Friday isn’t my writing day, but it’s almost Saturday, which isn’t anyone’s writing day, so I think I’m covered. 

Hello, Creeter Readers (if any of you still happen to be lurking around these corners). I’m not certain what I wanted to say here when I decided to log on for the first time in years. I DO know that I should be sleeping, as I work dreadfully early tomorrow, but all I can manage to do is ponder furniture movements as I await tardy Zs. Z’s? Zees. Zzzzs. Whatever it is, they’re late. 

I think my day is Thursday. 

-Erin Creeter


Looks Aren’t Everything (But a Snappy Layout Sure is Neat!)

I’m trying out a new blog theme. I loved the grass, don’t get me wrong, but I want to see how our posts look with a layout that is easier to read.

What say the Creeter Readers? Is this nautical theme a yay or a nay?

And remember, this is for posterity, so…do be honest.

Your Host,
Rachel Creeter

[EDIT: As soon as I pressed Publish, the Powers That Be were kind enough to inform me that this was my 80th post on this blog. Well, don’t I feel sheepish for making it all business and no play? Yes. Yes, I do feel sheepish.]

Oh Hi, Neighbor!

Well, now, it’s been a little over two years since one of us Creeters has clicked on that “Publish” button. I have a draft in here that has been sitting since December 2010. It was about the (then) recent passing of artist and musician Don Van Vliet, known as Captain Beefheart. I suppose it isn’t relevant anymore. But since I never did get to put up a fitting tribute, I’ll go ahead and set this video right here:

I don’t even remember how to format these posts. Not to mention WordPress has changed a bit since a couple years ago.

I’d like to say that I’ll be posting every week again, and my other Creeters will join me so that we can have an update almost every day, but let’s not go chasing waterfalls. Amiright, TLC? You know.

This is just a check-in post, to see if this thing is still running. I miss writing. So much has gone on since I last wrote on here, I almost don’t know where to begin.

I’m engaged to be married. There’s a start. The last post by any of us was dear Sara Creeter simply glowing about her upcoming wedding (which has of course come and gone and been anniversaried already). I suppose it’s only fitting that the return of the prodigal post should announce my impending nuptials.

My fiancé is a sharp chap, and I’m very happy to have found him. To put it more accurately, I’m very happy to have had Erin Creeter introduce me to him. That’s right, it was a match made in Creeter heaven. He’s a writer too, which is lovely on so many levels. We talk about writing, he writes and I feel deep pride in him, then he laments that I don’t write much anymore. I lament, too, I just wish I would do something about it. Well, this isn’t much, but it is at least a start. You can’t call yourself a writer if you don’t, you know, write. I’ve had snippets of ideas or inspiration; fat lot of good they do if they stay on a sticky note on your bedstand.

Been trying to give it that good ol’ Writing Down the Bones push, keeping a journal to just get in the habit of writing something–anything–every day. Yeah, let’s not tell anyone I haven’t been keeping up with that. I have, however, been studying to get a license for my first-ever fulltime job (I’m an adult!). I’ve had the job for a year, now, and soon it will be time to take on more responsibility, to which I say, “Bring it on!” It’s a great job, too, and I’m very happy to have found it, as well. To put it more accurately, I’m very happy to have had my fiancé send me their job posting. It seems I thrive on recommendations.

Well, it’s back to studying for me, then off to work. If I don’t see you next Wednesday, don’t send out a search party. I’m probably just watching Doctor Who.

Signing off,

Rachel Creeter

P.S. I now contribute as a guest writer on my friends’ film blog, This Cinematic Life. (It was originally called The Cinema Nerds, but apparently someone claimed that name as theirs, so the title has changed although the domain is the same). We are currently hosting a poll of people’s Top 10 Movies released in the 1980s. You still have a chance to submit your list, until 10pm Sunday July 7th! I highly recommend both their blog as a whole and participating in the polls. It’s so fun seeing how different and how similar people’s lists are.

They go together like a horse and a carriage.

When you have to go back into your secret email archives to find your username, you know it’s been too long since your last post.

Little has changed, in some respects, since my last post – I’m still at the same job, with the same degree, with the same chum at my side and the same cat on my lap. I still think I’m too short, my back still hurts inexplicably, and I still sing to myself when I’m looking for things or running late.

But creeter-readers, in other respects, everything, everything, has changed.

My mom got married last summer. In 2007, my mom, alone and bored and feeling sorry for herself, did what every bored-alone-self-pitying creature does: started Facebook-creeping old friends to see if she could find someone more boring and less pretty than she was. Instead, she found her old high school boyfriend (whose heart she broke when she ran away from their relationship). 6 months later, I came home from Rome to find her ami in our kitchen.

“Hello,” said jet-lagged, freaked-out moi.

“Hello,” said OhnoI’mmeetingthehostileyoungestdaughter! him.

1 year later, I spent many an evening waiting impatiently for my mom to get off the phone with her boyfriend so that I could use the phone to call mine. Another year after that, I sang “Great is Thy Faithfulness” at their wedding, the song standing next to my mom’s extravagant happiness.

My mom is one of my very best friends (oh, go ahead and boo my clichédness, it’s true). We’ve shared so many ridiculous life moments together, but one I never anticipated sharing was the awkward giddiness of a first date. My chum and I have known each other since 2003, been best friends since 2006, and dating since 2008. Simplified version. I’m missing out on whole lifetimes of one-sided obsessions and non-break-ups and time spent together in the backseat and time spent alone in Mexico. But the point is, my first “boyfriend” (ha! I find that word ridiculous) coincided with my Mom’s (reunion with her) first boyfriend, and it made our relationship into something more than mom & daughter, more than friend & friend. For the first time, I realized my mom was a woman just like I was, and it has forever, beautifully changed us.

When I told my mom that le chum and I were dating, that after 2 years of being friends and awkward friends and then not friends at all, I had realised I didn’t want to live without him, she turned to me and said, “I’m so glad you were braver than I was.”

Braver? I don’t know. I suppose it did only take me 2 years, compared to 35, to realize I was willing to risk changing my known life for one that included le chum. But then again, I didn’t have 4 kids and 30 years of assorted relationship history to take responsibility for, which takes a kind of courage that is only watched on a screen, not witnessed in your own home.

Every relationship takes extraordinary courage. Relationships are about trust, which is about risk, which requires an unusual confidence in both you and in the other party involved; a confidence that is a choice, an exercise, a perspective, and sometimes, an act of faith. Always, an act of humility.

Wish me luck, wish me grace, wish me supernatural courage and stamina. August 13 2011, five years to the day that we became best friends, le chum and I are getting married.

And I’ve never been so excited about where life is going next.

I Promise to Commit No Acts of Violence…


or: “The Way I Grow Up”

Since the last post was from January, I don’t think that anyone will mind at all that I am posting out of turn.  I doubt, also, that anyone reads this blog anymore, if ever they did.

The last two months are a little hazy.  I lost two people very dear to me.  It is funny to me to say TWO people dear to me, although I really do mean it to each of them in their own way.

Jenni and I split.  It was ugly.  We were both right to be angry, we both fucked up pretty bad.  Some of her things are still here waiting to be moved out.  It makes it harder, just because I know it will all be gone soon.  I pretty much know what is hers and I am trying to get the table outside cleaned off so that when she comes, she won’t have to be here that much longer.  I told her I didn’t want to be here when she got the rest of it; it’s hard for both of us, but mostly I’m thinking about me.  I don’t want to see her.  I get too angry and I’m trying to lose that part of myself.

I have been using my time not working to do a lot of soul searching.  I am broke.  I’m using my brother’s computer.  A lot of my time is spent gardening, hiking, cooking, playing with my dog, and sometimes just sitting in the sun, closing my eyes, and thinking.  A lot of thinking.

When my dad died everything changed for me.  It has just become embedded in every thought I have.  It makes me sad often, and every once in a while i break down and sob uncontrollably.  I have avoided doing it in front of other people so far; it’s rather unbecoming.  It has made my mood a little more erratic, but it could have also to do with everything else that is going on.  Little by little I am losing my mind, but each instance convinces me that little by little I am just becoming the person I was always meant to be.