Today has been a fairly odd day. It started with watching a man walk down the canal, muttering to himself, only to find him walk back up the canal carrying a freestanding basketball hoop. The people on the canal can see into our yard over certain parts of the block wall and we can see them. I kind of watched him go by the first time, hoping that Buddy wouldn't bark at him while similtaneously hoping that Buddy would go potty. No potty, but the same man walking by with this full sized basketball hoop and stand on his shoulder, muttering and heading back from whence he came.
Buddy's been sick for the past couple of weeks. He's been throwing up at random times (hating that word these days--so over-used and misused, but it's the most descriptive right now), but has been otherwise fine. Last Friday he started to look a little unwell so we took him to the vet. He also hadn't any of his kibble for 24 hours, which never happens. He was prescribed some canned food, some expensive tests and we were to watch him. As he gobbled wet food down I realized he may never go back to dry, until Monday night when he refused to eat the wet food. He's been eating plain white rice, which he always does when my mom visits, but that's it now. No dog food at all for nearly 3 days, leave a message at the vet. I explain all of this to the receptionist who clearly isn't hearing me well.
First, she's indignant that I've named my dog "Betty," which I haven't. This receptionist does it every time (the dog is 12 and she's been there for at least 3 years). What's your dog's name? Me, "Buddy." Receptionist, "Betty?!!!" (alarm and with raise in pitch at the end of bettEEE?) No, "Bud-dy." I tell the story. "What he been eating, then?!" Me, "Plain, white rice." (just like I relayed in the story) I feel as if I haven't gotten nowhere with her. That was early this morning and it's now 6.00 pm and I'm still waiting to hear back, "Because the vet will be concerned if he's [Betty/Buddy] losing weight." As if I'm unconcerned. Just thought I'd call and chat with someone with hearing/attention issues, just for fun.
Max has been complaining that his ear hurts. So, next on the docket, a trip to the pediatrician. While we waited to be called, I watched as two nearly identically-clad blondes chat it up in the lobby while their older toddlers terrorized brand new parents trying to check in and running in the way of some families trying to leave. These women were oblivious to the running and the screaming; they continued to cheerfully chat. You know how awkward new parents can be with these heavy baby carriers--I felt bad for them. On top of that they are trying to dodge these little guys who were running all over the place. In case you're wondering, these women were wearing the new uniform of well-to-do moms, the black yoga pant and Uggs. I don't think either of them were heading off to yoga or had been to yoga this morning. I could be wrong. But, don't get me wrong--I have both of those items in my closet, which are strictly for yoga. Kelly loves the "yoga pants" at her kids' school, which cracks me up. I had to tell her that I was kind of a "yoga pant" who dropped off on my way to yoga, so it sounds hypocritical to complain about this alleged "uniform." With that said, I save the workout wear for working out. Just saying. Which, since I'm complaining, I have to add that I couldn't believe all the reviews (which I happened to be reading last night, of all things) of women saying how much they loved a certain kind of yoga pant for "running around," "travel" and some other non-working out activity. I felt bad for judging, but I kind of wanted to write, "When did yoga pants become an actual piece of clothing versus gear for working out?" Enough of that. I apologize.
So, when Max was little he used to get sent home from daycare with "possible pink-eye" which always turned out to be an ear infection. He had a lot of ear infections that didn't present as ear infections--raging ones that made me feel so bad that I didn't catch it. Today, he complained of his ear hurting when he actually has a sinus infection. The doctor said that with littler kids the sinuses can tug on the ear canal causing pain or irritation. This doesn't happend with adults. So on that note, I still wait for the vet to call, hoping that Buddy/Betty will get better and that I never decide that wearing yoga pants as an article of day clothing is a good idea. I do know that I will continue to see bizarre behaviour on the canal. That's one of the few givens.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
Winter Solstace
via google images
"Father Winter Solstice"
I think it's interesting that I'd have this experience on the winter solstace (Dec. 21), but here it is: darkness and light.
They say that the winter solstace is the longest night of the year and the shortest day, but it only lasts a moment in time. It's difficult to imagine on a bright and sunny Arizona day there'd be much "darkness." However, darkness is everywhere--even in broad daylight.
I was out with Buddy having a very nice walk on the canal, when I heard shrill and distressed barking. I saw a larger Chihuahua standing on a dirt mound across the canal from me, barking at a man walking past him. I kept my eye on the dog and decided he was definitely lost and without person, so I took Buddy home and got a different lead and some treats and went back to the where the dog was. He was now barking at something I couldn't immediately see.
The dog was backing away from seemingly nothing, continuing to bark, until he realized that I was behind him. As he was noticing me, this figure stepped out of the bushes, standing very still. I'm not sure if it was a man or woman and he didn't step out as much as appear. I've never been one to be afraid of homeless people and even some crazy people--I try to treat them with humanity and not treat them as if they are nonexistent; although, I've been around some who were volatile and made me nervous. For some reason this situation was different--there was a very weird energy. This person was a long ways away from me, but I felt something ominous coming from him. I tried to ignore it as I whistled to the dog and tried to call him to me, but I felt surrounded by this bad energy--it's almost as if we were in an enclosed space and I was being swallowed up by some force. We were in a wide-open space--a kind of park-like area of the canal. I've never felt this way before. What's worse, is that on this very bright winter's day I couldn't see this person's face. His face was a shadow in the brightness and his movements were very slow and deliberate. Almost as if he was trying to "catch" me, like I was trying to catch this lost dog. He started to creep slowly towards me and the dog took off down the canal, looking back only to bark. I asked him if the dog was his, feeling that it wasn't because the dog's tail was tucked so far between his legs and wanted nothing to do with him. He nodded "yes," so slowly and silently that I decided that I was done with being a pet detective and was leaving myself. I took one last look after the dog, feeling that I would be trapped if I went down the canal after the dog because we were at one end (with the street to escape to) and the other end was a long ways away. It was so strange to feel frightened like that.
I left feeling heebed out and wondering what he wanted with that poor little dog. For split second I had the terrible and irrational thought as I hurried away, "I hope he doesn't eat it!" Bottom line: I hope the little dog is safe and has found his way.
It was a very strange encounter of dark and bright in the middle of the day, on the winter solstace.
Ticker Tape Parade
via google images
We have a family member, who shall remain nameless, who seems to need a ticker tape parade every time she does something. Every story she tells is one of daring and heroism and much like the dingy character of London on the silly tween show, "Suite Life on Deck," she practically claps her hands and shrieks, "Yeah, me!" As annoying as this is, what if we thought of it from a different perspective? She really wants and needs affirmation, but to a certain extent, don't we all? I suppose sometimes we could use some extra kudos thrown our way. It's Christmas, so throw them a bone. But, if this shift in perspective is too much for you or you find that you must do it way too often for your liking, you could always imagine the annoying person being bathed in the soft shimmer of a ticker tape parade while said person applaudes him/herself. So, while these people are clapping and saying "yeah, me!" or are the star, yet again, of their own story and yours you are giving them the attention they desire and are peacefully watching them showered in bits of paper.
Better, yet, give yourself a mental ticker tape parade and go to your happy place!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
My Dad's Best Intentions
My dad loved Charlie Brown and Snoopy. Sometimes, despite his best intentions and planning, something would go awry--just like Charlie Brown. He wouldn't always take it that well, but eventually what ever snafu he was a part of became the family joke, eventually becoming o.k. In actuality, everything happens for reason you just have to find the reason or learn the lesson. At any rate, here's a Christmas gift memory that came to me the other day, while watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas" with the boys.
Do you remember cameras that had flash bulbs that needed to be replaced after each use? My brother and I got cameras for Christmas one year that Dad had dutifully wrapped up and put under the tree. Where do you think he put the packages of flash bulbs (which were the square ones which rotated after the photo was taken so you could take 4 photos in a row without changing the flash, so high tech!)? He put them in the Christmas stockings. That wouldn't have been such a bad idea, but for a few years the stockings seemed to be a point of contention between my paternal grandmother and my dad. It's actually a little blurry in my mind, but somehow she insisted we open them first and what pops out? Flash bulbs for cameras we didn't have, yet...Yeah! We got cameras for Christmas!!! Which packages do you think they are in? My poor Dad--he looked a little crestfallen, at first, but we had an instantaneous good laugh about it and moved on. He always tried so hard, even though he pretended to be such a grinch about Christmas!
Friday, December 16, 2011
A Christmas Tale
When Little Man was four years old he got into a lot of pre-Christmas trouble. It was a rough Christmas break for me. One day really stands out--the day he "ruined" Christmas. It was the penultimate of naughtiness after days of wild and crazy holiday excitement, on the part of the boys (certainly not me). He got into everything. It started with my locked closet that had the Christmas presents in it and ended with house paint...
We have a full key rack with key-laden rings. Little Man got hold of them all (he used a step stool) and systematically tried every key in the locked closet door and managed to open it. You may ask where I was when all this was happening. I was working in my office and I (mistakenly) thought both of the boys were playing or cooking with my mom, who visits every year over Christmas. You know that sense you get that someone's watching you or something is not quite right? I got that and went to investigate. My mom was in the kitchen by herself and Big Monkey was in the playroom, by himself. When I went in there he was building Legos and the closet door was wide open, with opened stuff spilling out of it. I asked him what was going on and he said, "Stuart did it! I told him not to but he did anyway!" I believed him, because (at the time) he was safety boy and didn't want to break any rules. I'm running around the house hollering for Little Man (which, by the way, reminds me of what I think is the African proverb, "If you want a dog to come to you don't yell.") and I can't find him anywhere. I go outside and I notice the gate to the shed is wide open, the door to the shed is wide open as well and Little Man is nowhere to be found. I walk around the house and I find him with a kitchen can opener and 2 gallons of house paint on the front porch. He's trying to open them. I thought I was going to lose my mind! I started to shout, "What are you doing?!!!" to which he responds, "I wanted to paint you something." You have to admit, that is very sweet. However, I was like a pressure cooker with all the wild boy craziness building up in me and was so upset about the opened gifts in the closet that I climbed up on my soapbox and lectured, as I drug him back to "show" him "how he ruined Christmas." Yes, I used those very words because I was so upset at the lack of boundaries that child sometimes has in our house. I'm not proud of it--it was a very low parenting moment. He knows he doesn't belong in there and he pretty much knows no one goes in there without asking--not even Daddy. He had keys everywhere. Gifts were opened and played with. Housepaint out mingling with kitchen tools. How he even managed to unlock that child safety latch gate is beyond me, because he wasn't nearly tall enough and I couldn't find what he used to stand on so he could reach. It was a long, long, day and an even longer Christmas break that year. Exhausting, because I had to keep an hairy eyeball on that child at all times--even with grandma around.
Later that night, I did apologize. I told him that he didn't ruin Christmas and that I was so upset that I exaggerated. However, I did tell him that he wouldn't be surprised if he kept opening things and Santa certainly wouldn't tolerate that kind of behaviour. Yes, I did tell him he was being thoughtful by wanting to paint me something--but I did remind him that we don't use adult things (such as house paint), we use the crayons and markers in the playroom and on paper. Yes, he has drawn on the walls, furniture and the dog, but that's another story. God bless him (and me, for that matter)!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
A Christmas Wish
There a bunch of people I pass regularly during my day and I'm always interested in those I drive past on the Bridle Path. People with their dogs, running, walking, in groups, alone--you name it, it's pretty much the same people during roughly the same times. There's one man in particular that I've been thinking about a lot lately. A couple of years ago I noticed him because he's pretty tall, has a very unusual gait and had long red hair peeking out the back of a skull cap. He swung his body from left to right and his long arms and legs swung wildly along with his body. He kept a very fast pace and would walk in the heat of the day. This man and a very petite, thin, blonde gal who always wears a ball cap and black workout clothes would walk and run (respectively) at the hottest part of the day, even towards summer. They always made being out in the extreme heat look so easy, so I'm always fascinated by both of them.
There was a period of time where I didn't see my wild walker and I wondered where he got off to. When he returned to his routine, he looked a little different. He walked just a little less wildly and seem to be a little slower paced. As time went on, I noticed his red hair no longer peeked out of his skull cap and eventually it seemed he had little to no hair. His face is swollen and he looks as if he has aged. I'm telling myself a story, but he looks like my dad did when he went through chemo. My dad was a tall thin man who had a goodly amount of hair for his age and during chemo he looked like he put on some weight (despite a reduced appetite), his face became puffy, he had less hair and he moved just a little slower (he was always a fast walker). Every day I look for this man and hope that he's walking faster, looking less puffy and has more color in his face. I hope that he's not in pain and that he has hope. I don't even know this man, but it's obvious he is or has been ill. I wonder how many people notice that he is ill and treat him with kindness and respect or if they get irritated that he moves slowly or is in their way. Then, again, I wonder how many people take the time to think about how it is to walk in another's shoes.
My Christmas wish for him and all the others who are ill or just need extra kindness and care is that they receive it and that those who are able to give extra kindness and care do. You might surprise yourself how great it feels to do something nice for a stranger or even someone you know.
There was a period of time where I didn't see my wild walker and I wondered where he got off to. When he returned to his routine, he looked a little different. He walked just a little less wildly and seem to be a little slower paced. As time went on, I noticed his red hair no longer peeked out of his skull cap and eventually it seemed he had little to no hair. His face is swollen and he looks as if he has aged. I'm telling myself a story, but he looks like my dad did when he went through chemo. My dad was a tall thin man who had a goodly amount of hair for his age and during chemo he looked like he put on some weight (despite a reduced appetite), his face became puffy, he had less hair and he moved just a little slower (he was always a fast walker). Every day I look for this man and hope that he's walking faster, looking less puffy and has more color in his face. I hope that he's not in pain and that he has hope. I don't even know this man, but it's obvious he is or has been ill. I wonder how many people notice that he is ill and treat him with kindness and respect or if they get irritated that he moves slowly or is in their way. Then, again, I wonder how many people take the time to think about how it is to walk in another's shoes.
My Christmas wish for him and all the others who are ill or just need extra kindness and care is that they receive it and that those who are able to give extra kindness and care do. You might surprise yourself how great it feels to do something nice for a stranger or even someone you know.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Persistence Pays
All last week, Stuart was very focused on getting me a gift at Frances (http://www.francesvintage.com/). He wouldn't let it go. Despite his annoying persistence, the thought was very sweet and he was so cute! What started off as a request for a simple outing turned into a major meltdown. I had asked Stuart if he wanted to go Frances last Sunday to try to find a gift for one of my girlfriends. He was all over that. Jon and Max were watching football and I had had enough. I wanted to do something else. Somewhere along the line Stuart decided that he--and Daddy--were going to get a Christmas gift for me. Me: "Honey, that's so sweet! But, I'll be there. Don't you want to go with just Daddy and Max?" No, adamant that he wanted to go with me "right now" (last Sunday) and buy me a gift. He had a serious meltdown because Daddy wanted to go another day (1. At least he knows that it's not cool for me to buy my own "gift." 2. It warms my heart that he is so thoughtful and not just for me.). It was a little over an hour before store closing and starting to become a big production, so I told Stuart we'd go together another time. Serious sadness and tears ensued. Once he makes up his mind he is really serious about it. He is also very thoughtful and it hurts him when he can't follow-through the way he'd like.
The moral of the story: persistence pays. This weekend, he convinced his Dad that today was the day they were going to go to Frances to buy me some "jewel-er-ee" (he really strings that word out). That's just what they did. Stuart got his sugar skull coin purse (purchased before Halloween at The Southwest Gardener http://www.southwestgardener.com/), put it in his pocket and was good to go. We don't quite have a good enough grasp on what things cost, yet. He'll get there (his coin purse had $1.76 in it). The three of them even managed to buy a present for one of Jon's partner's. No, Flavia, you are tougher than nails to buy for! You're still on the list, but I won't tell you which one. Just kidding! (I don't have a "naughty" list, but I like to threaten that I do--just don't tell anyone.)
So, if you think that you can't get what you want, just think of Stuart. He had the very best intentions and love in his heart and eventually, he accomplished what he wanted. (He's also a broken record when he's that focused, but that can both help and hinder his cause.)
What would you like to accomplish this week?
The moral of the story: persistence pays. This weekend, he convinced his Dad that today was the day they were going to go to Frances to buy me some "jewel-er-ee" (he really strings that word out). That's just what they did. Stuart got his sugar skull coin purse (purchased before Halloween at The Southwest Gardener http://www.southwestgardener.com/), put it in his pocket and was good to go. We don't quite have a good enough grasp on what things cost, yet. He'll get there (his coin purse had $1.76 in it). The three of them even managed to buy a present for one of Jon's partner's. No, Flavia, you are tougher than nails to buy for! You're still on the list, but I won't tell you which one. Just kidding! (I don't have a "naughty" list, but I like to threaten that I do--just don't tell anyone.)
So, if you think that you can't get what you want, just think of Stuart. He had the very best intentions and love in his heart and eventually, he accomplished what he wanted. (He's also a broken record when he's that focused, but that can both help and hinder his cause.)
What would you like to accomplish this week?
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Chatting with Strangers: The Hog and the Dog
I was meeting a friend at Starbucks the other day and while I was standing in line, in a kind of noncommital fashion, I started a conversation with a complete stranger. Shocking, I know. With all the Christmas displays and whatnot around I was standing a little further behind the woman ahead of me and when I looked up there was a man standing kind of next to me. I looked at him, as if to say "is it you or me?" when he made a gesture that I was next. He said to me, "I'm not in a big hurry." I thought to myself, I suppose that most of the people here are because it's that time of the morning. But, I'm not one of them! Then he proceeds to tell me that standing in line will give him high blood pressure anyway. I told him, "By all means, I'm in no hurry, you go ahead." He returns with, "I don't have anything to do for another half an hour when I call my wife in England." Bingo, change the subject.
I segue with, "What time is it there?" Then, we started to talk about his wife living there because of her elderly mother and he's living here; British airways; the difference between English security and ours; and the best part? The hog and the dog. He said he's living all by himself in a 4 bedroom house with a dog, 2 somethings--I didn't hear what exactly, and Harley with a side car. You can't talk to me about dogs and side cars without getting geeked. He has a Rottweiler who rides in the side car, hello. It gets better, the dog has a scarf and doggles that he wears. I love it! After I really thought about it, I realized this man looked a lot like Santa. He had a full white beard, although he wore his rubber banded at the very bottom. He also had rectangular readers that he wore at the end of his nose. At first I just took him for an aging biker-type but after we'd been talking I realized he was more of the Santa type. He was also very intelligent, funny and interesting. Did I mention he has a dog who rides in a side car? Fantastic! Our conversation made the wait so pleasant. It also reduced the wait time for my friend, who was running late. It was also nice that we turned the conversation around to something that didn't involve kvetching.
Merry Christmas!
I love this one:
google images
Even better yet, a video! I couldn't decide but this one promotes shelter animals--how great is that! Notice how everyone watching loves a dog in a side car, too. I'm not the only one.
This one is very short but cute! You also get a good look at an expressive dog.
Enjoy!
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
A Message From the Dog
So I come home yesterday to find this at my front door:
That's our bench where backpacks, lunchboxes, leads and things we need to go with us are put. There's a rack underneath where some shoes live--one pair are the dog walking shoes. I never leave shoes lying about, especially by the front door...I think Buddy was giving me a big, fat hint! Who says dogs aren't smart?
That's our bench where backpacks, lunchboxes, leads and things we need to go with us are put. There's a rack underneath where some shoes live--one pair are the dog walking shoes. I never leave shoes lying about, especially by the front door...I think Buddy was giving me a big, fat hint! Who says dogs aren't smart?
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Skanks, Skinks and Skunks
google images
The Reptile Man came to Stuart's class today and brought some of his reptilian friends. Stuart was telling us about the creatures that came and we were asking him questions. After a while, the conversation naturally died down (we were in the car). Out of the blue, Stuart pipes up with "You know that lizard with the blue tongue? What's it called? Have you ever seen one?" I shout out, "Skank," knowing (as soon as it left my lips) that wasn't quite right but it was something close. I haven't used or heard that word in so long that the meaning didn't really register with me. Jon says, "Not Skank..." I reply, "Oh, yeah, Skink." Pregnant pause and then laughter. Luckily, the boys have no idea what that word means. Jon & I bantered back and forth, "Yes, a Skink and maybe a Skunk, but not a Skank."
Cheap and cheerful entertainment.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Another Thanskgiving Post
I have to say that the oddest Thanksgiving we've had was one where Chief's cousin and his girlfriend and a friend of mine came over. Cousin John is a friendly guy who's a good conversationalist, funny and nice. His then-girlfriend was kind of the opposite of him. She was tense, intense and award at small-talk. Renee is super-friendly, talkative and funny. A good-time girl. She is a good friend I met through work. One of the few redeeming qualities of that particular job.
Years ago, John & his girlfriend moved to the valley so the girlfriend could go to graduate school. That didn't last long and it's no surprise for multiple reasons. She chose a graduate program at ASU that she wasn't really interested in, because ASU didn't offer her specific program. It was a related program to what she was really wanted to do. Don't ask me what it was because it was so long ago, so obscure and she has this kind of pecking voice--really emphatic and aggressive when she's explaining something, with an air of arrogance or maybe elitism. I'm not sure. I just got the impression that she thought she was schooling me and that I was the unfortunate sister, if you know what I mean. I was fascinated at her borderline hostility or angst about it all that the actual meaning of the words didn't have much value for me--I was fascinated with the way the words came out of her mouth and she jerked her head around when she spoke. According to her, she decided on ASU because it was easier for John to find a job (admirable) but emphasized it wasn't what she wanted to do (suspect). The program she wanted to go to was so geographically isolated that it would be a long commute to work for John at a job that didn't pay well. This is what we learn right off the bat from her and that was the extent of the in-depth explanation, discussion and Q & A. She climbed off her soapbox and was pretty much done for the evening. I love a little soapbox myself, but this was just odd. She was like a wind-up toy when it loses its momentum---whirrrr---shtunk.
She nervously chain-smoked--which meant she had to go outside frequently and be away from the rest of us. She even got up during the middle of dinner to go smoke. At that point even John was a little uncomfortable with her and he got up to go outside and see what was going on (he isn't a smoker). I say that because out our huge picture window you could see a lot of puff, puff, puff on her part and a kind of bird-like head bobbing, wing flapping and word exchange between the two of them. Thankfully, we couldn't hear. They were out there for a long time, during the middle of dinner. Finally, I say to Chief and Renee, "I wonder what's going on. I don't think she likes us." To which Renee loudly, sincerely and emphatically responds, "Oh, how could she not like us! We are fun." (say it with a Minnesotan accent, because that's where she's originally from) It was one of those "you had to be there" moments, but we laughed non-stop about that. That was nearly 20 years ago and we still quote Renee and get a chuckle about that. The three of us enjoyed the rest of Thanksgiving on our own. I can't rightly say if John enjoyed himself or not. I think he had moments that he enjoyed but his girlfriend really was stressing him. She went from being really stiff and uncomfortable to downing a lot of wine with dinner and nearly an "I love you man" persona. She did not have a good time, although she seemed to manage to relax by the time dinner was over. Not completely, because she was really wound up. However, alcohol did her good. Sadly, John had to drive home.
To complete their story, the girlfriend left Arizona before completing the program. I'm sure the program "displeased" her in every way shape and form. She set herself up for that. I'm not sure that she ever finished or what became of her. They broke up. John stayed in the Valley for a little while longer before returning to Wisconson, where he's originally from. There really wasn't much for him here, which is the irony of the girlfriend's choice of ASU. They both might've been better off at the other prized program, depsite her "sacrifice." Regarding Thanksgiving dinner, John told us not to worry about her behavior because the girlfriend was always uncomfortable around new people. She's especially uncomfortable around other educated people (doctors in particular) and was always uncomfortable around John's immediate family (John's dad is a doctor, too). So, you have to know that that relationship was always marked "doom."
Years ago, John & his girlfriend moved to the valley so the girlfriend could go to graduate school. That didn't last long and it's no surprise for multiple reasons. She chose a graduate program at ASU that she wasn't really interested in, because ASU didn't offer her specific program. It was a related program to what she was really wanted to do. Don't ask me what it was because it was so long ago, so obscure and she has this kind of pecking voice--really emphatic and aggressive when she's explaining something, with an air of arrogance or maybe elitism. I'm not sure. I just got the impression that she thought she was schooling me and that I was the unfortunate sister, if you know what I mean. I was fascinated at her borderline hostility or angst about it all that the actual meaning of the words didn't have much value for me--I was fascinated with the way the words came out of her mouth and she jerked her head around when she spoke. According to her, she decided on ASU because it was easier for John to find a job (admirable) but emphasized it wasn't what she wanted to do (suspect). The program she wanted to go to was so geographically isolated that it would be a long commute to work for John at a job that didn't pay well. This is what we learn right off the bat from her and that was the extent of the in-depth explanation, discussion and Q & A. She climbed off her soapbox and was pretty much done for the evening. I love a little soapbox myself, but this was just odd. She was like a wind-up toy when it loses its momentum---whirrrr---shtunk.
She nervously chain-smoked--which meant she had to go outside frequently and be away from the rest of us. She even got up during the middle of dinner to go smoke. At that point even John was a little uncomfortable with her and he got up to go outside and see what was going on (he isn't a smoker). I say that because out our huge picture window you could see a lot of puff, puff, puff on her part and a kind of bird-like head bobbing, wing flapping and word exchange between the two of them. Thankfully, we couldn't hear. They were out there for a long time, during the middle of dinner. Finally, I say to Chief and Renee, "I wonder what's going on. I don't think she likes us." To which Renee loudly, sincerely and emphatically responds, "Oh, how could she not like us! We are fun." (say it with a Minnesotan accent, because that's where she's originally from) It was one of those "you had to be there" moments, but we laughed non-stop about that. That was nearly 20 years ago and we still quote Renee and get a chuckle about that. The three of us enjoyed the rest of Thanksgiving on our own. I can't rightly say if John enjoyed himself or not. I think he had moments that he enjoyed but his girlfriend really was stressing him. She went from being really stiff and uncomfortable to downing a lot of wine with dinner and nearly an "I love you man" persona. She did not have a good time, although she seemed to manage to relax by the time dinner was over. Not completely, because she was really wound up. However, alcohol did her good. Sadly, John had to drive home.
To complete their story, the girlfriend left Arizona before completing the program. I'm sure the program "displeased" her in every way shape and form. She set herself up for that. I'm not sure that she ever finished or what became of her. They broke up. John stayed in the Valley for a little while longer before returning to Wisconson, where he's originally from. There really wasn't much for him here, which is the irony of the girlfriend's choice of ASU. They both might've been better off at the other prized program, depsite her "sacrifice." Regarding Thanksgiving dinner, John told us not to worry about her behavior because the girlfriend was always uncomfortable around new people. She's especially uncomfortable around other educated people (doctors in particular) and was always uncomfortable around John's immediate family (John's dad is a doctor, too). So, you have to know that that relationship was always marked "doom."
Friday, December 2, 2011
Slow Boat of Happiness
It's not that I'm unhappy, but I'm not feeling a lot of love and joy right now. The back is feeling better, but I'm still not doing yoga or moving 100% and that is a downer. I was talking to a friend a couple of weeks ago and she said something that had me responding, "Well, I'd like a little of that love and joy to come my way." She said, "You have love and joy." I said, "I know, but I'm just not feeling it." I know it's there, but I'm just not finding or realizing what that is. It's like that elusive craving that you know is there and it's very specific, but for the life of you you just aren't placing it.
I jokingly gave her the following analogy: It's like the boat of happiness is a slow moving boat (tugboat slow) and everyone but me is on board. It's pulling its horn with the long, "Maaaaangh, Maaaaaaangh" as I'm on the dock with my Quasimoto back, draggin my one leg behind me, flailing my arms as I move towards the boat, yelling, "Waaait! Waaait!" The boat is moving so slow that--if I were able bodied--I could leap onto the deck, like they do in the movies. I'm not fully functional, so there will be no jumping for me. I said this as a joke, but I know there are times when we all feel as if we just missed something or are watching life go by and it's difficult to piece together the whys and the what fors of it all.
Friends, I wrote this on November 17th--I'm fine. I just thought the analogy was worth sharing. Although there were a few days fairly recently where every story I could of told ended with, "and then I cried," I'm alright. Maybe I'll share that another time (I think those are funny, too)!
Here's hoping that you make the leap onto your boat of happiness and have a wonderful weekend!
P.S., so what if you fall, it'll make a great story afterwards and at least you tried, right?
Friends, I wrote this on November 17th--I'm fine. I just thought the analogy was worth sharing. Although there were a few days fairly recently where every story I could of told ended with, "and then I cried," I'm alright. Maybe I'll share that another time (I think those are funny, too)!
Here's hoping that you make the leap onto your boat of happiness and have a wonderful weekend!
P.S., so what if you fall, it'll make a great story afterwards and at least you tried, right?
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Reverb 2011
Hope Wallace Karney is doing a Reverb of her own this year. She will be providing journal prompts every day the month of December. If you would like to join her or just see what she's up to you can find her at http://www.besottment.com/ or click the reverb button above. She does really cute journals and lettering, so take a peek! Her first prompt is worth a roll around the noggin, even if you don't plan on journaling about it. This year some other people are taking on their own Reverb projects because Gwen Bell, the woman who started Reverb, is not doing it but has provided instructions on how to start your own. This is a great way to get the creative juices flowing or find some inspiration!
Have fun!
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Connections and Your Tribe
We are a culture fascinated by celebrity and very voyeuristic in some of our behaviours. We love a good story--about someone else. We will spend hours listening to gossip about people we may or may not know about, because we crave that kind of connection. We are pack animals and we need our pack or our tribe. We need the interconnected feeling that stories provide us and we need it for our very being, if not our well-being.
I love other people's stories because it does provide a chance to see another side of others, better understand their perspectives and priorities and, sometimes, hearing these stories brings you closer and/or makes you feel more connected. It also makes me realize how much I have and how rich my life is. When people open their lives, hearts and stories to you it is a gift. For whatever reason, these people trust you (although, sometimes some may just need someone, anyone--but that's a different story). Many of us are losing our connection with the people around us and not realizing it--sometimes because we are too busy checking our emails, texts and Facebook which allows us to pretend we are connected. Being up on someone's business isn't necessarily being connected.
I have my family who entertain me to no end, although they can aggravate just as well! At the core of it, I'm very lucky to have made such a good choice in my spouse. While I do spend a lot of time without Chief--he works so very much--he always has time to connect with us. He spends his days dealing with life and death issues, office politics and he's the go-to man when drama hits--he has an even-keeled nature and is a good listener even when others are frantic, emotional and sometimes irrational. He can cut to the chase without being too harsh, but he'll also give you a rash when you least expect it. Despite doing this all day long with others, for long days and days on end, he still manages to come home and talk and interact with his family. It really is a true gift that few of us choose to exercise. (Don't start thinking he's a saint, because he's just as connected to his iphone as the next guy but when when we talk he looks us in the eye, listens and responds.) Actual, focused interaction makes you feel loved, alive and part of something bigger than yourself. I am a lucky and blessed woman.
This is my immediate tribe but my tribe consists of so many others. Who are part of your tribe and how do they bless and enrich you? What stories do you share with others and why?
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Comfort
It's funny when I hear other people talk about how hard it is with little children--babies and toddlers--because I found those the easier years for so many reasons. One of the most selfish reasons is that problems were easier to solve. Giving hugs, swaddling, rocking, feeding, comforting--you name it, it was easier for me. I could deal with the constant sleep interruptions, unfinished meals and hauling gear everywhere I had to go. Easy Peasy, Lemon Squeezey. Those years made me feel like a rock star compared to some of the haggling and negotiating that goes on these days. I shouldn't speak so soon, because right now everyone is charming and getting along--life is rolling along. But, I just read a post about being kind to yourself when things aren't going your way and how the blogger isn't going to ignore the crankiness in her life or try to sugar-coat it (she's dealing with molasses-slow construction issues, which I kind of feel like--"isn't that always the case?" Not that I'm diminishing her issues, those are harsh realities. I'm just very jaded about construction and contractors because of our very painful home addition a couple of years back.). This blogger mentioned how someone sent her a "magic potion." The arrival of this potion and the kind gesture of her friend made her reframe her thinking. She provided a link to the magic potion--it was some sort of "comfort" essential oil blend. The description states how we all want comfort, especially these days, but we don't know how to ask for it or get it. Interesting. The rusty gears in my mind started to squawk and it made me realize that comfort was one of the keys to my wistfulness.
The baby years of my motherhood were filled with comfort and coziness, of the kind that only babies and very small children can provide because it exists in a bubble. The comfort and coziness are the physical closeness, the nonverbal communication and that mother-child bond that runs so deep you don't realize, until you really stop to think about it. Not that these things don't continue into adulthood, but when your children are babies and toddlers these attributes are the core of your relationship--their "person" is still developing and has a long way to go (plus, many of the needs are physical which are usually easily manageable), but the few existing and emerging characteristics are so prominent. When I was pregnant with Big Monkey people kept telling me that babies are just blobs who don't do anything, but they are so much more fun when they get older. Really? I found that to be false--healthy babies are alert and engaging, just on a much different level. I wonder if these people ever gazed into the eyes of their newborns or watched their newborns see new things as they developed better eyesight? I never thought that I'd be wistful for those years--don't get me wrong, I don't want to return because that ship has sailed. But, I sometimes think it would be nice to recapture some of that essence. I never thought I'd enjoy babies and toddlers as much as I did. My mom always told me and my brother that we weren't good with babies and children (when we were teens). Guess I bought into way too many of the stories my mom told me, but I managed to block that out during the baby years. The problem is during recent years my mom's stories have come back to haunt me. I was able to keep them at bay for a long time and now that I have more time to think I am plagued. Which returns me to wistful. I'm longing for those days of comfort and being the rock star mom who could solve problems with a hug and a kiss. Clearly, it's time to reframe and I suppose I need to find a new "comfort" for this different phase of motherhood and self. The odd thing is, I don't really remember what comforted me before I had children...
What comforts or has comforted you?
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Coffee From a Stranger
When I pulled up to the window at Starbucks this afternoon, the barista leaned out, looking very apologetic, and began with, "OK, about your coffee..." and all I could think of was "they are out of caramel brulee" and "Wow, he doesn't have to be that sorry about it--he's being so nice!" Instead, he surprised me with "the car ahead of you paid for your coffee." What a nice thing for them to do! I was so surprised that I almost forgot to wave a "thank you" to them. They were almost gone by the time the barista was done "surprising" me; fortunately, the passenger looked back just as I turned to look at them in the driveway & I waved in time. I didn't even think to honk my horn in thanks, because I'm not a horn honker anymore--emergencies only (not a big fan of getting shot or yelled at). At any rate, I've always wanted to buy someone their coffee and now I totally am going to--no more thinking about it! Thank you, kind couple! I plan on passing on your kindness.
PS: The cynic in me says, "It beats the hell out of getting the door slammed in your face as you walk in a store behind someone!" The grateful person in me says that I shouldn't write that previous comment because I am grateful for their kindness and don't want to ruin it with being funny but truthful...Then, there's odd third voice that says, write it because no matter what, this trumps all the times when people have behaved rudely. Why? Because I won't stoop to the letting a door go in someone's face, that's just rude, but I will mimic kindness with kindness. Won't you?
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Tales of Thanksgiving
Here is one of my all-time favorite Thanksgiving tales, which many of you have already heard multiple times:
Our good friends (when they were still together), Alex & Maima, used to visit us every Thanksgiving--for about 9 or so years. Maima went to culinary school to become a chef and chose not to pursue that career but has a real love of food, preparation and presentation. She's also pretty highbrow about it, but SSSHHHH! She is a great chef and we love the food she makes. They had to come down close to Thanksgiving for business once and so they stayed a little longer to feast with us. We enjoyed cooking together so much that we declared Thanksgiving "our" holiday and it was a big deal. Maima would visit armed with a slew of recipes--some for voting on and others were not up for voting, but essentially came with an entire planned meal in hand. They all were exotic or different in some way. One year we had a celery root and crab salad, which came at the end of the meal-not the at the beginning. All good and fine if you eat with restraint and save room (or are "Continental" as one guest declared), but after turkey, stuffing and whatever else is served, there really isn't room in my mind for a salad. But, I digress. That isn't the funny part but an aside--if you know me, you know how I feel about salads in general and those who think a lone salad is a meal.
Acquiring the items we needed for this salad--mind you, we are in the desert looking for crab in November--was epic. It's not an easy thing to find. I could understand Maima forgetting that we no longer were in Seattle (where crab is easily procured) and I could understand Chief and Alex's dismay at hunting down the elusive desert crab--but they weren't the ones driving around after work searching for it, I was; I was also a non-contributor to the menu. I'd be happy with a bowl of old-fashioned bread stuffing and gravy. It's interesting that I was the most sympathetic to Maima's intrinsic need for culinary uniqueness, despite the fact that at the time my palate did not like unique. I've evolved, but (again) I digress.
While waiting for Maima to get ready for yet another shopping expedition, Alex, Chief and I were standing in the kitchen kvetching about the salad. In my defense, we are now on day 4 or so of the hunt and it's nearing the big day. The men began huffing and joking, "Why isn't K-R-A-B good enough? Why does it have to be C-R-A-B?" I responded, "Because it's Maima and she has decided." If you don't submit suggestions or requests the meal defaults to her--not a fast or written rule, but something I realized along the way and was o.k. with: i.e., not worth the fight. I went on, "You better just let her get it out of her system and have it this year. If we don't have it this year we'll never hear the end of it and will probably have to do it next year. A waste of many grocery runs. Besides--I am the one driving, not you, and I say let her be."
Alex may have flat-out refused to drive her around for the crab--I can't remember exactly. Fortunately, we found a crab at the 4th store we went to, which wasn't close to the house but oh, well. Sadly, I had to put the live things in the boiling water and handle it afterwards. Of course this is after the many trips in search of the at-the-time exotic celery root and other forgotten miscellaneous items. Our cabinets used to be filled with odd spices, oils and foods that had a one-time purpose in our kitchen. This was before the Food Network and the stuff she liked to cook was "out there," at least in terms of the local Phoenix grocery stores. We also had to buy the food as close to the cooking date as possible...at any rate, we succeeded in making the exotic celery root and crab salad; Maima got it out of her system; it was tasty, but not the best salad; it was the most expensive salad I've ever had --over $80 to make; and we've laughed about it ever since.
So. Many. Trips. To. The. Store...I was near tears by the time it was all said and done, but if I had to do it all over again, I'd drive her to the store to get it out of her system--it's what the situation called for. Lolling about the grocery store during the Thanksgiving rush is not my idea of fun. Each trip brought us closer and closer to the dreaded date. Longer and longer lines. Less fruitful trips. More exasperation. Two very sad crabs eventually coming home with us. But we finally found the main ingredients, which were also the most difficult, the Tuesday before Thanskgiving which is such a bonus in my book. Of course that didn't mean we didn't have to go back to the store on Wednesday...that time I didn't drive.
Here's hoping that you did not have to make any last minute grocery runs today (or tomorrow)!
Happy Thanksgiving! Enjoy!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Lick or Bite?
If you offer a dog an ice cream cone (you hold one under his nose or in front of his face) will he bite if off or lick it? It was one of those nagging questions that I finally had to settle for myself (years ago).
We had a little bet as to whether or not the dogs would lick the ice cream cone or bite it. We all guessed differently, with variations of the simple answers. So, on that same hike (see "Buddy's Pack") we had stopped at McDonalds and bought the dogs an ice cream cone to share. I know, it sounds crazy & we don't feed them like that, normally. I held the ice cream cone between the two of them & they took turns licking it. Buddy first, then Trigger--lick, lick, lick, lick and then...chomp! Much to Trigger's dismay, Buddy had decided he had enough of the gentle licking and sharing that was going on and he bit the top off the cone. It then became a free for all.
I guess we were all correct, on some level.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Mom Makes the Best Water
I don't know why, but my entire family drinks out of my water glass. Everyone else could have a full glass or cup of their own, but somehow everyone reaches for mine. It never used to bother me so much but now it does. Perhaps, because the boys are at a gross age where they leave a film or floaty "things" in my glass. Perhaps, because Chief drains it before I've had a chance to drink out of it. Perhaps, it's because I get tired of the ice running out when I go to fill my glass after it's been assaulted by another family member. I cry out to them, "Why do you all drink my water?" Their universal response, "Your water tastes better." Really? Yes, is their earnest reply. I guess I'll leave it at that, but do I try to beat them to the punch and hand them their cups and glasses first.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Keeping It Real
Writing letters is one of the activities in Little Man's class during the school day. They are usually very sweet and this last one was not only sweet, but a great reminder of what a kind, young man he is. The past couple of weeks have been Thanksgiving Sharing at his school and families are asked to bring in extra items for families in need, if at all possible. The weeks were themed (household/personal items, non-perishable, Thanksgiving dinner, with frozens on the final day). This is the second letter asking me for a frozen turkey to donate--the first letter he wrote "frozn turky," this time he called it a "chikin." "Chikin" is his fall-back meat--he calls everything chicken: pork, beef, turkey and chicken.
In his first letter to me, he wrote that he was sorry that my coffee mug broke. He had nothing to do with it breaking--I accidentally broke it and he just happened to see it all go down.
These are the times you recall--like a mantra--when your last nerve is twitching and you find your children jumping rope with it...then take a deep breath and let it all out. It will be alright.
Friday, November 18, 2011
A Hug for a Stranger
I was going to meet someone for coffee this morning, when I saw a much older man who was very similar in carriage and build as this friend I was meeting. As we walked towards each other, I couldn't resist telling him that I was holding back frantic waving, because he looked like someone I knew. He asked me if I liked this person and I said yes. He asked me, "Do you like him enough to give him a hug?" I said, "Yes" and gave him a big hug and happily continued on my way. The little old guy was too cute in his beret and looked so similar to Taylor, who, after all that, forgot to meet me. (He's prone to that.) I enjoyed the sunshine and the birds in the tree above me, who were singing and vying for my muffin crumbs. I also enjoyed the impromptu hug with a stranger because everyone else wandering around the Biltmore late this morning were too good to be bothered with a simple smile. Too bad for them--they probably think a dinner salad is meant to be an entire meal and don't use salad dressing, either!
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Keep it moving
So, that funk that I'd been in made me rethink some things that I've wanted to do as well as my relationship to my people and surroundings. It's so easy to let your thoughts circle the drain and once you go there it's a slippery climb back out. So, I reframed that thinking--don't ask how, this time I just decided--and I noticed a lot of synchronicity happening in my life. A LOT.
For example, after my doctor's appointment (a few weeks ago) I ran into a fellow yogini and we talked writing, life and yoga and it really energized me and kicked me back to where I was before. I had spent so many weeks living in my mind and dwelling on things that needed to be let go that I couldn't write, work or do much of anything with real presence and awareness. I let go of the ever-tightening grip I had on myself and just let myself be and things started to feel better and the world felt right, again. It's so easy to forget that life is transitory. The real trouble begins when you think you can keep things the same or perfect--the Wheel of Fortune has to keep spinning, otherwise life becomes stagnant and people stop trying. Stagnant water really stinks. It needs to move for there to be life. The last thing you want is to be stinky, right?
Returning to the back that I promised I wouldn't whine about--I have to keep it moving or that, too, will become stagnant. The thing is that we are so preprogrammed to move towards a destination and some sort of end result or goal that the thought of moving becomes nearly paralyzing when you realize that you have no place or destination in mind. I used to be such an ambler and now I have no idea how to do that, which is part of my current situation. I'd say problem, but I'm trying to stay positive--it's something to investigate and not judge. Wish me luck with that one, because while I love to investigate I do have a tendency to evaluate as well.
Is there something in your life that you can reframe, synchronicities to be noticed or some movement you need to add?
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Buddy and the Hiking Pack
Chief's older brother and his wife were visiting (quite a few years back, pre-children) when we decided to go on a hike, taking the dogs with us. Since we were going a bit longer we decided to have Buddy (he had the sturdier build of the 2 dogs at the time) wear the pack. However, that's not the only reason he was chosen. Buddy and Trigger are fairly big dogs and would need quite a bit of water and we had to pack a collapsible bowl, treats and poop bags with us, along with our own stuff. --Don't worry, we carried our own stuff! It was the first time we tried a pack on either of the dogs. These packs had bells on them, which infuriated Trigger (the first Christmas we had the dogs, Trigger pulled a Santa hat off of Buddy after scratching his off, because he hated the sound of the bell jingling around him--he practically stomped on the poor hat he was so annoyed) so we had to take the pack off and decided to outfit Buddy with it instead. Trigger was usually the more cooperative of the two. Now that Trigger has died, Buddy is a lot more cooperative. At any rate, Buddy was bent out of shape that we strapped this thing on him. He stood there looking at us with a disgusted look on his face and his ears back. We kept oohing and awing over how cute he was with his pack and then offered him a treat because we managed to wrangle the darn thing on him. He took it and then spit it out! Can you believe that? He quickly regretted his decision--remember Trigger is watching this all go down in the background--and scooped it back up, but he still wasn't any happier. That is, until we arrived at the park.
Pack off, in car, arrive at trail. Start the wrangling process all over--again, not very happy, but he submitted. I think he pretty much knew it was a losing battle as there were many hands to assist with the straps. Trigger was pleased as punch, almost taunting Buddy that he was pack-free. I think that dog had an extra spring in his step. Buddy dawdled behind, at first. But, as soon as we crossed other hikers' paths and he was showered with, "How cute!" and "Look at the good dog!" and loads of attention he was suddenly pleased that he "chose" to wear his pack. Fortunes reversed, Buddy was now the one with the spring in his step. Fickle dog!
Here they are back in 2005, captivated by someone holding food, I'm sure.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Oh, October! Where Did You Go?
Christmas stuff is out in full force! I'm still lingering with Halloween, because it seemed to come and go so quickly despite the fact that we started slowly setting up for it at the end of August.
Good new is it finally feels like fall here--it's actually pretty chilly and damp today. Gasp! I love it but simultaneously don't know what to do with myself. My thoughts swirl around in my head like the leaves falling to the ground, swirling in the wind.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The Double Digit Rule
When Conner was in college, her friends created the Double Digit Rule--just for her. No matter what was going on or how loud it got, she needed to go to bed during the early double digit hours--10.30-11.00pm. Her friends partied until 2-3am. She woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the early am hours whereas her friends wanted to sleep in, hence, the Double Digit Rule. She was not allowed to bother anyone until at least 10am. She couldn't crawl into bed with her friends. She couldn't bang around in the kitchen. She had to keep quiet, which she admits was a very difficult feat (Chatty Cathy, that one). I love her to bits and I can totally image it was a struggle to keep quiet during those quiet, early morning hours...
Sunday, October 16, 2011
How I Aged Along with the Tudors
wikipedia image via Google
I don't usually watch shows "live." Generally, I wait until the hype is gone and I watch them in their entirety--episode after episode, hacking away mercilessly at the seasons. You see, when I find a show that I particularly love or am fascinated by I become a little addicted. This summer it was Lost and The Tudors. As I do when I read, I become one with some of the scenes or personally attached to a character or two or feel deeply for a character or situation--essentially, I get sucked in. Even those characters you love to hate I found myself feeling sorry for or seeing their point of view in a different way. Sucked in. Of course there are those episodes that don't resonate or complete annoy, but those are forgotten when all is said and done.
So, aside from the license with history and the lack of physical aging on the part of some of the characters (Henry Tudor, Charles Cavill--for most of the series)--I felt like I aged along with the rapid-fire display of history. I aged with the Tudors. At least I didn't lose my head, ha, ha (sorry, couldn't help myself). The last 2 episodes really brought me down--not only did they bring me down, I felt old and undesirable afterwards. I also felt hollow when the series was over. Blech.
I was so surprised I fell for it in the end--that I felt my mortality and the transitory nature of life so acutely. It's not as if I'm immune to these feelings but such an opulent cinematic display inducing this? Come on! So, I wandered around in this state of tv-induced lameness for a few weeks and then I guess I snapped out of it. Too abrupt? That's kind of how the Tudors ended and I still managed to get sucked in!
As a side note--I like to stand like King Henry when I "command" my household, ha, ha, ha!
Friday, October 14, 2011
Donkey Love
Photo of card purchased from Tokyo Milk website
I love donkeys and mules--they are so cute! This one flies, which I love. I took a pic of it and now it's my cell phone screen saver. I have a shadow pic of my dog (another donkey-like creature) as my cell phone wall paper. One night I carried on and on about donkeys so much so that chief downloaded me a ringtone of a donkey braying for me. I get immense pleasure out of it. It's now our ringtones for each other. I joke that people at work are going to think he's the ass when they ask "What's that noise?" and he says, "It's a donkey--my wife's calling." The boys and I let the cell ring for as long as possible so we can hear the donkey when Chief calls, giggling all the while. It totally puts a smile on my face. I can be easily entertained.
My ringtones for chief have always put a smile on my face. Some recents ones are "Back in Black" by AC/DC (the image, a stuffed duck that little man dressed up with winter gear--knitted hat and mittens) and Bethoveen's Fifth (the image is one of our dogs looking very pissy--that one gave me miles of enjoyment and chuckles because the image went so well with the serious and thunderous opening of that movement).
Every day things should give you some sort of pleasure or satisfaction, even if you are not as easily entertained as me. What gives you great pleasure?
My ringtones for chief have always put a smile on my face. Some recents ones are "Back in Black" by AC/DC (the image, a stuffed duck that little man dressed up with winter gear--knitted hat and mittens) and Bethoveen's Fifth (the image is one of our dogs looking very pissy--that one gave me miles of enjoyment and chuckles because the image went so well with the serious and thunderous opening of that movement).
Every day things should give you some sort of pleasure or satisfaction, even if you are not as easily entertained as me. What gives you great pleasure?
Crankiness be Gone!
For the past few weeks I've had this battle with my back. Hence, the lack of posts because that's all I could think about and I didn't really want to write about it, too. Everyone around me knows about it and is (rightfully so) probably tired of hearing about it. I'm tired of it. I irritated a disc and I've been gimping around, hatefully cranky. I haven't been able to do much of anything--one would think I'd be happy to have an excuse to lie around and read or watch movies, but I'm not.
However, yesterday I finally felt great and today I feel pretty good. Such an improvement of the past few weeks! My days have consisted of my back cursing me and me cursing my back--a lot of teenage-like "I hate you" going around. It's been a circle jerk of anger and extreme dislike and I'm ready to be done with it. While I'm not ready to go back to yoga and doing things the way I normally do them (per the doctor--I asked because I'm so ready to do something, anything!) I'm certainly on the mend. I can't even believe I'm going to say this, but I'm actually ready to do housework! I decided this morning that I'm tired of this story and the misery that goes along with it--I somehow managed to put myself into a better mood that's sustained itself for the day. This good mood paved the way for the following post about one of my favorite animals, the donkey. I laughed when I left the doctor's office because there was a loyal party-person dressed in a hot, furry donkey costume supporting a local democrat and Obama. It's already 88 degrees out...you have to love loyal supporters and friends no matter what your beliefs!
Monday, October 10, 2011
More Shadow People
Right after I wrote about this pair of shadow people who kept cropping up (my mom even asked about them, for Pete's Sake!), I ran into a few more. One is kind of an odd and I'm surprised I was able to even match her face to her story...
The boys and I were in Target Friday and this mother and her 2 children walked past us. I briefly made eye contact with the mom and felt like we recognized each other but I wasn't immediately sure why. We both kept up our brisk pace, flying past each other. It didn't take long, however, to realize I had met her at a birthday party a few years back. It was a hot and sweaty August evening and the hostess thought we should meet each other because we both taught English.
This woman had finished her doctorate at Cambridge and taught in England for a while before deciding that she needed to return to America. As she told me her story she kept putting down the American university system (she's an American) and had to keep reminding me that Cambridge was in England, you know. This is how she did it, I'm sure, thinking that she wasn't being so obvious! She would reference Cambridge--take a dramatic pause--, England. She also had to tell me (a fellow academic) that Cambridge had its own press--Really? I had no idea! [cover mouth with hand, staring wide-eyed] You see, I just studied in America--the standards are so low here and I have had such an impoverished education. Slouchy posture; Cue violins. She also had to tell me that at Cambridge...in England, PhDs had to publish not like in America where you do just a dissertation. I can count the ways in which she could've handled this conversation so much better while still allowing herself to brag.
At first, I was really surprised she was so condescending, considering she allegedly chose to leave a position in England to come back here. Then I kind of thought she was funny because she went on and on in a kind of Monty Python sort of way (although she was totally serious). Then I felt I had won the consolation prize because I felt really trapped by her chatter--it was a hot and over-crowded outdoor party. Even the woman sitting next to me was beginning to become a little frantic--we were all eating dinner and there really wasn't a way to escape. I had just met the woman next to me as well, but I couldn't look at her for fear of bursting into laughter. Especially after the 5th or 6th time Ms. Cambridge secretively said, "Cambridge...England."
I know the hostess meant well because she knew I was considering a return to teaching now that my children are in school full-time. She honestly thought this woman would have some insights on the market as well as teaching online. Sadly, this woman was very negative about everything except when the conversation managed to return to jolly, old Cambridge...England. That is until one of her children needed her and she dramatically indicated to the 2 of us that she needed to be excused. I think she expected some big send-away because she made a dramatic hand gesture and made sure that we both verbally acknowledged her departure.
Fly--be free!
The boys and I were in Target Friday and this mother and her 2 children walked past us. I briefly made eye contact with the mom and felt like we recognized each other but I wasn't immediately sure why. We both kept up our brisk pace, flying past each other. It didn't take long, however, to realize I had met her at a birthday party a few years back. It was a hot and sweaty August evening and the hostess thought we should meet each other because we both taught English.
This woman had finished her doctorate at Cambridge and taught in England for a while before deciding that she needed to return to America. As she told me her story she kept putting down the American university system (she's an American) and had to keep reminding me that Cambridge was in England, you know. This is how she did it, I'm sure, thinking that she wasn't being so obvious! She would reference Cambridge--take a dramatic pause--, England. She also had to tell me (a fellow academic) that Cambridge had its own press--Really? I had no idea! [cover mouth with hand, staring wide-eyed] You see, I just studied in America--the standards are so low here and I have had such an impoverished education. Slouchy posture; Cue violins. She also had to tell me that at Cambridge...in England, PhDs had to publish not like in America where you do just a dissertation. I can count the ways in which she could've handled this conversation so much better while still allowing herself to brag.
At first, I was really surprised she was so condescending, considering she allegedly chose to leave a position in England to come back here. Then I kind of thought she was funny because she went on and on in a kind of Monty Python sort of way (although she was totally serious). Then I felt I had won the consolation prize because I felt really trapped by her chatter--it was a hot and over-crowded outdoor party. Even the woman sitting next to me was beginning to become a little frantic--we were all eating dinner and there really wasn't a way to escape. I had just met the woman next to me as well, but I couldn't look at her for fear of bursting into laughter. Especially after the 5th or 6th time Ms. Cambridge secretively said, "Cambridge...England."
I know the hostess meant well because she knew I was considering a return to teaching now that my children are in school full-time. She honestly thought this woman would have some insights on the market as well as teaching online. Sadly, this woman was very negative about everything except when the conversation managed to return to jolly, old Cambridge...England. That is until one of her children needed her and she dramatically indicated to the 2 of us that she needed to be excused. I think she expected some big send-away because she made a dramatic hand gesture and made sure that we both verbally acknowledged her departure.
Fly--be free!
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