A Sense of Accomplishment

I must be cleaning the office, I'm blogging twice in one day. I just emptied out an OLD old filing tupperware of mine and came across a picture of me graduating from preschool. Ha! Look how cute and little I was. Same crazy, wavy hair though.

More importantly, I felt like the smartest kid in the world that day. I could write my name, say the alphabet, I knew what a Stegosaurus was, I had it all. The happiest people in the world are children. I know, I know...THIS coming from someone who refers to children as "two-leggers" and pretends to vomit every time I see one. However, I appreciate their sincerity. Their willingness to view the world with new eyes every day. Their imagination. And their unbridled sense of accomplishment at completing tasks we take for granted as we get older (singing a song, making food, running, etc.).

The happiest people in the world are those who don't even know about Xbox 360, plasma TV's, or million dollar houses. It's the people who are surrounded by and appreciate the love all around them. The people who can sit and stare out at the ocean for hours. The people who (like the joke about the yogi) open a gift box to find it empty and joyously exclaim, "Just what I always wanted! Nothing!".

Home Again

OCF was wonderful, as always.

It rained Sunday. ALL day Sunday. It's never done that before.

Way to celebrate 40 years. At least everyone will always remember.

Lots of peace, and lots of quiet, but never both at once. Plenty of miles on the road to think both ways, and nights listening to drumming or rain.

It has occurred to me over the years that I have always been a helpless romantic at heart. Not just in the matters of relationships, but in general. As a young girl, I would put on Sting's "Fields of Gold" and have my Barbie and Ken act out an elaborate montage of relationship development. Ken would see Barbie working at the vet clinic (I had Pet Doctor Barbie. Shocking, I know) and he just had to meet her. They'd go out on dates to the beach or forest and share their deepest secrets. The song would always end with Barbie and Ken slow dancing, knowing they were meant to be.

No lie, I was seven and had this detailed of an imagination.

In fact, on hindsight, all of my imaginary play involved some great and epic love story. If it was a doll, beanie baby, drawing, etc. I always projected my personality on the heroine. She always managed to persevere and find true love despite the odds.

I savor moments years past like they were yesterday, even if the actual event was only a fraction as amazing as it felt to me. I allow the memory to grow and blossom, burned into my memory. I remember singing in the sauna at OCF last year (I never made it this year). I remember watching the sunset on Cape Cod the night we had a makeshift memorial for my grandma. I remember burying a pink Power Ranger in the mud at my friend's house when I was 8 and then the glory of digging it back up.

This is a dangerous practice however. People who live their life with all their love and passion are likely to burn out. Anyone close to me has witnessed my crumbling when times become too hectic. Relationships often suffer also, because I settle on a vision of how things will go automatically and set myself up to disappointment. If it's cold, I quietly imagine my significant other making me a cup of tea and having it handed to me with a kiss as I walk through the door. In reality, no one knows when I'll be home if I'm at work and my significant other(s) past, present, and future usually have more important things to take care of. This, in a nutshell, shows the foundation for the emotional rollercoaster I set myself up for.

Oregon Country Fair memories are always good ones though. Memories of being inches from flames as fire dancers swung flaming poi near me. Memories of the Royal Fair Family Du Carneveaux singing a version of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" with 1 or more of their dancers being a guy in a leotard with a long wig. Memories of sitting in my campsite and admiring all my tapestries by candlelight. These snippets of time are pieces of joy I cling to all year long. The moments that are ok to romanticize, as it makes me happy and doesn't disappoint.

Here's to all the new memories I made this year, and the many more to come in the future.

Almost Free..

I have written countless times about Oregon Country Fair. Everything about the festival in Eugene, Oregon appeals to me. The utopia-esque cooperative volunteer environment, the music, the dancing, the amazing food. But most of all, the undeniable feeling that I belong.

So many people I know and see all around me have their little cliques and social niches. The metal crowd has their spiked bracelets, Iron Maiden t-shirts, and spiked or slicked down black hair. The clubbers have their short skirts, halter tops, spike heels, and bass-heavy music. I could go on and on. Always people who seem to fit enough criteria to be labeled a certain way and fall in with people just like them.

And then I find myself, who manages to have a lot of little pieces that don't add up to a whole classification. Most people call me a hippie, which I certainly respect. However, I'm not a full out natural, Grateful Dead listening, hair-dreadlocked, nose-pierced, vegetarian hippie to the max. I eat meat, I wear a little makeup, I work for "The Man". Hell, as far as most of my coworkers are concers, I AM the "man". I'm not affiliated with any specific religion, ethnicity, or community.

But I digress. My point is that Oregon Country Fair (heron in referred to a OCF) is where all that melts away. No one there gives a crap if I load myself up with makeup, or throw it all in the garbage. I've dressed up as a fairy, an egyptian, a princess, and all sorts of other things just for the heck of it. I've danced with people 1/3 of my age and 2-3 times my age. I've sang in the sauna and played in the sun. All the while, never fearing judgement. At home, I find myself crying because I don't look like girls at some random keg party: thin, high alcohol tolerance, commanding attention from all the guys in the room. At OCF, I have people I don't even know come up and tell me I'm beautiful inside and out. I've given hugs to dozens of people wearing "Free Hugs" signs. I've gotten up on stage and performed with vaudville acts. I am who I feel I was always meant to be there. I smile, I laugh, I work my ass off and feel damn proud of it. I don't take my work "home" to my campsite.

This year has been especially hard. Matt's condition isn't getting any better and I feel like everyone is putting pressure on me to find some way to fix him or find some other partner. Work is more demanding that ever, and I find that no matter how much I try, I've worked 48+ hours a week. I fear my phone ringing or making a text alert noise since 85% of the time it's something about work.

I just have to make it Monday and Tuesday at work, then it's home to my Fair family for 5 wonderful, freedom filled days..