thanks much

Thanksgiving is actually my favorite holiday. This is arguably because it falls in late Autumn, definitely my favorite season. But I think it's more than that. It's the cooler weather, the coming together of people we love, the eating together. There is no other holiday so celebrating the coming together of people without ulterior motive––there are no presents, no particular observances or pressure to feel anything but gratitude.

If the Indians and Pilgrims did feast together, I'm thinking it was probably a much smaller deal than we've made of it. Like maybe John Smith sent a carrier pigeon to Pocahontas with a note that said, "Hey, we just harvested that huge pumpkin. You up for some pie?" So I homeschooled American history--a kid gets bored, OK.

But I figure it was probably just a small gathering, kinda last minute, someone drank a little too much hard cider--that sort of thing. I doubt anyone thought it would take off like it did.

But I'm glad it did. I like having a reason to get with people that I love, cause otherwise I might forget to remember why I love them so much [not to be confused with why they irritate me so much--sometimes it's hard to tell the difference]. And not only that, but it reminds me of all the people I love who aren't there, and all the things in my life that remind me how much I am loved. There shouldn't have to be a reason to do that, but I'm glad there is.

In the last years that my grandpa lived at home, he "planted" watermelons in the fertile landscaping around his house. And every year, he'd harvest at least one unbelievably huge, juicy watermelon. It became an event, the cutting of the watermelon off the vine. I remember one year in particular, cousins, aunts, and uncles gathered around--we all sat on the patio, dark fruity flesh dripping from our hands. It wasn't any kind of big deal, but that's what made it so beautiful. We had nothing better to do with that evening, than share it; that watermelon, than pick and eat it. It was ripe and ready. It was momentary glee.

If nothing else, let Thanksgiving be a day to fill hearts with all the fullness that is life. For better or worse, we're here. That's the gift.

OneArmGirl 

one-handing it

Hello, and welcome to another edition of Ask The OneArmGirl, where I pretend someone asked me a question and then I answer it.

Today's question is: Can you ride a bicycle? Why yes I can, thanks for asking.

But people really do ask questions like this––I suppose, because they have never ridden a bicycle, or put on their pants, or opened a banana, etc, with one hand. It's reasonable, I guess; but then, who hasn't seen a person riding with no hands before?

And no, I can't do a one-handed cartwheel, even though I am well aware that it's possible. Which brings up the point that just because a person doesn't do something, doesn't mean he or she can't.

It used to be that if I were challenged to do something, I almost always felt I had to do it, mostly to prove a point. These days, I enjoy a surprising number of things that I cannot do. Drive in the Indianapolis 500, for example.

I've been mindful of alternative modes of transportation this week because I am without my car. The old girl suffered some damage when an unwitting driver backed into her at a stoplight. The good news: she's getting a completely new paint job for a very reasonable price. The bad news: it's been a bit dicey getting to aerial arts class and senior water aerobics at the Y this week. Thankfully, Mountain Guy rode in on his white toyota to save the day. I know, life is so hard for me.

Actually I've been achey, feverish and sore for several days since my first aerial class on Monday. With great doubt, I pulled myself up onto the swinging trapeze bar, something I'm sure I hadn't attempted since I was twelve. Yesterday, I could hardly straighten my elbow.

I was about twelve when my training wheels came off, and I learned to ride a bike with my dad who took me to a section of recently paved, but not yet opened, highway by our house. And the old adage about never forgetting is true, one arm or two. I have a bike sitting in my kitchen to this day, which I would be using right now, if I were more motivated. I've never learned to ride hands-free, after all.

But motivation can be over-rated.

OneArmGirl

oh yes we did

Yesterday, history was made. Mountain Guy and I submitted an audition video to the Amazing Race; a show in which contestants race around the globe, looking for clues and taking on various challenges, all in hopes of winning a million dollars.

What's that you say? Oh yes, and Barak Obama was re-elected to the presidency for a second term. But that doesn't change yesterday much from the day before.

 

I would like to go on record as saying it was not my idea to go on a reality TV show with my ex-boyfriend, and I still think it might be a terrible idea, but then again, why not? We make the rules here.

So, we spent the weekend taping interviews and attempting various silly tasks like walking a slack line, taking Keeper the dog out for coffee, and shaping ourselves into a human box in the park. Thankfully, neither of us are gainfully employed at present, unless by 'gainfully' you mean acquiring lots of ridiculous experience in general goofiness. Ah well, such is the life of an artist.

Then we spent a day editing the footage into a semi-presentable two and half minute sound byte of our relationship (or un-relationship as the case may be). Apparently we just can't let go. Some couples have a baby to save a relationship, others apply to be on TV––both cheaper, and probably less successful, than going to therapy I suppose.

Are we gonna be accepted? Who knows. Could there have been a better use of our time? I highly doubt it. I mean when do you have an excuse to do this over the age of thirty?

Actually, in my world, the excuses are endless.

OneArmGirl

an early treat

In the car yesterday, I asked my dragon boy if he wanted to pick up a pumpkin to carve when we got home.

"I'd rather do something else," he said, after a moment's pause.

Apparently childhood is over.

Carving pumpkins is something my sisters and I always did for Halloween, though we rarely had any trick-or-treating visitors to welcome with a glowing garden good.

Here we are in some homemade costumes. The year is probably about 1993; apparently also known as the Chinese Year of the Black and White Animals. I'm the panda on the right.

It's been some years since I actually had the motivation to carve a pumpkin, or get dressed up. But Mountain Guy's girls got me in the spirit this year...

Can you guess the end result? Don't mind the vampire in the mirror.

Here's another hint:

My friends keep suggesting I capitalize on my lack of arm for a costume. Zombie, perhaps? One year trick-or-treating as a child, a woman answered the door to exclaim, "Oh my, she's even missing an arm! What a great costume!

Maybe next year...

OneArmGirl

an arm's worth

I'm not gonna lie, I get special treatment because I only have one arm.

Yesterday morning, I went into the County Clerk's office because my voter registration card had been sent back. The reason was soon discovered: their records showed that I was born in 1900. I noted to the office assistant that I must be doing exceptionally well, considering my grandfather was born in 1920. She was minimally amused.

When I re-registered a couple weeks back, I was told that I might not receive my voter registration card for several months because of the current election season. But when I went in to the office today, the lady behind the desk assured me that she would go ahead and enter me into the system right away. I would receive my card in a week or so.

Now, I have no way of proving this, but I suspect she took me for a poor frail appendage-less waif who had somehow managed to get from my house to the voter registration office all by myself. Then again, it could have been just the pinky orange colored sweater I was wearing [a color Little Gen says looks good on everyone]. But two people came into the same office needing to register while I was standing there, and both of them were told they would have to wait until after the election to get into the system [they could still vote, mind you].

Coincidence maybe, except this happens all the time. I find people generally go out of their way to be nice to me. Perfect strangers offer huge grins when they pass me at the supermarket. I've actually seen people look absentmindedly at me, look away, then look back and and smile as if I might be offended that they didn't acknowledge me.

And then there's the mom at the our local growers' market who tried to yank her little girl away from pointing at Finneas before I noticed. Unfortunately for her, I have eyes in the back of my head for that sort of thing. "It's OK," I reassured her. Then to the little girl, "Did you see my arm? It's just little."

Grownups aren't usually so obvious, but they notice. Instead of pointing, sometimes they decide to give me a hand up. Or is it a handout? I've always had a feeling I could do really well as a transient.

I was at Starbucks last week when a self-identified transient came up to me and asked if he could play me a song for a couple bucks. I'm not gonna say it wasn't awkward to be personally serenaded on the Starbucks patio when it's just you and your dog. It wasn't even really a song, more of a jam session, but I guess I have a heart for starving artists.

Then again, maybe he is so much more. Can I really complain if people take me at arm's value?

OneArmGirl

dog days of fall

Once again, I've acquired a pooch. But this one might actually be a keeper. In fact, for the intents and purposes of this blog, I think I'll call her Keeper. She actually goes by another name, but we can't let the CIA find her.

And from whence does she come? I recently attended a friend's thirtieth birthday party. When I first knew this friend, he was barely twenty, now he's married with two kids. He'd also adopted a dog in the intervening years.

As soon as I met her, I liked her. "I like your dog," I said. "You want her?" they said. Apparently two children under the age of four doesn't leave much time for the dog.

Keeper is the offspring of a purebred Miniature Australian Shepherd and some mongrel with whom she rendezvoused. Needless to say, her breeders were not amused. Keeper, and all her brothers and sisters, ended up in the dog orphanage....uh, pound. But sometimes accidents end up being the best dogs.

So, yesterday began a trial stay. We took most of the day getting to know one another, walking, taking a nap, watching television...you know, all the things I want to do with a dog rather than on my own.

When she was a wee pup, she contracted parvovirus, which is generally lethal to puppies. But she's a survivor. I like that.

Like every survivor, however, she's not escaped unscathed. She's very shy and timid with people and dogs she doesn't know. Last night's foray to the park almost gave both of us an anxiety attack.

So we're working on trust. I have a dream that one day my dog will go everywhere with me, riding shot gun (preferably in a '40s Chevy truck), my wishes her command. I don't believe dogs should be possessions, but partners.

Of course, talk to me next week, and I may be muttering obscenities about the whole situation. I guess that's what trials are for; hopefully we can both overcome.

OneArmGirl

Please excuse today's post delay...