Happy Birthday Dad.
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Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Advent Anxiety
What has happened to this season? It used to be that the month of December was one of anticipation. We lit a new candle on the wreath every Sunday as we counted down the days on the advent calendar, looking forward to the Christmas eve midnight mass, when the Big White Candle was lit. And then, and only then, was it Advent no longer, but Christmas. It came in with the tiny whisper of a wick taking light, flaming in the silence of a darkened church.
Then, the hymns! Joyful, raucous, celebratory, Christmas hymns!!!
Where did all of that go?
I am overwhelmed with plastic-y, glaring, ostentatious capitalist seasonal mayhem. There is no God anywhere in it. Here there is credit card debt; demanding, spoilt children; overindulgent parents; and short tempers. No God. Not even any Christmas Spirit.
Christmas Spirit is something I lump in with the religious aspects of the holidays. By which I mean, the true purpose of Christmas, which is to be a little kinder, more forgiving, more generous than you are the rest of the year. Help a lady with her parcels; buy a homeless man a sandwich and give him a hug; call that cantankerous relative you dread dealing with; smile at people you pass on the street.
For a short time, once a year, is it so difficult to put aside your anger and impatience, and just enjoy your fellow citizens? Quit your incessant harping and griping about what is wrong in your life. Shut up and listen to the birds in the trees, the whoosh of snow sliding from the roof.
See what you've missed?
Rejoice in the knowledge that you are alive, and surely there are those in the world worse off than you.
Be thankful.
Be kind.
Be quiet.
Enjoy your advent season.
Then, the hymns! Joyful, raucous, celebratory, Christmas hymns!!!
Where did all of that go?
I am overwhelmed with plastic-y, glaring, ostentatious capitalist seasonal mayhem. There is no God anywhere in it. Here there is credit card debt; demanding, spoilt children; overindulgent parents; and short tempers. No God. Not even any Christmas Spirit.
Christmas Spirit is something I lump in with the religious aspects of the holidays. By which I mean, the true purpose of Christmas, which is to be a little kinder, more forgiving, more generous than you are the rest of the year. Help a lady with her parcels; buy a homeless man a sandwich and give him a hug; call that cantankerous relative you dread dealing with; smile at people you pass on the street.
For a short time, once a year, is it so difficult to put aside your anger and impatience, and just enjoy your fellow citizens? Quit your incessant harping and griping about what is wrong in your life. Shut up and listen to the birds in the trees, the whoosh of snow sliding from the roof.
See what you've missed?
Rejoice in the knowledge that you are alive, and surely there are those in the world worse off than you.
Be thankful.
Be kind.
Be quiet.
Enjoy your advent season.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
A feast for the senses
...wait for the 3 minute mark.
Il Divo cantando "Amazing Grace" para a gravação do novo DVD em 14 e 15 de setembro, na cidade de Pula na Croácia.
Here it is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtrnB4FZ-yc
You're welcome. It's what I'm here for.
Il Divo cantando "Amazing Grace" para a gravação do novo DVD em 14 e 15 de setembro, na cidade de Pula na Croácia.
Here it is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtrnB4FZ-yc
You're welcome. It's what I'm here for.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Thanks, kid.
Earlier today I was feeling very sad about Thanksgiving. It is a family holiday, and as I am one with no family, it depresses me a fair bit to listen to those around me growing excited about their holiday plans. I grew up with no extended family. Now I have two people remaining in this world who are related to me by blood. It's difficult to explain to people who always had grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins around that the Big Family Holiday is unknown to me.
Anyhow, so today I was feeling sad about that. Probably more than a little bitter. As I get every year. But this year I got called out by a 15-year-old girl.
The very bright and thoughtful daughter of my best friend sent me a message asking why I hated Thanksgiving. I explained my feelings, and she replied that she didn't like the holidays either.
However, rather than my bitter, self-absorbed reasoning, she told me that the holidays made her sad because they stressed her mom out, and she just wanted her mom to be happy.
I felt like a rat.
This kid has a great family, a happy life, everything a teenager could ask for. Her only thoughts this holiday season are for her mother's happiness. How selfish and hateful am I??
It hadn't occurred to me that her mom, my best friend, is enduring her own torturous Thanksgiving, and here sit I, whining about being alone.
We all have our holiday crosses to bear. Maybe there is a perfect family out there somewhere having a disneyesque season, but my guess is that for most of us, it's a trial to get through for another year.
Good luck with yours. And I will try to get through mine with a bit more grace.
Anyhow, so today I was feeling sad about that. Probably more than a little bitter. As I get every year. But this year I got called out by a 15-year-old girl.
The very bright and thoughtful daughter of my best friend sent me a message asking why I hated Thanksgiving. I explained my feelings, and she replied that she didn't like the holidays either.
However, rather than my bitter, self-absorbed reasoning, she told me that the holidays made her sad because they stressed her mom out, and she just wanted her mom to be happy.
I felt like a rat.
This kid has a great family, a happy life, everything a teenager could ask for. Her only thoughts this holiday season are for her mother's happiness. How selfish and hateful am I??
It hadn't occurred to me that her mom, my best friend, is enduring her own torturous Thanksgiving, and here sit I, whining about being alone.
We all have our holiday crosses to bear. Maybe there is a perfect family out there somewhere having a disneyesque season, but my guess is that for most of us, it's a trial to get through for another year.
Good luck with yours. And I will try to get through mine with a bit more grace.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Undeniably and reliably dead
My family has worms. Cans of them. Possibly a whole case of cans. And in particular, my family seems to specialize in secret worms.
So, my Dad died a few years ago, and it was horrible. Defies explanation and I am not interested in discussing it. However, when it happened, my mother said to me, "Our family is dead." In a sense, she was correct. He was the center of our world (especially mine), and without him around, we've fallen apart. All that I have left is her, and my older brother, and frankly, what remains relationship-wise is pathetic and thin.
Last week we had another death. That of my mother's biological mother, who did not raise my mother and actually treated all of us more than abominably. She was Evil. I'm not trying to be funny. It was torment. She was nothing to me but hateful and cruel. I only visited her a few times with my parents when I was a kid, and not one time did it go smoothly. She hated my Dad, my mother, and my brother and I. She was mean because she could be, and manipulative and scary. She was not a mother or a grandmother or anything like family to any of us. She was Audrey, and I hated her with every cell in my body. This description is very watered down, and cannot convey the torturous person that she was. Or our feelings toward her. All very complicated.
Anyhow, so she's dead. Ding dong.
Never before have I felt such relief.
My mother flew to the funeral, which was being held where Audrey lived last, with her latest husband. And lo and behold, the new family was really nice to my mother, in spite of the things they were told (by Audrey) about us. Her widower even introduced my mother to people as his daughter. That's something my mother has never, ever in her life been called. Think on that for a moment.
My mother returned home after an educational and overwhelming weekend. She learned so many things we never knew about Audrey, her family, and why my mother's childhood was so incredibly fucked up.
It wasn't just us she hated. She apparently hated everyone. That's news.
But wait...
Remember how I said I have spent my entire life hating this woman with every ounce of my being? Yeah. So all these years there's been a BIG SECRET to which allusions were made even when my mother was a little girl. Finally we have learned...
Turns out Audrey's mother was institutionalized. And Audrey and her sister (never knew there was a sister) both had psychotic schizophrenia as well. Fucking crazy. Literally.
So, that explains a whole lot of stuff. Like why she gave her kid away. And why she always lied. And why she acted so damned fucked up all the time.
Doesn't excuse it. But explains a lot.
Sad. If she had gotten medication, my mother would have had a mom. My brother and I would have had a grandmother. And, um, 3 grandfathers. And perhaps we all wouldn't have spent all our lives trying to control tremendous amounts of rage and hurt.
Fucking bitch.
So her widower and his daughters, who are roughly my mother's age, and their kids,who are roughly my age, want my mother to consider them to be her family. Great! My mother finally got the family she never had. They want her to visit, and spend holidays, and do all that fun stuff that died with my Dad.
...and where does that leave me?
So, my Dad died a few years ago, and it was horrible. Defies explanation and I am not interested in discussing it. However, when it happened, my mother said to me, "Our family is dead." In a sense, she was correct. He was the center of our world (especially mine), and without him around, we've fallen apart. All that I have left is her, and my older brother, and frankly, what remains relationship-wise is pathetic and thin.
Last week we had another death. That of my mother's biological mother, who did not raise my mother and actually treated all of us more than abominably. She was Evil. I'm not trying to be funny. It was torment. She was nothing to me but hateful and cruel. I only visited her a few times with my parents when I was a kid, and not one time did it go smoothly. She hated my Dad, my mother, and my brother and I. She was mean because she could be, and manipulative and scary. She was not a mother or a grandmother or anything like family to any of us. She was Audrey, and I hated her with every cell in my body. This description is very watered down, and cannot convey the torturous person that she was. Or our feelings toward her. All very complicated.
Anyhow, so she's dead. Ding dong.
Never before have I felt such relief.
My mother flew to the funeral, which was being held where Audrey lived last, with her latest husband. And lo and behold, the new family was really nice to my mother, in spite of the things they were told (by Audrey) about us. Her widower even introduced my mother to people as his daughter. That's something my mother has never, ever in her life been called. Think on that for a moment.
My mother returned home after an educational and overwhelming weekend. She learned so many things we never knew about Audrey, her family, and why my mother's childhood was so incredibly fucked up.
It wasn't just us she hated. She apparently hated everyone. That's news.
But wait...
Remember how I said I have spent my entire life hating this woman with every ounce of my being? Yeah. So all these years there's been a BIG SECRET to which allusions were made even when my mother was a little girl. Finally we have learned...
Turns out Audrey's mother was institutionalized. And Audrey and her sister (never knew there was a sister) both had psychotic schizophrenia as well. Fucking crazy. Literally.
So, that explains a whole lot of stuff. Like why she gave her kid away. And why she always lied. And why she acted so damned fucked up all the time.
Doesn't excuse it. But explains a lot.
Sad. If she had gotten medication, my mother would have had a mom. My brother and I would have had a grandmother. And, um, 3 grandfathers. And perhaps we all wouldn't have spent all our lives trying to control tremendous amounts of rage and hurt.
Fucking bitch.
So her widower and his daughters, who are roughly my mother's age, and their kids,who are roughly my age, want my mother to consider them to be her family. Great! My mother finally got the family she never had. They want her to visit, and spend holidays, and do all that fun stuff that died with my Dad.
...and where does that leave me?
Monday, November 3, 2008
Home
I have this amazing friend. She is my best friend, and the closest thing I have ever had to a completely trusting relationship. I truly think I could tell her the worst things about myself, and she would still want me in her life. This is fascinating, as I have only ever trusted one person so completely, and that was my father, and he is not here anymore. I don't know why I trust my friend so much, but I always have.
So this friend is beautiful, full of life and laughter, and she has a wonderful family; she loves her husband, he loves her, they have great kidlets. This is not the path I have taken with my life. Where there is joy and cozy family squishyness in her life, there is somber solitude in mine. Yes, I am married. No, I do not want to have kids. I have no regrets. Yet, when I look at my friend and her family, I wonder what it must be like not to have those broken places inside. I can't remember ever having felt as happy and carefree as these dear people do.
I am fortunate that she wants me nearby, to participate peripherally in her life. She gives me far more than I have to give back to her, and she has always known that. I value her more than any other human alive. She is my only anchor in this cold and cavernous world. She is home.
I love her in my own way. I hope it is enough.
So this friend is beautiful, full of life and laughter, and she has a wonderful family; she loves her husband, he loves her, they have great kidlets. This is not the path I have taken with my life. Where there is joy and cozy family squishyness in her life, there is somber solitude in mine. Yes, I am married. No, I do not want to have kids. I have no regrets. Yet, when I look at my friend and her family, I wonder what it must be like not to have those broken places inside. I can't remember ever having felt as happy and carefree as these dear people do.
I am fortunate that she wants me nearby, to participate peripherally in her life. She gives me far more than I have to give back to her, and she has always known that. I value her more than any other human alive. She is my only anchor in this cold and cavernous world. She is home.
I love her in my own way. I hope it is enough.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
The day is here
The day I have dreaded.
Tomorrow, Thursday, October 16, Dexter has his surgery. We take him to the vet at 8 am. Then I go quietly insane waiting to hear news. He can't come home until Friday.
I'm ready for the recovery stage. I am. I have all the toys, chewy things, baby gates, blankets, hot packs, cold packs, animal planet dvds, pumpkin biscuits, a leash on every doorknob, etc. that I think we might need. Tomorrow all that needs done is one last vacuum of the living room, and then I will drag the futon cushion in so I can sleep on the floor with him.
I just need to get to that point.
Somehow I have to survive the next day and a half without him here.
Yes, I am well aware that I have major psychological issues regarding my dog, and it's all wrapped up in losing my dad. I know. I get it. Fuck off.
Whoever you are, and whatever it is that you do, religiously or spiritually or whatthefuckever, please do so for my Dex tomorrow.
Because I can't really say I can survive without him.
No Prisoners
Tonight begins another round of bellydance classes, as taught by moi. I took a long hiatus over the summer and early fall. I was rather burnt out over the whole thing, and needed a break.
But now...(insert evil cackle of doom)...I shall unleash my fury of cantankerous mayhemic dahnse upon this town in such a concentration of dark dementia as has never been witnessed before!!!!
There will be pants! There will be hair! There will be eye makeup in shades unknown in nature! And yes, there most certainly will be....SQUATS!!!!!
There is no place to hide.
You have been warned.
I.....
Am.....
BAAAAAACCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But now...(insert evil cackle of doom)...I shall unleash my fury of cantankerous mayhemic dahnse upon this town in such a concentration of dark dementia as has never been witnessed before!!!!
There will be pants! There will be hair! There will be eye makeup in shades unknown in nature! And yes, there most certainly will be....SQUATS!!!!!
There is no place to hide.
You have been warned.
I.....
Am.....
BAAAAAACCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, October 10, 2008
4
Today is my fuzzy guy's 4th birthday. I can hardly believe he is that old. On the other hand, I can hardly believe it's only been 4 years that he has been the centerpiece of my every day.
When he came home with us, he was smaller than his head is now. He weighed under 10 pounds. The cat could kick his ass ( well, okay, she still can, but only because he lets her do it). Now he weighs about what I do, takes up half the house, and has more character than any 10 people I know.
So far this morning we have snuggled on the couch. He's still a lap dog, after all. Afterward we went for a nice walk with his best pal Daisy and her person, and on our way we met a new doggy and her person, which involved a great deal of sniffing and leaping and snorting. LOADS of fun!!!
Later we will bake special birthday pumpkin biscuits, and watch for the Fed Ex truck to bring a Petco box full of surprises!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Who's in charge here, anyway?
So, lately I have been experiencing something interesting. There is a segment of me that I have buried deeply in recent years. It is covered over by a tough, scaly callous, and honestly I forgot it was even down there. Until now. Little glimmers of past-ness are gleaming through in spots. I sat on my couch this evening and I actually felt it a little bit, like a vague warmth from someplace within.
I have been so damn angry for so long. It has cast a villainous shadow over everything else that is me. Yet I am astonished that THIS lay dormant and buried for so long that it was almost forgotten. This, that has always been of the most importance to me.
My father and I shared a common passion for all things related to Early Christianity, particularly the beginnings of monasticism, and the Middle Ages. I am a historian because of my father. He told stories--amazing stories--about the lives of people in the medieval world. I grew up in an Old Church world, the scent of incense in my hair and Latin hymns in my ears. I studied liturgy and ritual and philosophy and all things sacred. It resounded within me. And for me.
And when he died, that world died with him. I have not been to church. I have not opened a single book that I took from his office. I couldn't, because that was the thing he and I shared with nobody else in our family.
And now I am back in school, and studying--guess what?--Christianity and the early medieval period. Monasticism in the Celtic world. And every day for the past month I have railed at the knowledge that he is not here to help me, not here to cheer me on. I know he'd be so happy I am doing this. He'd read along with me, give me research topic ideas, send me books. I miss him. There is nobody else with his peculiar base of knowledge.
Well, except now, maybe me.
So I have begun to wonder. Is he up there running things the way he wants them run? He wasn't bossy, but he was a great leader, and somehow always ended up in charge of everything. And he liked it. I could imagine that he got there and didn't like how things were going, so he just took over. And since he's in charge, may as well check out what's going on with the kid, right?
Is he the cause of all this? Was it his nudging that brought me to this point? Did he somehow know this was what I needed to reclaim him, and myself?
Or am I becoming him? I am reading his books. Listening to his music. Immersing myself in the jewel-toned world he loved. I opened a book yesterday that he used in seminary. It had his name, 1962. And his painstaking underlinings, razor-straight, just where I would have put them.
Is it him that I feel gleaming through, or just a part of me that got buried with him when he died? And perhaps it doesn't matter. Perhaps they are one and the same.
I have been so damn angry for so long. It has cast a villainous shadow over everything else that is me. Yet I am astonished that THIS lay dormant and buried for so long that it was almost forgotten. This, that has always been of the most importance to me.
My father and I shared a common passion for all things related to Early Christianity, particularly the beginnings of monasticism, and the Middle Ages. I am a historian because of my father. He told stories--amazing stories--about the lives of people in the medieval world. I grew up in an Old Church world, the scent of incense in my hair and Latin hymns in my ears. I studied liturgy and ritual and philosophy and all things sacred. It resounded within me. And for me.
And when he died, that world died with him. I have not been to church. I have not opened a single book that I took from his office. I couldn't, because that was the thing he and I shared with nobody else in our family.
And now I am back in school, and studying--guess what?--Christianity and the early medieval period. Monasticism in the Celtic world. And every day for the past month I have railed at the knowledge that he is not here to help me, not here to cheer me on. I know he'd be so happy I am doing this. He'd read along with me, give me research topic ideas, send me books. I miss him. There is nobody else with his peculiar base of knowledge.
Well, except now, maybe me.
So I have begun to wonder. Is he up there running things the way he wants them run? He wasn't bossy, but he was a great leader, and somehow always ended up in charge of everything. And he liked it. I could imagine that he got there and didn't like how things were going, so he just took over. And since he's in charge, may as well check out what's going on with the kid, right?
Is he the cause of all this? Was it his nudging that brought me to this point? Did he somehow know this was what I needed to reclaim him, and myself?
Or am I becoming him? I am reading his books. Listening to his music. Immersing myself in the jewel-toned world he loved. I opened a book yesterday that he used in seminary. It had his name, 1962. And his painstaking underlinings, razor-straight, just where I would have put them.
Is it him that I feel gleaming through, or just a part of me that got buried with him when he died? And perhaps it doesn't matter. Perhaps they are one and the same.
Monday, September 15, 2008
The worst
Well, today was a bad day. A follow-up visit to our veterinarian, Dr. Jeff, has brought sad news. Dexter has a small tear in his ACL. He's had a limp, and we tried some anti-inflammatories to see if it was something less serious. After a month of medication, it seems no better, and in fact a bit worse. We have 3 weeks before the surgeon comes back to town. The surgery is to support that part of Dex's leg with a sort of metal rod type thing. The good news, according to Dr. Jeff, is that we may have caught it soon enough that no damage has happened to the other leg as a result of Dex favoring sore leg #1. The bad news is it takes about 6 months to recuperate. My poor little guy. No running or playing or even walking for a long time. I wish I could make him understand that it has to happen to make him better. Meanwhile, what the heck am I going to do with a bored dog, cooped up in the house for 6 months??? Maybe I can teach him to knit. Or play chess.
Friday, August 29, 2008
McCain selects Palin as running mate
Not to get all politicky on you, but McCain has just announced his selection for VP. Sarah Palin, the governor of my own state of Alaska. Interesting choice. My husband and I speculated months ago about this possibly happening. While she comes from a state with only 2 electoral votes, as opposed to one of the more populated states down south, she is a strong leader and has been systematically beating down corruption in our state since her election. Her position on Anwar is opposite that of McCain, and since it IS her state, I'd like to think that will weigh in a bit as well. She's obviously female, so she fills the billet emptied by the dreaded HC, but she is prettier, softer, younger, and not evil, as far as I can tell. She has a handicapped kid. She's not one of the DC parasites. Bound to help against Obama. Should McCain become president and die (he's older than dirt, folks), she is a capable person to run the country. And somehow it doesn't seem to be a big deal that she' a woman. Maybe because that isn't all she has to offer.
I think it was a smart choice, and like I said, an interesting one.
Funny thing. In the Yahoo News article about this choice, the last line reads:
She and her husband Todd Palin, have five children. The latest, a baby, was born with Down syndrome.
Of course it's a baby. What the hell do you think it is??? A puppy???
ha.
Link:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080829/ap_on_el_pr/cvn_veepstakes
I think it was a smart choice, and like I said, an interesting one.
Funny thing. In the Yahoo News article about this choice, the last line reads:
She and her husband Todd Palin, have five children. The latest, a baby, was born with Down syndrome.
Of course it's a baby. What the hell do you think it is??? A puppy???
ha.
Link:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080829/ap_on_el_pr/cvn_veepstakes
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Today
Today is my birthday. I am 36 years old, and that's fine with me. Most everyone I know has a little breakdown each year when their birthdays arrive. Oh, I'm so ooooold, they whine. It's so terrible, not being 22 anymore....etc., etc. Bloody hell. Are you kidding me? I am smarter and stronger and healthier and wiser and better every year that passes. I'd rather age than die, which seems to be the only alternative I can think of. These same people loudly proclaim their intent to Not Celebrate said birthday. Okay, so nobody acknowledges it, and they complain about being forgotten. The next year everyone gets them a gift, and they complain about THAT. Sigh. It makes me tired.
Celebrate your birthday. it's important. Once you lose someone you love, the birthdays you celebrated with him rise up vividly in your mind, and you see how truly you aren't celebrating just a day of birth, but another year of life. Let people appreciate you on your birthday. Shut the fuck up about how old you like to think you are. Enjoy it, and allow your loved ones to enjoy it as well. It could be the last one for you, or someone with you. How sad and selfish it would be if you died and all they had to remember from this year's birthday was you bitching and complaining about aging.
So, what am I doing to enjoy today? I took my dog, whom I love most of all, for an hour-long walk in the rain this morning. We went a different route than usual, sniffed new stuff, peed on new trees (well, he did; I had already peed at home), enjoyed the cool, wet morning, and talked about stuff we like to do. We went to the beach and watched the water and poked around in the seaweed and beach detritus. It was nice. Now I am having coffee and reading my email and in a few minutes I will find a book or some knitting, and sit on the couch with my coffee and bask in the quietness of my house. This evening my husband and I will have sushi with another couple who are our good friends and neighbors. There are some gifts on the table in the dining room to unwrap. And after all that, another walk with my dog.
It may not sound like much to you, but it is precisely what I want to do with my birthday this year.
Celebrate your birthday. it's important. Once you lose someone you love, the birthdays you celebrated with him rise up vividly in your mind, and you see how truly you aren't celebrating just a day of birth, but another year of life. Let people appreciate you on your birthday. Shut the fuck up about how old you like to think you are. Enjoy it, and allow your loved ones to enjoy it as well. It could be the last one for you, or someone with you. How sad and selfish it would be if you died and all they had to remember from this year's birthday was you bitching and complaining about aging.
So, what am I doing to enjoy today? I took my dog, whom I love most of all, for an hour-long walk in the rain this morning. We went a different route than usual, sniffed new stuff, peed on new trees (well, he did; I had already peed at home), enjoyed the cool, wet morning, and talked about stuff we like to do. We went to the beach and watched the water and poked around in the seaweed and beach detritus. It was nice. Now I am having coffee and reading my email and in a few minutes I will find a book or some knitting, and sit on the couch with my coffee and bask in the quietness of my house. This evening my husband and I will have sushi with another couple who are our good friends and neighbors. There are some gifts on the table in the dining room to unwrap. And after all that, another walk with my dog.
It may not sound like much to you, but it is precisely what I want to do with my birthday this year.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Subsisting
Saturday was a fishing day. My brother was in town, so it was a big treat for him: fishing in the cold Alaskan seas for king salmon and halibut. Many people never get to do that. Most who DO get to fish here do so on a charter, and pay handsomely for the trip.For me, though, it was a grocery procurement trip. Yes, I love being on the water, especially when the weather is nice, and the whales are breaching alongside the boat and the gulls are wheeling overhead. I can't imagine a better place to spend a day.
But what it's really about it getting the fish. See, up here food is really expensive, and often in winter there just isn't much to be had, as bad weather means no barge, and the barge is what our food comes in on. We have a lot of bad weather, and therefore there are often times when we wait and wait and wait for the barge. Ah, island living. Anyhow, so I go fishing to catch 
fish that I then put in my freezer so we can eat all winter long.
fish that I then put in my freezer so we can eat all winter long.Saturday was a good day fishing. We caught some kings, including a rare white king, a halibut, a rockfish, two starfish and a skate. We put the last three items back. One of the starfish had a collection of seashells in his possession, and was munching on a barnacle. Well, it sort of seemed like it was stuck to his lip. If a starfish has a lip. Either way, he was really loaded down.
We also caught a bucket of herring early in the day to serve as our bait. If you catch the herring, you get free bait. If you buy it, it's several dollars per bag. Why would anyone buy it??? Catching herring is ridiculously easy and lots of fun. You find a school of herring, drop the herring line over, pull it up and it's full of fish. Rinse and repeat. In 20 minutes you have a full bait bucket. I thought we really needed some circus music to play while we got the herring, as they are wiggly and slippery little devils, and getting them from the hook to the bucket is nothing short of comedic.
The best part? Heh. I got to drive the boat. Nothing is more fun than flying through the water on a sunny day, waving at the other boats, watching sea otters, sea lions and puffins bobbing in your wake. We cleaned fish until almost 11 pm, but it was a great day and my freezer is filling up nicely.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Do I know you???
Ever have one of those dreams that cause you, upon waking, to go "WHAT THE FUCK???"
I do. A lot of them. Last night, though, was a bit stranger than usual.
Now, I say that with the assumption that you realize most of my dreams involve zombies, headless corpses (is it REALLY corpsi in the plural?? Can't be...right?), gallons of blood, creaky doors in dark Victorian houses, and so forth. My dream last night didn't have all of that. That's what made it so strange.
In the dream I am with a group of people, some I know in real life, and some I do not, and included in the group is a man that I want. I burn for him, and he for me. I know his face, his mannerisms, his voice, his smell. This isn't a SEX DREAM. There is sex in it, but that's not the point. The gist of the story is that he is the (brother, best friend, whatever) of the man to whom I am attached (in the dream, not for real). The man to whom I am attached is sullen and angry and overall quite unpleasant. I'm not impressed. But the man for whom I burn is...just what I want. Quiet, capable, intense. A crisis happens. Not sure what it was. In the dark, the man for whom I burn and I slip off to a quiet spot and...just imagine, if you will, wanting a person who is so close to you but so impossible to have, for months, maybe years, and then in an unexpected moment, having the wished-for situation become real.
Here's what I am trying to get at here...
I KNEW this man. I knew him and everything about him. But in real life, this man does not exist. Does he? Is he someone I passed on the street, bumped into on a subway, glimpsed through a cafe window? I don't know. I am not sure how my mind in repose could develop so fully a character such as this. I'm awake, and I can still hear his voice, recall the feel of his hair, the smell of his skin. I know his sense of humor, the way he likes his...er...coffee.
And why? Surely some of you are thinking I am compensating for an unhappy situation in my own personal life and I can assure you that is not the case. I am confused at the seeming randomness of this dream.
I worry about this man that I know but may not exist. Is there another plane of existence somewhere past the dreaming mind that is populated by these people who otherwise exist only in the dreams of the sleeping? Does he remember me? Did he dream about me, or was it all real to him? Am I (the dream me) still there with him now, or did I disappear when I awoke? Is he the ghost of a dead man? An imprint of a man from another time and place, somehow passing through my unconscious mind in the night? Why MY dream?
Where is he now?
And yeah, the sex was pretty dang good. Holy Crow.
*snort*
I do. A lot of them. Last night, though, was a bit stranger than usual.
Now, I say that with the assumption that you realize most of my dreams involve zombies, headless corpses (is it REALLY corpsi in the plural?? Can't be...right?), gallons of blood, creaky doors in dark Victorian houses, and so forth. My dream last night didn't have all of that. That's what made it so strange.
In the dream I am with a group of people, some I know in real life, and some I do not, and included in the group is a man that I want. I burn for him, and he for me. I know his face, his mannerisms, his voice, his smell. This isn't a SEX DREAM. There is sex in it, but that's not the point. The gist of the story is that he is the (brother, best friend, whatever) of the man to whom I am attached (in the dream, not for real). The man to whom I am attached is sullen and angry and overall quite unpleasant. I'm not impressed. But the man for whom I burn is...just what I want. Quiet, capable, intense. A crisis happens. Not sure what it was. In the dark, the man for whom I burn and I slip off to a quiet spot and...just imagine, if you will, wanting a person who is so close to you but so impossible to have, for months, maybe years, and then in an unexpected moment, having the wished-for situation become real.
Here's what I am trying to get at here...
I KNEW this man. I knew him and everything about him. But in real life, this man does not exist. Does he? Is he someone I passed on the street, bumped into on a subway, glimpsed through a cafe window? I don't know. I am not sure how my mind in repose could develop so fully a character such as this. I'm awake, and I can still hear his voice, recall the feel of his hair, the smell of his skin. I know his sense of humor, the way he likes his...er...coffee.
And why? Surely some of you are thinking I am compensating for an unhappy situation in my own personal life and I can assure you that is not the case. I am confused at the seeming randomness of this dream.
I worry about this man that I know but may not exist. Is there another plane of existence somewhere past the dreaming mind that is populated by these people who otherwise exist only in the dreams of the sleeping? Does he remember me? Did he dream about me, or was it all real to him? Am I (the dream me) still there with him now, or did I disappear when I awoke? Is he the ghost of a dead man? An imprint of a man from another time and place, somehow passing through my unconscious mind in the night? Why MY dream?
Where is he now?
And yeah, the sex was pretty dang good. Holy Crow.
*snort*
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Breakfast
Yesterday morning I walked my dog in the woods. As I walked, I filled two coffee mugs with salmon berries from the bushes along the trail. Big, juicy, dark red salmonberries, perfect and ready to eat. Dexter tried a couple, but spit them out. Funny texture. He likes them just fine pureed.
Salmonberries, for those who are unfamiliar, are similar to a raspberry, and they are the ubiquitous shrubbery here in my part of the world. The flowers are tiny and dark pink in the spring (our spring, not the rest of the world's spring), and then come the berries, as per usual with plants.
Anyhow, back to my story. So we finished our walk, and we had 2 mugs of berries. We brought them home and plopped them right on top of our cereal (not the dog...he had something else for breakfast...I meant my husband and I), and there it was.
How often in life do you get to pick your breakfast on your morning walk??
On days like this, I rejoice in the wilderness that is my home, and I am so grateful to live here for a time. I have no keys to my house, no doors are locked, there are no traffic lights, and outside my door are acres upon acres of woodland for my dog and I to explore.
Lucky, lucky me.
Salmonberries, for those who are unfamiliar, are similar to a raspberry, and they are the ubiquitous shrubbery here in my part of the world. The flowers are tiny and dark pink in the spring (our spring, not the rest of the world's spring), and then come the berries, as per usual with plants.
Anyhow, back to my story. So we finished our walk, and we had 2 mugs of berries. We brought them home and plopped them right on top of our cereal (not the dog...he had something else for breakfast...I meant my husband and I), and there it was.
How often in life do you get to pick your breakfast on your morning walk??
On days like this, I rejoice in the wilderness that is my home, and I am so grateful to live here for a time. I have no keys to my house, no doors are locked, there are no traffic lights, and outside my door are acres upon acres of woodland for my dog and I to explore.
Lucky, lucky me.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Wisdom of the Elder Gods...
Heh. I have discovered this comic that clearly defines my attitude. This one in particular rang my bell.
http://www.hello-cthulhu.com/?date=2003-12-07
Maybe I AM Cthulhu....
http://www.hello-cthulhu.com/?date=2003-12-07
Maybe I AM Cthulhu....
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
WLG+
3 AM on July 24th
My father died. He was a better man than most of you will ever have the honor of meeting. I miss him every second of every day and I hate living without him. He was my hero, my mentor, my champion. I was never afraid or alone because I knew I could always count on him. He inspired and encouraged me. We made each other laugh. And sometimes cry. He was wise and kind and funny and adventurous and brave and so very full of love. It is a cold and empty world without him in it.
Last year, this year, and every year to follow I remember him at 3 am on July 24th with a glass of his favorite single malt scotch. Feel free to join us. He'd have liked that.
My father died. He was a better man than most of you will ever have the honor of meeting. I miss him every second of every day and I hate living without him. He was my hero, my mentor, my champion. I was never afraid or alone because I knew I could always count on him. He inspired and encouraged me. We made each other laugh. And sometimes cry. He was wise and kind and funny and adventurous and brave and so very full of love. It is a cold and empty world without him in it.
Last year, this year, and every year to follow I remember him at 3 am on July 24th with a glass of his favorite single malt scotch. Feel free to join us. He'd have liked that.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Coffee
I drink a lot of coffee. People give me coffee mugs, coffee chocolates (yum), coffee paper, coffee shirts, etc. Because I really, really love coffee. Black, strong, and serious. None of that frothy, sprinkle-covered latte nonsense for me. Just good ole coffee. My brother recently sent me a link to a youtube video which may clear up some of the mystery surrounding my relationship with coffee. The link follows below.
Meanwhile, I need a refill...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYomUXk2RXg&feature=user
Meanwhile, I need a refill...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYomUXk2RXg&feature=user
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Lorie
This week my dear friend Lorie moved away. I have known it was coming for months, but rather than dealing with it sensibly, I pretended it was not going to happen. Monday, it did. I was too upset to see her off at the dock. As I am not usually one for big emotional displays, I was a little surprised at my reaction in the privacy of my post office window. I suppose I shouldn't have been, though, as Lorie is the kind of friend you only get once.
When I first arrived here, the wife of my husband's boss asked me if I had met Lorie yet. I said no, and asked why. The lady said, "Oh, no reason. I'll just let you see for yourself when you do meet her." What does THAT mean, I wondered. This kind of question about Lorie came up a few more times, and I grew more and more intrigued. Someone said that I would either love her or hate her.
Lorie lived a few houses down from me. We finally met. And then I understood. Lorie is outspoken, brave, hardworking, honest, and fair. She is not afraid to meet a problem head on. She always does what is right and just, and demands the same from all who surround her. She is funny, so damned funny. And kinder than I have ever been. We were immediately friends, and a better friend, neighbor, and troupe member I cannot ask for. For a meeker person, I can understand how she might seem intimidating, but I loved her from the first day.
Lorie challenged me and inspired me to lose 40 pounds last year, and take better care of myself. She is my official kick in the ass when I need it, and nobody can take me down a peg like she can. Nor would I allow it from anyone but her.
I miss her desperately already, and I hope she, and all you who read this, understand that my pathetic attempt here to honor my dear friend is in no way complete enough, or good enough, or just...enough,to be worthy of such a wonderful lady.
When I first arrived here, the wife of my husband's boss asked me if I had met Lorie yet. I said no, and asked why. The lady said, "Oh, no reason. I'll just let you see for yourself when you do meet her." What does THAT mean, I wondered. This kind of question about Lorie came up a few more times, and I grew more and more intrigued. Someone said that I would either love her or hate her.
Lorie lived a few houses down from me. We finally met. And then I understood. Lorie is outspoken, brave, hardworking, honest, and fair. She is not afraid to meet a problem head on. She always does what is right and just, and demands the same from all who surround her. She is funny, so damned funny. And kinder than I have ever been. We were immediately friends, and a better friend, neighbor, and troupe member I cannot ask for. For a meeker person, I can understand how she might seem intimidating, but I loved her from the first day.
Lorie challenged me and inspired me to lose 40 pounds last year, and take better care of myself. She is my official kick in the ass when I need it, and nobody can take me down a peg like she can. Nor would I allow it from anyone but her.
I miss her desperately already, and I hope she, and all you who read this, understand that my pathetic attempt here to honor my dear friend is in no way complete enough, or good enough, or just...enough,to be worthy of such a wonderful lady.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Walks
So my camera comes with a phone...wait, other way around...but anyway, here are some phone pictures from recent walks with my dog. Evidently there is some use for technology in the wilderness. 
The Orphanage
Run to the video store and rent this film by Guillermo del Toro (of Pan's Labyrinth and Hellboy). It's a beautiful film, atmospheric in the classic gothic ghost story sense. The movie does not depend upon gore or shock to convey the horrors within. It's a ghost story that creeps into your bones and scares the living shit out of you. Belen Rueda is the star, and I won't tell you much about it, because I insist you watch for yourself. I will say, though, that it is not your garden variety scary movie following a formula. It is unpredictable and graceful and tormented and cinematic in every beautiful sense. I felt immersed. This is a sumptuous film, lovely and horrible. Roll it around on your tongue for awhile, savor every moment. It is truly that good. I rarely recommend movies, but this one is an absolute beauty.
Oh yeah...it's in Spanish. But there are subtitles if you need them.
Oh yeah...it's in Spanish. But there are subtitles if you need them.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Homecomings
When I was newly married and my husband came home from a deployment, it was a Big Deal. Well, firstly because he was gone for over 10 of our first 12 months of marriage, so when he showed up at all, it was cause for serious celebre, if ya know what I mean. But really, the week before I thought he would be home, it was a flurry of activity: cleaning the floors, scrubbing the shower, washing every fabric thing in the house, brushing the cat, painting my nails, deciding what to wear when he first walked in the door, getting food to put in the fridge, and so on.
Right.
We all know I SUCK at the housewifing. I'm fully aware of it, and make no apologies. Some people rock at that sort of thing. For me, notsomuch. I hate it. My priorities lie elsewhere.
So, husband is coming home around 11 tonight. I have a craft project exploding all over the dining room table. Knitting on the coffee table. Other knitting on the side table. And more knitting on the floor of the office. Next to a pile of cds and my half-finished sock zombie. The dog destroyed a bath towel, and there is dead towel carnage all over the living room carpet. Alongside the limp, muddy bit of rawhide bone he dug up from his hidey hole in the yard and dragged in the house late last night. My guess is he likes them aged like kimchi. I have a pile of clean laundry on the bed, which incidentally is where cat #2 vomited just moments ago and I have yet to clean it up. Cat #1 upended a bag of kitty food in the guest bathroom, and there are kitty food bits all over in there. A neighbor dropped off all her leftover pantry items yesterday as they are moving this week, and there are jars and bottles covering the kitchen counters. I honestly don't remember when I last had a shower, and haven't shaved my legs in over a week. Might be two. I found a dessicated earthworm carcass just inside the back door. Not sure what happened there. Poor guy didn't make it out, though. The trash can overfloweth and the recycling bin has taken on a life of its own.
I live 5 minutes from the airport. I have just under 5 hours. I could probably do something about most of this. Well, I'd likely not get my nails painted or either cats or the dog brushed, but I could no doubt scrape the puke off the bed, put the laundry away, clean up the kitchen and reign in my crafty messes. Possibly even vacuum up the towel remains. Perhaps a shower.
But will I????
I think I am being sabotaged. It defies logic that all 3 of my fuzzy animal friends choose this day to fling food about with gleeful abandon, projectile vomit where I sleep, and sling muddy bone and towel bits around the house like all these things are going outta style. Sigh.
So here I sit, detached in a somewhat zen-like state, watching my house fall apart around me, and I wonder what exactly happened to my nice orderly life? The life in which I had time to paint my nails and pick out pretty clothes to please my husband. Wait, maybe I mean the life in which I gave a crap about those things.
Ehh, whatever. Guess I'll sit here until I decide which to tackle first: cat puke or muddy dog bone mess.
Right.
We all know I SUCK at the housewifing. I'm fully aware of it, and make no apologies. Some people rock at that sort of thing. For me, notsomuch. I hate it. My priorities lie elsewhere.
So, husband is coming home around 11 tonight. I have a craft project exploding all over the dining room table. Knitting on the coffee table. Other knitting on the side table. And more knitting on the floor of the office. Next to a pile of cds and my half-finished sock zombie. The dog destroyed a bath towel, and there is dead towel carnage all over the living room carpet. Alongside the limp, muddy bit of rawhide bone he dug up from his hidey hole in the yard and dragged in the house late last night. My guess is he likes them aged like kimchi. I have a pile of clean laundry on the bed, which incidentally is where cat #2 vomited just moments ago and I have yet to clean it up. Cat #1 upended a bag of kitty food in the guest bathroom, and there are kitty food bits all over in there. A neighbor dropped off all her leftover pantry items yesterday as they are moving this week, and there are jars and bottles covering the kitchen counters. I honestly don't remember when I last had a shower, and haven't shaved my legs in over a week. Might be two. I found a dessicated earthworm carcass just inside the back door. Not sure what happened there. Poor guy didn't make it out, though. The trash can overfloweth and the recycling bin has taken on a life of its own.
I live 5 minutes from the airport. I have just under 5 hours. I could probably do something about most of this. Well, I'd likely not get my nails painted or either cats or the dog brushed, but I could no doubt scrape the puke off the bed, put the laundry away, clean up the kitchen and reign in my crafty messes. Possibly even vacuum up the towel remains. Perhaps a shower.
But will I????
I think I am being sabotaged. It defies logic that all 3 of my fuzzy animal friends choose this day to fling food about with gleeful abandon, projectile vomit where I sleep, and sling muddy bone and towel bits around the house like all these things are going outta style. Sigh.
So here I sit, detached in a somewhat zen-like state, watching my house fall apart around me, and I wonder what exactly happened to my nice orderly life? The life in which I had time to paint my nails and pick out pretty clothes to please my husband. Wait, maybe I mean the life in which I gave a crap about those things.
Ehh, whatever. Guess I'll sit here until I decide which to tackle first: cat puke or muddy dog bone mess.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Out of the stone age, full speed ahead
Okay, so last weekend my husband and I threw off our horse and buggy and left behind our Amish ways once and for all. We got *gasp* cell phones. It has long been a point of pride for us not to possess such foul and loathsome devices, and we were rather sorry to have to step foot into the modern world and bite the bullet. It has become painfully obvious to us that it is impossible to function in this world without cell phones. Two botched travel arrangements and much stress later, we stand united in the cell phone store, explaining to the impossibly young girl behind the counter that we have NO IDEA how to turn the damn things on, much less send or receive any kind of message, be it text, audio, photo, email or video. "Pretend we're Amish," I say to the girl, "and explain it to us slowly."
"What's an Amish?" she responds.
God help me.
Several hours and many cups of coffee later, we arrive home with our new phones. I feel like Harry Potter on his first day at Hogwarts. Surely this thing is magical. The numbers just glow out of the front of it when it's closed. How does THAT happen, I wonder?
My (ahem) much older brother swears I am a freak of nature in my nearly obsessive avoidance of all things modern and labor-saving. Really, that's not it. With every new device to which I am shackled (ipod, cell phone, digital camera, laptop, etc.) I feel a little more of my freedom scraped away. Soon all that will remain is the bare bones of what once was a robust and glorious freedom to...do whatever I want, with no interruptions, no frantic searches for connections/plugs/ ports/blue teeth.
What happened to simply disappearing for a long weekend in, say, Paris, completely and blissfully cut off from work and the world at large, to come out rested and relaxed on the other side of it?
I truly detest the idea of being hunted down at all hours and in all places. For that reason, I am giving none of you my phone number.
"What's an Amish?" she responds.
God help me.
Several hours and many cups of coffee later, we arrive home with our new phones. I feel like Harry Potter on his first day at Hogwarts. Surely this thing is magical. The numbers just glow out of the front of it when it's closed. How does THAT happen, I wonder?
My (ahem) much older brother swears I am a freak of nature in my nearly obsessive avoidance of all things modern and labor-saving. Really, that's not it. With every new device to which I am shackled (ipod, cell phone, digital camera, laptop, etc.) I feel a little more of my freedom scraped away. Soon all that will remain is the bare bones of what once was a robust and glorious freedom to...do whatever I want, with no interruptions, no frantic searches for connections/plugs/ ports/blue teeth.
What happened to simply disappearing for a long weekend in, say, Paris, completely and blissfully cut off from work and the world at large, to come out rested and relaxed on the other side of it?
I truly detest the idea of being hunted down at all hours and in all places. For that reason, I am giving none of you my phone number.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Frustrated Superhero?
It seems that the past few weeks have blurred past me like a roadsign from a speeding car. What happened? And why am I so tired? Sometimes I wonder if I have another life that takes place while I am supposed to be sleeping, and someone smacks me with a dose of memory dust each morning so I don't remember. It would explain the aches, pains, and overall sluggishness; I'm not getting old, I have merely been battling demons and saving the world every night whilst mere mortals lie sleeping and unawares.
Today I read a blog by a friend who complained about the rain (yes, it's raining and 42 degrees...it IS Alaska, folks). We had 2 weeks straight of sun and (for here) warm weather. Never heard a peep from anyone. Bring on a few days of rain, and the complaints are a cacophony in my ears. Why is that? Why is it so damn hard to just wake up every morning and be grateful to actually WAKE UP. Appreciate that you are alive, and get over the damn weather. It's only weather. There are so many far worse things in life to contemplate than rain.
Fore example, you could be an intergalactic superhero by night, and you wake up exhausted but unable to remember the cool stuff you did, so you suffer the pains but lose out on the bragging rights.
It happened to me.
Today I read a blog by a friend who complained about the rain (yes, it's raining and 42 degrees...it IS Alaska, folks). We had 2 weeks straight of sun and (for here) warm weather. Never heard a peep from anyone. Bring on a few days of rain, and the complaints are a cacophony in my ears. Why is that? Why is it so damn hard to just wake up every morning and be grateful to actually WAKE UP. Appreciate that you are alive, and get over the damn weather. It's only weather. There are so many far worse things in life to contemplate than rain.
Fore example, you could be an intergalactic superhero by night, and you wake up exhausted but unable to remember the cool stuff you did, so you suffer the pains but lose out on the bragging rights.
It happened to me.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Crabfest
We rocked it. It was great. Still collecting pics from people, but here's a couple to get started with...
Friday, May 23, 2008
She's crafty....
Beastie Boys aside, here is some of what has come out of my creepy little head of late...a box for Sparrow, at the top, and the beheaded cherub shadowbox at the bottom.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Reconnecting
Mine is a nomadic lifestyle, and with that comes the inevitable parting of ways with friends I make en route. Last year I made a friend, who became a great friend, who stuck with me through my own personal crisis, never asked me to be anyone but who I am, and always made me feel valued. Sometime after Christmas, this friend drifted off, dropped off my radar. I knew she had some complications in her life, and I didn't want to intrude. I let her disappear from my life, and I never checked upon her. Not once. She lives about two blocks away. I failed her. I have always felt that I am not as good a friend to her as I could be...and I am working on that (see blog about another friend I neglected below). Yet this to me is a gross failure on my part, and I am so, so grateful to be given another chance.
She called me this week. We are back to where we were before, I think, with no permanent damage done. I don't deserve it. She is a kind, generous and good person, far better than myself, and so here we are, pals again. I don't think I realized how lonely I have been without her these past few months. Maybe it was good that I have learned to appreciate her fully.
Sadly, we are reunited just in time for her to pack up and move away. She leaves in about a month. It figures. I'm glad we reconnected before she leaves, and I am excited at the prospect of spending time with her regularly again. And I am sad that she is leaving, although it will be a good move for her and her family.
I will miss her. So will my dog.
She called me this week. We are back to where we were before, I think, with no permanent damage done. I don't deserve it. She is a kind, generous and good person, far better than myself, and so here we are, pals again. I don't think I realized how lonely I have been without her these past few months. Maybe it was good that I have learned to appreciate her fully.
Sadly, we are reunited just in time for her to pack up and move away. She leaves in about a month. It figures. I'm glad we reconnected before she leaves, and I am excited at the prospect of spending time with her regularly again. And I am sad that she is leaving, although it will be a good move for her and her family.
I will miss her. So will my dog.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
It's different when they're yours.
I have no children. I will not be having any, either. I don't like them. I really don't. I don't see the cute. Evidently I have negative points in the maternal skill slot. I didn't like kids when I was a kid. They're noisy, whiny, annoying, messy, needy. They take up space and time. Their stuff is ugly and plastic. They smell funny. They are always underfoot. They always, always need something.
I know, it's funny when I say it like that. You're thinking, she's just being cranky, to make me laugh. I'm not. This is truly how I feel.
I do not understand the appeal of parenthood. So, you get knocked up. What's next? 9 months of misery. You get fat and weird looking. Something is feeding off your body (this is parasitic behavior, people! Gross!!). Then you have the damn thing, and your genitalia is all stretched out and flappy, so sex isn't like it used to be. Oh, yeah, and then the breastfeeding. This is the most disgusting practice ever. Really. And I see women do this right in front of me! Ohhhh. So not necessary. Following that, your tits are all saggy and distended. Great. At least they match your crotch.
So what are you stuck with? A shitting, puking, crying lump of barnacle. You can't go anywhere without it. You never, ever, ever get time to yourself. Everything is a big drama.Just getting into the car is a major undertaking. it whines. it cries. it interrupts conversations you try to have with real people.
Then it gets older and there are all the things you have to do for it. Get it off to school, pack it a lunch, take it to soccer/dance/scouts/whatever. When do you do what YOU want to do? Never again. And all that stuff will make you broke.
Then there's college. You send them off, pay their way, and for what? They're busy smoking, drinking and fucking anything that passes by.
I. Don't. Get. It.
Where's the fun in this? What's the reward?
Oh, and the thing that I hate most. I am female. Soooooo, that means I want to hold your foul spawn? No thanks. Get it the fuck away from me. Your kid is not welcome in my house. Ever. I don't want a picture of it, and I don't care what it did on its field trip last week. Get it? I DON'T CARE.
So the wives say, "I know you SAY you don't like kids, but it's really different when they're your own."
How? How is it different? Aside from being worse? Do you really think, knowing I detest children, that I will have a kid and then love it because it came out of my body?
If, by some freak chance, I got pregnant, I would commence to throwing myself down every set of stone steps I could find until it dislodged and got the hell out of my body. really.
And then there's the last one. This is the big one. "You don't know, you don't have kids." Well, thanks for pointing that out, Sherlock. Might not have put that together on my own. The genius of this statement is that it is applied to every single issue that arises.
Neighbor says, "I wish it would quit snowing."
I say, "I don't mind the snow so much as the 150 mile an hour winds."
Neighbor says, "Yeah, well you don't know, you don't have kids."
...and therefore all my opinions are not valid? Whatthefuck?
Final note to all you breeders: I hate kids. Keep them away from me. And my not breeding is unrelated to my ability to come to logical conclusions. And for the record, I hate you too.
I know, it's funny when I say it like that. You're thinking, she's just being cranky, to make me laugh. I'm not. This is truly how I feel.
I do not understand the appeal of parenthood. So, you get knocked up. What's next? 9 months of misery. You get fat and weird looking. Something is feeding off your body (this is parasitic behavior, people! Gross!!). Then you have the damn thing, and your genitalia is all stretched out and flappy, so sex isn't like it used to be. Oh, yeah, and then the breastfeeding. This is the most disgusting practice ever. Really. And I see women do this right in front of me! Ohhhh. So not necessary. Following that, your tits are all saggy and distended. Great. At least they match your crotch.
So what are you stuck with? A shitting, puking, crying lump of barnacle. You can't go anywhere without it. You never, ever, ever get time to yourself. Everything is a big drama.Just getting into the car is a major undertaking. it whines. it cries. it interrupts conversations you try to have with real people.
Then it gets older and there are all the things you have to do for it. Get it off to school, pack it a lunch, take it to soccer/dance/scouts/whatever. When do you do what YOU want to do? Never again. And all that stuff will make you broke.
Then there's college. You send them off, pay their way, and for what? They're busy smoking, drinking and fucking anything that passes by.
I. Don't. Get. It.
Where's the fun in this? What's the reward?
Oh, and the thing that I hate most. I am female. Soooooo, that means I want to hold your foul spawn? No thanks. Get it the fuck away from me. Your kid is not welcome in my house. Ever. I don't want a picture of it, and I don't care what it did on its field trip last week. Get it? I DON'T CARE.
So the wives say, "I know you SAY you don't like kids, but it's really different when they're your own."
How? How is it different? Aside from being worse? Do you really think, knowing I detest children, that I will have a kid and then love it because it came out of my body?
If, by some freak chance, I got pregnant, I would commence to throwing myself down every set of stone steps I could find until it dislodged and got the hell out of my body. really.
And then there's the last one. This is the big one. "You don't know, you don't have kids." Well, thanks for pointing that out, Sherlock. Might not have put that together on my own. The genius of this statement is that it is applied to every single issue that arises.
Neighbor says, "I wish it would quit snowing."
I say, "I don't mind the snow so much as the 150 mile an hour winds."
Neighbor says, "Yeah, well you don't know, you don't have kids."
...and therefore all my opinions are not valid? Whatthefuck?
Final note to all you breeders: I hate kids. Keep them away from me. And my not breeding is unrelated to my ability to come to logical conclusions. And for the record, I hate you too.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Rage
I have a horrible temper. Comes out of nowhere and kablooey, it's bad. I destroyed a room today in under a minute. Furious. Hate-filled. Unreasonable. Terrifying to be on either end of it. No telling what will set me off. It's never what you might think. Today it was a stack of papers sliding off a shelf above me while I was sewing. Not a big deal, really. Today, though, I threw things in all direction, cleared off my work surface with one arm while throwing things long-range with the other. Broke all kinds of stuff. Dead silent. Left the room at that point and huddled on the couch, hiding in my hoodie for awhile until the boiling sensation left my veins.
It's awful. Sadly, I had an audience today, and found myself tearfully apologizing a few minutes after the event. Shame he had to see that.
I don't know what causes these rages. It's the same thing that led me to scarification and self-mutilation as a teenager. Had to let the evil out somehow. Scary stuff, though, let me assure you. The only positive to this is it happens so very rarely. I'm probably good for a few months, now.
It's awful. Sadly, I had an audience today, and found myself tearfully apologizing a few minutes after the event. Shame he had to see that.
I don't know what causes these rages. It's the same thing that led me to scarification and self-mutilation as a teenager. Had to let the evil out somehow. Scary stuff, though, let me assure you. The only positive to this is it happens so very rarely. I'm probably good for a few months, now.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
My Friend J.
I have a wonderful friend named J. He and I have been pals for ages. Yes, we dated initially, but we were young and headed (so we thought) in different directions. To my delight, we repeatedly turn up in the same places, all about the country.
J is my rock. He has picked me up out of the dirt countless times, rescued me from calamities only I can create. He never rubs my face in it. He never lectures me about it. He listens. He supports. He feeds me when I have no food, and he takes me places when I have no vehicle. He is my cheerleader in all things, even when he does not understand my choices.
I love my friend J. I'm probably always going to be a little bit IN love with him. How could I not be? I love his wit, his enthusiasm, his need to travel and learn and experience the world in which we live. He is clever and sweet. He thinks I'm wonderful, too. Had things been just a tiny bit different in both our lives, I would have married him. Timing is everything, so they say.
J is getting married this summer. I am so happy for him. I want only the best for my pal J. I'm a little jealous, even though I am married to someone else. I don't know her, and while I know anyone J loves must be ideal, I am fiercely protective. Okay, more than a little jealous. I'm a lot jealous. I don't want to share.
I wonder, is this how he felt when I got married?
J is my rock. He has picked me up out of the dirt countless times, rescued me from calamities only I can create. He never rubs my face in it. He never lectures me about it. He listens. He supports. He feeds me when I have no food, and he takes me places when I have no vehicle. He is my cheerleader in all things, even when he does not understand my choices.
I love my friend J. I'm probably always going to be a little bit IN love with him. How could I not be? I love his wit, his enthusiasm, his need to travel and learn and experience the world in which we live. He is clever and sweet. He thinks I'm wonderful, too. Had things been just a tiny bit different in both our lives, I would have married him. Timing is everything, so they say.
J is getting married this summer. I am so happy for him. I want only the best for my pal J. I'm a little jealous, even though I am married to someone else. I don't know her, and while I know anyone J loves must be ideal, I am fiercely protective. Okay, more than a little jealous. I'm a lot jealous. I don't want to share.
I wonder, is this how he felt when I got married?
Friday, April 18, 2008
Devastated
Sometimes bad things do happen to good people.
I am crushed for my poor husband today.
It's a long and complicated situation, but the short version is that he got fucked out of an opportunity that he NEEDED to have in order for his career to continue on his chosen path. This happened not due to who he is or what he does, but was a result of a couple of people dropping their respective balls and making arbitrary choices unrelated to my husband's impeccable work history.
I am so ANGRY at the Coast Guard, and the few people involved in this mess. My husband is a man of very few words and even less emotion. I want to scream and rail at this situation. I want to fix it for him. I want someone to APOLOGIZE to him. I want the look of resignation to leave his eyes.
It is done.
It cannot be fixed.
We have to live with this.
It isn't fair. Not in the least. He deserves better.
I am crushed for my poor husband today.
It's a long and complicated situation, but the short version is that he got fucked out of an opportunity that he NEEDED to have in order for his career to continue on his chosen path. This happened not due to who he is or what he does, but was a result of a couple of people dropping their respective balls and making arbitrary choices unrelated to my husband's impeccable work history.
I am so ANGRY at the Coast Guard, and the few people involved in this mess. My husband is a man of very few words and even less emotion. I want to scream and rail at this situation. I want to fix it for him. I want someone to APOLOGIZE to him. I want the look of resignation to leave his eyes.
It is done.
It cannot be fixed.
We have to live with this.
It isn't fair. Not in the least. He deserves better.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
How Does This Happen?
This makes no sense to me either, but I frequently find myself neck deep in doing things for other people. Obligations, we call them. This is strange, as I (have I mentioned this lately?) hate everybody. I can't explain it. These things just sneak up on me somehow, and suddenly I have no time to do what I want to do. Well, here I am again. I have 4 (yup, 4) part-time jobs. I am on the board of the local arts council. I have an enormous and time-consuming dog. I am married. I live in a house that constantly requires cleaning, and more to the point, I have a level of cleanliness to which I am accustomed, and when it is not near that level, I get cranky. I also have hobbies I need time in which to pursue, and a dance troupe to manage. This incudes choreography and rehearsal.
So.
Here's what will happen. GONE are the Monday job and the Monday night (free) class. I don't feel right quitting the Tuesday job as they are already short-handed, so I'll keep that one. It's only about 2 1/2 hours a week anyhow. I am still considering the other class...money is good, but the prep/instructing time is an issue. I have enough money, but never enough time.
I want to enjoy what time I have left in this place. I want to live my life before it is too late. My father loved his life. He had a wonderful time, almost all the time. He found the greatest joy in simple things. He got huge mileage out of his life, and what a shame not to do the same with mine.
New rule: if I don't love it, it's gone.
I owe that to myself.
So.
Here's what will happen. GONE are the Monday job and the Monday night (free) class. I don't feel right quitting the Tuesday job as they are already short-handed, so I'll keep that one. It's only about 2 1/2 hours a week anyhow. I am still considering the other class...money is good, but the prep/instructing time is an issue. I have enough money, but never enough time.
I want to enjoy what time I have left in this place. I want to live my life before it is too late. My father loved his life. He had a wonderful time, almost all the time. He found the greatest joy in simple things. He got huge mileage out of his life, and what a shame not to do the same with mine.
New rule: if I don't love it, it's gone.
I owe that to myself.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Assassin
Here I am plotting the untimely death of Scheherezade. I finished the choreography the night before the show, but it apparently turned out fine, as I got positive feedback from the other dancers. Of course, they might have been just saying that because I'm scary and I had two big knives...
Friday, April 4, 2008
Appreciate Your Surroundings
I have been growing tired of the long dark. I have the winter blahs, I miss the sun and can barely recall what it feels like to not be cold. I am antsy and island fever has me in its clutches.
Yesterday made up for it a fair bit. The mailman stopped his truck in front of my house. Two ravens hopped into his truck. On the way to town, the bald eagles perched in all the trees alongside the road like enormous Christmas tree ornaments. A herd of large sea lions played in the water as they swam past the dock where I parked my car. A healthy, fluffy fox crossed the road in front of me en route home again. A family of deer grazed in my yard last evening.
I get it. Be happy for where I live and all its wonders. I am and I do.
Still cold, though.
Yesterday made up for it a fair bit. The mailman stopped his truck in front of my house. Two ravens hopped into his truck. On the way to town, the bald eagles perched in all the trees alongside the road like enormous Christmas tree ornaments. A herd of large sea lions played in the water as they swam past the dock where I parked my car. A healthy, fluffy fox crossed the road in front of me en route home again. A family of deer grazed in my yard last evening.
I get it. Be happy for where I live and all its wonders. I am and I do.
Still cold, though.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Memorial Roof Repair?
So. My father died 2 years ago. He was an Anglican priest. And one of the world's truly Great Men. It was...devastating, at the least. I will remain forever crushed and lost without him here as my mentor and guide.
The new priest called my mother and asked her if it would be alright to use the money we have placed in a memorial fund for my dad to fix the roof on the church. (Deep breath here.) My mother, caught unawares and not being altogether socially ept to begin with, said she would have to think about it. THINK ABOUT IT?!?!?!
My immediate response: Oh, HELL no. What gave this new priest the idea that using money meant to honor a life well-lived and a soul missed desperately by many to fix a fucking roof was even remotely acceptable? Such a thing diminishes our intent in establishing a memorial in the first place.
AND...this is a memorial for the former priest of this parish. He deserves better. We, his survivors, deserve better. The church deserves better. Stained glass? Bibles? Anything lasting and appropriate would be just fine with me.
I have so much more I can say about this. I am so angry. This is something my father would NEVER have considered asking a family who lost a loved one. Churches are supposed to be concerned more with people than with money. I question this priest's ability to understand this and I will not contribute further to a memorial held in that church.
There is another memorial in the local library, where my Dad spent much of his free time enjoying the many programs they provided. The library has used this memorial money to purchase much-needed bookshelves and they kindly attached a brass plate with my father's name upon it.
My father does not need an Ozymandias-like statue in his image. He will live on in my heart and in my spirit, which is so much like his. However, he does deserve to be remembered in an appropriately respectful fashion. This will not include the Memorial Roof Repair.
The new priest called my mother and asked her if it would be alright to use the money we have placed in a memorial fund for my dad to fix the roof on the church. (Deep breath here.) My mother, caught unawares and not being altogether socially ept to begin with, said she would have to think about it. THINK ABOUT IT?!?!?!
My immediate response: Oh, HELL no. What gave this new priest the idea that using money meant to honor a life well-lived and a soul missed desperately by many to fix a fucking roof was even remotely acceptable? Such a thing diminishes our intent in establishing a memorial in the first place.
AND...this is a memorial for the former priest of this parish. He deserves better. We, his survivors, deserve better. The church deserves better. Stained glass? Bibles? Anything lasting and appropriate would be just fine with me.
I have so much more I can say about this. I am so angry. This is something my father would NEVER have considered asking a family who lost a loved one. Churches are supposed to be concerned more with people than with money. I question this priest's ability to understand this and I will not contribute further to a memorial held in that church.
There is another memorial in the local library, where my Dad spent much of his free time enjoying the many programs they provided. The library has used this memorial money to purchase much-needed bookshelves and they kindly attached a brass plate with my father's name upon it.
My father does not need an Ozymandias-like statue in his image. He will live on in my heart and in my spirit, which is so much like his. However, he does deserve to be remembered in an appropriately respectful fashion. This will not include the Memorial Roof Repair.
Friday, March 28, 2008
It is, in fact, all about me.
Today I said goodbye to a friend and a neighbor. This woman has been kind and supportive and always THERE since I stepped foot off the airplane that bore me to this island. She is a quiet and mellow soul, sweet and quirky. We live very different lives, yet she has never been anything but a friend. I realized that in my self-absorbed furor of snarky antisocietism, I may have overlooked an opportunity to be a great friend to her. For that I am sorry, as she deserves loyal and constant friendship, which I fully intended but just never got around to. It was an oversight on my part.
I suppose I could claim a natural propensity toward self-obsession, as my horoscope says I am prideful and possess an enormous ego. (Both these things are true, I might add.) I hate to claim such weakness of spirit, though, that I fall victim to those things to which I am supposedly highly susceptible. It IS in my nature to refuse to get in line.
I sometimes wish I could be the thoughtful person who remembers her friends' birthdays and expresses concern when they are sick. I am not that person. The truth of the matter is that I am far more interested in myself than I am anyone else. I'd rather talk and think about ME. So should everyone else, in my view.
I'm only being honest.
Farewell, Chris.
I suppose I could claim a natural propensity toward self-obsession, as my horoscope says I am prideful and possess an enormous ego. (Both these things are true, I might add.) I hate to claim such weakness of spirit, though, that I fall victim to those things to which I am supposedly highly susceptible. It IS in my nature to refuse to get in line.
I sometimes wish I could be the thoughtful person who remembers her friends' birthdays and expresses concern when they are sick. I am not that person. The truth of the matter is that I am far more interested in myself than I am anyone else. I'd rather talk and think about ME. So should everyone else, in my view.
I'm only being honest.
Farewell, Chris.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Tangible vs. Intangible
I love the feel of natural objects...vertebrae from a turkey, a seed pod, sea glass, caribou antler, wool...and also the feel of artifacts from our recent industrial revolution, such as wrought iron and woven fabric. I guess I just like stuff.
I like the look of my house filled with the strange and the curious. Drawers to open in wooden cabinets, with skeleton keys, old postcards and photos, dusty books and marbles inside.
I love the delicious anticipation of mystery.
It has been said that I cannot pass a drawer, box, or cupboard without looking inside. I'm not deliberately nosey...but I love to imagine what could be in there...I love the drama of a discovery.
This is why books are so valuable to me. What better mystery than a story to which I do not know the ending?
I like the look of my house filled with the strange and the curious. Drawers to open in wooden cabinets, with skeleton keys, old postcards and photos, dusty books and marbles inside.
I love the delicious anticipation of mystery.
It has been said that I cannot pass a drawer, box, or cupboard without looking inside. I'm not deliberately nosey...but I love to imagine what could be in there...I love the drama of a discovery.
This is why books are so valuable to me. What better mystery than a story to which I do not know the ending?
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Alone
There are things that I must do every day. I walk my dog in the morning with two neighbors and their dogs. I work a couple days a week. I teach one class per week. Not much, really.
Yet when I return from all of these places, I am so happy to be in my house and all alone (well, aside from the dog. He's special.) I don't play any music. I hate the sound of a television. I just like the quiet and the solitude. I barely speak out loud, other than to tell the dog how great he is. I. Like. Quiet.
The idea of hermit-hood is really appealing to me. Alone in my shack in the wilderness, no neighbors, nobody demanding anything of me. Just my dog and I, against the elements.
If you know me at all, you know I hate people. Not specific people (well, SOME specific people), but people in general. I hate crowds, I hate ignorance, I hate silliness, I hate stupidity. I want the whole world to shut the fuck up and leave me alone.
Sadly, there are times when I have to venture forth and walk amongst the Great Unwashed. Ugh. It makes me feel tired and old. Every year it gets worse. People get stupider and louder and my tolerance gets lower and my fuse gets shorter. I have never been accused of diplomacy anyway, but it seems that as I get older, I just don't have the patience for any bullshit.
Persons who love me in spite of my unpleasantness are hesitant to take me out and unleash me on the unsuspecting public, for fear that I will say a TRUTH. For them, this is embarrassing.
I figure life is far too short to waste being nice to someone who clearly is an idiot, and unworthy of my attentions.
Yet when I return from all of these places, I am so happy to be in my house and all alone (well, aside from the dog. He's special.) I don't play any music. I hate the sound of a television. I just like the quiet and the solitude. I barely speak out loud, other than to tell the dog how great he is. I. Like. Quiet.
The idea of hermit-hood is really appealing to me. Alone in my shack in the wilderness, no neighbors, nobody demanding anything of me. Just my dog and I, against the elements.
If you know me at all, you know I hate people. Not specific people (well, SOME specific people), but people in general. I hate crowds, I hate ignorance, I hate silliness, I hate stupidity. I want the whole world to shut the fuck up and leave me alone.
Sadly, there are times when I have to venture forth and walk amongst the Great Unwashed. Ugh. It makes me feel tired and old. Every year it gets worse. People get stupider and louder and my tolerance gets lower and my fuse gets shorter. I have never been accused of diplomacy anyway, but it seems that as I get older, I just don't have the patience for any bullshit.
Persons who love me in spite of my unpleasantness are hesitant to take me out and unleash me on the unsuspecting public, for fear that I will say a TRUTH. For them, this is embarrassing.
I figure life is far too short to waste being nice to someone who clearly is an idiot, and unworthy of my attentions.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Easter
Ironic that Easter, a celebration of a resurrection, is forever linked in my mind with the death of my father. He did not die near Easter, but the last service he presided over was the Easter service. Holy Week was a busy time in our house. His busiest work week, more so even than Christmas. Easter services are often sad ones, held in the dark and quiet of a pensive church, toward the end of a Lenten season of prayer and reflection. The congregation dresses in somber colors, and speak in hushed tones. Then Easter Sunday, all turn out shined and polished in brights and pastels, wearing shiny patent leather shoes. The light, the sun, life itself has been resurrected and all is shiny and new again. I do not go to church anymore, as I am not certain I believe in the God that is worshipped there any longer. If ever I did. Sometimes I wonder if I went to church more to worship my father than God. I will never get my own Easter Sunday. My father cannot come back. But I still worship him.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Honor?
Is there any honor left in this world? It used to be that people died for honor, women protected their honor, a man fought for someones honor, and people did things that were honorable. Now what? All for gain. If it doesn't get you money, fame or prestige, then forget it. People cheapen themselves and their character (if they have any) for a moment of something that is a thin and brittle impostor of Honor. It makes me sad.
Honor was a central virtue for the Greeks. Achilles speaks of the loss of honor as the source of his rage.
One gains honor with age, rank and distinction. It is closely associated with one's personal values. It appears that there is very little respect for age, rank or accomplishment now. Children don't even respect their own parents. And values seem to have disappeared with the growing use of daycare and television as babysitters.
There was a time when men in uniform were revered for their service, and their sacrifice, and their bravery. Now they are questioned and courtmartialed and spit upon by the same people they swore to give their lives to protect. In fact, it is their sacrifice that gave you the freedom to voice your disdain for them and their jobs.
Politicians are sleazy. Disgusting. Nobody seems to mind it in this country. Where is their honor?
And what of gang warfare and the machismo that leads to bar fights? Is that a true defense of honor, or a crude animal-like behavior disguised as a poor form of honor?
I don't know. However, I think that we could all benefit from a RAISING OF THE BAR. Raise your personal bar, and expect better of yourself, and for yourself. Don't accept any less than honorable behavior from yourself and those around you. Treat others honorably as well. Will this spread? try it and see.
Honor was a central virtue for the Greeks. Achilles speaks of the loss of honor as the source of his rage.
One gains honor with age, rank and distinction. It is closely associated with one's personal values. It appears that there is very little respect for age, rank or accomplishment now. Children don't even respect their own parents. And values seem to have disappeared with the growing use of daycare and television as babysitters.
There was a time when men in uniform were revered for their service, and their sacrifice, and their bravery. Now they are questioned and courtmartialed and spit upon by the same people they swore to give their lives to protect. In fact, it is their sacrifice that gave you the freedom to voice your disdain for them and their jobs.
Politicians are sleazy. Disgusting. Nobody seems to mind it in this country. Where is their honor?
And what of gang warfare and the machismo that leads to bar fights? Is that a true defense of honor, or a crude animal-like behavior disguised as a poor form of honor?
I don't know. However, I think that we could all benefit from a RAISING OF THE BAR. Raise your personal bar, and expect better of yourself, and for yourself. Don't accept any less than honorable behavior from yourself and those around you. Treat others honorably as well. Will this spread? try it and see.
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