Author Archives: uppervalleygirl

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About uppervalleygirl

Author, columnist, blogger, speaker, copy writer

My Zolovka, the Artist

little hump backed horse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My sister-in-law, a former costume designer for film and TV, is the craziest mad genius, what with the portraits she does of people’s homes using their own memorabilia, and how her talents are put to use at the Russian school and dance recitals. All the children of the Lands should be so lucky as to have a Natalya in the wings.

See more Russian kids’ costumes here, including those made by other parents, most if not all designed by my beloved золовка. Love the Sun and Moon executed by Marina Bagrova! Don’t miss Natalya’s stunning sketches of the costumes as they appeared in her noggin, before their worldly realization, at the end of this version. Quick, before that page changes!

Sooper This and That

soop

I must be the milkman’s daughter (and we did have a milkman) because I’m not cuckoo about football, like my entire family of Giants, Packers, and Patriots fans.

But I do dig everything sooper — including the halftime show and commentary and manful back slapping and those syncopated jigs the naughty players do when they score and, of course, sooper high-quality cakes from the grocery store to commemorate this important day. And I like the office betting pool. And I like to win win win win WIN.

Don’t you?

Because We Work With Children

At work, it seems the kitchen is always a battleground. Not only do people steal each other’s creamer or entire lunches – even groceries – cleanliness is an issue. People leave befouled utensils and dishes in the sink as if they will magically cleanse themselves. I asked a male colleague why this occurs. He said, “Because we work with children.” He didn’t mean their physical age.

 

 

God love the women who install workplace signs like, “Your Mother Doesn’t Work Here.Do Your Dishes.” Otherwise-likeable people in offices everywhere “soak” their dishes in the only sink big enough for lactating employees to rinse their breast pumps. Once I taped up a laminated medical photo of multiplying bacteria in a wordless volley on behalf of the breast-feeders. Someone removed it (as another sign in my condo recently warned, “We don’t know who…YET!”) because, apparently, the sign-remover thought it gross. Look in the sink, pally. There’s your gross.

It’s just another terrible example of how mankind has made little progress. We’ve killed each other differently over time, from spears to boiling oil to nerve gas to WMD, but we are still murdering each other and taking each other’s stuff and many, many of us won’t pull our own weight. Not to mention the littering.

I realize there are brain health issues. Some people are just barmy. And for most of my adult life I had neither a dishwasher nor washing machine and I promise you those items make a BIG difference, and it’s one reason why many peoples of the lands hate Americans. We don’t have dysentery every Thursday or have to beat our clothes with rocks, riverside.

protourgolfcollegedotcomThey resent our easy lives, if in part only because they don’t know how crazy we are. I understand because I have struggled in my life on many occasions and I resent handsome, moneyed, model-marrying quarterbacks, golfers, and rock stars, and the models themselves who had to work even less hard. Some say, “Oh, the life of a pro golfer is extremely difficult.” Try custodial work, my good man.

My point being some people are bonkers, and some are resentful and devoid of hope; this discourages them from making an effort. I get that. But there’s a big difference between quietly begrudging the people with charmed lives, and making a disastrous mess out of the corner of the world you share with others because you’re deranged or angry.

Mercifully, there are many good people. A stranger once said to me, “Most people are good. The bad people are noisy and obvious in their destruction so it seems there is a lot of them. Really, there are only a few bad people doing all the bad things.” Repeat offenders, I guess. So I take solace in that good people are quietly stoking their woodstoves and paying their rent and raising gentle citizens and shoveling their neighbors’ driveways. There are countless individuals doing decent things you’ll never hear about. If you are feeling bad about humanity, think on that. I’ll ponder the kindly employee at my gym who washed dozens of water bottles in Lost & Found and put them out for their owners to claim. She didn’t have to wash them. She did.

elle kingAnd when you hear some great piece of music, the second you hear it your soul soars and you are in absolute awe with, “This must be some kind of genius!” and you know for certain there is a God of some sort, inherent in us, and that despite the madness and laggardly sloppiness in this cruel world there is brilliance and kindness and a dancing bird and art of all kinds. And you also know there is no possible way this is random. For every crazy or selfish maniac ruining everyone’s good time there are millions more making a good time, improving things, usually unheralded, unthanked, and unassuming.

I’m not one to candy-coat things in the present, but the past is another matter entirely. The Nostalgia Monster lives inside me, handed down from my father, I think. I’m a nostalgic, to the point of missing people, residences, jobs and situations that I didn’t actually enjoy at the time. It’s one of those species-perpetrating neurological tricks, like women forgetting the pain of childbirth –  if we remember our past fondly, we’ll want to keep going! The good news is if you were ever unkind to me, I’ve probably forgotten. I remember only the sparkly thing you said while ice skating, and I miss you for it, and there are others out there like me who bear you no grudge.

If you’re pinching lunches or littering or hurting people or assuming the world owes you something, like a big, petulant baby, for God’s sake, knock it off. In the future, we’ll like you either way. But in the present, we’ll like you a whole lot more if you’d tighten it up. It’s nice to be responsible; it’s fun to be liked. Give it a go. You’ll see. Good day.

Facebook: ann.aikens.7 … Twitter: @uvgvt.

Catch Joe Bonamassa Live

Joe B lgJoe Bonamassa, iconic blues guitarist who was a child prodigy played with the likes of B.B. King, usually plays big, bluesy shows with the asskicking bands he puts together, in a (happily, for us) relentless tour schedule.

This show, while technically acoustic, does not feel small and everything about it rocks the house (note Australian backup singers’ costumes). The only dates left are right away in NY but I can’t help but hope he trots some of this material out similarly in his Germany, UK and US spring tours because this (sometimes Middle Eastern-influenced) show blew the minds of Burlington right into the cosmos. I’m definitely getting the album when it appears. Here’s who’s playing with him and if you can get tickets, for God’s sake GO. You won’t regret it.

*Forgive my crappy photo. Not pictured is Tina Guo, Chinese cellist whose expertise spans from classical to heavy metal, nor her astonishing gown or insane musical stylings.

As Today, So The Year

mayocornIIIA friend told me years ago to be careful what you do on January 1 because it sets the tone for the whole year. Is this true? Who cares, why take any chances?

That means that no matter how bad you want mayo corn during today’s sporting event or movie, you should probably wait until tomorrow.

Recipe: Buy popcorn. Add mayo from fixin’s bar, or byo mayo packet to venue. Apply mayo to side of bucket for proper management of unruly corns. Use a fork if you can find one (unlikely). Serves two [nutters understood].

We Won’t Go Until We Get Some

Yankee Candle2015As a child, you were probably encouraged this time of year to make a list of your wants. Why not try your hand at it now? Make a list. Check it twice. What did you leave out? Global peace? Affordable organic groceries? A sporty little convertible you can corner hard in? Then take a minute alone (say, in the bath) to consider your wants. Dwell on them. Flesh them out. I’m certain they’re valid.

You know the expression, “Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy?” Replace Mama with “Me.” Reality is subjective, and your particular reality comes first. Take care of it. Once I owned a Mazda in Cali that a friend described thusly: “It’s not so much a car as a … process.” That process took me all kinds of places, lit. and fig. Sometimes you don’t even know why you want something. Run with it. Maybe your wanting knows better than you do.

Prison was, for me, a theme this month. Prison reform in New York State brought to kitelight the sick horrors of solitary confinement.  Then PBS’ The Brain With David Eagleman explained how Alcatraz prisoners thrown into The Hole for weeks on end had very realistic hallucinations despite complete sensory deprivation. Because of the brain’s natural drive for experience, after a time they saw things in The Hole as if they were 100% happening. The brain just created them. One man “saw” someone flying a kite. Proof, in my opinion, that we are wired to want, and to make our wants real. Next, Friend A visited Friend B incarcerated in a low-security prison. Friend A’s post-visit report, which I was dreading, ended with: “It wasn’t awful. It didn’t seem to be much worse than being in the military.” Still.

I’ve known five decent people who have done time. I can imagine few things worse. But there are prisons so many of us make of our own design. An aversion to forming lasting good relationships. A fear of leaving bad ones. The incapacity to see what we’ve done wrong, or to apologize for it. Obsession with our appearance. Addictions to substances, food, gaming (Sugar CRuSH!), Facebook, you name it. A cage of crippling beliefs (that our bodies must age poorly, or that the world is going to hell in a handbasket … so why even try?) confines us.  There are countless prisons.

Isn’t this, the Season, with a new year around the corner and long nights, the perfect time to break out? I for one plan to do and see things in new way. Won’t you join me? We’ll tunnel out together by the light of the moon. Make that a supermoon. I’ve got a spoon hidden under my mattress. It’s sturdy and I intend to wear it down to a nub. We can take turns.

This year has been one of distressing changing winter lighttraditions for many. But a no-nonsense Philadelphian I know said about my 3 a.m. worrying habit, “Knock it off. Just snap out of it.” So there’s no snow. There is still that gorgeous winter light. Bask in it. Surround yourself with some assemblage of [good] family and [good] friends and create your Wish List for 2016.

Not a tiresome New Year’s Resolution list about self-deprivation. A list of what you’d like to do or have that’s fun (remember fun?) and rewarding. Your list of wants. Often we hear things like, “If humans spent half the time we spend devising ways to kill and torture people, we’d have solved [x] by now.” I’m putting that on my list: That mankind spends half as much time devising ways to kill and torture people. And solves [x].

Your wants seem unattainable? List them anyway, then don’t give up. I mean, don’t wish you were 30 again; pick something within the basic rules governing earth. But don’t stop at 2 or 3 wants. Keep going. Your attained wants are good for all of us in the interconnected machinery of life. You are an important cog. No cog left behind, I say. No want too insignificant. Wish hard.

Go out into 2016, dear Reader, and prove the naysayers wrong. Go get yours, whatever it is you want. Stubbornly refuse to not get it. Don’t go until you get some. Get some. Good day.

Quote of the Season: “Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?” – Clarence, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Much Like the Unicorn…

SD….the SD Ireland Concrete Mixer vanishes as suddenly as it appeared. Into the night? Through a wormhole into another slot in the time-space continuum? Only its nutter captain knows for sure. With 25,000 lights that take 10 days to apply, Vermont is the better for its ephemeral presence.

[A fundraiser for SD Ireland Cancer Research, which supports research at UVM.]

Run, Dick, Run…

A Next….to North Country Books in Winooski. He is closing, which is terrible, but for one more week he has all manner of used and out-of-print books and the best greeting cards ever. All discounted. Last day: 12/17/15.

He has other cool stuff like these GIANT cards (24 x 36″?) teachers used to teach us to read with in first grade. I’d forgotten all about them. Each one reads like a gorgeous, sometimes hilarious, haiku.

Fantastic memories. What’s more magical than learning to read?

Sample card from Saturn Press in Maine below, then NCB info.

Keep Smiling Saturn Press MaineNorth Country

 

 

This Is For All The Rattled People

pilgirmPerhaps you, dear Reader, like your humble Columnist, hates change. Tradition is one of the hottest numbers in Fiddler on the Roof for a reason. This column is for those whose holiday traditions have changed to the point where, as he says in It’s A Wonderful Life, everything’s all “screwy.”

Usually by now I’m shopping Harriet Carter, cranking up the treacle spigot on Hallmark TV, shaving years off my age at pharmacy checkouts (nothing says holiday hospitality like the fine wines of Rite-Aid), fending off rabid skunks and inventing statistics in time for the family argument at Thanksgiving, just having a gas. But the year’s events, including my parents’ leaving the Upper Valley, have altered tradition considerably.

My own woes are small. My mother, God love her, has baked me 52 birthday cakes. She couldn’t mail #53. Sniff sniff! I never went to Silver Lake’s state park, and I missed the Barnard Fire Dept. tag sale, Bethany Church TNT Auction, Tunbridge World’s Fair, knitting fireside with my Bostonian golf pahtnah, and other key events that mean, well, life in Vermont — either because the people I did those things with weren’t around or I thought them depressing to do alone. Relocating to a condo, I haven’t been to the dump in a year. Vermonters understand the social importance of the dump on Saturdays. I’ve never even seen a garbage truck here. We dump it. We give and get at the FREE table. We love it. I got my recipe for gravy (nod to the Valley News) at the dump. I miss it. I miss all those people and events.

Sadness sometimes means feeling sorry oneself – which our forebears pooh-pooh’d as self-indulgence but I believe humans are allowed to do – or sometimes sadness means grieving losses from change. The world ever changing, for the messier, my people are suffering. They’re losing their hair, teeth, bodies, savings, their minds. They are concerned about their parents — if they’re even alive — and their kids. And about Europe. Africa. The Americas The whole planet for God’s sake. It’s a lot to worry about. Troubling dreams besiege us. We are sad. Rattled.

Friends move away. Kids grow up. People and pets die. I’ve found that just getting out there and doing holidays differently instead of lamenting a past now gone does create a useful diversion. In California I spent many an odd holiday, with weird foods and people, but the casseroles exploded and turkeys were dropped and people fought and laughed – business as usual.

imagesIn the history of Vermont’s 14 counties on PBS, my favorite part was when, decades ago, a visitor noticed there were no squirrels in Winooski. His host advised this was because Vermonters ate them. I’ve spotted beefy squirrels across the Land this fall – big, meaty, good-eatin’ rodents. That turkey deep-fryer sitting in the barn? Fire it up and drop ‘em in there. So they don’t have wings. Big deal. Invite others who have no family and go local this Thanksgiving, with the bounty of your own back yard.

Some traditions remain. I will lovingly wash the dust from my decorative light-up Pilgrim’s little plastic fanny by autumn’s hazy light. We’ll buy winter boots on sale from a log cabin-y shoe store chain where the shoes are, seemingly, cobbled by elves. We’ll haul out the holly and spark up A Vibraphone Christmas and do a secret mitzvah. Nothing helps like helping someone else – fact. But if you can’t work that up, and sometimes you just can’t, slog back a hearty glass of Poor Me and have it. If you go through that terrible feeling, you’ll be on to the next. Emotions are fleeting.

Melancholy? Don’t give up! Things can turn around in a heartbeat. Something wonderful can enter your life. Leave a space open in your heart. Nature abhors a vacuum, as do the Great Oz and all other magical forces. Lost someone? Take in someone new. You might change their life. You, dear Reader, have changed mine, and for that I am thankful. Good gobblin’, and good day.

Trotting out an old column’s Turkey Day Sniglets® for your holiday pleasure:

Bloatilla – The fleet of bloated bodies littering the living room post-meal.

Candensation – Glistening moisture layer that forms on canberry sauce.

Exconversation – Labored dinner conversation with your sister’s creepy new boyfriend.

Goo-Goo Goggles – What your son must be wearing to see any merit in his new girlfriend.

Coochie Cool – The appeal of your niece’s cute new squeeze.

Loonesta – The senseless postulate posed by a crazy relative so late in the meal it puts you to sleep.

Yankee Panky – What the Pilgrims did after the feast to increase their number.

The Other Energy Potion

energy lgEvery young person I meet lately at a cash register or whatever is, like, all shaky. I think they’re pounding that bottled 12-hour AWAKE chemical crap.

Try this, kids. Slopeside Syrup. You won’t get rattled and it tastes good, too.