Exercising My Prerogative

 

When I was growing up there were three things the women in my family said repeatedly.  "I'm not as smart as some and not as stupid as others."  "We're as good as anybody else and better than some."  "I'm exercising my prerogative to change my mind."

I haven't used any of these terms in my life that I'm aware of, except for the last one.  I do occasionally exercise my prerogative and change my mind.  I practiced that today.

Just recently I'd said, I wasn't going to can those bags of collards that were eating up space in my freezer.  I was going to cook them, preferably in the slow cooker outdoors, then freeze them. This was due in part to my desire to season the greens as they cooked and partly due to the fact that I like pot likker, the juices the collards cook in, rather well.  I find the liquid left behind after cooking very tasty and it's full of all those nutrients that cooked from the greens which makes it like a health boost in my personal opinion.

But this morning, as I sat here cooling down from the morning's cleaning up, I jotted down what I'd like to do today.  I wanted to rearrange the freezer to create a little more room in there.  My idea was, now that I've gotten most all of the broth and soups out of the way, I would utilize that bottom pullout wire basket and put the big meat cuts in there.  Ham, turkey, whole chicken, big roasts...It just made sense that using that basket would net me more room in my meat bins and allow me to store more chicken cuts, chops, ground meats, etc.  

The re-organizing commenced and then I realized that those 2 bags of collards were taking up space that I could use, too.  And that's when I changed my mind.  I decided I'd just go ahead and get those greens into jars and can them in the pressure canner.  (I just heard the fifth pint ping...Such a satisfying sound!).  Mind you, I hate to cook collards in the house.  And while I was only blanching them for the jars, they still stink.  They stank all through the pressure canning process.  I thought it was just the few I had left (about 1 quart) and cooked while the canner was running but once the canner was open the aroma was fresh all over again.  

Given the smell, I may well change my mind yet again and once I have a new slow cooker just put them outdoors to cook and then freeze them!

In the meantime, there are five pints on the counter that will go into the pantry tomorrow.  And if it's nice and cool in the morning, I may well open and air the house for a few hours.  I'm reminded at this moment of the woman from the neighborhood who told me she never cooked her greens indoors.  "I put those slow cookers on the porch and that's where those things cook.  I love me some greens, but I do not love that smell!"  Quite right!

I will also tell you quite sincerely that while my back was filling somewhat better, this little bit of canning has it aching all over again.  Yes, I lifted a stock pot that was half full but who'd have thought it would upset my back so?  

And while I'm here I might as well say that I'm dreadfully backlogged on replying to comments, but I did try the Rife frequency and while it wasn't a total cure, it did help considerably decrease pain, so thank you to the one who suggested that.

I've been thinking a lot lately and it's all been about me.  I thought about what clothing made me feel the most comfortable and feminine and decided to go back to the Bohemian style of dress rather than the more tailored classic styling I'd been trying to fit into.  My body is and always has been the sort that curves, and it doesn't fit into straight lines very well.  I also realized that there is a certain feminine romance to flouncy sleeves and long skirts that I really enjoy.  I feel vitally alive when I'm dressed in that manner.  So, after ten years of trying to squeeze this curvy bottle into boxy squares, I'm determined to turn back to that point of life where I felt pretty in what I wore.

Then I changed the part in my hair.  I had started to feel I'd never again have any sort of body and lift to my hair and that it would always be hanging awkwardly in my eyes due to the cowlick on the right side of my forehead.

Until I was about 38, I'd always worn my hair parted on the right side which worked very well with the cowlick.  Just because a stylist chose to switch my part to the left and then cut and styled my hair around that, I've stuck with it.  About a month ago, I parted it on the right once more.  Result, I fight less with my hair falling into my eyes.  I have a little more lift to my thin, fine hair.   

I have to confess, changing that part was harder mentally than it was physically.  I approved of the way it looked and could see it was a little more flattering, but it discombobulated me mentally.  I argued and argued with myself over that part in my hair and then finally, I settled down and accepted that it was the right thing to do.  It better suits the shape of my head.

All of this has led to a feeling that I am on a journey of discovery about myself once more.  Mind you, I have been all through the whole middle years of having 'lost' myself.  At that point, I'd never really had time to figure out who I was all on my own.  

Mama had a strong personality, one that was determined to control others, and she absolutely refused to let me choose my own room decor, or clothing when I was growing up.  She had terrific taste and a good eye.  I was fortunate that she also was fairly knowledgeable about what was fashionable for girls my age.  But was it my taste?  Not very frequently.  More often than not, I felt as though I was dressed in someone else's clothing.   

When I married there was no money for decor or clothing, so I made do with what I had.  And when I finally left that marriage and had a bit of money of my own, Mama stepped back in and did a lot of the choosing of furniture and clothes all over again.  Then I married John, and we were right back to 'no money equals no choice'.  I finally stopped taking Mama's hand-me-downs when John and Katie both protested that I was dressing far too old.  But I struggled to find my own look well into my forties.  

And then I foolishly let websites tell me that classic is always in style (it is) and suits everyone (yes and no), is not age dependent (true) and will never go out of style (it doesn't).  In a fit of wanting to get the most for my money, I let go of a style I was enjoying and tried once more to fit myself into a mold of what someone else thought was appropriate.  

Anyway, all that is a long way around to say that I'm on a journey of self-discovery, but it's not because I've 'lost' myself.  It's just that I'd forgotten who I was.  So, I'm sort of turning back, changing my mind, you might say, about what I want to look like and what I want to wear and the things I want to do.  

One of the most vital times of my life occurred in the late 1990's.  I was taking the writing class with the University of Berlin professor who was working on a model for an internet course for the college and had a group of people volunteer to take her classes.  We didn't get credit, but it was a full on four quarter courses in creative writing.  That time stands out to me as one of the most pivotal times in my life.  It opened me up to so much more than I'd ever dared be open to before.  It was as much about exploring where creative mind would take us as it was about what stood in the way of that creative mind.  Self-criticism is a killer of so much more than artistic endeavors.  The course involved writing, drawing (no instruction just free form drawing), excursions, self-examination, etc.  I came vitally alive during the time I spent in those classes.  

All these years later here I am remembering how I felt then, and I want to feel that same thing once more.  I've let an awful lot of things get in my way, block me, halt me, redirect my intent in writing, dam my creativity etc.  

It was actually Katie who inadvertently opened my memory back up to those days when I felt so aware of my creativity.  She wanted Caleb to craft this summer, and I started working on my own things instead of just watching him work.  That's when I started remembering how much time I spent just being creative during those years following that writing course.  Katie was a crafty sort of child, and we'd sit down together and just start drawing or making something or I'd get caught up in writing, etc.  I was always feeding that creative muse. 

And it didn't take the time away from household chores, family and necessary things that I'd somehow come to believe it had.  Heck at that point I was often taking care of two household besides my own between Mama, Granny and Daddy's care needs.  So why did I stop being creative?  Why did I let my writing work become dull and boring and routine?  Why did I stop drawing and building and making things simply for the love of creating something?  When did I decide that if I weren't going to display it I needed to set that aside and not enjoy the making of it?  

Lately, I've realized how not reading is also a stifling of the creative process for me.  It's all fine and well to skim through vlogs and shorts but it eats up hours of time and brain space.  Yes, I've always been a little obsessive about things.  I played video games for hours when Katie was growing up but only a portion of my mind was engaged with the game.  I'd use the other portion to work out problems, figure out why something hadn't set well with me, determined what was at the root of things that bugged me, etc. 

It doesn't work that way for me with this constant flipping through images on a screen.  I'm not invested in anything.  I'm mindless.  Literally.  It's as though my mind shuts off and that's it.  I don't think.  I don't sort.  I don't figure anything out.  

Here I am chatting away and its past supper time.  Fortunately, not a hard meal tonight, just a quick supper of sandwich for John and cheese toast for me.  I need to stop here, but I sure have enjoyed chatting away with you this afternoon.

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