fridaville

I'VE MOVED!

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 21:20:00 +0000

Fridaville has been redesigned. Please find me at www.fridaville.com, and be sure to sign up to receive "Postcards from Fridaville" for creative prompts, fun finds and weekly inspirations, coming soon.

Thanks,

Nikki

Searchlight

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 22:14:00 +0000

I went to an amazing workshop led by the poet David Whyte this weekend, and when I came home after the last session today, I pulled out this print by Olivia Jeffries that I bought on Etsy a year or so ago and decided to use it again but in a totally different context this time. It was on my mind because I realized I've been asking myself for months now, "What am I looking for?" and trying to push my way through to an answer right now. And for months, I've come no closer to finding it, becoming more agitated and frustrated as time went by. But at some point during this retreat, my question changed to, "What is looking for me?" That is a huge shift for me, because it suggests that there is a calling waiting for me that I need to spend time preparing the ground for, but not trying to force into bloom like paperwhite bulbs in the dead of winter. I'm only two months into this Year of Change that I've declared for myself, but just making it an official pilgrimage, if only to myself, has made me attentive to all sorts of messages coming to me from seemingly random sources that I might have ignored a year ago. A year ago I wouldn't have signed up for, didn't sign up for, this transformative workshop when it was offered. A year ago the poems that were read might not have lighted up the darkness for me in the way they did this time. A year ago I might not have been ready. But looking back, I can see that all the while, the field was being prepared in the darkness, the seeds being planted. The search that I'm on, the big decisions and change that I'm aiming myself toward, seem a bit less arduous and maddening knowing that while I have work to do on my part, something is looking for me as intently as I am looking for it.

Doing my Homework

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 00:42:00 +0000

I'm slowly making my way back into keeping a regular journal, working at it from different directions. The gluebooky way above in which I slap on some gesso and glue down things that seem to want to go there. I'm also keeping a journal of my year of change, trying to figure out if synchronicity is working in my life, if what seems to be chance is really a harbinger or messenger of change. I'm thinking about what happens in my life every day to see if I can find instances of change at work or if I'm taking steps myself to prepare for change in this transitional phase of my life. The other journal I'm keeping is the one-sentence-a-day diary proposed by Gretchen Rubin in The Happiness Project. I'm writing that one in the little 5 Year Diary by Tamara Shopsin. Oops and I forgot...Fridaville is being redesigned with some fun things planned like weekly "Postcards from Fridaville" sent out to people who sign up for them, so I'm keeping a journal of ideas on that. All in addition to my day job, for which I have a Skirt! Magazine notebook to keep me focused on coming issues. Just writing all of that down makes me feel unfocused and crazy -- should I just have one notebook that all of this goes into? The separate ones seem to help me keep my different roles and goals separate, but I don't know...maybe I'm just spinning my wheels. And I don't want one of those 5-subject spiral notebooks from school because they make me think of warm cafeteria milk and math assignments I never finished. Big shiver down my spine just imagining it. How do you keep track of all your projects?

Nana Says...

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 11:00:00 +0000

I grew up clueless about so many things: how to use eyeshadow; how to eat an artichoke; how to pronounce "forte"; how to drive a stick shift. So I'm amusing myself by periodically adding to a list of advice for the little girls in my life. Most likely they will have figured all this and more out by the time I give it to them and laugh behind their backs at poor benighted Nana.

1. Learn how to apply lipstick without a mirror.

2. Put your napkin in your lap as soon as you sit down.

3. Don't date men who wear baseball caps indoors.

4. You may be the apple of someone's eye, but don't act like you're the center of the universe.

5. No one looks good chewing gum.

6. There's probably a time and place for blue eye shadow, but no one has discovered it so far.

7. Never talk on a cell phone when you're checking out in the supermarket.

8. Those no-parking fire lanes in front of Starbucks? They don't mean "no parking except for your car."

9. For god's sake, spell check your resume!

10. Your wedding shouldn't be the high point of your life.

11.There's no such thing as "settling down." Life happens.

12. Always wear red underwear in case you take a fall in your high heels.

10 Things to Do This Week

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 11:00:00 +0000

1. Have one fresh, green idea. Not just the dull, rusty I'm-in-hibernation green of my frostbitten jasmine vine or the I-might-be-dying green of the bamboo plant I'm nursing on my porch. I want sap-running green, neon green, spring-onion green...tender green shoots promising succulent, tasty projects.

2. Make a map of my day, inspired by Sara Fanelli's kids' book on maps.

3. Work my word for 2010: Change!

4. Make one drawing/watercolor a day no matter how amateurish it looks.

5. Pick something to work on from The Happiness Project.

6. Plan a winter party. Guest list, pinata, new dress, cases of Prosecco, candles candles candles, party cds, glitter.

7. Believe someone is going to rock my world in a good way this year. Please, no rocking my boat, only my world.

8. Love my wrinkles. Or at least be good friends with them. Okay, maybe shake hands with them and have a cup of coffee.

9. Think sexy thoughts. Absolutely necessary for creative mental juiciness.

10. Try writing in the new coffee shop near my office. New thoughts? New ideas? New sense of selfiness?

Styrofoam Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 05:00:00 +0000

I found two odd objects on my desk on Friday: a pack of Fun-Dip candy powder from a sweet friend and a discontinued condom package we were thinking of using in the magazine. Sadly symbolic because there's going to be no fun-dip happening for me on this doily-edged, red- velvet day. I'm embarrassed to admit that I have a heart-shaped void where a relationship should be. Not that I haven't had more than my fair share of overnight hook-ups and years-too-long live-ins. But I lack the knack of day-to-day living together that grown-ups my age should have developed. I like the falling-in-love part better than the through-thick-and-thin part. Yes, I know that's incredibly immature, but my teenage marriage was a terrible love accident that I never really got treated for. Lots of casualties as a result, and over the years, I built up a protective carapace of scar tissue where the wound was. After I had lung surgery years ago, a deep scar formed along my ribs and under my breast that for a long time was numb to feeling. I think it sealed off the terror I felt through that time, and in the same way, my love scar sealed off the sadness I didn't want to feel. Unfortunately, it also sealed me off from the sweetness that can come with love. At some point, the scar on my ribs lost its numbness and became a badge of honor, but the one on my neglected, protected heart is more stubborn. I keep it mostly hidden because I feel to blame for it, but my word for 2010 is Change, so maybe there's still time for me to have a change of heart.

My Word for 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 18:53:00 +0000

...is Change. I veer between thinking that change is inevitably bad or that I'm too old/comfortable/sensible to change. That the house of my life is framed in, dry-walled, insulated and picket fenced. As it should be after years of trying to get to just that state. All the years of not being able to pay the bills on time, of owing the IRS, of driving crap cars, of career ups and downs, of crazy self-drama and unbridled emotionalism, of cobbling together a living until I accidentally hit on something that became a sweet little success. Why would I court Change? Especially when I'm convinced it always means someone leaving, something ending, something falling apart. Early sorrow teaches you to lowball your expectations. So this is my year to sidle up to Change with a carrot in my hand and make peace with that wild unpredictable beast. What if Change means someone new comes into my life. What if Change means an unexpected new beginning or project or talent? What if Change means me letting go instead of hanging on? What if I start dismantling my old ideas about Change? I figure there's a 50/50 chance of Change being positive, so I'm going to work the odds and envision my 17 year old self getting on an outbound bus again without a clue to the destination. What's your word for 2010?

Weak or No Signal

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 01:03:00 +0000

It's very quiet here tonight in Fridaville because I accidentally hit some invisible Darth Vader button on the side of my flat screen TV that made it go haywire. I can't turn it on or off -- it's in TV limbo -- and no matter what buttons I push, I get the message above. So who do you call when your TV has a mental breakdown? It used to be a TV repairman, but they are as extinct as the wooly mammoth. The next option is to set up an appointment with Comcast and take half a day off work waiting for them to arrive. "Oh that's okay, I have a trust fund and nothing better to do, so I can leave work and hang around waiting for your guy to show up within the allotted frame of time--or not." Or the other choice, after stomping around, changing batteries in the remote (which I had to steal from my vibrator) and feeling the blood pulse in my eardrums, is simply to do without TV for awhile. Maybe the "weak or no signal" is my signal to read, write in a jounal, work on storyboarding a little movie, clean out a desk drawer, take a walk when it's warmer, visit a friend on Thursday to catch 30 Rock, make soup, draw, listen to the silence, play some moody Miles Davis, put a 30 minute hot oil pack on my hair, take a photo, order something extravagant online, watch Hulu.com or an instant-play Netflix movie, write a haiku, put the batteries back in my vibrator, glue something in my journal, call my daughters, load cds onto iTunes, take a Lynda.com online class, exfoliate. I grew up without TV, but we had stories to tell in front of the fireplace, corn to be popped over the coals, sparks to fly and the dozy comfort of firelight instead of HDTV light. I can't get that back, but maybe I can light some candles, tell myself some stories and bring a little of that slow winding down into bedtime back into my life. I don't think it will be easy because I'm a thoroughly gadgetized, mechanized product of my era. I want my HBO, Bravo, Law and Order and Turner Classic Movies running while I blog or email. I'm already uneasy, unsure of what to do with myself, antsy, angsty and on edge. I kind of like it.

Deer in Headlights

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 00:52:00 +0000

I was terrified about presenting a slide show at our local Pecha Kucha ... 20 slides, 20 seconds each so you have only that tiny slice of time to make your point. You can view mine by bringing up the You Tube video on the sidebar--it started off a little rough but picked up speed and went over well. It was a sold-out house -- 350 people -- and usually I panic in front of a crowd. But this time I overprepared, rehearsed the narration a million times, had a friend give me feedback and kept tweaking it til two hours beforehand. Rehearsing it out loud over and over helped me almost memorize it, but the best part was the slide show because it anchored me and calmed me (in addition to the beta blocker I took beforehand!). It made me realize how, although I'm no artist or photographer, having a visual component to my writing is so exciting and inspiring to me. I loved "storyboarding" my ideas in a primitive method of using a desk blotter monthly calendar and filling in the squares with my ideas for each slide. Then moving the slides around and timing and editing the script was incredibly satisfying in a different way than writing is for me. The whole process opened so many doors in my brain. As soon as I can conquer Keynote and iMovie, I want to take a digital storytelling workshop and make a little 3 minute "movie-ette." Not for any particular reason but just to tell a story in a different way. It makes me sad that in the past I've said a mental "no" to things I've wanted to pursue because I didn't know enough or couldn't be the best at it or thought it wasn't worth doing if I couldn't make money at it. What have you been postponing out of fear or inertia or perfectionism?

Report from the 3rd Eye

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 00:41:00 +0000

This chakra connects you to your sense of intuition, or Inner Guru. A bindi placed in the middle of the forehead reminds you to tap into this higher power. As a native of Kentucky, I'd feel kind of fake displaying a bindi in public, but at home, it might remind me to trust my Guru Girl, to listen to her when she tells me:

- If he never takes you out in public, he's someone you should be ashamed of.

- as Gretchen Rubin writes in The Happiness Project, the actions of love are the proof of love.

- true friends don't ditch you for a guy ... they let him come along when you go out.

- Your best friend is always your designated hitter, designated driver and designated spokesperson in case of a family tragedy. Class acts don't bare their souls to Ann Curry.

- You don't have to go home again.

Back When I Had Eyebrows and Opportunities

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 00:10:00 +0000

This is my 1961 high school graduation photo, and I look pretty confident. Big smile, sassy pixie haircut, Brooke Shields eyebrows. Ready for the adult world, ready to move on. But I wasn't. I was 17, kissed too many times, not many options left in my own mind. I was timid on the outside, tumultuous on the inside. I didn't fit anywhere. Fast forward to 2010, and I'm in a bar tonight for my regular Tuesday night meeting with my creative friend, and Miss 17 shows up, all "I'm so scared and stupid" on my bar stool -- because I have a biggish public presentation to make next week, so she's freaking out. As she so often does when I'm ready to throw in the towel. Tonight, though, I'm scooching her over on the stool (not kicking her to the floor because she's also my gentle, empathetic side, which I can't live without) and sharing my backbone with her. A backbone that I often deny having ("oh I'm not worthy, I'm so small and insignificant") -- but isn't that just a way to avoid taking responsibility for my accomplishments? A way to prepare myself and others in case I fail? Because I'm so sensitive to criticism? I'm annoyed -- no, I'm mortified -- that I refuse to take kudos for what I achieve and responsibility for when I fail. That I so often try not to try. Dear Miss 17, let's do it.

Bridge to the Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 02:21:00 +0000

Oh darling Friday! I love the relief you give me of work well done for the last five days, your red wine and chocolate, your promise of pajamas and fuzzy socks, your 2-hour special on Elvis so lost and broken, your twinkle lights turned on outside, your command to stop thinking about exercise missed or opportunities lost, your promise of a completely unelevating novel waiting on the bedside table, your tantalizing come-hither murmur of all the work I can get done on Saturday or Sunday but not tonight, your time out from duty and must-dos. Sweet Friday, if only there were two of you a week.

Empty Chairs

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 12:00:00 +0000

When I go back home, the people and places I knew are like the heat shimmers on an August road. Something you think you can touch it until you get right up on it and then it vanishes. My mother, my husband, my son, all my grandparents, my sweet cousin, all my greataunts and greatuncles. My first love. My mother and father in law. All my aunts but one. The second cousins, the spinsters and distant branches of family whose names I can’t even remember. Best friends. Boyfriends who broke my heart. Teachers. The old brick school building in the center of town. The erasers I cleaned after class. The sounds of basketball games in the gym that no longer exists. The wrist corsages and back seats. The smell of Sunday dinner and reading the funny papers in front of the fire at my grandmother’s house. Summer afternoon shadows.

The Tuesday NIght Club

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 01:25:00 +0000

I love Tuesday night drinks with my creative companion. We meet once a week "To talk of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--Of cabbages--and kings--." Tonight we discussed our feelings about our mothers, our love of textiles and embroidery, travel, living more boldly, books we've read, dinner parties, cosmetic surgery (should we? should we not? should we waive judgment on friends who have? do dyeing your eyebrows count?) and blogging. Somehow, meeting once a week in a setting divorced from our "real" workaday lives makes it easier to expose our deepest selves. Tonight we agreed that 2010 should be a high voltage year for both of us. My first step: finding a flat to rent in London for a month this summer. I'm afraid to put my hand on that live wire, but how can I resist that dare I've made to myself?

Anchors Away

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 00:50:00 +0000

The beginning of the year is an artificial construct that tends to make us question what we've been doing with our lives and/or flagellate ourselves about what we've left undone. I haven't made a list of resolutions, but I've spent some time thinking about why I'm not living as bold a life as I'd wish. I could promise myself to go on a cruise, take belly dancing lessons or date a younger man in order to shake up my life, but I think that would be skin deep. I'm more interested in the barnacle-encrusted anchors that I've pulled against for decades: I'm too shy to [fill in the blank]; I'm just not talented enough; I'm no good at relationships so I'm not going to try; I could never [fill in the blank]. I want to remember that my family is a strong anchor, that my job is a welcome anchor, that my house is a safe anchorage, but I also want to try and haul those other anchors up and let the wind fill my sails now and then. I don't think it can happen overnight, and maybe I will always be too shy to [fill in the blank], but I do think it's possible to lessen the drag enough to find an unexplored harbor or an unexpected sea lane of desire. I'm a big believer in kaizen, but believing and doing are two different things. Sometimes it feels like I would need to check into a monastery of the mind in order to have time to rehab my soul. It's always: I'll meditate/cogitate/contemplate as soon as I meet this deadline, drop off my dry cleaning, clean out the refrigerator. I'll meditate tomorrow, I swear. Am I the only spiritual dilettante out there?

Things to do in 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 05:50:00 +0000

1. Buy a black leather biker jacket.

2. Order Golden Star White Jasmine Sparkling Tea.

3. Take yoga seriously. Yet again.

4. Create a map of Fridaville. Include a Champagne bar.

5. Unpack my suitcase the day I get home from a trip.

6. Learn the lyrics to "Accentuate the Positive" by Johnny Mercer & sing it every morning.

7. Master making the "r" sound in French.

8. Stop checking the Dow and study the Tao.

9. Invest in Forever stamps.

10. Upgrade to 1st class whenever possible and stop apologizing for it.

11. Once I take yoga seriously, design my own mat at Yogamatic.com.

12. Wear a bathing suit when I play Wii synchronized swimming.

13. Fall in love and elope. Wait--I already did that once and it ended in tears.

14. Accept that I'm a poodle ,not a working dog, and stop feeling guilty about it.

15. Dress on the outside the way I feel on the inside.

Brand-New Vintage

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 01:30:00 +0000

I found these shoes at Urban Outfitters and what I love about them, aside from the cheap price, is that they look broken in and beamed here from a more romantic era. As if they were worn by Zelda Fitzgerald in a night of mad dancing and packed away and stored in a trunk in an attic until they showed up in a Paris flea market decades later. As if they were danced in all night, leaving a trail of sequins behind on a snowy street in Montmartre, like breadcrumbs the owner's lover would follow to her garret apartment overlooking the rooftops of the city. As if they were left behind during the German occupation of Paris, shoved to the back of a closet by a fragile Audrey Hepburn look-alike in her haste to flee to London, where she worked on the Enigma decoder until the liberation. As if they were handmade for a famously reclusive ballerina, lined with linen and lavished with sequins to match her legendary amber eyes. Every time I put them on, I'm imagining another life I could have lived, a path those shoes could have taken.

A Sea Change

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 05:21:00 +0000

My daughter and son-in-law own a big-bottomed broad of a boat...stable, cozy (even a little gas burning "fireplace") and curvaceous. During the holidays, we went out in Puget Sound looking for orca whales, and even though we didn't find any, it was a spectacular experience. Freezing, but the sunset and Twin Peaks moody landscape made it magical. I hate cold weather and I'm afraid of water, but I piled on hat, gloves and lots of layers to sit outside in the bow until I finally lost feeling in my face. What I rediscovered was that when you surrender to being in the moment, the moment gradually overcomes your misery. I was without my constant companions -- cell phone, books and laptop. No one to chat with because they were all wisely staying warm in the cabin. It was just me and smoky sky and deep silence, except for the sound of the boat and the waves we made. I don't think I would ever be able to live in the Northwest (or Northeast), but winter in all its spareness and solitude is not possible to experience in the same way in the south. Just as I could never live on a boat but I can understand the relief of paring down your possessions to stow in a few cubbies, the freedom of drifting from island to island, the notion of pulling up anchor for the next best place. For a few hours, my life was unmoored ... untied from Costco, CNN, the Comcast bill, dry cleaning, deadlines and the sadness of post-holiday sales (which it seems to me to be a bit like post-coital tristesse). We were messing about in boats and it was good.

Holiday Mayhem

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 23:26:00 +0000

If you are stringing cranberries and popcorn while you listen to the Kings College Choir boys do their angelic thing, or if you are watching a Christmas parade with your children home on vacation from Ivy League schools, or if you are getting a lump in your throat every time

"I'll Be Home for Christmas" comes on the radio, this is not for you. Because we are two weeks away from Christmas, and I just want to cut Santa's throat. I grew up in a family who created idyllic Christmases, even when all the moms and dads and aunts and uncles were having affairs, lots of times with their in-laws. Later, I married into a large family whose traditions included going into debt for too many gifts and getting shitfaced on Christmas Eve. Untimely death and divorce intervened at Christmas when my kids were toddlers, so the tinsel became even more tarnished for me. Fast forward decades, and I think my adult children and I are still wobbling between A Christmas Story and Bad Santa. Will Mom visit Oldest Daughter in Seattle or Youngest Daughter in Yosemite this year? And whose feelings will be hurt? Will Only Son be living with his ex-wife for the third time, or will they have split up once again? Will I have spent equal amounts on everyone, or will someone get the short end of the stick? Why does it take a psychic to figure out what everyone wants, and where should all the damn presents be mailed (to my son's temporary house or his ex-wife's house?) I know that at some point on Christmas Eve all of this will fall away and I will convince myself that the dog will talk at midnight (probably to complain about his skimpy stocking), but right now, I'm at the bah humbug stage that comes after too much exposure to the Gap TV commercials. (Dear Santa, please take away their Adderall and get those models into plaid rehab.)

When You Wish to be a Star

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 23:45:00 +0000

I went to a party last night and told several people that I was seeing Precious today. All agreed that it was amazing, but warned me not to expect a happy ending. But, oh my god, there was the kind of happy ending that is always happening in our lives if we can just see it. The friend I saw it with said it was the growth of a soul -- and that's huge, momentous, earth shaking. But we are so used to Hollywood happy endings--the pot of gold, the glass slipper, the inheritance, the bad guys locked up -- that it's sometimes impossible to recognize the little happy endings and beginnings that are occurring all around and inside of us. I'm guilty of it myself. I want a shooting star to be a sign that I'm on the right track. I want a full-on spotlight on myself and my achievements and when that doesn't happen, I'm dissatisfied and angry with who I am. I want to be what I'm not, which I always assume is better than what I am. Why can't I do more, be more, make more? If only I'd had a better education, loving parents, constant encouragement -- I'd be famous by now, wouldn't I? I want to love what I do instead of doing things in order to be loved. My ego needs to feed on a spotlight, but I think my soul needs anonymity in order to grow.

Which Way?

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 23:39:00 +0000

I'm sitting here tonight contemplating my prospects: a stone wall or a way out? 15 years ago I started a magazine that I threw my entire self into. All the bits and pieces, shards and stories that I'd accumulated over a lifetime. I had been pregnant with all those random voices, ideas and opinions for so long and finally gave birth to them in that publication. It was fierce and funny and thumbed its nose at conventional wisdom. It became so successful that I sold it for an amount of money I thought would help me grow old disgracefully carefree. Then the stock market crashed and so did my money--easy come, easy go for a grasshopper. It always seemed like play money anyway after being broke for so long. So I stayed on with the magazine because I was still in love with it, drew a good salary, watched the new owners grow it into other cities and then watched it change. From what I hear, the change part is a pretty standard story. As Ani diFranco says, "If you want to challenge the system, don't go to bed with it." Now I'm in bed with the Man and the romance is gone, but the money is still good. I wish there was an arrow pointing me in the right direction. This way to the Next New Thing. This way to Creativity. This way to Big Ideas. But how will I know when it's time to leave? And will I have the courage or juice to make it out there in a younger, hipper world? And should I even try? Maybe there's a natural time to quit striving. When I bought a new Honda several years ago, a friend said, "That car will last you the rest of your life." I was aghast, so as soon as the warranty was up, I bought a new one. Damned if I was going to stick with a car just because it would last me to the grave! Now I wonder if I'm sticking with a job just because it will last me til retirement. I feel as if not all of me is being used, and at the same time, I feel used up. Which one of those is right, or are both of them? Do I give up safety, travel, cashmere sweaters, more travel, new computers, expensive wine, Lucky jeans in order to set off down an unknown road that may in the end not lead to Big Ideas, Happiness or Fresh Starts? Do I leap and trust the ideas will be there to catch me up, or do I leap and land on Bag Lady, Dementia and Spending all Day in my PJs? Despite starting my own business, raising kids on my own and putting up my own frigging Christmas lights, I'm not courageous, and not even mildly outrageous--I need prodding in order to move forward and I'm more comfortable in corners than on top of the bar. I'm not proud of that. I wish I could be one of the women I admire who are so gutsy and confident and just pregnant with themselves. They move to cities where they know no one, they travel HAPPILY by themselves, they spend Christmas on Christmas Island just because it's there, they go to Buenos Aires to tango. This Christmas morning, I wish I would find a big blue arrow pointing to Sure Thing, but I know it's not going to be that easy. I guess I'll settle for a Kindle...just in case I hit the road this year for a trial run.

My Heart Still Looks Like This

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 00:10:00 +0000

On my way to have drinks tonight with a friend whose significant other left her flat, I wondered why our hearts just keep splitting open like green wood even though we're supposedly dry tinder now. For my own part, even though I have recently had a bone density test, EKG, shingles vaccine, pneumonia shot, flu shot, colonoscopy and long-term care insurance discussions, I am still the same 16 year old girl who lay awake every night with my heart pounding over the possibility of love standing underneath my bedroom window wearing a khaki windbreaker and a scar on the side of his face. And I hope I always will be.

Return to Sender

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 13:09:00 +0000

Daily Om tells me to grow my soul. Daily Bite tells me how to save the planet. Daily Candy incites me to buy, buy, buy. Daily Kabbalah Tuneup warns me to ward off negative thoughts. The Daily Beast keeps me up to date on celebrities and politics in a shouting sort of way. To round off the morning, The Writer's Almanac sends me a poem a day, and Notes from the Universe sends a daily "personal" message geared just to me--and their other 150,000 other subscribers. Inspirational, environmental or just plain eye candy -- I'm not sure all of these daily messages add that much to my life. In fact, sometimes it feels like I'm being pecked to death by virtual ducks. In Ted Mooney's 1981 novel, Easy Travel to Other Planets, some of the characters would drop in their tracks, stricken by a malady called "information sickness," in which the collection of information led to an insatiable hunger for yet more information. I believe the symptoms included bleeding from the ears. When I open my email, I understand how that could happen. And it doesn't help just to delete the messages unread -- their very arrival makes me feel like I'm behind in my homework before I even start my day. So I'm going to have to decide if my world will be rocked if I unsubscribe and try to take care of my own soul, be my own cheerleader, find my own Amazing Finds, start writing my own little poems again and remember to put out the recycling every other week without benefit of a digital elbow in the ribs. It might be like pushing off into uncharted territory since I barely remember life before the Daily Nag, but I'm sure it will leave a little more of the daily silence that ideas need in order to take root.

The Farmer's Daughter

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 01:17:00 +0000

I'm trying to reduce my carbon footprint by buying locally grown produce. I grew up eating tomatoes my grandfather grew, rhubarb from the backyard, corn fresh from the farm, cucumbers straight off the vine. When I left for the big city, supermarkets became my farm, and I got used to apples from New Zealand or edamame from China. Now we've come full circle, and I subscribe to a local farm co-op that delivers a bag of fresh vegetables every week. Unfortunately, my life with vegetables resembles the "I Love Lucy" episode in the candy factory. I'm cooking as fast as I can, but I just can't keep up with the supply. Toward the end of the week, I get frantic and start throwing everything into a massive stir fry just to use it up. Not to mention that I often don't recognize what comes in my bag. Napa Cabbage? Never heard of it in Kentucky. Those chiles -- are they mild or hot? Evidently they're hot, because I rubbed my nose after handling and chopping them, and now it's on fire. Really--my nose has gone to Hell! Can you hear me scream from there? I know it's important to go green, but (please don't despise me!) I hate LED lights (the twinkle lights on my porch are magical), those curly light bulbs (you can't dim or 3-way them), pleather shoes (don't take my Fryes away), reading the paper online (I want ink on my fingers) and stainless steel water bottles (I feel like I'm using a WWI canteen). It's like going green means being on a perpetual diet -- yeah, it's good for you, but so is Pete Seeger and sometimes I want a little rock and roll. But if I have to be on a green diet, I would love to see big business voluntarily reduce their carbon footprint or Japan give up slaughtering whales or Massey Coal just say no to mountaintop removal in Appalachia. But no, we little people press on -- composting in our backyards, recycling our magazines, eating grass-fed beef or going vegan, while the biggest offenders on the planet continue their greedy, grasping way of life and our elected officials take money from their lobbyists. How about a peaceful, powerful revolution?

Rain, Rain, Come Again

noreply@blogger.com (Nikki Hardin) — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 21:23:00 +0000

Our weather recently has been a combination of fierce showers, drifting smoky clouds, a promise of peach sunsets and glimpses of Tiffany-box blue sky in between -- all in the space of a day. Living in a place that doesn't have dramatic seasonal changes, I love this kind of meteorological drama. Wild weather shakes me out of my predictable routine, my comfortable rut. I like dashing through downpours, carrying my orange umbrella or wearing my silver raincoat that makes me look like a Space Woman. It reminds me of being a kid and playing outside in the rain, of not having completed that alienation between self and nature that takes makes us as grownups impatient with traffic jams during snowstorms, power outages caused by lightning, the inconvenience of getting our hair wet. Watching the rain clean the streets and sidewalks, gush out of gutters, drip from the eaves, bless the bamboo trees in my backyard makes me feel like I've had an old-fashioned baptism of immersion. One that washes away the accumulated grime and grit of dailiness and adultiness, that makes me feel like a green girl again.