Confidence on building confidence

I linked to this video two posts ago and now I've become obsessed with it. I love all of these treble jig steps.

Returning to dancing after 10 years is both rewarding and frustrating. I've talked before about how I'm currently rebuilding my stamina and working on little things: new single soft jig steps, ceili dances, pointing my toes, lifting my legs, trying to remember grace. But I’m itching to be back where I was when I left off. I wish I had never stopped dancing. Stupid college, getting in the way.

I’ve missed so much of this. These girls are good (I estimate most of them are prizewinner level-dancers) but most of them are lacking definition in their trebles. It’s like a certain confidence – the girl in the pink is the best at being authoritative with her step – you have to want to pound those steps out. I never tired of making noise. I loved how loud I could be.

In almost everything, I am unconfident. My self-esteem rises and falls; I lack assurance. In the back of my head I question I am doing this right? Is this OK? I am awkward and wavering in all I do. Dance was never like that for me. Competitions rarely made me nervous. I performed with ease. My dad called it “owning the floor,” the way I would carry myself so the adjudicator would watch me instead of the other girls. Even when I didn’t win, or scored poorly I would not become insecure. Disappointed, yes. But never doubtful.

Returning to dance I am doubtful. I’m nearly 30. I am much fatter. My jumps are low. But then I watch that girl in the pink and I remind myself that I can do this. I have done this. My body just needs to remember.

(Cross posted from Tumblr)

Shed it

I didn't really get to celebrate Samhain this year the way I wanted to. In May when I finished graduate school I eagerly looked forward to an open fall season -- one without classes and papers clogging up my life. One where I could be relaxed, social and creative. But the Universe had other ideas for me. I would be social and creative, sure, but "relaxed" never entered my lexicon. Instead, Wedding Palooza '09. Suddenly I was dashing about, camera glued to my face, pockets full of media cards and film.

The Luke and Leslie's wedding occurred on Samhain itself, preventing me from attending both my normal open Samhain ritual as well as an impromptu ritual hosted by friends. Towards the end of the day, exhausted but happy, I was slouched at the end of the table, looking through the photos other people had taken when I came across one someone took of me at the reception. I was looking harried, my mouth half open, most likely directing people where to stand for portraits and my hair was plastered haphazardly across my forehead from when I had come inside from the rain. I felt it was truly an unflattering picture, and I asked the owner of the camera to delete it, lest it appear on Facebook in a few days. It was at this point Renee got up in my face. "You're always doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Saying you look terrible in photos when you don't."

"But--"

"NO. SHUT UP. You are constantly doing this. You always putting yourself down, saying you look bad. Or worse, hiding behind the camera so we can't take your picture at all. I'm sick of it. You look fine, you look better than fine."

"But I'm all wet and my--"

"It was raining, all of us were wet. You know what you look like in that picture? You look like a photographer doing her job. So shut it. I don't want to hear any more. I'm sick to my back teeth of hearing you hate yourself."

I couldn't really argue with her anymore, both because she now lives in Chicago and can kick my ass and also because she's right. It's a problem I've struggled with for a long, long time. If you've read this blog at all, you're familiar and sick of this problem too.

The week before Samhain The Swell Season released their new album, Strict Joy, and I splashed out for the deluxe version, which contains a bunch of live tracks. Glen Hansgard tells this story about a medium who helped two spirits cross over after wandering in the dark for hundreds of years because they had been told they were evil, when in fact they were just wrongly killed for having physical disabilities back in the Dark Ages. You can hear a version of the story here. Right before launching into "Drown Out," Glen explained he wrote the song for anyone doing penance or carrying guilt or self-hatred around with them, asking them to re-examine why they were feeling that way and if it wasn't worth carrying around to "Fucking shed it, man."

I'm not doing this story any justice with the way I'm telling it. The listening to the version on the album, I got chills up and down my back.

Which, really. If that's not the Universe telling me something, sending me this song and story right before Samhain, then I don't know what is. Talk about apt advice.

I've spent the past week sharing the song and the story with everyone I come in contact with, all "Listen you need to hear this one story and this song that goes with it." Sort of like my passing Samhain onto all of my Judea-Christian friends in mp3 form.

It's not just about me shedding my insecurities (although that's a classic and easy example for me to use in this case), but I think, all of us, Pagan or not, embracing change and transformation at this time of year.

Even before I started identifying as Pagan, the fall has always felt like a time of new beginnings for me. Part of it is obviously the beginning of a new school year (say it with me now: NERD), but more than that I've always felt the need to change gears from the lazy days of summer to full active days of the fall before shifting down into quiet reflective days of winter. Just like the leaves take this opportunity to be the brightest and most colorful before shedding themselves and releasing to the wind, so must we. May the wheel ever turn.

(You can hear "Drown Out" here. May you shed whatever it is that's weighing you down.)

Open and honest

Sarah wants me to delete my entry from Saturday morning/Sunday night, but I am not going to. Because at that moment, that is exactly how I was feeling. Awful, dejected, and sad. Come Sunday I had had time to process everything and, you know, it's fine.

Curious as to what was going on? Fine, let me fill you in.

It was Leslie's Bachelorette party (oh my goodness, pictures are on the way. Stay tuned for that). We were in Ice Nightclub, which is appropriately trashy for such an occasion. Bride-to-Be was shaking her groove thing on the dance floor. Justine, being an awesome friend, was finding men for her to dance with. Justine would go up to a gentleman, lean in close to him and say, "Hi my name is Justine. Do you dance?" They would smile and nod and she would lead them blithely to the dance floor to get down with Leslie for a few minutes. I had consumed enough liquor by this point in the evening that I decided to be Justine's helper. So I went off with her, in search of reasonably attractive men to dance with our bachelorette.

Justine and I spotted them at the same time. Two guys opposite ends of the bar. I went to the one, she went to the other.

"Hi," I said to the guy, whose tie was loosened around his neck in that sort of roguish, attractive way. "My name is Katie. Do you dance?"

"Not with you," was his immediate reply, before turning his back on me.

WHAT I SHOULD HAVE DONE

1. Tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Congratulations, you're an asshole."
   
   
2. Took off my heel and started beating some manners into him with it.
   
   
3. Let it go.

WHAT I DID INSTEAD

1. Turned it around on myself and felt like shit.

I stood there stunned for a minute before heading into the bathroom. I looked over my shoulder and could see Justine leading her guy to the dance floor. I could feel my face growing hot and my throat getting tighter. I walked into the bathroom and came face to face with a bunch of girls from the group and tried to play it all off all, I'm fine! What, my eyes are a little wet? Must be all the vodka! before blubbering into the A boy was mean to me and I'm so sad I might as well go back to the bell tower with all the other Quasimodos! confession.

It ended up being fine. Vodka and girlfriends can cure anything. Special hat tip to Krista, for counseling my drunken ass outside (where we witnessed an epic, Jerry Springer-worthy girl fight).

Bullshit like this is the reason I have self-esteem issues. One dickish comment by that guy and BAM, I was back in junior high.

This is a bad pattern for me. If we look back at key incidents, some chronicled in this blog like Skirtgate, My conversation with B, and recent events with Brisket, it's not about them being the bad guy, or being tactless, or not having their shit together. I mean, it is, obviously, and I am aware it on some level because I admit it in those entries. But I ultimately make it about me -- something must be wrong with me to make them behave this way. I must be ugly, or "asking for it," or not worthy of their time and consideration.

Let me just tell you, this is a fucked up way to think and behave. It's not healthy and it's certainly not productive.

I'm learning, though. I'm trying. And these entries are part of that. This place has always been about me expressing myself in a candid manner, and I hate to edit that moment out, just because some sobriety and personal reflection has made me wiser a few days later. It stays here as a reminder of how I felt in that moment. And I should I feel that way again, I'll read a few entries ahead and remember I have wonderful friends who love and care about me. I'll remind myself that I am complete within myself. And just like Scarlett O'Hara would say, "Tommorrow is another day."

Security

Brisket: Tell me!

Me: No, don't worry about it.

Brisket: Come on. How am I supposed to secure you if you won't tell me?

Me: [pause] Because it's not your job to secure me. These are my insecurities and my hang ups and therefore its my job to get over them.

Brisket: I could help. I could, you know, reassure you, or whatever.

Me: You could. And I would believe you for about 2 hours and then go back to my hang ups.


==

Brisket and I had this conversation the other night whilst cuddling. I forget how we got to this particular point in the discussion, but the main point is this: I confessed to having a great number of insecurities about myself and concerning him.

I know that these insecurities, for the most part, are ridiculous and nonsensical. Like, how I think he must be imagining he's with someone else when he's with me. Someone prettier and thiner.

And before you all start yelling at me in comments, I KNOW. I AM FULLY AWARE THAT THIS IS ABSURD AND MISGUIDED AND I AM A BEAUTIFUL FLOWER, OR WHATEVER. I know it's stupid and so wrong you could sing about it. This is why I refused to tell Brisket about this particular doubt. It's wrong. I know it's wrong. And yet, I slip into this insecurity like a comfortable sweatshirt. I'm so used to feeling that way, that when confronted with someone who obviously thinks I am pretty, sexy, and rad that I must question it instead of taking it at face value.

I've talked about this before. And I promise you all I am really trying to work on this about myself. To develop more confidence in my abilities, in my looks, in who I am.

I'm writing about this now, because I feel like I've reached a pivotal point in my life, where many aspects are finally coming together. I feel like I am on the brink of some major awesome. But I also feel like this major awesome is dependent on me and the ability to assert and believe in myself.

It began at Imbolc. At one point in the ritual we were invited to go to Brigit's well, dip our hands in and purify ourselves. Then, if we felt the need, we could go to Brigit herself and seek guidance. There were two Brigits present at this point - one for healing and one for inspiration. I sought inspiration first and then sought healing. When it was my turn, the healing Brigit held out her arms to me and drew me close.

"And YOU," she said, pulling me closer, "You are so strong and don't even realize it. You have to remember that you are perfect, in and of yourself. The Gods and Goddesses created you and made you perfect. To deny this is not only to deny yourself, but also them. Relax in your own being. Trust in your perfect self. Do what you need to do to be healthy and happy, but remember that you are perfect. Trust in this."

Well, I don't know what Brigit said to other people that night, but what she said to me was right fuckin on with what I needed to hear.

CUT TO yesterday Mikey Likes It and I getting into a conversation about, of all things, cosplay. He kept on insisting I could pull off a Silk Spectre. He was being so adorable in that guy-friend way by trying to tell me that I had a nice bust line for the costume without sounding like he had been checking out my boobs. At which point I noted that while I may have a good-sized chest, what is below the chest prevents me from wearing the costume, namely, my fat roll. He sighed at me heavily, "Katie," he told me, "you need to take a hatchet to that insecurity tree of yours."

CUT TO today on the phone with QK having a reading. We were on the topic of Brisket and she was encouraging me to keep it light and fun, just like we have been. "What is important for you to get out of this, is the confidence and the boost to self-esteem he is giving you. Which you needed." She paused for a minute as if listening to someone else whispering. "And for god's sake, use it. Drink it in and believe in it. Like, he's not lying to you. Stop being so...negative about yourself." She spat the last three words out as if they tasted bad. It was as if she had been there for our conversation and knew exactly what had passed between us.

I think the universe is trying to tell me something. And I'll be damned if I don't listen.

Comments disabled because yes, I KNOW. I am working on it. This post is part of me trying to work on it.

Of cards and desire

Saturday night, I gave my first Tarot reading. I've never read anyone but myself, and I felt sort of weird doing it for someone else. Still, he'd asked me for a reading, and even though I had to consult the book a number of times, I felt pretty confident in my interpretation.

As a rule, you don't ask to know their question. At first, the cards seemed so scattered; pentacles and wands interloped, finance muddled with romance and wisdom — I had to stare at the spread until I could see a flow, how each card might relate to the other. I took what I knew about him (truthfully, not much) and looked for similarities in the cards.

Eventually a motif appeared, one about balance and change as well as finding maturity. The reading ended on the Three of Cups, a prosperous card of joy and celebration.

Two cards captured my attention due to their prominent position in the spread.

The Lovers -- A card of, well, lovers. Some decks have the card being depicted by an Adam and Eve, lilies and apples surrounding them to depict desire and temptation. It's a card of new beginnings, sexual attraction, and stimulation. Love is a force that makes you choose and decide for reasons you often can't understand; it makes you surrender control to a higher power. And that is what this card is all about. Finding something or someone who is so much a part of yourself, so perfectly attuned to you and you to them, that you cannot, dare not resist. In interpretation, the card indicates that the querent has come across, or will come across a person, career, challenge or thing that they will fall in love with. They will know instinctively that they must have this, even if it means diverging from their chosen path. No matter the difficulties, without it they will never be complete.

The High Priestess - She is the female version of the magician. She is often depicted with a scroll, and the scroll that she grasps contains all the secrets of life, because knowledge is hers. She is the lady guide, watchful and protecting. She brings balance and luck, wisdom and grace. But she is also secretive and mysterious. The High Priestess offers secret knowledge, like the moon on a dark night, so that the querent can find their path. She sits between the pillars of dark and light, existance and negation, wax and wane. All secret knowledge is hers.

Something flashed inside of me when I read these cards, quick and clear, of memory and instinct. Cool dewy grass, night sky, and the infinity symbol being traced across my skin.

I couldn't help but smile.

"Casual"

On heavy musical rotation: Bright Eyes' "Lover I Don't Have to Love," Dresden Dolls' "Coin-Operated Boy" and "Girl Anachronism," Damien Rice's "Volcano," and Rufus Wainwright's "Instant Pleasure."

Remembering: That it's about ME ME ME ME ME. I'm allowed to be selfish. In fact, I'm entitled to it.

Realizing: That I need to get out of my damn head so much and that time, more than anything, helps me deal. A solid night's sleep and a fulfilling dinner don't do any harm either. I need to stop over-fucking-reacting to every little thing.

Also realizing: I'm doing this because it's convenient and makes me feel good about myself. When it ceases being both of those things, I will stop. It's as simple as that.

And FURTHERMORE: I'm awesome.

So there.

With much thanks to: Lisa Nicole, Renee, and Sarah.

Internal argument

Voice 1: "I don't have a snowflake's chance in hell."

Voice 2: "Stop it. This is precisely your problem, you know."

Voice 1: "Whatever. My gift is realism. I know what the score truly is."

Voice 2: "I said, STOP IT. This is exactly what we reflected on at Ostara. What did we say binds us?"

Voice 1: "Fear and self doubt."

Voice 2: "And what energy did we concentrate on when we danced the winter away? What seeds did we plant?"

Voice 1: "Creativity. Travel. Passion."

Voice 2: "And what did we say we needed to do to break the bonds?"

Voice 1: "It's just that--"

Voice 2: "WHAT DID WE SAY?!"

Voice 1: "That I needed to put myself out there more. Take risks. Not be afraid to flaunt myself a little."

Voice 2: "That's right."

Voice 1: "But...I doubt myself for a reason. I've stumbled enough times. I've seen others succeed where I've failed so that I know exactly what my assets are, where my faults reside. I don't dream them away. I'm fucking practical."

Voice 2: "You're fucking cynical. And cynicism? It isn't attractive on anyone."

Voice 1: "Oh, so sorry. Guess I can't do anything right."

Voice 2: "Piss off. Dr. McCormick thinks you're talented enough and smart enough to start your own magazine. The Doc thinks your ideas are unique and interesting enough to get to Cardiff for that conference. Liz wants you to submit your stories to publications. On Saturday, Haven said that you're too hard on yourself. These are not people who compliment lightly or blow sunshine up your ass for the fun of it."

Voice 1: "..."

Voice 2: "So why can these people see these things and you can't?"

Voice 1: "I just don't like being rejected."

Voice 2: "Well who does?"

Voice 1: "At this stage in the game, I honestly don't think I can handle the disappointment."

Voice 2: "Disappointment is a part of life. It happens, you deal, you learn from it. Remember what Renee said, 'We all are fully in charge of our own happiness.' What are you going to do? Spend the rest your life on the couch with Dill?"

Voice 1: "No. I'm going to spend the rest of my life safe."

Voice 2: "Fuck safe. You're only going to get what you're willing to take. That's what YOU said on Sunday."

Voice 1: "I did?"

Voice 2: "Yes. What happened to that confidence, that kick-ass behavior?"

Voice 1: "It...dwindled."

Voice 2: "..."

Voice 1: "What? Why are you looking at me that way?"

Voice 2: "..."

Voice 1: "Stop it! You're creeping me out."

Voice 2: "Are you fucking kidding me with this?"

Voice 1: "What?"

Voice 2: "It DWINDLED?"

Voice 1: "Yeah."

Voice 2: "No. Cojones like that? They don't just dwindle."

Voice 1: "Um...they don't?"

Voice 2: "NO. They don't. Whatever the outcomes, you rocked this weekend AND you had fun. That confidence? That power? That 'balls to the wind' behavior? That's lurking away inside of you."

Voice 1: "Ok, yeah. But--"

Voice 2: "But nothing!"

Voice 1: "One word: Alcohol."

Voice 2: "SHUT UP."

Voice 1: "It's just that--"

Voice 2: "SACK UP, HO."

Voice 1: "But what if--"

Voice 2: "Oh, wah, wah, wah, wah. What if the other kids on the playground don't like me? What if McCain wins the presidency? What if zombies attack on Christmas Eve? What if the world ended tomorrow? You can't base anything on 'what ifs.'"

Voice 1: "Zombies attacking on Christmas Eve? That was the best you could come up with?"

Voice 2: "Shut up. You know what I mean."

Voice 1: "No, seriously? Zombies attacking would be kind of cool. I know exactly who I would have on my Zombie Attack Force."

Voice 2: "Stephanie, Mikey Likes It, Renee, Dave."

Voice 1: "Exactly!"

Voice 2: "CAN WE GET BACK TO THE SUBJECT AT HAND?"

Voice 1: "Oh. Right."

Voice 2: "The point is, you're never going to get anywhere if you're second-guessing yourself. Cynicism, self-doubt, and timidness aren't helping you. You've held onto them long enough. They're not working. They're not attractive. You know what does work? You know what helps? You know what is attractive? Confidence. Proximity. Boldness."

Voice 1: "Well isn't that just so easy for you to say? Isn't that so easy for everyone else to tell me? How very fucking convenient. Them in the perfect relationships, with their perfect jobs, their perfect little plans falling just into place."

Voice 2: "Oh, you know what? You can eat it, wanker. No one has the perfect relationship, job, or plan falling into place -- no matter what it may seem from the outside. You know what they do have? The sense to take a risk, to fucking try something instead of silently wishing for it. The sense to fucking work on it."

Voice 1: "It shouldn't be this hard."

Voice 2: "It shouldn't be too easy either. The only things worth having are the things you've worked and struggled for. If you fail, you're no worse off than you are now."

Voice 1: "..."

Voice 2: "You know I'm right."

Voice 1: "....Yeah."

Voice 2: "It's time to get your ass in gear. Get moving."

Voice 1: "Ok. Hey...?"

Voice 2: "Mmm?"

Voice 1: "I'm scared."

Voice 2: "Me too."

After Ostara

Hop the pond

Sunday at Su Tao lunch with the Doc and the Triplets, I got what may be the best fortune EVER in my fortune cookie:

"You will soon be crossing the great waters."

Oh, HELL YES.

Samhain

At Mabon, Tree flat-out asked me, "So are you going to become Pagan, or what?"

I wasn't sure how to answer her. I sort of laughed and told her that I didn't know. That I was learning a lot.

A few weeks later, I told the Doc about Tree's question and asked what he thought about it. "Well," began carefully, "I think you're a Catholic Pagan."

"A Catholic Pagan? Isn't that a bit contradictory?"

"You were raised Catholic, and your family is Catholic. So I don't thing that will ever leave you. You will always find comfort and familiarity there. But I think you're discovering the more Pagan parts of your vernacular."

This gave me some pause. Something that I turned over in my mind, a lot. When I repeated Doc's theory to Tree at a party recently, she laughed as I knew she would, but then she said something I didn't expect. "He never told me that. He told me that he thought that deep down you were a Pagan and that I should invite you to some rituals."

"What?!?"

She nodded and smiled, "Yeah."

"That sneaky little punk."

Samhain was an important ritual for me to attend. Not only because the ritual was being led by friends and I wanted to be there to support them. And not just because it was the Big One, the most sacred, the one everyone thinks of when they think of witches.

For the first time I truly and fully embraced the ritual. Not that I was holding back before, exactly.

But I was. Perhaps that Catholic side of me was hesitant. Something.

Friday night, I gave myself a lot of permission. I dressed with care. I bought special fabric, specifically for this ritual. I wove flowers through my hair. On the way to the ritual, the sun was setting deep and orange, kissing everything around me with a golden hue. And for a moment, it felt like it was all for me.

During the ritual, Hades encouraged us to open up. To remember that we are from the Gods, to look deep inside and find that spark of Divine, the one that is within us all, and kindle it.

What a fucking awesome concept.

Something that I think we all forget, no matter what our denomination or belief system. Christians say that we have been created in God's image and likeness. But then we weigh ourselves down with all our problems, sins, and shame. And we forget.

But I like this concept. That there is a spark of Divine in us all, a whisp of beautiful fire within. It shows itself in our kindness, creativity, love, talent. A part of us that we can link directly back to our creation. And to one another. Separate flames from the same fire. Beautiful.

Later, Hades and Hecate both asked us to look at what we had blocking that flame. Anger, sadness, stress, loss. And release it. Get rid of it. Cast it away. Hecate exclaimed, "Give it to me! I can take it!" And she did.

Later, post ritual, Nina told me, "You were crying."

"Yeah. I cried a lot. So did everyone around me." It was true. There was a great deal of tears at this ritual. Tears, sobbing, screaming, and moaning. Rather intense. I personally expelled a lot. I looked back to everything I had been through since last October -- and there's been a great deal -- and got rid of a lot of unnecessary shit. I'm no longer allowed to be angry or ashamed or sad about of any of it. It's done. It's gone.

And now that it's gone, really truly gone in that away place, I feel so much more relaxed. Chill. At ease. I could have danced forever Friday night. Joyful, wild, Pagan dancing.

So maybe I am. A Catholic Pagan Unitarian Peace Mission Quaker. And maybe I'm OK with that.

Ostara

"What binds you?," Teresa asks me.

I've thought long and hard about my answer, ever since she told me about this part of the ritual. We're standing in the south corner of the room, the corner to represent passion, creativity, and motivation. This seemed like the most appropriate corner since I feel like my life is lacking all of these.

When I answer, "Self-doubt," Teresa nods her head with understanding. This is nothing new for me, an issue that's followed me forever, an issue that everyone knows I have. "Katie, meditate on what it is you need to do to be free." As she tells me this, she wraps my wrists together with masking tape.

Instead of joining the circle right away, I move back to my spot at the edge of the room. I close my eyes for awhile and sway to the drumming. I try to meditate in a way that's effective and not in a way that makes me feel sorry for my silly unconfident self. When I finally open my eyes, I see that most of the room is slowly walking around the circle. I figure it's time to join in. If I don't know the answer by now, I never will.

As we continue the circle, the drumming becomes more insistent and the pace becomes quicker. As I'm making my third revolution, a gong starts vibrating, sending chills up and down my arms. In an almost synchronized way, as if we practiced it, one by one we pull apart our wrists and break the masking tape.

For the first time in a long time, I feel completely refreshed.

Icely, Icely, thank you!

The idea of going through another icy snow storm similar to the one we experienced on Valentine's Day left me in a foul mood. Especially given that I had plans on Sunday -- a LOTR movie day with Jim and Stephanie, complete with delicious food (minus my flop of a Buckle Berry Ferry Tart) all given cheesy names to match the movie, and an Oscar viewing party at Debbie and Brian's -- neither of which were in close driving range. I'm so sick of winter, I thought. Winter sucks. It needs to be spring now.

Indeed, driving home from Jim and Stephanie's place, I was annoyed. The snow had been falling for almost two hours and I had been putting off driving home for as long as I possibly could. We had only made it through two of the movies, and even though I had known that I couldn't stay for the whole extended version trilogy, I had wanted to hang through at least part of Return of the King. And now to top it off, I wasn't going to be able to go to the Oscar party and instead just have to settle for enjoying the Oscars with Dill and some wine.

Even going to bed, I was in a huff. I'll have to get up early and muscle my car out, I thought. I'll have to chop all the ice off my car while sliding around on a sheet of ice and then drive all through the stupid slushy streets.

But when I went out this morning, a gift greeted me. The temperature was moderate enough that the streets were a shimmering wet, but cold enough that my breath would still come out in angelic little puffs. The bare tree branches were still lightly frosted with icy snow like they had been coated with a dusting of powdered sugar. The morning was quiet and perfect on my street, like the scene had been made just for me.

The real beauty, however, was my car. Albus was covered in a shell of ice. Spider webs of frozen water and transparent dribbles coated over its silver frame. It was a beautiful diamond abstract ice sculpture, just for me. I wanted to take a picture. I stood marveling for a moment, running my fingertips on the slick wet surface. It was with regret that I finally had to break it to insert my key into the lock. When I pulled the door open, the ice gave way with a giant sucking sound, like I was opening a forgotten secret passageway. I sat for a moment in the car, hidden from the world, feeling like I was 6 years old again, and hiding out in my card table and blanket fort. I turned on my car to warm, and reached for the ice scraper.

I thought I would be sad to wreck such a pretty ice coating, but it was strangely satisfying. Giant cracks were made in the ice and shards landed with startling plops next to me. Great crunching sounds were made as I drove my pick into the shell of ice and caused flecks of ice shavings to float around me as I worked, creating a mini snow globe effect around me. By the time I made it to the rear window, I was giggling as heaps of ice crunched around me in slushy bits.

When I got back into my car, Patti Griffin was singing:

Heavenly day, all the trouble's gone away
Oh, for a while anyway, for a while anyway
Heavenly day, heavenly day, heavenly day