becky haycox

Month: November 2013

  • feeling a lightness of spirit

    Untitled

    Myself and Carolyn of Coast Caregiver’s Resource, an indispensable caregiver’s support and resource organization. I would have struggled so much more frantically with caring for John, if not for Carolyn. We had a conversation for StoryCorps, and it was great! I’m allowed to share excerpts, so when I edit the audio, I’ll post it.

    Sharing the details of my caregiving journey (and it IS a journey) really showed me how far I’ve come and what I’ve been through.

    That conversation has really helped me to see with clarity my life right now. I’m really on the other side of a lot of obstacles. Yes, the holidays are here, but I don’t have anything I *need* to do; I can have fun and not put any pressure on myself. Planning trips and itineraries are a breeze, for the first time in years, now that John’s in a safe place. The house is sold; I’m about to have a stable home of my own.

    There have been quite a few problems and situations I haven’t shared here, things that were really hard this fall, but also have starting resolving. It really feels like my willingness to allow 2013 to be the year of hard work really bore out — yup, it’s been the hardest work ever, and now, at the end of the year, it really is easing off.

    And… I’m proud. Proud of myself. And I am emerging out of my complicated cocoon, ready to be a giver, a taker, to be supported and a supporter.

    I’m ready for the next steps, let’s go!

  • confounded

    Untitled

    This table (an antique around which my siblings ate thousands of meals in Massachusetts) was bound for my brother in San Francisco. Relieved to deliver it to a family member who wanted and would appreciate it, I rented an extra-big car, then shoved/yanked the table out of my storage space. Then the table didn’t fit because big cars still have small doorways and trunk entrances and (even though I measured twice! twice! like the proverb!) the stupid fricking fracking table wouldn’t fit. I reversed engineered the hated table back to storage, then went back to the car place and tried to re-rent a smaller, cheaper car since I didn’t need a STUPID GIANT CAR with tiny entrance points. They wouldn’t and were a little mean about it and the whole experience made me cry! Shit. CONFOUNDED

    “I KNOW YOU KNOW”
    That’s the title of a started blog post a couple nights ago, after a loooooong evening involving Hot Buttered Rums (I know.) That’s it. Just the title. Such an intriguing start, drunk Becky! Will we ever know the content of that post? CONFOUNDED

    Untitled

    People Magazine purposely mis-interprets the phrase “Jon Hamm’s package” and shows photos of him with briefcases and bags, which pokes fun at the hubbub surrounding Hamm’s supposedly large penis and love of going commando and the paparazzi’s intent interest in showing those goods to the world — and I’m confused by People, for the first and only time — did they actually print something kind of sly and funny? Because I laughed a little? CONFOUNDED

    [not shown due to boring and annoying]

    Two looooong work-related emails from my job job and my regular freelance gig. On a Saturday of a holiday. Please don’t force me to be reminded of work when I’m in the middle of the pie portion of the weekend. CONFOUNDED

  • minimize the maximum

    [sorry for the dearth of blog posts for a couple days; there were connectivity issues then there were a couple days when “blogging” was replaced by “eating” and “having a break” and “making fun with real humans”]

    As If I needed to “give myself permission” ever, but I am allowed to to whatever the hell I want this weekend. Sleep late, mosey to SF at my own pace, stop in for bacon at a friend’s parental house, eat at a French restaurant at 8pm, drink until googly-eyed at a very old bar, order pie when already full, flirt with a guy in the truck next to me at the 7/11, tease my friends, marvel at the empty city, marvel (with judgment) at the thanksgiving night line ups in front of stores, cry a little, flirt with a baby, not photograph or write about a damn thing, tell the Frenchman I’m drunk, shirk duties, avoid family, sing loudly to the Talking Heads the whole trip, regale with stories about my very evil 20s, laugh.

    Not necessarily in that order.

  • things i love about the roommate

    The jungle

    The Elderly Relative counted (sort of) as a roommate, but the arrangement was far from fun nor frolic.

    I have lived alone for a good part of my adult life otherwise, so I was curious to know how living with another (albeit non-intensely needy) human was going to be. This apartment is compact, I’m not a tidy person, I can get moods, uh oh was I/she going to regret this?

    Oh, not at all, not at all! I love living with Roomie, she with me! These things come to mind, unordered list:

    • She loves my plants, whom she collectively calls “The Jungle.” She secretly gave the bromeliad a new perch; never has the bromeliad been higher nor prouder. She left a packet of plant food sticks for them with a little note. The Jungle appreciates its Auntie.
    • She is a fellow creative, and makes her living being creative, and has so much insight and advice when I feel underpaid and undervalued (the default mode of people like us.)
    • She likes my cooking! Miracle!
    • The solidarity of FEMALE. From lady times to our occasional weird girly dinners (yogurt, cottage cheese, breakfast cereal, booze) to boy talk/man talk/ex talk, it is so good to have access to another woman at vulnerable times and all other times, too.
    • She is an inspiration. The past couple years have been a challenge for her (to put it mildly) and I am in awe of her tenacity, faith, and ability for joy.

    Our time together is brief; she’s moving on in a couple weeks, so we’re ending our roommate relationship while its still in its perfect prime — a good time to make an exit. We’re both in rapidly shifting transition, so, though its sad, it’s also incredibly lucky we got to pause with each other and to laugh, pop the wine and have some quality time, in every sense of the phrase.

    Love you, Roomie!

  • five … funny … things!

    1. A man acts like a baby. Sounds corny and dumb, but Beck Bennett is an actor that observes and gets it right. Sorry for the Hulu ad beforehand, but it’s worth it. This video is hot amongst improvisers, as this is full-tilt physical commitment that every improviser should have, most do not have, and all should strive for:

    [direct link]

    2. From Facebook:

    Heather’s status: So my training is almost done — one more to go and I’ll be an official See’s Candy employee!
    Judy: Sweet!

    3. To class up your Christmas tree. Chewbacca painted ornament.

    chewy

    4. For the dance-off hall of fame.  The kid! The usher! The dude in the upper right behind the kid: he starts off all tough/sexy/glaring, then just gives in to the joy. Now THIS puts me in the holiday spirit.

    [direct link]

    5. When in doubt, cavort and/or frolic. I love snowman costumes a lot.

    cavort

  • dishy

    I’ve experienced a few meaningful days and things are feeling sort of deep, but I’m not going to blog about THAT right now, no sir. Instead, let’s talk about dishes.

    My possessions (AS YOU MAY KNOW BY NOW) have been in storage for years, including my dinnerware set. Unfortunately my tastes have shifted a bit and I am ready for something different, something less rosy.

    roseplates

    [blogged about here]

    Not to mention it’s also a huge set. I don’t need such a … landscape of pink plates, saucers, bowls, cups, more plates.

    So the hunt is on. Mom had some great dish sets but the one left in the house at the end was the Dansk Bistro Maribo set, which filled me with “almost but not quite,” and also “I’ve served 10,000 baloney sandwiches for John on these.”

    Dansk Bistro Maribo

    I do like blue and white and Scandinavian, so I’ll probably regret the hell out of letting these go, but right now those fussy little details make me fussy.

    She did have four of the Dansk Berries pattern:

    berries

    So cute and Scando and the bowls are knockouts but it would be a hard set to assemble for cheap using eBay. And maybe too berry-y?

    Then I lost my mind on Etsy, favorite-ing dozens upon dozens of dish sets, which did nothing to unclutter my mind.

    so many dishes.

    Proper fancy-lady 50’s porcelain? Atomic a-go-go? Seventies sturdy Earth-Shoe-feeling plattters? Simple, complex? WHAT, BRAIN, WHAT DO YOU WANT?

    Well, these make me happy. Stonehenge Midwinter set in Sun (yellow), Earth (brown) or Moon (blue).

    stone henge

    stonehenge earth

    stonehenge moon

    Sun and Earth are plentiful, Moon is scarce, but no matter the availability I’m looking at some cash output to assemble a decent set. Shipping costs for dishes holy cow.

    So, of course, a-thrifting I am going.

    Dish

    Spotted today: Bob van Allen for Mikasa, four dinner plates, four cups, one creamer, all a buck each. Hmm! I kind of like. Produced between 1978 and 1981. Not cheap online, but maybe I just get what’s in the thrift store and make do? Enjoy them for a while then throw them back OR make a minor investment to expand the collection?

    I just need to be patient, I know. Dish sets are all over the damn place, even Craigslist has coughed up some interesting possibilities. It’s me. I need to settle for a pattern. But it has to be Miss Right Pattern.

    The end!

  • person, animal in motion

    I find it kind of amusing that animated GIFs are (and have been) so hot hot hot. I can see why; it’s easy to share moving images without having to have major video-downloading bandwith, or to have to worry about devices not having the proper software to play them.

    I had to reteach myself to make them (thanks, Photoshop, for making it so damn easy).

    Tiny Dancer GIF

    I was photographing a work event yesterday and had my DSLR camera set to continuous still image shooting. During set up, and while the gym was momentarily empty, I asked my coworker to do a little dance. You go, tiny dancer! [direct link]

    Werk it, black cat!

    This is a GIF of a bit of video I shot a few years ago of Tamar and Rich’s beautiful model cat. I was tempted to include a caption at the very end saying “and THAT is how it’s done,” but that would make me a person who creates and posts a cat meme to the internet and I am not that person. PS I know I should make the GIF shorter but whatevs. [direct link]

    Enough of this beginner’s crap. Let’s see some animated GIFs that rock my world.

    Via winds-of-desolation.tumblr.com/:

    bird ink

    [direct link]

    Via dainfagerholm.blogspot.it

    monster!

    [direct link]

    Via fromme-toyou.tumblr.com:

    subway

    [direct link]

    Okay, and here’s another cat GIF. Okay. But what an excellent use of captions. Via Buzzfeed

    wait a minute

    [direct link]

  • improv is fun

    11/22/13 cast

    With all the … stuff … going on, I haven’t been able to have fun and be creative. Bottom line. Fortunately I’m dipping my little toes back into the pursuits that make me a happier me.

    Finally I took the stage last night with the Ventura Improv Company after many, many weeks, and it was fantastic. Silly, fun, ridiculous show — and a great audience, which is one of the more profound joys ever.

    Where else can one

    • sing out the frustrations of a Jewish mother, upset that her son is stealing her thunder — at his own bar mitzvah?
    • encourage the audience to direct a scene between Napolean and Josephine? Particularly inspired were the hurtful nicknames Napolean had to endure through his youth: “Half-pint,” “Nappy,” and “Biscuit,” among others.
    • lick another player’s hands in character as a nitwit whose pretending to be a CFO?

    … and so much more. As usual with improv, you had to be there. And I’m so glad I was.

  • 50 is a useful marker

    Today (in case you don’t have US History at your brain’s fingertips or do not access the internet or are part of the conspiracy) is the 50th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

    And there we have a start of a major avalanche of 50th markers — just think about next year, holy cow. The Beatles, Cold War ramp ups, Vietnam, start of major student protests — the 60s started in ’64 and it won’t stop there. The rest of this decade will be such an easy one for the media — they’ll just search free image archives for newspaper front pages from whatever event (Woodstock! Man on Moon! All the dead people in ’68!) and write some trite timeline pulled from Wikipedia.

    I do have to allow that the JFK coverage has been varied and mostly interesting. However, being steeped in decades of cynicism and distrust of my government, all the swirling conspiracy theories about the shooting interest me not at all. Sure, it could’ve been an inside job, why not? My adorable government has done a heck of a lot worse in the intervening years. In my humble opinion! Please, theorist-crackpots, do not find my blog and get all crazy on it.

    I’m actually not complaining about any kind of half-century remembrance. I remember when everything WWII started hitting the 50-years-after (starting with Pearl Harbor anniversary in ’91) and it was a very useful method to get my elders to talk about what they were doing, where they were, what they were thinking, when the shit went down. A 50th anniversary is a good time to seek out eyewitnesses to whatever event and get the lowdown. This is it! Starting next year, find every aging Beatlemaniac you can find and ask to see their scrapbooks and ticket stubs.

    Next year I’ll be too busy for that, though. I will be otherwise engaged celebrating 50th birthdays from the start to the finish of 2014. Last year of the Baby Boom, and those babies are booming.

  • moving on up … to a sensible, moderately priced apartment in the sky-high-high

    can you tell i got the apartment?

    Amazon cart shows evidence of my impending move.

    No matter that my househunty plans are on hold, or that the landmine field called the holidays are here, I’m completely stoked about my apartment.

    I’m not moving in for three weeks but I’m crushing hard, imagining our cozy little lives together, running through fields of daisies, hand in hand. I’m also feeling lust in my soul, thinking of the four (FOUR) huge closets, oh you sexy storage. This place is just right, not fancy nor shabby, full of character (icebox intact!), location almost perfect.

    3.5 years of living in a sprawling dump-ish house, 6 years before that in an okay apartment in a blah part of town — now, this. Now I get this! I deserve this!

    I am excited to enter the new year — freshly single, be-homed, full of plans for the future, near and far.