombies. Rather than fill up ye olde Rib with my visual scrapbookings, I’ve decided to start stashing them all in a more-or-less-image-only tumblr blog, creatively named uppityrib too rib eye. You can either go there directly or view it from the Rib’s Tumblr page.

I’ve also synched the feeds to the Rib and Tumblr and Facebook and Twitter and Jesus knows what else, I’ve synched the shit out of everything lately.  I can’t even remember how I did most of it, it’s all weird web alchemy to me.

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If you have to ask…

I’m in the cafe of Elliot Bay Book Store right now because when we lost power in the house yesterday, our internet died as well and hasn’t yet been resurrected. How the city expects us to survive for more than a couple hours without Facebook I do not know.

Anyway, using my laptop in public is always a bit of an adventure. Several folks will stop and tell me they love the vinyl on it and want to know if it “came that way” (no, vinyl sold separately).  Then they want to know where I bought her (on Etsy). So far only one person has expressed negativity toward Snow: a guy in his 50′s I’d say, with a paunch and white goatee, who marched up to me a few moments ago.

“Did your laptop come that way?”

“No, it’s a vinyl that I bought separately.”

He pauses. Puts hands on hips and scowls. “Well, why did they put a bandanna on her?”

I pause. Is this a trick question?  “Um. It’s called ‘Snow’s Revenge.’”

Scowls, turns, and walks away, stops, turns back, says something unintelligible to me. I blink and he walks away again.

Posted in Art, Feminism | Leave a comment