Saying yes...

Transmutation...

I am going to leave my mark on this world by finding a way to turn mucous into money!

Oh wait... the Kleenex people already have.

Pinko?? Delicious or Disgusting??

Perhaps they'd be better if they were encased in a hard candy shell... or, served between two slabs o' shicken (it's how the boy, whom I babysat for long ago, said it. "I want shicken and sheese!") Maybe if it was Gummi Pork Rectum. Rectum??? Damn near killed 'em! I digress... All I know is, my lamblets owe Uncle Pinko (a stranger who buys them candy) a DoD... in the meantime... discuss!

No discussing "bone-in rectums" allowed

Bat-in-Training...

In a handful of days, I turn 50. It's a fact. Yes, yes, I know, it's better than the alternative, but I have to say, it's fucking with me... not all of the time, but during those moments when my guard is down.

50...

It does not compute. 50 is my parents' age. 50 belongs to my aunts and uncles, or older siblings. I'm the baby of the family, how can I be 50???

Not to mention the fact that I'm still fighting inner wars and dramas from 15, 24, 32, 45... and probably more. Parts of me are caught up. Parts of me relish all I know now... the calm I have about certain areas of my life, but there are still parts of me that are panicking, thinking, WAIT!!! I'M NOT DONE YET!!! To be honest, in some ways, I haven't even started! But, if you're a female in the world, your shelflife is short... unless you move to the crone section. I'm allergic to dust. I don't want to move there.

Don't get me wrong... I don't need to be 25. I'm glad I'm not 25. I'm glad my children are growing and thriving and don't need me as much, OR... need me in newer, more wonderful ways, but still... 50.

I'm glad my creativity is loving that I'm 50. Although I'm no longer on the hip train of things, I see things and get things like never before, but still... 50.

My eyes are not what they were, my hair is not what it was, oh hell... nothing physical is what it was... and yet I feel like I finally understand things or have perspective on things I never have, but the joke is, it's too late. I've heard it a million times... "Oh! If only I knew what I knew now, but when I was younger!"

Heh.

Don't get me wrong. It doesn't bother me every day. It has not crippled me, but... there is a large part of me that is wondering how it happened... it's so easy to get lost in the minutiae of a day... and then another... and another, and before you know it, you're looking at those days from the other end and it freaks you out... if only for a moment.

I also know that I'll look back on this in 10, or 20 years, and will laugh. HA! You were ONLY 50!

Grizzled and I celebrated our 20th anniversary last week. While cleaning out a closet, I found a video his father had made of part of our rehearsal, our rehearsal dinner and a snippet of the reception. Somehow, we both had missed this. Somehow, it came into our possession and we had no clue! We watched it the other day, for the first time... watching people who are no longer here, people who were so much vibrant and younger. We looked at ourselves. When I looked at my 20 yr-younger self, all I could think of was, "WHAT WAS YOUR PROBLEM!??! YOU WERE FINE! WHY DID YOU LISTEN TO EVERY ASSHOLE WHO HAD A COMPLAINT?" I'm trying to tell myself that now... so I don't look back in 20 years and think, come on... life was good! You're with people you like and love! Doing more or less things you like and love! So what if your boobs are past their perky date! So what if your ass is huge! So what if you have not achieved all you want to achieve! Thank gawd you haven't! You have years to live! Years to thrive! Shut the fuck up and embrace this!

I know this. Deep down I know this...

But man... there are days when I'd like to take this back to 25... or 35... and try it knowing what I do now. I knew it then. I believe I did. I just listened to too many others, like most of us do.

Maybe I'll get myself some celebratory earplugs. :)

Canadian Shame

Why should the USA be alone in hanging its head in shame? Hmmm? Our neighbors to the north have their own reasons... wrapped in scary, pelvic-thrusting, saggy pleather. Enjoying that smoothie NOW, Laura?? Hmmm???

This blog is over its limit for pleather postings... if it disappears, oh well...

 

Places an acrophobic mother...

... should not see a lamblet... even in a photograph...

I grabbed one of the lamblets' cameras this morning to take some quick bunny shots. When searching the memory card, I found the above... Of course I did not see this scene when the photo was being taken, because I believe I was clinging to flatter rock formations NOWHERE NEAR THE EDGE POINT OF NO RETURN!

Things that make my head explode...

...hearing that Catholic Bishops are going to DC to have a discussion with male senators/representatives about women's health. What's wrong with that sentence (aside from grammatical issues)??

IT'S 2012!!!  (Or, 2112 for some of us!)

Thank goodness that men who are never supposed to have sex, will be talking with men who will never be pregnant. My female parts feel safer now...

BUT! It's Friday, and I have a lovely weekend stretching out in front of me, so no more head-exploding talk. Instead, let's end with an oldie, but a goodie. Have a good weekend my leetle dream kittens!

 

Stuck. In. My. Head.

And not only is it stuck, but sometimes the beginning morphs into Belinda Carlisle's, "Circle in the Sand"... and then it goes to a Sam Phillips' song...

Bittersweet

My father is 84 today. Yes, he's still with us... although I think I've been holding my breath for a few years now, always expecting that call... sometimes hoping for that call as opposed to thinking of what might be coming.

He doesn't live at home anymore. He went into assisted living this past summer... something I fully understand, but still hate and don't understand. I keep resisting the urge to bust him out... while also fighting the urge to lose my lunch.

How can this be?? How could so much have happened so fast over the past few years?? How does a man go from exercising every day and having a stellar mind, to not being able to walk, and not being sure what day it is?? How does a man go from building a home and living in it, to no longer being able to live there, even though it's still his?? He has a home! He just can't live there... at least not without a team of people. It's very easy to move a baby, it's not so easy to move a 6'1" man.

He's still there though... or part of him is still there. Sweetness, as I have mentioned before, has taken a stronger hold in him than he has probably allowed since childhood. That is one of the few blessings, no, probably the only blessing of the stripping away of who he is. 

He still has a fondness for ribald jokes. Go figure. You can ask him what time of year it is the day after he attends a 4th of July celebration, and he'll say October, but apologize to him for possibly giving him a wedgie when trying to move him from his wheelchair to his recliner, and he'll laugh right on cue and say it's probably the most he's felt down there in a long time...

He still retains (or I think he does) a fondness for flatulence humor, so today, when out shopping, and happening upon the scratch 'n sniff farting unicorn card, I snatched it up. I guess I'll find out Sunday, when we go to visit, whether this part of him still exists, or if it has joined the long line of characteristics he has left behind.

Below is my father, in younger years... Ha! I say younger, but he would have been roughly my age now when this was taken... 1976. He loved to cook out and built an awesome barbeque pit, which allowed him and one of his best friends to throw annual hog roasts. 1976 was one of the years they didn't... instead it was the Bicentennial Beef Bash... beef was chosen so a variety of other friends who did not partake of pork could attend.

You gotta love those shirts... again, it was the 70's... His glasses, however, were pure him. He's worn round spectacles since and before I've known him. I counted once, he had around 120 pairs... all different, but all round. Some crazier than others. He referred to them as his Magoo glasses.

And then there's that smile... a smile he often tried to restrain because it was crooked. Egads. What was he thinking. Smile Dad... smile!

The lyrics of this song don't really pertain, but it's been playing in my head since I put this up.

Did I say, "Wheeeeeeeee"???

I think it just changed to, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

My painting class starts back up today... Good times are sure to be had.  I was also supposed to be starting a true beginners class tonight so people who need (and want) a lot more assistance and direction could get the time and attention they deserve. I always feel bad (for any number of reasons) for the true beginners who end up in the regular class. Most end up not coming back. My boss and I felt offering an evening class for true beginners might bring in a different crowd. As of last week, enrollment was ZERO!! I wasn't surprised. Sometimes a class needs to be in the books for a session or three before enough people happen upon it, or before schedules mesh.

As of this morning, I had still not heard whether it was officially canceled, or if through some painting magic, we had the needed minimum of 8. They were supposed to call and let me know. I finally called them, pretty sure the answer must be no... or they would have called!! Right??

WRONG!

I have class tonight. They did not get the minimum, but because they love me, they're going to let it run with 3, and hopefully we can build from there. I have nothing planned... and am I planning? No, it appears I'm writing a blog post.

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