Sometime, about two years ago, an important part of me was hit in a storm.  The way trees suddenly sheer off branches, the way a cliff suddenly becomes a muddy stew of rocks, pine needles sludge.

I am built for recovery.  I'm not simply, strong, I'm adaptive in the heathiest sense I can ascribe to that word.  As long as I've had memory, reaching back to the smallest parts of me, back when I remember how hard it was to climb on a chair, or reach a doorknob, I have had hope.  It's not a delicate, golden, flitting thing, it's inside me, as strong as the as the ocean, and it batters to get out of me when the world becomes difficult.

Some people say "Derby saves," and there are varigated meanings of that, of course.  I think many things can save you.  

But most of all, you are going to have to save yourself.  Even if, even if we all get by with a little help from our friends, sometimes.

It's up to you.  I try to never forget this.  It's why loving yourself and loving your friends as hard as possible feels like the most important thing to me.  

And yes, this has everything to do with skating.

*********************************************************************

I am passionately devoted to Valentine's Day. It has never bothered me to be unpartnered, I've never felt constrained to express my love only by traditional discourse, and Valentine's is the perfect day to celebrate the indulgences that feel native to my being: chocolates, glitter, elegance, perfume, jewelry, lingerie, paper, pens. I can't imagine a holiday that more exemplifies the contents of the first two drawers of my antique dresser.  

 I do not know what tipping point I reached when I lost my restraint for loving myself.  

When I realized that the important she was a person that I lived inside and that she was, for lack of any other better word, fun.

When I lost my restraint for loving myself, I lost it for loving other people too.  Now when I meet people they can either flee from the tidal way of my full force of energy or affection.  Or they can step in and be bathed in it.

*********************************************************************

I was scrolling through messages to find pictures of my new Lolly Skates by Moxi.  And here they are.  When I first opened them, the day before I left for Europe to go on tour with a client, they were without wheels and laces.  I felt uncertain, I could not see the full vision.  I hadn't had time, see, to daydream the wheels, to contemplate the laces, to envision the toe stops.  I had only hours, to pack, to do those thousand small organizational things that make up a successful tour.  But my friend showed up and carefully wrapped my skates for me, assuring me that he'd take care of them while I was gone. 

When I came home I was startled a bit he offerd to get me from the airport.  Our friendship has been, primarily, in the dark and at the rink, but I was worn flat by the trip and ready for some discourse that did not relate to professional matters.  When he opened the trunk of the car, they were there, in their box.  I was hesitant.  I wasn't quite ready to think about them just yet. 

But I unwrapped them and there they were.  He'd listened carefully, and taken a few risks.  Risks that paid off because the moment I put them on they were perfect.  They held my foot and supported my ankle.  The nerve damage in my faulted left foot was less than barefoot.  I could not believe it.  

I have wonderful friends.  He's a newer friend.  I realized though, it's like the way I give Valentine's.  It's the point that you reach where all the restraint and careful navigation has become simply dull.  No one wants a compass and a map to friendship.  You might as well say what you mean and mean it.

"I'm not too much?" I said.

"Not scared by it at all," he said.

I'm pretty sure we are going to be friends for a very long time.  I would have hugged him but I was hugging my skates and I know that was just exactly what he wanted.

"Hey," he said, "I'm glad you are my friend."

And in a day and age when Woody Allen ruined it for those of us who absolutely fucking can be friends with members of the opposite sex by asserting we can't, that naming of me as friend is like someone put the most beautiful crown on my head.

Friends. 

They are the best thing this world has to offer.  Don't argue with me on this.

*********************************************************************

The nerve damage in my left foot is a dull burning reminder of the dues I've paid.  Hours on set of long miles walked, sometimes as long as the Bering Strait.  Stairs and trucks, time on my feet, time paid.  Time unpaid.  I think of the Little Mermaid, how the burning steps she took were punishment for wanting beyond her means, for longing for a life that was, by Anderson's measure (or someone's) sinful.  My burning foot is from duty. And it now interferes with the step I want on the inside.  I need my foundation, I need my feet.  

This body belongs to me.  I make a doctor's appointment, I step up eschewing the pretty bag of spoils from Europe: real honey, creamy chocolates, apricot brandy.  The ability to step, to glide, to dance, is more desired.

I had to write about skating, and it's the silliest thing and I keep saying that, but who dedicates an entire blog to happiness?  Happiness is now a project, a thing that we are supposed to build and construct.  I don't and I can't.  Joy I can find, happiness is the result of unrestricted joy.  I don't want to read about it as it walks backwards anymore.  You don't fall in love by doing it right, just as you can't tickle yourself or give yourself a great hug.  Communion, action, reaction to without dreading the consequences.

*********************************************************************

Someone asked recently about my name. I used to have a shirt, "I taste of glitter... and rock n roll."  And I do.  I'm not a faint impression, that's okay though. 

I am Queen because my entire life, I was the princess.  The princess that knew she wanted to grow up to be Queen and take over the world.  Who was never bothered that sometimes one might be saved by a prince or menaced by the dragon.  Princes after all, only become consorts in your own kingdom, so really they are just helpers after all.

Queen.  Queen of my own destiny, queen of the world, Queen of Air and Darkness, Queen Mab.  

Everything that is ridiculous, over the top, and too much that lives in me is in that name.  

I'm not saying this right.  The words won't come out of the air and sit down and play nicely on the page.

But I'll keep trying, that's the reason I write here.

Q.R.C.

A post, written in parts.  So some of this is several weeks old old and some is new.

That said... on with it!

*********************************************************************

I went to a derby bout this past weekend.  It was delicious.  When you are mid bout it feels so fast, a flurry of arms, legs, glimpses of faces.  Jamming makes your heart pound so hard against your chest.  But watching it is such a different experience. It can be easy to think that it's simple to remain on one's feet during it.

I love derby.  I really think that with some focus I could be damn good. But my heart is far more in dance skating right now.  I'm so frustrated that it's been thwarting this week.  I've scarcely had rink time, once on Thursday.  The rain comes down and while I can skate, I'm always half an eye on my knee high that she doesn't shove her precious toes underneath one skate pounding down.

My friends on my deep secret OPW will tell you I am somewhat obsessed with systems of organization and belongings.  This week, related completely to everything, we began to deconstruct my front garage.  My house is a wreck and that's saying something. 

What I keep thinking about is this: why this?  I mean you have eight hours to work, eight to sleep and eight to play ... in theory.  Why, in the full life of a solo mother of two, with a strong career swing, would I choose this as my play and what cost?

No, for real, everything has a cost.  A minute flies by, another replaces it, but that's a minute gone and that new fresh one is only there for sixty seconds.  Life is precious. 

So I organize, structure.  The things I love, I try to give a lot of space to to breathe. Including skating.

*********************************************************************

Two nights a week I slip out the front door with my skate bag.  My friend picks me up and we drive off down along the waterfront.  The first part of the conversation is usually about skating as is the middle parts and the end parts.  My entire week I am other things, but starting in the darkness of the car, our faces only lit by the dash lights or the lights of passing vehicles, we are just this part of ourseleves.   For three or four hours, twice a week, I can narrow my focus down to a few things: my skating, my technique, the music and myself.

*********************************************************************

I return from a long work trip.  My skate friend picks me up with one thing in mind: In the trunk of his car are my new Moxi Lolly Skates.  When I left they were without wheels, full of potential.  In his hand they have taken on pink wheels, pink toe stops, and on deeper inspection, tiny teal nuts hold the wheels on, constrasting sweetly in a personal way that only I would notice.  Finding friends to skate weekly with you can be a challenge, and these details are a love letter to a shared passion we have that is by some measure, silly, but as I've said before, a necessary balance for me.

I am jet lagged.  Two countries, three time zones, but the next night I am at the rink and lacing up my  new skates.  I'm so tired I am still lurching standing still on my own feet, much less wheels, but I can't resist.  The skates are everything I thought they'd be.  Moving in them, across the light speckled floor, is like unicorns and glitter, like the smell of a brand new Lisa Frank sticker book, like Hello Kitty purses, Zebra bubble gum, cream soda, blanket forts and drawing rainbows.  It's like the first thick line you draw on paper with a new box of crayons.  It's the first time you see someone at your front door and that strange feeling in the bottom of your heart, that is hopeful and shy all at once, that knows, "We're going to be best friends."  For all the movies and songs that catch the bad ending of things, the lurching moment where you realize that everything you believed and loved is not real, skating is the opposite.  It's about the things that are real, that are always fun, that make you smile.  

It's easy to lose these sensations, my daily responsibilities are so big, so large, the spaces I move in are so fantastic.  But sometimes I want to be in that simpler part of me where the magic starts, where things grow and change, where my default is always, always, happiness.  I was born a happy person and despite or in reaction to all, I am always happy eventually. I'm a lucky penny with two sides, and I live a wonderful life.  

Skating is just an extension of that. 

Covered in glitter and smelling of rock n roll,

Queen Rage-Crush

So a friend recently said "I'd like to feel a burning need for the next experience more often."

That really got me thinking about things in my own life. I've often thought about myself as a passionate guy. I feel things very strongly. There has been laughter and tears - both in abundance.

But here's the thing: it always seems to come after the fact. Leading up to and even generally during a moment / decision / experience in my life, I feel very, very 'meh'.

This, in turn, got me wondering: "How many other folks are like me in this regard? Do my friends feel strongly about concepts leading into their decisions? Before their experiences?"

Obviously no one can feel strongly about something they have zero experience with or information about. One can't feel super strongly about the quality of the sand on Pluto over the sand on their local beach.

But I wonder.

Sometimes when people start to write something (this is something I've heard  many, many times), "I hesitate to get started because I don't want to compromise what's in my head." 

I worked on Jarnsaxa Rising for a while yesterday. I printed out my outline and carried it to bed with me, re-read it, and re-read it again while the coffee brewed this morning. I have a clear idea for the next scene, but it's not going well.  I took the page for the scene I was working on and rewrote the outline in what I call "turns:" X wants Y but hits obstacle A, D wants N but hits obstacle Y. And then I write short sentences of how those stumbles toward goals over or around obstacles succeed or fail. 

As I was scrawling this, I came to what I thought was a weak end. In my head it was this:

ERIC: Why didn't you tell me?

SIF: You had to find out for yourself.

(Cue "Somewhere Over The Rainbow." It's the Wizard of Oz all over again.)

As I was scribbling, it cleared up, and I was pleasantly surprised. This came out. I'm transcribing my scribbled notes. 

ERIC: Why didn't you tell me? 

SIF: I can only make you grow, but not change, either you choose your form or something else chooses it for you. (Jarnsaxa has to learn this.) When a tree grows, its leaves turn toward the sun and bend with the wind, roots go to water. 

The line, "its leaves turn toward the sun" came from a theatre design class I had as an undergrad. We were talking about how if you design a forest, you have to consider that the sun will cause that forest to look a certain way, you have to take science into consideration, not just "what looks cool on a stage." 

My point is, you might think you know in advance every detail about your story, and that's good, you should. But there is a lot of room for discovery in the process of pencil, paper, scribbling and time, and those discoveries will improve what you think you have now. 

EDITED TO ADD: Sassy thinks that if she sits in my lap while I type, my job is to gently pet her. If I type, she bites my hands. BYE SASSY.

If your screen is very, very good and your eyes are sharp, maybe you noticed the actual "delete my account" button. Fawkers.

But I don't get to criticize. Because ya know what OPW doesn't have? A "delete my account" button. Shame on me.

I'm publicly shaming myself here because I need a little motivation to release this feature, which is completely coded and ready to go — I just need to test it a little more.

Cue Neil Gaiman quote.

I need a recommendation for a quick-and-easy video editing program for Windows.  I shot some video on my phone of a rehearsal, and I'd love to be able to slice the 33 minute video into individual songs... BUT I also want to be able to mess with the audio track if need be.

I will only use this once or twice, so cheaper is better, but whatevz.

Any recommendations?

(*cough* Matt Lichtenwalner ​​​​​​​*cough*)

Gracias!

I am grateful for union-mandated breaks that allow me time to use the toilet, drink water, stuff half a protein bar in my face, and go outside to fart. 

FART JOKE! WOO HOO!!!!!!!!

The Internet needs an "is this worth it?" calculator. Buzzfeed needs a quiz. 

On the way to breakfast, I found myself thinking about the concept of Loyalty. I've been called (more than once) 'loyal to a fault'. It's accurate. I stick with people, places, and things well past the point that it's healthy for me.

Then I found myself thinking about it from a logical standpoint. I feel that this is one of my greatest strengths in life - taking emotion out of a situation and reviewing it. Sadly, I don't always ACT on those reviews, but it helps.

So the logical perspective of the concept of loyalty: I get it. Once upon a time, we needed loyalty as a species. Tribalism allowed us to survive. But haven't we evolved past that need? I mean shouldn't I love everyone equally? (He asked, cringing at how hippy-dippy it sounds.) Or, perhaps more accurately, shouldn't I review people in a more unbiased by past interactions?

If I have a friend who has taken to burglary to support a crack addiction, shouldn't I look at him in the same light that I do a stranger with the same issues?

Or is there some value to past interactions that creates a benefit to taking the bad with the good in the present and/or future? It's not really occurring to me at the moment, but then I haven't had any coffee yet.

What do you think?

ETA: I should point out that I wasn't bitter or upset when I posted this. I was just trying to think things through without emotion tied to it. I also was not thinking specifically of people (though that is certainly an element) and even less any specific person or people. Again - just the concept and whether or not it has value in our modern society.

The learning curve continues. 

This is the first time I've knit anything that wasn't based on a square, rectangle, tube or triangle, so you can imagine how this is burning some new neural pathways. The other odd thing is that the pattern calls for a total of 12 petals or points, and then sewing the last row to the first. I have a hard time believing this will be a flat disc and not a cone. 

Today we went out for brunch at The Grey Lodge, my favorite local pub, but my patience for people was so thin I almost had to Force-choke someone. Remember when jukeboxes had actual records inside them? You put in your quarters and punched some buttons, with a satisfying KERCHUNK, KERCHUNK, KERCHUNK, and when your selection came up in turn, you'd get to hear it?  Now The Grey Lodge has one of them Intarweb connected Touch Tone machines. Takes up less space, provides a wider selection of music. Sounds good, right? I've never had a reason to complain. If I want to put on Dave Brubeck, me and my hard-earned dollar can make that happen. 

Now, Touch Tone machines have an app. So, if you have the app and this is your financial priority, you can control the jukebox from the comfort of your bar stool, shoveling your musical taste down the throats of everyone in the bar for as long as you like. 

These 30-year-olds were playing with their phones, talking about how "old" they were for liking Blink-182 and early-2000s "punk." When some girl started squawking about the band Poe, a guy admitted that he thought "poe" was the Spanish word for paella. They were controlling the jukebox, and you like what you like, whatever. But when the music stopped for a minute, I got up and shoved my $4 into the machine, so I could hear something different for a couple of minutes. 

I put on Thelonious Monk (I don't remember the name of the piece), and Nina Simone's "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood." Monk played through, a bright, complex yet palatable piano instrumental that made my chilaquiles seem much less like soggy nachos. My mood improved. Unfortunately, it was immediately followed by, not Nina Simone, but more of the early 2000s punk and "OMG this is the best song EVAR." 

Which means some knucklehead paid extra to bump his selections ahead of mine in the queue. 

I said to the bartender, "if everyone in the bar has the app, and everyone can pay extra to bump their songs higher in the queue, what happens?"

He said, "The music selections get pretty crazy in here. Personally, I think you should have to walk up to the jukebox and punch it in, if you're gonna play "Barbie Girl." You have to own that shit." 

KERCHUNK. KERCHUNK. KERCHUNK. 

I'm trying this knitting pattern for the first time: 

I've never knit anything with short rows before, so this is a good learning experience. 

So far, so good.

I'm having trouble staying asleep because I dream about work.  Not fun. So hopefully this will give me a new fixation pattern.