Ritz Kracka

Ritz Kracka

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Am I ready to Get...MARRIED?!? - 12/23/2014

So I found myself shopping for a wedding ring the other day.  Yes, you read that right - 'a' wedding ring.  As in one.  Turns out that i asked myself to marry me!  OMG!!!

And the initial answer was a resounding:

"Yes!  Oh YES!  I thought you would NEVER ask!!!"

But I think that was the idea of a beautiful ring talking.  Because as I was in the store trying on these beautiful rings, I found myself thinking:

"You mean like, Forever Ever, Forever Ever??? 

And i started getting cold feet.

This is not the ring.  This is the engagement ring i purchased a couple of years back when i was feeling super-good and in the relationship of a lifetime!  He ended up believing me to be the Devil Incarnate.
Because THIS is exactly what that marriage commitment thing is all about, isn't it?!   This is where the rubber meets the road, this is what separates the wheat from the chaff, where the shit.gets.real.  It's about being there for me and staying there for me and not leaving me when the going gets tough.  I mean, truth be told, the person whom I have abandoned MOST in my life is...yeP.  me

And i see marriage as a vow to stay.  When i am feeling super-good about life and everything/(most) everyone in it, its easy to stay!  I stay and stay and (over)stay, and soak in all of that goodness.  And when things get tough and complicated and a bit messy, like most recently when a client fired me.  Fired.  For the first time in my life.  Well, like a well-programmed computer, my initial reaction was to chastise ME.  Once I was level-headed enough to process the thing all the way through, I realized the relationship was not a good fit for either of us.  And what a relief to be out of a really icky relationship!

Or when you tell your colorist that you want a certain color of blue and she points out the correct color, but then for some god-forsaken reason, you end up with day-glo blue hair.  My day-to-day challenge right now is to look at myself in the mirror - stay - and very gently remind myself that i am most certainly NOT my ridiculously colored hair.  

And when i can stay long enough to see the feeling all the way though, sometimes, a wave of relief and freedom opens up in front of me.  or - a wave of chocolate.

So.  Am I ready to be married?  Again?  Or perhaps the question is:  

Am I finally ready for the Marriage of a Lifetime?

stand by. 




Tuesday, December 16, 2014

"CRAFTERNOON - HOLIDAY EDITION"

4:00am:  My eyes pop open.  It's CRAFTERNOON!  Yeeeeeee-Hawwwwwww!   I am so excited, but I try going back to sleep.



4:05am: Tommi the cat licks my face.  I am up.

4:30: I decide now is the time to paint that one wall in my bathroom pink.  I commence to painting, manage to spill, step in, and make pink footprints  all over the house.  

5:30am: Finished with painting, I begin clean-up.

7:00am: I am completely wiped.  I want to go back to bed, but know I need to push through.

7:30am: I prepare Excel instructions for the craft we are going to make.  I have named it the "Wrap- Around-Wallet" (tm).

8:30am: Yoga.  Almost pass out in Child's Pose.

10:00am. Sauna.  Almost pass out from heat exhaustion.  Meet a couple of strippers in the sauna.  One of the strippers,a beautiful woman with her hair wrapped behind a towel, mentions wanting to cut all her hair off, but is afraid to do it.  She currently wears a wig when she is dancing.  I recommend she shave her head at least once in her lifetime. 

Noon: Back home to get ready for guests.  I am anticipating a small, yet intimate crowd of four lovely, excited crafters.

2:00pm:  Imagine my surprise when my long-time crafting buddies Mia and Lindsay show up as well!  I am OVER.THE.MOON.  But - i have forgotten the cream cheese at the store, and now I don't have any finger sandwiches.

2:15pm: Lindsay begins to boil water for tea.  I am not a tea drinker and all i have to offer is stale decaf early grey and chamomile. I feel like a loser.  Plus - no finger sandwiches for the tea.   I am hoping that nobody has taken note of this.

2:30pm: I try distracting the crafters with fresh fruit.  I am not yet prepared to dive into the project.

2:45pm: Masako shares with me that, during their recent trip to the fabric shop, Lisa and she spontaneously decide to change the project! 

2:46pm: I give Masako the side-eye and throw my carefully-prepared Excel instructions in her face.

2:48pm: Lindsay grabs the instructions, looks them up and down, remarks about the Excel presentation, and guffaws. 

2:50 - 3:30pm: Masako and Lisa 'splain to me what the NEW project will be: a tote-purse.  They have both brought with then extensive materials for this project, including several kinds of fabric, zippers, and purse handles.  i begin to feel an anxiety attack coming on.  I am a bit of a control-freak and i don't do well with change.

3:45pm: Masako and I begin discussing the design of her purse.  Mia, who is drawing with colored pencils and ear-hustling in the corner, suggests that perhaps I am being a bit forecful and bossy: "Maureen, I do realize this is YOUR Crafternoon, but it's Masako's purse."  CRAFTERNON SMACK-DOWN.  I back off.

4:00pm: Mia and Lindsay take their leave, and Lisa's tote-purse project is having some trouble during lift-off.   "But there's just so many options, Maureen!"

I need a drink - an alcoholic drink that will make everything just a bit fuzzy and easier to *manage*.  And then i remember that i don't drink.  F*ck.  I snag a caramel from the "Taste Test of Caramels,"
an assortment of oddly-flavored caramels I purchased on impulse during my last-minute goodies trip (the trip where i forgot the cream cheese).   Yes of course i remembered the chocolate.  Duh.

 4:30pm: Lisa has managed to craft a headband out of a cloth remnant, and is thrilled that she has a "take-away" from CRAFTERNOON.  This is all she wanted and I am relieved that she will be leaving satisfied.


5:00pm: Jocelyn, who has been (unusually) quiet as a mouse working as a separatist on her gift/scrap-book/wedding memento at the dining room table, expresses dissatisfaction at the current page's decorations.  She tries adding more flair.  It's better, but not yet good.  I suggest she leave it alone and return to it later.   As usual, she takes my suggestion with a grain of salt and continues working.

5:30pm: My ancient sewing machine is rebelling against Masako and the fabric she has chosen.  Karma.  

5:45pm: Lisa has worked out her design, pinned her purse together and has now designed a matching coin purse as well, while she waits for her turn at the sewing machine. 

6:00pm:  I gather a second wind, give my ancient sewing machine a "what for," and finish sewing up the final side of Masako's purse.  We discuss zippers, straps, and CRAFTERNOON, HOLIDAY EDITION, PART II.  Neither purse is finished, but the progess is...AMAZING!
        

6:30pm: We begin the wind-down.

6:45pm:  Everyone leaves at once, and I am left with (almost) an entire box of "Mystery Caramels,"  half-dozen PB & J cookies, and two quarts of blood-orange italian soda.  I feel a deep pull of existential angst and lonliness wash over me.  I eye the caramels with a longing...a longing so deep and sorrow-filled that all i can do is step away and say a silent prayer of "Help" to Baby J.

7:30pm:  Fresh from an epsom salt bath, I hop into bed, and am asleep before I can say  -

"CRAFTERNOON-HOLIDAY EDITION - Its A Wrap."


Coming In January 2015 - CRAFTERNOON - HOLIDAY EDITION, PART DEUX.












Monday, December 15, 2014

Dear Jeebus: I Wanna Be A Foot Model.

Dear Baby J*

If the pith instruction at this point in the journey  is indeed as simple as “Do what you Love and the Money will Follow," then bear witness to this proclamation:

I love and take great pleasure in the beautification of my feet.


Jeebus, I know I am a bit late to the ball with this one,  but my feet are still in fairly good shape!  And, if I could actually be paid to maintain them???  Well, I don't have to sell YOU on how this could ENTIRELY be a win-win-win situation, yeah?!?  The trifecta!

FEET AND FLOWERS - 2012
Years ago, I spoke to a close friend about my silent dream of foot modeling, and like all close friends, she encouraged me to pursue my dream.  So off i went, like all good diligent dreamers, and ran str8 to the interwebs to begin the pursuit of my dream to be a  foot model.

During my search, I came across a gentleman claiming to be a foot model photographer. This gentleman did not offer to share a portfolio, nor did he show me any print-ads he had done, but he had some nice photos, and he *sounded* legit.  That is, until he told   Whoops. Looks like I just me caught a creeper.  It was sad, but I had to let that one go.
me that he would fly himself out from Virginia, set us up in a studio for a day, and then pay me $1,000 for a day of modeling.


Jeebus, my friend, my man, my mellow: you know how hard I have worked, and continue to work, to seek out that which brings me passion, that in which I find joy, and that in which I might also bring joy to others.  What is more joyful than gazing upon a super-cute pair of feet?!?  I mean, lets face it: feet are NOT yer pop's greatest werk.

These are my friend's feet. We are the same age. 

Check this pair out - pulled directly from a friend's Facebook feed.  Good for him that he has acknowledged his foot-problem and is working on it.  But dear lord!  I feel really strongly that feet aught never  have to look like that!  I mean, whyyyyyyyyy? (whine, whine, whimper, whine)

Anywhoo - Bro: I am attaching a few of my faves over the years.   You decide whether my feet would be a good fit and then please pass my request onto the father, will ya?  'Preesh.

"MONEY SHOT"


"FLOWERS AND FEET - 2012"



"NU TOEZ - 2014"



RETREAT-FEET - 2013







































all my love,

ritz


*Jeebus, he walks with me.

p.s. no foot worshippers please!!!! ew.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

P.O.W.E.R.

"In a small, segregated country, called Zebra, the Sun minority has relegated the Shade majority to reservations far from the cities and the centers of power.  The government is a dictatorship.

The dictator, as well as the majority knows nothing of the culture, mores, values, or spiritual inclinations of the Shades; nevertheless, fear and control of the Shades is behind every governmental decision.  It is fully believed that if the Shades came near prominence or power, the entire way of being of the country would be altered.  The minority does not fear for its lives; it fears for its way of life.  To change this would be worse than death.  One day there is a serious power outage.  The power lines have been cut.  Up to this point, energy has been the major export of this country.  The country is paralyzed.  The Shades do not deny they cut the lines, but assert that the power has always belonged to them..."


Deena Metzger goes on to write:

"This scenario could describe conditions in any one of numerous countries.  In fact, it is a description of my own inner state of being, a political description of the nation-state of my own psyche.  I have come to understand that an individual is also a country, that one contains multiple selves who are governed as nations are governed, and that the problems and issues that afflict nations also afflict individuals.  For most of  my life, I have been completely unconscious of the real mode of government and the status of the beings within my territory."

Me too.  I was, of course, taken by her first sentence at the word "Zebra,"  which is a word that has a history in my life in bi-racial skin, as one of many of the *derogatory* names i was called.  It never bothered me: zebras are beautiful.  Not so beautiful was my own inner country, ruled by a short, fat, angry dictator who was cruel, aggressive, paranoid, and ultimately, who just needed to be removed from office and taken care of for the rest of his life.

If you want to read more, the full story is one of several in one of my MOST FAVORITE BOOKS: "Ordinary Magic." And it makes a great holiday gift!  I bought it for my own mother one year.

What is that state of your country?



Sunday, November 30, 2014

"How to Share Power - Kid Ninja Starter Pak"



11/28/14

I was going to write tonight about how “I Wanna Be a Foot Model,” but something happened a couple of hours ago that feels far more “timely” and helpful for today’s NOW moment.

Tre is having a sleepover tonight, and he was starting to get a bit surly and show-offy.  In hindsight I can understand: he is proud of the relationship we have together, and my efforts to try and share power with him.  Yesterday, though, I had had nearly all that I could take without getting really ugly in front of “Friend,” which I was not yet prepared to do.   

I wrote earlier in the year about the idea of power.  Power over, power shared, personal power.  It is always a very timely topic and recently, I had the very sticky, uncomfortable experience that comes with having an interaction with a person who chose to abuse her power over me.  But - that’s another blog.  

Children have power.  Lots of it.  Obviously, there is the power that a baby and small child have over their caregivers, compelling the parent to care-give (feel, clothe, cuddle, nurture).  Children also have a ton of creative power.  In her book “Living with a Wild God,“ Barbara Ehrenreich writes this about her about her own children:

“…They were not notably human when they first appeared, more like fuzzy, pale nocturnal animals, lemurs perhaps, without language or loyalties, habits or traditions, entirely devoted to eating and processing raw sensory data as it came to them.  I saw my opportunity at once, which was not to extend any biology self through some sort of dynamic imperialism, but to … rebuild the world for myself, only this time with a couple of brilliant and highly creative collaborators.”

Adults have power too.  We have power OVER our children.  We can physically hurt - even kill them, and we can also abuse them with our words.  Imagine having an argument with an 8 year old child.  No matter how advanced a child’s vocabulary, it’s just not a fair fight folks.  

So tonight, the child was cutting up in front of Friend, and I exited stage left to go take care of the laundry before blowing a gasket and ruining the play date /overnighter.  Outside, fuming at his behavior and how I was going to handle it in a way that allowed all of us to keep our dignity in tact (including Friend), I began mentally preparing myself for how far I was willing to go – empty threats are the devil’s handiwork.  First on my list: Friend goes home, playdate/overnighter over.  Game over.  I am ready to go there and all prepared to lay into him, when he steps out on the porch, looks at me, knows what’s up, and says:

“I know mom – I have been acting VERY badly!”

My heart melts right there, in a puddle in front of the child.  Suddenly, he and I are secret allies in all of this!  We both want the same thing.
 
Me: I know, dude!  What’s going on in there?

He: I don’t know.  I just, just –  (I can see he doesn’t has the vocabulary to express why he is compelled to flaunt his power in front of Friend)

Me: I know.  Listen.  This is why I pulled you out here.  I don’t want to embarrass you around Friend.  So Please – turn it around.  Stat! 

He: Right.  OK.  

Then we hugged it out.
 
It was a great night. 


Saturday, November 29, 2014

Who Told Me I Was Ugly???


As I continue to chip away at some of the false boundaries between “self” and “other,” I often bump up against some hard-stops.  Some wired-in misconceptions that are REEEEEEALLLY difficult to try and (1) un-tangle, and (2) re-wire.  I guess that’s why they thought lobotomies might be good thing.  Great idea…poor execution.


My point is, since posting the photos of myself without hair and feeling fairly good about it, I have been trying to get at just when it was that I lost the sense of self, and thus the sense of my own beauty, both inner AND outer.  When now as I flip though old photo albums for new material, i come across photos where I had earlier mentally blasted myself for the way I looked, I look at now and a sad beauty stares back at me.  Along with a puzzling question: 

 Just exactly when did I decide that I was really, truly “ugly?”

And this is important!  Because even though I have always been a bit lost and misguided, as if I were just kind of plopped down on this straaaange  blue planet - taken from my mother, placed into homes with stranger-people, folks I KNEW were not my kin…miraculously, I seemed to have (mal) adjusted to all of that.  After all, children are resilient and I can remember the kind, sometime longing stares of strangers at the angelic beauty of a bi-racial child.  It truly is a sight to behold.  

So I had a sense of my own self, my own beauty and attractiveness at a very young age.  But - somewhere along the way, I claimed the idea of ugly.  And now, as I continue to feel more (inner) freedom, a freedom that demands my (inner) child be granted 100% discretion to play “dress-up” with all of the “outer” parts of how we define beauty - body shape, clothing, expression, and I am thinking to myself long and hard these days…”Just where along the line did I get the idea that I was ugly???”

And I do believe I pinpointed it the other day: the move from Boulder to Lakewood.

Observe photos pre LilyWhite Lakewood, CO:



  I mean, I am obviously feeling myself here:


 

And here…



 And check me out here, with my busted fro, still gettin' down to the get-down:




And even though I was one of the very few brown children in my 5th grade class at Flatirons Elementary School in Boulder Colorado, there was enough ethnic difference not to feel so much “otherness.”  And, as you can see here, I was still very, very certain of my own ability to attract, with my million-dollar smile and square-do. 

 


And those are REAL MOUNTAINS behind us there – our elementary school was at the bottom of the Flatirons mountain range in Boulder.  
 
But then – in the summer heading into my 6th grade year, we moved to Lakewood Colorado, a lily-white suburb of Denver, Colorado known for its – homogeneity and general intolerance, I suppose.  We moved there because my father was trying to escape a 1 hour-per-way commute.  I understand.  Commuting is hell.  But for me, availability of reflections of myself, of looking into the faces of others and seeing my own beauty, those days were gone.  

And my parents bought out of their price range, too.  They were tired, weary, hungry, and the “staging” on this particular home was irresistible.  My folks fell into a “money pit” in an area called “The Glens” in Lakewood, Colorado.  Immediately, I decided that my afro was  unacceptable and must be hidden:

Me during our 7th grade camping trip

To my left in the photo is Tiger Lily.  She and I and a couple other girls were so close we created our own language and made fun of others around who couldn’t understand us.  Her brother and she were re-named Ram Shannon and Tiger Lily early in their youth, in place of their birth names, Gerbox and Gerbonnie.  True story.

This is my 9th grade school photo.  I had started tamping my hair down on the regular, braids, bun, whatever.  Notice also the feeble attempt at bangs.   We have a special name for what you see here: “fro-bangs.”



And then by the time high school came around, I gave up altogether, cut most of it off, peroxided the front in rebellion, blow-dried my bangs to a worn frazzle, and gradually got used to the idea that there was just something wrong with my hair.  Oh, and obviously something wrong with me:






Off to college I went, and it wasn’t long before I realized my curls held currency and so I started growing my locs:



And if you are wondering if this is half a picture, indeed it is, my friends.  I ripped out the other half – she was a bitch.  Her skin, not much darker than mine, she teased me mercilessly and cruelly about my brown-on-the-outside-white-on-the-inside demeanor, from the clothes I wore, to the way I talked, to the men I chose. 

And then I straightened it.  And started wearing rrreaaaalyyy ddararrrkk lipstick. 



But – not for long!  After going platinum for the first time post-baby in 2003, I have kept my locs close cropped.  Way-low maintenance, and - I am a bizzy momma.

And the other day, when I was snapping selfies for the blog, with my nearly bald head, I was feeling myself, something that is returning to me in waves:  sometimes I can really feel myself, other times, I am lost at sea.  But only for now, not for long.   

And, thankfully, what strikes me as beauty these days is far broader and more encompassing than what I used to define as beauty. 

At the end of the day, all I am saying is this:  as i grow out of adolescense and into my angsty teen years (i have heard the first 40 years of childhood are the hardest), i am finding that my insides are beginning to match my outsides. And on those occasions when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and it does not accurately reflect back to me my inner beauty, I look away.