Well, that was fun.
Yesterday was a total wash. Sometime in the wee hours, our not-at-all-beloved-friend Doktor Barfnschitz paid a call. When the Doktor comes around, it is never nice. The kids were fine, but me? Not so much. I spent most of the day alternating between being horizontal on the big bed and dashing for the bathroom. By mid-morning, I was as empty as a politician's promise. By early afternoon I had several pulled muscles, a sore throat, and a deeply rooted aversion to consciousness.
Luckily, the Evil Genius was willing to step up and help with Sprout, and even more lucky (for him), Sprout opted to spend much of the day snoozing with me. She was sick the day before, so I decided to let her snuggle rather than attempt, feebly, to chase her from the room.
Around midnight last night/this morning, I decided to take a chance and ate a fruit popsicle. It did not make an encore appearance, thank goodness. Right now I am eyeballing a cup of tea.
Meanwhile, my stomach and I have been having a back-and-forth.
"I'm hungry."
"No you're not."
"I AM!!!"
"I don't believe you."
"I've been empty for days!"
"Haven't."
"Have!"
"Haven't"
"Well at least since yesterday." It pouts.
"Mmhmm. I don't trust you. You wouldn't even let me drink water yesterday."
"But I'm fine now, really. Listen! Hear that?" It rumbles. "I'm ready to eat!"
"I still don't trust you."
"I want Chinese food. And french fries. And ice cream."
"You sound like my children. No. If you're lucky you'll get dry toast as soon as you prove this tea is a keeper."
"Wha-a-a-a-at?" It whines, grumble, and whimpers.
"You heard me. Much like a politician's argument for anything, you couldn't hold water yesterday, so today we will go slowly until you can prove you are better."
"But...but..."
"No buts. I have muscles that will ache for days because of your shenanigans."
"It's not fair! I want pizza and sandwiches and chips and pot roast and..."
"Think about that the next time you invite Doktor Barfnschitz for a visit."
My stomach is mad at me, but I refuse to give in. Feeling intense hunger pains is far better than yesterday's jolly sensations.
How're you today?
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Thoughtfetti
One of the casa de Crazy cats has a habit of sniffing our eyes. Well, my eyes, anyway. I find this deeply weird. She does it when I am lying down and my eyes are closed, and it tickles. It tickles in a twitchy, strange, cat nose near my eye kind of way, especially when it seems like she is sniffing each eyelash.
Today she was sniffing, sniffing, sniffing, and the static charge she'd built up when she walked across the comforter zapped us both - me on my eyelid, she on her nose.
I don't suppose it will keep her from doing it again.
~~~~~
This evening, Sprout wanted to help me with cooking dinner. Despite the chill in the house because I refuse to keep turning up the heat, she wasn't wearing anything more than her undies. She asked me if she could please have an apron on so that nothing would splatter her, so I put my denim one on her, wrapped the strings around the front and tied them. I would post a photo, but it seems these days that's what passes for child pornography. I thought it was cute as the dickens,anyway.
~~~~~
It seem that winter is reluctant to let go its grip on our world, and indeed is seeking to make up for lost time - we are experiencing record lows in temperature and expecting more ice, snow, frozen rain, what have you, in a few days. The upside to this is that I do not have to suffer the glares and snarky commentary from my unpleasant neighbor, as it's too cold for her to sit on her porch and be judgmental/pollute the air and her body with cigarette smoke. It's the little things,
~~~~~
Rook, the youngest of the indoor cats at about 5 years of age, is determined to catch one of the goldfish through the tank glass. I swear they tease her, swimming nearest whatever side she is staring through, and they laugh as she fruitlessly bats at the glass with her paw. I fully expect to hear a loud crash one day and find her having knocked the top off and gone swimming. I suspect the fish will not be quite as amused about that.
~~~~~
Several times in the last week I was told I do not at all look my age. A few people were shocked...seriously shocked...to learn my years and swore they though I was about a decade younger.
I don't know how the rest of me feels about that, but my ego seems mighty chuffed.
~~~~~
Wherever you are, I hope you are keeping well and warm. I am constantly doing battle with my brain, and one of the things that helps me is to think of all of the people in the world who are also struggling, and wishing them well, wishing them compassion, mercy, a hand up, a second chance, a light to guide them. I wish these things for you, too, if you need them.
~~~~~
How's your winter coming along?
Today she was sniffing, sniffing, sniffing, and the static charge she'd built up when she walked across the comforter zapped us both - me on my eyelid, she on her nose.
I don't suppose it will keep her from doing it again.
~~~~~
This evening, Sprout wanted to help me with cooking dinner. Despite the chill in the house because I refuse to keep turning up the heat, she wasn't wearing anything more than her undies. She asked me if she could please have an apron on so that nothing would splatter her, so I put my denim one on her, wrapped the strings around the front and tied them. I would post a photo, but it seems these days that's what passes for child pornography. I thought it was cute as the dickens,anyway.
~~~~~
It seem that winter is reluctant to let go its grip on our world, and indeed is seeking to make up for lost time - we are experiencing record lows in temperature and expecting more ice, snow, frozen rain, what have you, in a few days. The upside to this is that I do not have to suffer the glares and snarky commentary from my unpleasant neighbor, as it's too cold for her to sit on her porch and be judgmental/pollute the air and her body with cigarette smoke. It's the little things,
~~~~~
Rook, the youngest of the indoor cats at about 5 years of age, is determined to catch one of the goldfish through the tank glass. I swear they tease her, swimming nearest whatever side she is staring through, and they laugh as she fruitlessly bats at the glass with her paw. I fully expect to hear a loud crash one day and find her having knocked the top off and gone swimming. I suspect the fish will not be quite as amused about that.
~~~~~
Several times in the last week I was told I do not at all look my age. A few people were shocked...seriously shocked...to learn my years and swore they though I was about a decade younger.
I don't know how the rest of me feels about that, but my ego seems mighty chuffed.
~~~~~
Wherever you are, I hope you are keeping well and warm. I am constantly doing battle with my brain, and one of the things that helps me is to think of all of the people in the world who are also struggling, and wishing them well, wishing them compassion, mercy, a hand up, a second chance, a light to guide them. I wish these things for you, too, if you need them.
~~~~~
How's your winter coming along?
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Held Over
I am not sorry.
Sprout and I were out running errands today. It was necessary or I would have kept us home baking cookies. I'm glad we had to go out.
All day the trees have gone from cloudy-day steel and iron to bright sun light and flashing icy fire, and all day I have been caught in the transformation that will disappear with the next warm day or rainfall.
Mandala-like, it is impermanent...held over for one more day.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Wonderland.
How lovely the world seems, coated in ice. The sun is dancing in and out of the clouds, great grey sky-veils floating on to new destination. Our windows are high from the ground, looking out them we are in among the tree middles and tops, and the view is ethereal right now. We can see the icicles dripping, lengthening, and finally falling to earth.
Crash!
Crunch!
Splash!!
Thud!
Ice falls in sheets and chunks, smacks the ground with a bounce before settling. Considering the number of trees around the Casa, we have gotten of with little damage to our piece of the world - a few branches could not hold out for the melt, one tree suffered a greater loss - one of its larger branches is now in the yard instead of two stories up. Had we fireplace or stove, next year would need no wood cut for all the smaller branches in the woods. So far, our Popcorn Tree has limbs bowed, tips sweeping the ground, but is unbroken.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Repost: If They Ever Ask
There are some things I'd like to tell my children if they ever ask for advice about relationships. I'm not holding my breath...but I figure I can post them here safely enough. I DID consider titling this "Things I know about relationships" and leaving it blank, but figured it's been done to death. So in no particular order...
~~~~~
How well do you get on in the kitchen? How compatible are you, in a culinary sense? If neither one of you cooks, how well can you do takeout together? Can you share dishes, enjoy some of the same things? Maybe you don't think it's important...but it is.
Do you cook together? Even someone who doesn't know how to cook can cut vegetables, make a salad. If they don't cook, do they at least help clean up after a meal?
Do chores together. Trust me - cooking, cleaning, doing laundry together strengthens your bonds. Unbalanced housework makes for imbalance in a relationship...and can lead to bitterness and resentment.
Learn when to let them be angry or hurt and when to step up and offer solace. Learn when you need to be angry or hurt and when to accept solace.
No matter how angry or hurt you are, offer them an opportunity to explain themselves, to make things right.
No matter how angry or hurt they may be, don't let them labor under misconceptions about your motive or meaning - clarify, make things right, however long it takes.
Don't be afraid or too proud to say "You were right."
Don't gloat or hold it over them if they have the strength of character to say "You were right."
Watch sports together from time to time, even if you aren't a fan - it's a way to show interest in THEIR interests...and you may find yourself enjoying the game after all.
Offer them the opportunity to share in YOUR interests, too.
Listen to music together, even if it's not always in your taste.
Let them know what interests you and give them an opportunity to watch, to listen, to participate.
Ask for, and give, time apart, even if it's only an hour or two. Absence can be as important as presence for a relationship.
Have common interests...and have a few things that you don't do together, too. Common interests give you opportunity to be close, disparate interests give you something to talk about later.
Everybody needs a little space of their own - a room, or even just a corner, to retreat to, to be broody or sad or creative. Respect that space, both of you.
Sometimes a body needs privacy. Respect that, too.
Never compromise (or ask for compromise) on spirituality. You don't have to worship the same gods...but you shouldn't have to stifle yourself spiritually to make someone else happy...and neither should they.
Make sure there's more than just sex. Don't get me wrong - sex is terrific...but it can't be the only reason you're together.
Be yourself, honestly and completely, and allow them the same honor. If you can't trust them with your secrets, your dreams and aspirations, your true nature...then something's not right. The same goes for them. Trust is key.
Let go of the past - the person you're with now is a whole new experience and doesn't deserve to be judged by another's actions.
Keep your word. If you can't keep a promise, don't make it. Nothing hurts like a broken promise, and nothing kills trust and love like constant let-down.
Be honest. Don't lie unless it serves the greater good. Your interests are not always (or even very often) the greater good. Honesty is frightening...but it's also a sign of love, respect, and trust. These things are key.
Don't make threats you cannot or don't intend to keep. Don't say things you don't mean. That's manipulation, and it isn't honorable.
Love, act, and live honorably. If you must lie, cheat, or steal, then it had better be for a very good reason...and your convenience doesn't count.
Sometimes sex is just sex - it isn't love. That's OK. Don't mistake one for the other.
Use condoms or accept the consequences. But use condoms.
Put the seat down (if your partner is female).
Take turns choosing what movie to watch, and try not to roll your eyes at their selections.
Read together. Discuss what you've read.
It's OK to have differing opinions. A lively discourse is a wonderful thing. Just don't lambaste them or tell them they're wrong because they don't agree with you
Turn off the TV, the computer, the distractions, and LISTEN to them.
Be involved in your life - this isn't a spectator sport.
Sometimes you will annoy each other. Try to get over it as quickly as possible, and don't be afraid to tell them you're irritated. Don't be offended if they do the same. It's not a judgement, it's a feeling.
Don't say "I love you" when you really mean "I'm sorry" or "I want..." You devalue it. If you mean it, though, say it as often as you feel it.
"I love you" isn't just words - it's actions, too. Don't just say it...show it.
Don't make them responsible for your well-being, and don't make yourself responsible for theirs. That's not love, that's co-dependence.
Learn how to kiss them. If you think you don't know, ask. If you tink you DO know, ask.
Support their dreams and aspirations, even if you don't fully understand or share them. They should do the same for you.
Dance with them sometimes, if only in the living room, and even if "dancing" is simply swaying in each other's arms.
Loving isn't owning. Don't forget that. People aren't possessions and shouldn't be treated as such.
Love isn't blind...but it accepts the flaws it sees as part of the whole. You're not perfect, either. Yes, your mother just told you you're not perfect. Adjust.
~~~~~
How well do you get on in the kitchen? How compatible are you, in a culinary sense? If neither one of you cooks, how well can you do takeout together? Can you share dishes, enjoy some of the same things? Maybe you don't think it's important...but it is.
Do you cook together? Even someone who doesn't know how to cook can cut vegetables, make a salad. If they don't cook, do they at least help clean up after a meal?
Do chores together. Trust me - cooking, cleaning, doing laundry together strengthens your bonds. Unbalanced housework makes for imbalance in a relationship...and can lead to bitterness and resentment.
Learn when to let them be angry or hurt and when to step up and offer solace. Learn when you need to be angry or hurt and when to accept solace.
No matter how angry or hurt you are, offer them an opportunity to explain themselves, to make things right.
No matter how angry or hurt they may be, don't let them labor under misconceptions about your motive or meaning - clarify, make things right, however long it takes.
Don't be afraid or too proud to say "You were right."
Don't gloat or hold it over them if they have the strength of character to say "You were right."
Watch sports together from time to time, even if you aren't a fan - it's a way to show interest in THEIR interests...and you may find yourself enjoying the game after all.
Offer them the opportunity to share in YOUR interests, too.
Listen to music together, even if it's not always in your taste.
Let them know what interests you and give them an opportunity to watch, to listen, to participate.
Ask for, and give, time apart, even if it's only an hour or two. Absence can be as important as presence for a relationship.
Have common interests...and have a few things that you don't do together, too. Common interests give you opportunity to be close, disparate interests give you something to talk about later.
Everybody needs a little space of their own - a room, or even just a corner, to retreat to, to be broody or sad or creative. Respect that space, both of you.
Sometimes a body needs privacy. Respect that, too.
Never compromise (or ask for compromise) on spirituality. You don't have to worship the same gods...but you shouldn't have to stifle yourself spiritually to make someone else happy...and neither should they.
Make sure there's more than just sex. Don't get me wrong - sex is terrific...but it can't be the only reason you're together.
Be yourself, honestly and completely, and allow them the same honor. If you can't trust them with your secrets, your dreams and aspirations, your true nature...then something's not right. The same goes for them. Trust is key.
Let go of the past - the person you're with now is a whole new experience and doesn't deserve to be judged by another's actions.
Keep your word. If you can't keep a promise, don't make it. Nothing hurts like a broken promise, and nothing kills trust and love like constant let-down.
Be honest. Don't lie unless it serves the greater good. Your interests are not always (or even very often) the greater good. Honesty is frightening...but it's also a sign of love, respect, and trust. These things are key.
Don't make threats you cannot or don't intend to keep. Don't say things you don't mean. That's manipulation, and it isn't honorable.
Love, act, and live honorably. If you must lie, cheat, or steal, then it had better be for a very good reason...and your convenience doesn't count.
Sometimes sex is just sex - it isn't love. That's OK. Don't mistake one for the other.
Use condoms or accept the consequences. But use condoms.
Put the seat down (if your partner is female).
Take turns choosing what movie to watch, and try not to roll your eyes at their selections.
Read together. Discuss what you've read.
It's OK to have differing opinions. A lively discourse is a wonderful thing. Just don't lambaste them or tell them they're wrong because they don't agree with you
Turn off the TV, the computer, the distractions, and LISTEN to them.
Be involved in your life - this isn't a spectator sport.
Sometimes you will annoy each other. Try to get over it as quickly as possible, and don't be afraid to tell them you're irritated. Don't be offended if they do the same. It's not a judgement, it's a feeling.
Don't say "I love you" when you really mean "I'm sorry" or "I want..." You devalue it. If you mean it, though, say it as often as you feel it.
"I love you" isn't just words - it's actions, too. Don't just say it...show it.
Don't make them responsible for your well-being, and don't make yourself responsible for theirs. That's not love, that's co-dependence.
Learn how to kiss them. If you think you don't know, ask. If you tink you DO know, ask.
Support their dreams and aspirations, even if you don't fully understand or share them. They should do the same for you.
Dance with them sometimes, if only in the living room, and even if "dancing" is simply swaying in each other's arms.
Loving isn't owning. Don't forget that. People aren't possessions and shouldn't be treated as such.
Love isn't blind...but it accepts the flaws it sees as part of the whole. You're not perfect, either. Yes, your mother just told you you're not perfect. Adjust.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Oh. Muh. Goodness.
Once, long ago, for the span of a few minutes, perhaps a few hours, I wanted to be a ballet dancer. My grandmother, being her usual kind, sweet, compassionate self learned of it and wasted no time in telling me why I could never...
Too fat...
Too slow...
Too clumsy...
Too tall...
Too graceless...
Too much of too many things that a dancer cannot be, and not enough of any of the things a dancer must be.
What made me think of this? The video below...which prompted the sudden intense regret that I am not also a ballet dancer, if only so I could move with this man with such power, grace, and intensity. Sigh.
I can watch him, though...over and over again. Join me - I don't think you'll regret it.
Too fat...
Too slow...
Too clumsy...
Too tall...
Too graceless...
Too much of too many things that a dancer cannot be, and not enough of any of the things a dancer must be.
What made me think of this? The video below...which prompted the sudden intense regret that I am not also a ballet dancer, if only so I could move with this man with such power, grace, and intensity. Sigh.
I can watch him, though...over and over again. Join me - I don't think you'll regret it.
Monday, February 9, 2015
If Only Catching A Lottery Win Was This Easy
I have caught yet another cold. I must say, this is something of an oddity for me. I don't usually catch colds, but in the last three months I seem to have had enough for a decade. Every few weeks...
It starts in the sinuses. They run. No. Not run. This is to running what Niagara Falls is to a trickle down a rock. A box of Kleenex, a few rolls of toilet paper, and then I move on to the towels. I sleep with wads of toilet paper shoved up my nose. Glamorous, me.
After a day or so, it decides to do the grand tour and works its way down my poor sore throat and into my lungs. It likes the surroundings so well, it stays for a while. This brings on the ceaseless coughing, spasms wracking my body day and night with very few pauses for breath. It leaves me weak and slow and feeling more useless than usual. Throat still raw, head full of concrete and Jell-O, I weave about like a drunkard and need frequent naps. Need but don't often get. Sleeping at night is either a patchy affair punctuated by sudden onslaughts of coughing, or a drug induced, NyQuil fueled weird-dream fest ending in confusion and a sense of what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-my-mind muzziness that can only be dispelled by two or three cups of strong tea and a nap.
My usual difficulty motivating myself to go outside, out into the world, is compounded by these colds until I am content to remain in the same clothes for days and eat stale bread with the bottom-of-the-jar scrapings of peanut butter rather than go out.
Don't worry, the kids eat regular foods...I won't let them do without just because I'm not feeling like life is worth the effort right now.
Sadly, I am now out of NyQuil or its generic equivalent and am left to my own devices until I win the lottery and can buy more. Holy cats, one could make a house payment for what that stuff costs! And? At least around here, one must produce one's identification to purchase, and even then may be denied if it's deemed one has been buying too much of the stuff of late. This isn't the same as showing ID for the stuff they make meth from...this is because some teens somewhere figured out that swallowing an entire packet of those little gel-capsules would induce some kind of moderately enjoyable, drug-taking effect...just before it causes all kinds of havoc on their body and possibly damages their brain or kills them outright. Fun!
If I could win the lottery as easily as I am lately catching colds, I wouldn't mind so much feeling like a bucket of fresh-brewed hell. As it is, I am simply thankful that Campbell's makes pop-top soup cans and my kids don't mind oven baked chicken nuggets more than one night in a row.
If you'll pardon me, dear reader, I have to go hunt down another roll of toilet paper...or a clean towel. How's your health?
It starts in the sinuses. They run. No. Not run. This is to running what Niagara Falls is to a trickle down a rock. A box of Kleenex, a few rolls of toilet paper, and then I move on to the towels. I sleep with wads of toilet paper shoved up my nose. Glamorous, me.
After a day or so, it decides to do the grand tour and works its way down my poor sore throat and into my lungs. It likes the surroundings so well, it stays for a while. This brings on the ceaseless coughing, spasms wracking my body day and night with very few pauses for breath. It leaves me weak and slow and feeling more useless than usual. Throat still raw, head full of concrete and Jell-O, I weave about like a drunkard and need frequent naps. Need but don't often get. Sleeping at night is either a patchy affair punctuated by sudden onslaughts of coughing, or a drug induced, NyQuil fueled weird-dream fest ending in confusion and a sense of what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-my-mind muzziness that can only be dispelled by two or three cups of strong tea and a nap.
My usual difficulty motivating myself to go outside, out into the world, is compounded by these colds until I am content to remain in the same clothes for days and eat stale bread with the bottom-of-the-jar scrapings of peanut butter rather than go out.
Don't worry, the kids eat regular foods...I won't let them do without just because I'm not feeling like life is worth the effort right now.
Sadly, I am now out of NyQuil or its generic equivalent and am left to my own devices until I win the lottery and can buy more. Holy cats, one could make a house payment for what that stuff costs! And? At least around here, one must produce one's identification to purchase, and even then may be denied if it's deemed one has been buying too much of the stuff of late. This isn't the same as showing ID for the stuff they make meth from...this is because some teens somewhere figured out that swallowing an entire packet of those little gel-capsules would induce some kind of moderately enjoyable, drug-taking effect...just before it causes all kinds of havoc on their body and possibly damages their brain or kills them outright. Fun!
If I could win the lottery as easily as I am lately catching colds, I wouldn't mind so much feeling like a bucket of fresh-brewed hell. As it is, I am simply thankful that Campbell's makes pop-top soup cans and my kids don't mind oven baked chicken nuggets more than one night in a row.
If you'll pardon me, dear reader, I have to go hunt down another roll of toilet paper...or a clean towel. How's your health?
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Right?
Rights are rights, right? I mean...if we say that people have the right to free speech, we aren't saying only SOME people have that right...right? We aren't saying that only the people we agree with may speak freely...right? We aren't saying that free speech is only for people who say nice things, right? We are saying that every person has a right to speak, plain and simple. Rights are a sort of equal thing - woman, man, trans, gay, straight, bi, asexual, black, brown, white, whatever one's social status or financial status, whatever religion or politics one may practice...rights are rights. Right?
So if I may speak freely, so should you be able to. If you may marry and have protections and privileges under the law, so should I be able to. If I may worship the grass or trees or whatever gods I please, so should you be able to.
The only time I can see rights not being rights are when they interfere with the rights of another - certainly, I may drink alcohol but to drive and endanger you is not acceptable. Certainly I may own a firearm, but discharging it in a way that interferes with the life, liberty or other rights of another is not acceptable (unless in defense of my own life, or the lives of my family, but that's another question entirely...isn't it?). That is part of living in a society, right? We agree to certain behaviors and boundaries in exchange for the benefits that come with banding together? But those behaviors and boundaries apply to everyone within the society, not just a select few, right?
I believe in equality. I believe that there should be no laws or rights that only apply to some and not all. I believe that to stand in favor of equality, to speak in favor of equality, to act in favor of equality, should not be some tremendous thing to be marveled at, and it should not be considered brave or dangerous, it shouldn't be frightening. It should be as common as oxygen, and as essential.
So...why is it that rights aren't rights? That's not right.
So if I may speak freely, so should you be able to. If you may marry and have protections and privileges under the law, so should I be able to. If I may worship the grass or trees or whatever gods I please, so should you be able to.
The only time I can see rights not being rights are when they interfere with the rights of another - certainly, I may drink alcohol but to drive and endanger you is not acceptable. Certainly I may own a firearm, but discharging it in a way that interferes with the life, liberty or other rights of another is not acceptable (unless in defense of my own life, or the lives of my family, but that's another question entirely...isn't it?). That is part of living in a society, right? We agree to certain behaviors and boundaries in exchange for the benefits that come with banding together? But those behaviors and boundaries apply to everyone within the society, not just a select few, right?
I believe in equality. I believe that there should be no laws or rights that only apply to some and not all. I believe that to stand in favor of equality, to speak in favor of equality, to act in favor of equality, should not be some tremendous thing to be marveled at, and it should not be considered brave or dangerous, it shouldn't be frightening. It should be as common as oxygen, and as essential.
So...why is it that rights aren't rights? That's not right.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
February
It's February. Duck and cover.
I'll be in the corner in a blanket fort eating gummi bears with my fingers in my ears hollering "La, la, la, la, la, la, la!!!" at the top of my lungs until March, at least.
Today was bad. Tomorrow will be worse. By the end of the month, horrid will be the new happy.
Seriously, I haven't got any fucks to give.
Depression. Whee.
I'll be in the corner in a blanket fort eating gummi bears with my fingers in my ears hollering "La, la, la, la, la, la, la!!!" at the top of my lungs until March, at least.
Today was bad. Tomorrow will be worse. By the end of the month, horrid will be the new happy.
Seriously, I haven't got any fucks to give.
Depression. Whee.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Sweet Surrender
I think that to love is to open. To love is to become vulnerable to all that is painful. To love is to accept that we will inevitably lose, to accept that what we love may one day spread wide its wings and fly away, leaving us bereft, but in the meantime? In the meantime we have this glorious thing perched upon our hearts.
I think that to love we must understand grief, and hatred, and fear, and accept that loving can be these things and more. I think that to love we must understand laughter, and compassion, and loyalty and accept that loving can be these things and more. I think we must accept that we will be marked, scarred, painted, made weak, made strong.
I think that love is not blind, it is eyes wide open and seeing the depths and the truths and loving them as part of the whole.
I think that loving is letting go of ego and our perception of how we and all other beings should be, accepting that what is may not be what we want, or think we want, but it is enough and we are enough and love isn't a thing of definitions or boundaries.
I think that love is not earned, it is given and received freely. It is not predicated upon a paycheck or bank account or possessions or window dressing. It is far deeper.
I think that love can be terrifying and mysterious and a burden and a marvel.
I think that questioning the how or the why of love is a fool's pastime.
I think that accepting love is a Herculean task.
I believe that we are all equal to that task, if we allow ourselves to be.
I think that to love we must understand grief, and hatred, and fear, and accept that loving can be these things and more. I think that to love we must understand laughter, and compassion, and loyalty and accept that loving can be these things and more. I think we must accept that we will be marked, scarred, painted, made weak, made strong.
I think that love is not blind, it is eyes wide open and seeing the depths and the truths and loving them as part of the whole.
I think that loving is letting go of ego and our perception of how we and all other beings should be, accepting that what is may not be what we want, or think we want, but it is enough and we are enough and love isn't a thing of definitions or boundaries.
I think that love is not earned, it is given and received freely. It is not predicated upon a paycheck or bank account or possessions or window dressing. It is far deeper.
I think that love can be terrifying and mysterious and a burden and a marvel.
I think that questioning the how or the why of love is a fool's pastime.
I think that accepting love is a Herculean task.
I believe that we are all equal to that task, if we allow ourselves to be.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Four
Sprout turns four on Sunday.
Holy wow.
Four.
Four years of perpetual motion and noise, curiosity, fearlessness, determination, spunk, sass, mess, laughter, cuddles, kisses, peanut butter and honey sandwiches, fevers, tears, laundry, teaching, wonder, delight, crayons, paint, clay, mud, puddles, bubble baths, stories, songs, and tucking in.
This time four years ago I was extremely uncomfortable, hoping she would come out on her own, packing a bag for the hospital, and playing Wii Resort (the flying part) with Someone and Bird. I was ready, as ready as one ever is for a baby-shaped force of nature.
Four.
Happy birthday, kid. I wonder what the next year will bring...
Holy wow.
Four.
Four years of perpetual motion and noise, curiosity, fearlessness, determination, spunk, sass, mess, laughter, cuddles, kisses, peanut butter and honey sandwiches, fevers, tears, laundry, teaching, wonder, delight, crayons, paint, clay, mud, puddles, bubble baths, stories, songs, and tucking in.
This time four years ago I was extremely uncomfortable, hoping she would come out on her own, packing a bag for the hospital, and playing Wii Resort (the flying part) with Someone and Bird. I was ready, as ready as one ever is for a baby-shaped force of nature.
Four.
Happy birthday, kid. I wonder what the next year will bring...
Monday, January 19, 2015
I Dream
Like Dr. king, I have a dream.. And like Dr. King, that dream centers on freedom for all, equality for all, justice for all.
I have a dream that one day, one's skin color truly won't matter, in any way, to anyone, ever; one day it will not matter WHO one loves, but HOW one loves; that there will be no need to hide one's sex, gender, or religion; that one day women AND men will walk freely on any sidewalk in any city or town and fear no other person; that no one will be judged by the clothing they wear, the ink they sport, the color of their hair, their jewelry, where they're pierced, or how much money they earn or have to spend; that no one will suffer privation or punishment because of unjust laws; that if we MUST judge, we will judge not by these shallow things but rather by a person's actions; that all beings will be treated with compassion; that no one will be deprived of clean water, clean air, healthy, fresh foods, medicine, or basic human rights.
I wonder if, like Dr. King, I will not live to see my dreams come to fruition. Pessimistic, me, I think we are going backwards. Would Dr. King call for us to rise up, take to the streets, and peacefully protest? Would he shake his head in sorrow, bemusement, at what our world is today? If he could see what those he left behind do in his name, do with his dreams, would he approve...or would he let fly his melodic voice, his powerful rhetoric, in protest?
Dr. King got the ball rolling...it's up to the rest of us to push it into the goal.
~~~~~
Full text and video available here.
~~~~~
"...And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day, one's skin color truly won't matter, in any way, to anyone, ever; one day it will not matter WHO one loves, but HOW one loves; that there will be no need to hide one's sex, gender, or religion; that one day women AND men will walk freely on any sidewalk in any city or town and fear no other person; that no one will be judged by the clothing they wear, the ink they sport, the color of their hair, their jewelry, where they're pierced, or how much money they earn or have to spend; that no one will suffer privation or punishment because of unjust laws; that if we MUST judge, we will judge not by these shallow things but rather by a person's actions; that all beings will be treated with compassion; that no one will be deprived of clean water, clean air, healthy, fresh foods, medicine, or basic human rights.
I wonder if, like Dr. King, I will not live to see my dreams come to fruition. Pessimistic, me, I think we are going backwards. Would Dr. King call for us to rise up, take to the streets, and peacefully protest? Would he shake his head in sorrow, bemusement, at what our world is today? If he could see what those he left behind do in his name, do with his dreams, would he approve...or would he let fly his melodic voice, his powerful rhetoric, in protest?
Dr. King got the ball rolling...it's up to the rest of us to push it into the goal.
~~~~~
Full text and video available here.
~~~~~
"...And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today!
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today!..."
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Forshadowing
One thing about depression is, it's always there. Every minute, every day, even on the very best of days. It colors everything, flavors it. It may be quieter on some days, less noticeable, but it's there in the background.
On bad days...well...it's a screaming mess of dark neon lights flashing strobe-like in your eyes, screaming insults and epithets in your brain, rasping at you like a newly sharpened file wearing you down into dust.
Part of the trouble with good days is that people think you're fine, you must be, you're having a good day. Maybe a string of them. And no one wants to hear that the good day is, in part, an illusion.
And the bad days? You know, after a while, no one wants to hear about the bad days. It's always the same old thing, and it gets boring fast...and that's if you're experiencing it. From the outside? It must be about as much fun as watching paint dry. Over and over again.
So we learn to shut up and smile and do our best to fake our way through it.
Me?
I'm hurting. It's bad. Lots of reasons why. Lots of things feeding it. I spend hours struggling to breathe. I don't cry in front of the kids and I try hard to make sure this monster that's trying to eat me alive isn't turning on them, too. I am cold, I am tired, and I am lonely...and there's no end in sight.
Yup, it's January, rolling on towards February, and I'm fighting my brain and its chemistry knowing that this? This is not the worst of it. That'll hit in a few weeks, right on schedule. Hold on tight, self, it's going to be one hellaciously bumpy ride.
On bad days...well...it's a screaming mess of dark neon lights flashing strobe-like in your eyes, screaming insults and epithets in your brain, rasping at you like a newly sharpened file wearing you down into dust.
Part of the trouble with good days is that people think you're fine, you must be, you're having a good day. Maybe a string of them. And no one wants to hear that the good day is, in part, an illusion.
And the bad days? You know, after a while, no one wants to hear about the bad days. It's always the same old thing, and it gets boring fast...and that's if you're experiencing it. From the outside? It must be about as much fun as watching paint dry. Over and over again.
So we learn to shut up and smile and do our best to fake our way through it.
Me?
I'm hurting. It's bad. Lots of reasons why. Lots of things feeding it. I spend hours struggling to breathe. I don't cry in front of the kids and I try hard to make sure this monster that's trying to eat me alive isn't turning on them, too. I am cold, I am tired, and I am lonely...and there's no end in sight.
Yup, it's January, rolling on towards February, and I'm fighting my brain and its chemistry knowing that this? This is not the worst of it. That'll hit in a few weeks, right on schedule. Hold on tight, self, it's going to be one hellaciously bumpy ride.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Wherein I Whine A Bit Despite Knowing There Are Worse Things Happening In the World
Encore, je suis Charlie.
But I am also me, and "me" is dangling from the end of her rope and wondering why the hell she keeps hanging on or trying to climb back up it. I think somebody has greased it about halfway up so I'll keep slipping down again.
My throat hurts. It feels like there are rocks in it when I swallow, and even when I am simply sitting still, breathing, it burns. I swear, I feel like I could breathe flames. I have a cough. It's not productive, unless you consider causing an achy back, sore muscles, sore ribs (I don't care if they say bones can't hurt, my ribs HURT!), a seriously displeased neck, inability to sleep, and occasionally making me pee a little when I don't want to (Ain't motherhood grand?)(Yes. Yes it is.) productive...except in the morning when my sinuses have had all night to quietly, sneakily, drip, drip, drip their drippy drippings into my lungs, so as soon as I get up there is a sort of glacier-like sheet of I-don't-want-to-know-what-it-is coating them that brings on a spate of hacking that may or may not loosen up all that gunk and exacerbates the whole throat situation.
My spirit is dented, dinged, dingy, and dark. Depression has me in its teeth and is shaking me, a dog with a rat, and I don't have time to deal with it - I am, for all intents and purposes, a single mother with two active, bright, annoyingly healthy (No, I don't wish them ill, not at all, not one little bit!) children, no income, chores to do, animals to care for, and responsibilities that I cannot hand off to anyone else. I'm not getting much sleep at night, I am constantly feeling chilled or downright cold, and lately I am as stiff and a board when I move. I am feeling The Beiges keenly right now, which means I am acutely aware of just how little I am worth to the world at large (despite assurances that I am wrong, I can't help what I feel, I can only help what I do about those feelings). I am also feeling heightened anxiety when going out into the world, and am struggling to keep myself up and moving rather than huddled under my blankets and telling everyone and everything to piss off. Mental illness is not a picnic, and right now it's kicking my ass a little.
I was supposed to pay my phone bills this week but the money disappeared. Not "disappeared" as in I spent it on frivolous or even necessary things, but "disappeared" as in it was there last night and this morning it is not. Seriously. It was in my pants pocket when I took 'em off one night, and two days later when I put the pants back on (don't panic, I was getting dressed, just wearing different pants those days) so I could go pay my bills, it was gone. Not in the pants. Not on the floor. Not under the furniture. Not in any room or closet or cupboard or cubby or bag or box or shelf or sink or toilet or bedroom. Not in the kitchen. Not in the garage. Not in the van, or the van, or the truck. Not in one of my kids' room. Not in any of the pockets of any of my other pants, nor in Someone's pants. Somehow, $240 managed to disappear into thin air. All I can figure it is fell out of my pocket when I was at the grocery store, but if it dd and someone found it, they kept it, because I called and asked and no one has turned anything in. So...I am piggybacking on a neighbor's Internet until they figure out they should password protect it, and hoping I can sweet talk the phone company into not turning off my cell phone...too late for the house and Internet...and I'm supposed to feel like I'm not useless how, exactly?
The world has gone mad. People are killing other people over gods and prophets because apparently those gods and prophets are so weak and useless that satire and disbelief damage them and must therefor be punished. People are killing other people because of who the other people love, because apparent;y love is dangerous and could spread and then people might be happy, gods forbid. People are killing other people because the other people think or look or act differently. People are killing other people...
A long, long, long, loooooooong time ago I tied a knot in the end of my rope. I won't let go and I won't fall off...but my figurative arms and my figurative hands are awfully tired of hanging on.
But I am also me, and "me" is dangling from the end of her rope and wondering why the hell she keeps hanging on or trying to climb back up it. I think somebody has greased it about halfway up so I'll keep slipping down again.
My throat hurts. It feels like there are rocks in it when I swallow, and even when I am simply sitting still, breathing, it burns. I swear, I feel like I could breathe flames. I have a cough. It's not productive, unless you consider causing an achy back, sore muscles, sore ribs (I don't care if they say bones can't hurt, my ribs HURT!), a seriously displeased neck, inability to sleep, and occasionally making me pee a little when I don't want to (Ain't motherhood grand?)(Yes. Yes it is.) productive...except in the morning when my sinuses have had all night to quietly, sneakily, drip, drip, drip their drippy drippings into my lungs, so as soon as I get up there is a sort of glacier-like sheet of I-don't-want-to-know-what-it-is coating them that brings on a spate of hacking that may or may not loosen up all that gunk and exacerbates the whole throat situation.
My spirit is dented, dinged, dingy, and dark. Depression has me in its teeth and is shaking me, a dog with a rat, and I don't have time to deal with it - I am, for all intents and purposes, a single mother with two active, bright, annoyingly healthy (No, I don't wish them ill, not at all, not one little bit!) children, no income, chores to do, animals to care for, and responsibilities that I cannot hand off to anyone else. I'm not getting much sleep at night, I am constantly feeling chilled or downright cold, and lately I am as stiff and a board when I move. I am feeling The Beiges keenly right now, which means I am acutely aware of just how little I am worth to the world at large (despite assurances that I am wrong, I can't help what I feel, I can only help what I do about those feelings). I am also feeling heightened anxiety when going out into the world, and am struggling to keep myself up and moving rather than huddled under my blankets and telling everyone and everything to piss off. Mental illness is not a picnic, and right now it's kicking my ass a little.
I was supposed to pay my phone bills this week but the money disappeared. Not "disappeared" as in I spent it on frivolous or even necessary things, but "disappeared" as in it was there last night and this morning it is not. Seriously. It was in my pants pocket when I took 'em off one night, and two days later when I put the pants back on (don't panic, I was getting dressed, just wearing different pants those days) so I could go pay my bills, it was gone. Not in the pants. Not on the floor. Not under the furniture. Not in any room or closet or cupboard or cubby or bag or box or shelf or sink or toilet or bedroom. Not in the kitchen. Not in the garage. Not in the van, or the van, or the truck. Not in one of my kids' room. Not in any of the pockets of any of my other pants, nor in Someone's pants. Somehow, $240 managed to disappear into thin air. All I can figure it is fell out of my pocket when I was at the grocery store, but if it dd and someone found it, they kept it, because I called and asked and no one has turned anything in. So...I am piggybacking on a neighbor's Internet until they figure out they should password protect it, and hoping I can sweet talk the phone company into not turning off my cell phone...too late for the house and Internet...and I'm supposed to feel like I'm not useless how, exactly?
The world has gone mad. People are killing other people over gods and prophets because apparently those gods and prophets are so weak and useless that satire and disbelief damage them and must therefor be punished. People are killing other people because of who the other people love, because apparent;y love is dangerous and could spread and then people might be happy, gods forbid. People are killing other people because the other people think or look or act differently. People are killing other people...
A long, long, long, loooooooong time ago I tied a knot in the end of my rope. I won't let go and I won't fall off...but my figurative arms and my figurative hands are awfully tired of hanging on.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Happy Birthday, Evil Genius
I posted this last year, and I mean it just as much this year. I love you, little guy!
~~~~~
If I could give one gift to you
What would that gift be?
Shall I make the world anew
Create it sickness free?
Shall I banish hunger,
Banish hatred, banish pain?
Shall I mend the broken,
Let them dance in the rain?
What if I could take cancer,
AIDS, Alzheimer's too
And send them gone forever
As my gift to you?
Could I soften heartache
Anger and fear
Give vision to the blind
Help the deaf ones hear?
Help the lost to find their way
Along the winding path
Show the weak and weary mind
The beauty that life hath?
I cannot snap my fingers
And make everything right
But I can tuck you safely in
Each and every night
And while the world is faulty
And filled with many woes
I can help you learn to avoid
The very worst of those
And I can help you to be strong
When you most want to be weak
And I can teach you to raise your voice
When most you fear to speak
I can help you find your light
To shine for all to see
And I can help you learn to know
Why the spirit must be free
In time you'll grow beyond my words
And stand up all alone
In time I'll be a whisper
Where the winds of fate have blown
But if you see injustice, hunger, or need
And work to make it right somehow
Then we both succeed
Be strong, my child, and wise
Compassionate and smart
And don't forget to listen to
Both your good head and good heart
Wherever else I be,
Whatever else I do
I will always be that soft whisper
Saying "I love you"
~~~~~
If I could give one gift to you
What would that gift be?
Shall I make the world anew
Create it sickness free?
Shall I banish hunger,
Banish hatred, banish pain?
Shall I mend the broken,
Let them dance in the rain?
What if I could take cancer,
AIDS, Alzheimer's too
And send them gone forever
As my gift to you?
Could I soften heartache
Anger and fear
Give vision to the blind
Help the deaf ones hear?
Help the lost to find their way
Along the winding path
Show the weak and weary mind
The beauty that life hath?
I cannot snap my fingers
And make everything right
But I can tuck you safely in
Each and every night
And while the world is faulty
And filled with many woes
I can help you learn to avoid
The very worst of those
And I can help you to be strong
When you most want to be weak
And I can teach you to raise your voice
When most you fear to speak
I can help you find your light
To shine for all to see
And I can help you learn to know
Why the spirit must be free
In time you'll grow beyond my words
And stand up all alone
In time I'll be a whisper
Where the winds of fate have blown
But if you see injustice, hunger, or need
And work to make it right somehow
Then we both succeed
Be strong, my child, and wise
Compassionate and smart
And don't forget to listen to
Both your good head and good heart
Wherever else I be,
Whatever else I do
I will always be that soft whisper
Saying "I love you"
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Sriracha Crab Salad
A year or so ago, I was over at K2's house around lunch time and she offered me a bite to eat. She's made a crab salad the day before, and as soon as I had a bite I knew that I should relieve her of it entirely...although her husband, E, allowed as how maybe I should put the fork down and step away from his intended lunch.
The salad had Sriracha in it, and that was my first experience of the hot sauce that has suddenly become ubiquitous.
I still have 9/10 of my original bottle - a little goes a very long way!
Here's my own version of Sriracha Crab Salad, because you know I had to come home and play around with it a little...
The players (fair warning, this is a "some" recipe...nothing measured, just some of this, some of that):
Surimi, about half a pound
Crab legs - I prefer snow crab - about half a pound in shell
Onion - I like how purple onion adds color, plus I had some that wanted using
Cucumber, about half of one
Broccoli slaw. I use pre-made because I am lazy.
Mayo
Sriracha
Aaaaaand...action!
I started with an empty bowl. Like a blank canvas, it waits to become something more. Let's not disappoint!
The salad had Sriracha in it, and that was my first experience of the hot sauce that has suddenly become ubiquitous.
I still have 9/10 of my original bottle - a little goes a very long way!
Here's my own version of Sriracha Crab Salad, because you know I had to come home and play around with it a little...
The players (fair warning, this is a "some" recipe...nothing measured, just some of this, some of that):
Surimi, about half a pound
Crab legs - I prefer snow crab - about half a pound in shell
Onion - I like how purple onion adds color, plus I had some that wanted using
Cucumber, about half of one
Broccoli slaw. I use pre-made because I am lazy.
Mayo
Sriracha
Aaaaaand...action!
I started with an empty bowl. Like a blank canvas, it waits to become something more. Let's not disappoint!
First I sliced the surimi on a sort of diagonal and dumped it unceremoniously in the bowl.
Next I cleaned the crab. I like to clean my own, but the market has lots of pre-shelled choices. One reason I like to shell my own? I buy crab legs when they are on sale and freeze them for later use, and I am never certain whether I am going to steam them and eat them hot or use them in a salad or pasta.
So, cleaned and hopefully without any shell-y bits, in goes the crab.
Next, I chopped the onion fine. I used two thin-to-medium-thick slices. I like onion.
Now for the cucumber. I slice it into quarters, slice off the seedy bit, and then cut it into the thinnest slices I have the patience for. It works well if you confetti cut it, too, but I kind of like the texture and presentation of the thin strips.
Possibly the easiest of the ingredients to prepare is the broccoli slaw. I had to open a bag. I tossed in a large handful and then another smaller sprinkle. If you don't like raw broccoli, I understand. I don't, either. Broccoli slaw, however, gives this a nice crunch and has none of the bitterness or pungency of raw broccoli florets, and so far I haven't gotten it stuck between my teeth (yes, that is important!). It adds a little healthiness as well, and I need all the healthy I can get!
Finally, a generous dollop or three of mayonnaise and a swirl or two of Sriracha. In the beginning, less is more. Mix it all up really well and take a taste. Adjust the mayo and Sriracha if you need to, a little at a time, until your mouth is happy.
I plated it with Honeycrisp apple slices and Kalamata olives.
If you try this, please let me know if you made any changes and how you like it!
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Puzzling
Sprout adores doing puzzles. Her brother received a couple of puzzles for Christmas and she wants to open them and put them together in the worst way! I won't let her, which frustrates her, so in the spirit if keeping peace in the Casa, I took her to The Evil Empire yesterday to re-stock our Play-Doh population and possibly score a puzzle or two that are just beyond her age recommendation.
As an aside, have you ever been to The Evil Empire just after Christmas? The employees looked shell-shocked and the toy department looked like it had been hit hard by a swarm of toy-eating locusts intent on consuming or destroying everything in their path. They were out of Play-Doh. Seriously. I didn't think that was possible.
Luckily, we found a rack of puzzle packs - four per pack that were variations on a theme. Me being me, I chose the set that was more educational than Disney Princess - numbers, colors, shapes, and the alphabet - because I just don't care to support the Princess archetype with my dollars and anything that helps with the home schooling is alright by me!
Another aside...we wandered a bit and in the crafts department found an alternate brand of our doughy plaything, ten colors for four bucks, not bad! Yes, I intend to make our own dough one of these days, but there is something to be said for instant gratification and no kitchen clean up.
Of course, as soon as we came home we had to do the puzzles. All four of them. Sprout wanted me to sit on the floor with her and carefully put each piece in its place, and I obliged. I explained about edges and corners and looking for which colors and shapes matched up, and she had fun handing me pieces and occasionally putting one in place.
This morning, as we snuggled and giggled in my big bed under the comfy blanket, she announced that she wanted to do puzzles. Fine by me. This time, she didn't want me to help. Okie-dokie. She dumped each one onto the floor and piece by piece began assembling them. She held up a corner. "This one has two edges so it's a corner. Where does it go?" She looked at each corner and checked her piece for color and for which wavy edges matched where, and placed the piece where it belonged. It took a minute and the occasional growl of frustration for her to sort out all 24 pieces, but she did it without my help. I sat beside her on the floor, watching her as she concentrated very hard on the serious business of putting a puzzle together again and wondered at how quickly - overnight - she had caught on to puzzle solving. It was...and is... a terrific and graphic example of how they process and apply information at blinding speeds.
Every day, something new. Wonder what I'll teach her tomorrow...
As an aside, have you ever been to The Evil Empire just after Christmas? The employees looked shell-shocked and the toy department looked like it had been hit hard by a swarm of toy-eating locusts intent on consuming or destroying everything in their path. They were out of Play-Doh. Seriously. I didn't think that was possible.
Luckily, we found a rack of puzzle packs - four per pack that were variations on a theme. Me being me, I chose the set that was more educational than Disney Princess - numbers, colors, shapes, and the alphabet - because I just don't care to support the Princess archetype with my dollars and anything that helps with the home schooling is alright by me!
Another aside...we wandered a bit and in the crafts department found an alternate brand of our doughy plaything, ten colors for four bucks, not bad! Yes, I intend to make our own dough one of these days, but there is something to be said for instant gratification and no kitchen clean up.
Of course, as soon as we came home we had to do the puzzles. All four of them. Sprout wanted me to sit on the floor with her and carefully put each piece in its place, and I obliged. I explained about edges and corners and looking for which colors and shapes matched up, and she had fun handing me pieces and occasionally putting one in place.
This morning, as we snuggled and giggled in my big bed under the comfy blanket, she announced that she wanted to do puzzles. Fine by me. This time, she didn't want me to help. Okie-dokie. She dumped each one onto the floor and piece by piece began assembling them. She held up a corner. "This one has two edges so it's a corner. Where does it go?" She looked at each corner and checked her piece for color and for which wavy edges matched where, and placed the piece where it belonged. It took a minute and the occasional growl of frustration for her to sort out all 24 pieces, but she did it without my help. I sat beside her on the floor, watching her as she concentrated very hard on the serious business of putting a puzzle together again and wondered at how quickly - overnight - she had caught on to puzzle solving. It was...and is... a terrific and graphic example of how they process and apply information at blinding speeds.
Every day, something new. Wonder what I'll teach her tomorrow...
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Scarred for Life, I Tell Ya!
We don't really celebrate Christmas at casa de Crazy - we're more of a Yule/Solstice lot. That said, we aren't above inviting friends and family to spend the day here, especially if they may not have anywhere else to go. This year, T brought the Evil Genius over (T's mother passed through the veil a few days ago and he thought maybe they'd have a nicer time NOT in an empty house full of her ghosts, and I thought that was a fine idea), and our friend Mizz M came with her dog, Milo.
Milo is a Pitbull.
He has a history.
That history involves dog fighting.
Because, Pitbull.
Milo was a bait dog, and when he was first rescued he had...issues. Mizz M has worked lovingly, diligently, to help Milo recover from his rather horrid past, to shed fear, distrust, and a host of other issues.
Milo has worked lovingly, diligently, to help Mizz M with some issues of her own.
Milo has never been to Casa de Crazy. We have cats. Pitbull. Cats.
Ah, but Milo has cats...and not for breakfast! He has kitty-people who live with him and his human, and other canines, too. Our cats didn't give a fig what sort of felines associate with Milo...most of them opted to step up their anti-social game and stay burrowed under the covers of my bed all day, but Maya, the sociablest (is TOO a word, spell check, even if I only just now made it up!) of the lot, the hostess kitty, came out and made friends. She even permitted a few Milo-kisses.
The kids were both delighted by our four-legged guest - they've met his human and approve of her, but the pup stole the show.
The Pitbull.
Milo is a Pitbull.
He has a history.
That history involves dog fighting.
Because, Pitbull.
Milo was a bait dog, and when he was first rescued he had...issues. Mizz M has worked lovingly, diligently, to help Milo recover from his rather horrid past, to shed fear, distrust, and a host of other issues.
Milo has worked lovingly, diligently, to help Mizz M with some issues of her own.
Milo has never been to Casa de Crazy. We have cats. Pitbull. Cats.
Ah, but Milo has cats...and not for breakfast! He has kitty-people who live with him and his human, and other canines, too. Our cats didn't give a fig what sort of felines associate with Milo...most of them opted to step up their anti-social game and stay burrowed under the covers of my bed all day, but Maya, the sociablest (is TOO a word, spell check, even if I only just now made it up!) of the lot, the hostess kitty, came out and made friends. She even permitted a few Milo-kisses.
The kids were both delighted by our four-legged guest - they've met his human and approve of her, but the pup stole the show.
The Pitbull.
So dangerous...because he could easily snuggle you to death! So vicious, all those licks and kisses! Such a menace...with that frantically wagging tail!
I let him sit on my lap. He followed me around trying to convince me that I needed to feed him some of whatever I was having. His human gave him little tastes of this and that. I might not have given him the deviled eggs, but since SHE'S the one who has to live with the resultant...er...results...I don't mind that he snarfed up one or two that she "dropped". I even unbent from my rule...well, more like a guideline...of not feeding dogs and when he sat on command I gave him some colby-jack.
Milo is proof that no matter how ugly a being's past may be, they can be loving, trusting, forces for good. He is proof that judging a breed by the stereotypes of a few who have bee MADE what they are by others is a mistake, and unfair. He is also more typical than not of the Pitbulls I've known in my life - sweet, happy, loving, gentle, trusting, adoring of children and other critters, and willing to forgive the worst that's been thrown at him because it's in his nature to do so.
I know some humans who could take a lesson...
Some photos:
I let him sit on my lap. He followed me around trying to convince me that I needed to feed him some of whatever I was having. His human gave him little tastes of this and that. I might not have given him the deviled eggs, but since SHE'S the one who has to live with the resultant...er...results...I don't mind that he snarfed up one or two that she "dropped". I even unbent from my rule...well, more like a guideline...of not feeding dogs and when he sat on command I gave him some colby-jack.
Milo is proof that no matter how ugly a being's past may be, they can be loving, trusting, forces for good. He is proof that judging a breed by the stereotypes of a few who have bee MADE what they are by others is a mistake, and unfair. He is also more typical than not of the Pitbulls I've known in my life - sweet, happy, loving, gentle, trusting, adoring of children and other critters, and willing to forgive the worst that's been thrown at him because it's in his nature to do so.
I know some humans who could take a lesson...
Some photos:
Oh, noes, the Pibble has my Sprout !
Oh, the humanity - won't anybody help save my beautiful daughter from this marauding canine???
Seriously, she's going to lose her...umm...heart?
See how traumatized she is?
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