playing with a full deck

My parents are hustlers. They hustle to get what they want and what they need. They think up dreams and when those dreams don't pan out, they think up other dreams. They're dreamers, but they are practical dreamers. They make dreams reality. My dad's always got a side business and often has a Big Project on the go which if it works, it will be 'outstanding'. A lot of these dreams are never realized but the few that are, these are the ones that he lives for. My mother is a sales hustler, a deals hustler, a pincher and a scraper, a wearer of designer clothes bought at discount prices. And their secret to staying young, to staying alive in their lives, their mantra really, is to never stop hustling. Go for it, hustle, make it work.

So, it's not surprising that I was raised to hustle. What is surprising is how it is in every part of my life. On recently looking back on my past relationships and interactions with people, i realize that I am an emotional hustler. As I get to know someone, part of me assesses how I can enrich their lives and how they can enrich mine. What the trade will be, how best to make it work. What things to leave out.

Metaphorically, I decide what cards I'm going to show and what cards I'm going to keep in my hand. And if all the cards we're both showing match well, I invest, I make the wager. Different cards for different people. Sometimes I choose wrong, I make a slip in judgment, sometimes I get played. That's how it is for me, a game. Which sounds somehow cold and shallow, but it's how I cope. It's how I make things work. It's how I know where I stand.

Some people want to delve deep into my deck and I into theirs and that is the shape that our relationship takes.
Some people want to visit parts of my deck over and over, we share an interest, a passion for something and that's the way we know each other.
Some people just want to be shown a card trick or two.

And then comes along someone that can see my cards without me showing them. Something in my poker face gives me away. And he stays. This is confusing and scary. This is something that has taken me a long time to get used to, something that I'm still getting used to. The idea that someone could know all about me, about what makes me up and how I work, and still choose to stay. And worse than all this, I can't read his! I'm so very good at reading people, but I only know what he shows me. It makes me want to stomp. It makes me want to scream 'no fair'. If I want to see his cards, I have to.... gasp... ask! I have to ask for what I want. No hustling.

This is a lesson in trust and perhaps my wildest adventure to date. I have to know what I want, believe that I'm worth it, then ask. It's his mantra. Sounds easy... it's hard work for a hustler. Sometimes I complain. Sometimes I point out the power imbalance. And when I do that, he laughs and raises his left eyebrow in this look that says 'yeah right, I know you've got a card or two up your sleeve!'

see how well he knows me?

strollers and alternate universes

I am giving up caffeine to try to make myself stop grinding my teeth, so if this post doesn't make much sense, remember that I am in a haze of fog with a dull headache in the background.

A strange thing happened on Sunday. When I woke up and went into my upstairs front room, that overlooks the field and train tracks across the street. There, in between the sidewalk and the tracks, sat a pile of baby accessories. A couple of strollers, a play pen, a bouncy chair, a big bag of stuffed animals... For those of you who don't know, I am sure that I was a cat in a past life and curiosity has often led me astray.

I found Sam, asleep on my bed with the boy of complex description. I wrestled with him to go for a walk. Sam is the only dog that I've ever met who doesn't like mornings. He also loves this particular human so much that he is reluctant, nay cantankerous, about being made to leave him. But I needed him as an excuse to check out the pile of treasures across the road, so I insisted and he eventually complied. We set out across the street.

The stuff was in excellent condition. It was brand name. It was expensive. It was too far from the road to have been dumped from a truck by accident and it was too far from the tracks to have come hurtling off a train car. It was a mystery. We walked and found another stroller in some bushes nearby. It was a full out mystery. Sam doesn't always make the correct distinction about what is acceptable to urinate on and what isn't when we are out for a walk. I took him home so that I could come back and inspect the loot, maybe find a name or an address or some clue. Nancy Drew on the case.

By the time I got Sam back and explained the situation to the boy of complex description, awake now after Sam jumped back on the bed and mauled him with love, there was someone else at the pile of stuff. Not just a someone. A me. A me from an alternate universe. Same haircut, same build, same colouring, same bloody black and white dog. It was creepy, there were definitely goosebumps on my arms. We watched her pick through the things from the front window and made speculations about what she would do. Was she looking for an address like I was going to? That was my theory. The boy had a different one. "She's taking what's good," he told me. "People aren't like you." She did load up a stroller with a pile of stuff and head presumably to wherever she lived. Maybe that was all she could take at one time. Maybe she was putting it somewhere to keep it safe.

And in the end, the day took on a hurried tone and we had things to do and places to be and a family emergency and the stroller mystery got pushed to the back burner. When I got home later that evening, I remembered. Everything was gone. Right down to the cardboard boxes and the little dresses wrapped in cellophane. I took Sam for his walk that way. The stroller in the bushes was gone too. Like it had never happened.

On Monday, one of my coworkers told me about a woman who had been caught stealing strollers from porches and selling them online. Maybe this was her loot. Maybe she ditched it.

Or maybe the alternate universe me found an address. Called someone. Maybe there are some people like me.

This world is so strange sometimes.

front bedroom

This is my friend Jess (the machine), getting ready to transform the front bedroom of my house from "desert" to "candlelight ivory". Currently the room is set up as my new bedroom (well partially), but I didn't take into account that the front bedroom, that overlooks a busy street, would be so much noisier that the back bedroom and I am seriously considering moving back to my old boudoir (which is now "lavender sky", thanks to my friend Benn who donated his time and great skill to that project.) Which would make this room my office slash studio... hmmm...

Here is the colour it is now...

Tempeh Teriyaki

The boy of complex description wants to learn how to cook. Or at least try it and see if he likes it. I love sharing skills! We made this together - teriyaki tempeh with bean sprouts, carrots and portobello mushrooms served over basmati rice. It was soooo good! And he was a natural at it! Next - smoked salmon eggs benedict!!!