Grizzled and I stopped in at our local Costco on Saturday. It's not a place we normally go. We just don't have the room to store too much bulk, but at some point, he got a membership through work and we decided to give it a try. I'm still shocked when I see someone selling fresh crab literally feet away from a table of books and a towering unit of men's underwear...
I think the thing that surprised me the most was the selection of Costco Caskets! Who knew? Actually, I'm sure many people know, I just wasn't ready to turn the corner from Uni-Ball pens and find myself staring at a wall of casket corners.
I hate caskets.
I know they serve a purpose. I know some people want or need them. I don't. I turned to Grizzled and reminded him that I want to be cremated and then, my ashes spread somewhere... in a garden perhaps... just don't throw me in water. You can toss me bywater, but not in it... and even though I know I won't know... trust me, I'll know.
Grizzled promised me that as long as he was still around, he'd honor my wishes as long as I returned the favor. I knew what was coming. I've heard this for years... Grizzled wants an outdoor party, with lots of loud, happy music... beverages flowing... and a funeral pyre. Yes, a funeral pyre. I've mentioned time and time again that watching their belated father go up in flames could be traumatizing to the lamblets no matter how old they might be at the time... and although I'm all for honoring wishes, it would be traumatizing for me as well.
He assured me we don't have to watch. He said no one has to watch. He merely wants the last person left to go up and light the baby on fire and he'll burn away into the night.
While part of me would want to honor almost any of Grizzled's wishes... this one feels like it's asking too much. I'll throw the happy party. I'll have him cremated. I'm just not sure about the pyre part... Luckily, it seems the EPA frowns on pyres. However, Grizzled, forever being one who drives in the out, will probably find a way.
Early this morning, while taking the dogs out on what was obviously going to be another wet, chilly day, I noticed I was kind of sliding around on the patio... It's been really damp here so I thought perhaps it was just the average slime that grows on things that are never allowed to dry.
I went back out later to take Grizzled to the train... that's when I noticed the first one... and when your eye picks up one, it suddenly sees THEM ALL! Dear. Lord. They're everywhere. I know they're here. It's just we usually don't have to see them all at once for as far as the eye can see. Today, you can't look anywhere and not see a herd of them.
After returning home, I stepped back onto the patio to see if they were the reason for my sliding... Oops. They were. Sorry.
Be sure to click on the images for even more sluggy gore!
This dear blogger has decided to open a Zazzle store to offer up some of her more quirky art offerings... This blogger has done a lifetime of piece work and labor intensive stuff... some serious, some fun, but is ready to embrace the offerings and convenience of this not so new digital age (I'm still resisting my digitizing tablet, but one step at a time...). As I said, I plan on offering a number of things that I've done over my blogging career and before, including various ways to sell individual letters (on coffee cups, etc) from the Snag Alphabet so that Snag and I might make enough to go get a drink.
Anyhow, here's the deal. No, I'm not asking you to pony up, what I need is help with the name. I thought I had it. It had been in my mind long before there was a Zazzle... It was Sn'Art. It might make sense to some of you, but what's more important was that it made sense to me. I was 99% sure that this was what it was going to be, but asked a couple of people what they thought and did they like the apostrophe or not...
I had Googled Snart spelled in a variety of creative ways and saw nothing that seemed prohibitive... until kind Google Guru fish informed me yesterday of THIS!Ok, I can have an immature sense of humor along with the best of them and as I said, this store will be for less *serious* stuff, but I don't think I want it associated with a sneeze/fart...
I had mentioned to fish that I was tired and really didn't want to come up with a new name... I liked it better when they just popped into your head in the middle of the night... perhaps I'd call it Cottage Cheese... no, that wouldn't work. fish was kind enough to offer up a number of suggestions
in Art? (Made me think of the Piss Christ although I liked it when he said it rhymed with Cuisineart.)
of the Possible? (This has possiblities)
Truck Stop? (Wha??? While Thelma could outdrink a trucker, she's no truckstop gal...)
And while I'd take almost anything coming from fish, this didn't necessarily strike me as *it*. fish then suggested crowdsourcing. My first thought? Hell no! I don't want anyone to know about this!!
Ok, ok, I saw the silliness of my ways. He was right (you're not always right, fish, so don't let it go to your head.)
So, if you would, please put your minds to work and see if you could offer up something quirky. It would be nice if art were in the name somewhere, but that's not manditory. It also does not need to have Saying yes... in it. If we come up with a winner, I'll send you some of Pinko's Blueberry Whoppers. :)
Knowing a certain freedom and then having it go away, or never knowing until it was too late and that freedom not being an option anymore??
I'm not thinking in heavy duty terms of freedom or lack thereof, but rather am thinking about young adulthood. While it used to be the norm to go from parents' house into a married household of your own, it's now the norm to have your young adult life all to yourself, for a protracted amount of time, before entering into a blessed union that may or may not include children, but which will still limit the freedom you once had. (Or course, many choose to not enter into any union, but I'm thinking the freedom of having all of your options still erodes with time.)
I've pondered this question for awhile... even before I knew the freedom of young adulthood and then chose willingly and gleefully to leave it, but it came up again the other day while the Eldest Lamblet was reading one of my books from the shelf Grizzled refers to as the "Women's Studies" shelf (always said without a lick of sarcasm...Of course I could refer to all of the other history books as "Men's Studies"...) One thing she mentioned was that she wished women had written more about themselves... even when they did write about themselves.
I had to agree. I've often been disappointed when reading historical diaries since the average person so often wrote little about their inner life, their thoughts, something I've always enjoyed... finding out what makes people tick, what they're really all about while showing the world their shiny, presentable sides. I wish the diary entries had included something like:
April 23, 1883
If John Robert walks in with his muddy boots one more time, I'm going to scream! Apparently I'm only here to cook and clean. We've been apart all day. Doesn't he wonder what wonderful insights I've had while doing laundry down by the stream?!? Doesn't he want to know that I've rethought his underclothing and am thinking that a much smaller article of clothing would not only be easier to clean, but would also be more attractive?? I foresee a day when attractive men are selling undergarments by the power of their own good looks!!! But until then... I scrub. ~Mrs. John Robert Beckham
The usual diary entries were more about the weather, who came to visit, what crops had failed and who was sick. It seems they rarely wrote about how they felt about this. I've often wondered though if they knew how they felt about this or if they just took it as par for the course. Was feeling and acknowledging those feelings something that emerged with the easing of daily life thus giving more time for introspection??
But, back to my original question... I wonder if a women (or man) or a certain era missed the freedom of young adulthood if they didn't get it, and in this case, I'm thinking people only a generation or two removed. Did the woman/man who raised their children in say... the 40's/50's miss the freedom of being out on their own and discovering themselves because they went straight into another nuclear family situation? Did a woman know she maybe hadn't truly *discovered* herself because she went straight from her father's house into her husband's house? While my first inkling is they probably didn't... at least not at first, I have to second guess myself since so many woman of a mature age left those confining roles to indeed, find themselves.
Did they only want to *find themselves* or experience a level of independence once they realized younger generations were doing this as a normal rite of passage or is this yearning, to varying degrees, in the average human?
Which is more challenging, moving from one household with parents/children, etc, into your own household as a parent with children and never knowing that freedom of being on your own, or is it, being on your own for some protracted amount of time and then moving back into the traditional setting of marriage and family. I don't care how much you love the people you're with, there are some days when you want to get off of work, come home and just do whatever the hell you want which might also include quitting that job you're merely keeping for your family's sake.
Do you miss this freedom more if you had it or if you never got it??
(And no, I'm not going through a midlife crisis... not anymore than the average person anyhow... and I also rememeber that I spent huge amounts of my *freedom* searching for the Mr. Wonderful who would rid me of it.)
... how different an August leaf sounds from a June leaf... I think if I were blindfolded and someone played a recording of wind going through a tree in August vs. one in June, I'd be able to tell the difference. They're not as dry and crackly sounding as they will be in yet another month or so, but you can tell they've lived. They're not the young supple things they were in late spring when they sounded more or less like swatches of silk rubbing against each other. Nope, now they sound more like twill. One more month... they'll sound like paper grocery bags.
One of my Sunday morning rituals, if I am in my natural Sunday morning habitat, is to sit down with coffee and the Sunday paper and do some crosswords. Two important elements in this ritual would be the proper pen and the proper paper texture... while I like to do a few crossword puzzles, the first one I start with is usually the Chicago Trib Magazine puzzle... the paper, while not as glossy as a true magazine, is definitely smoother than the regular newspaper thus causing less drag and less ink-absorption.
They've changed the Trib's format... no doubt due to their bankruptcy. While they told us it was due to the readers' requests, we readers know better. They're cutting corners, they're jamming things together, they're using cheaper paper. My opening crossword puzzle is now on regular newsprint, really thin newsprint... it's throwing off the whole sensory experience. It might be better for the environment and the paper's bank account, but not for me.
As if that's not bad enough, this morning, I could not find my pen of choice... the one that's got an extra fine point, but not too fine... the one that doesn't snag the paper, but glides over it. No, all of those pens were MIA. I was forced to use an uber-fine one with what appeared to be barbs on it... barbs that snagged the already toothy, porous paper, thus furthering ink absoprtion.
I finished the puzzle... got all of the answers, but it just wasn't the same. I need my surface/pen experience of yore.