Saying yes...

It feels like you should have known...

I had one of those days a number of months back... one of those days where you know you should probably just stay under the covers. I had a new painting class starting. Most of the usual suspects were going to be missing this session due to travel or health issues. Actually, we were all supposed to be missing this session since the newer powers that be had held hard and fast to the "must meet minimums for a class to run" rule. I had warned and warned some more... class was not going to happen as we were only going to have 5 people. I wasn't that worried, knowing enrollment would pick up for future sessions. I was actually looking forward to a break. I needed some extra freedom in my schedule due to other things in my life that needed my attention... but then my boss did something insane and decided to run the class... with two people, one of whom would not be able to make it due to a bad reaction to anesthesia. I had told my boss I needed the break, but no... she decided I'd be doing a lesson for one. While the person who came to class was wonderful... she really didn't want any painting instruction. It was going to be a long 6 weeks.

Anyhow, that first day, I realized I had no clean painting clothes. No problem, I had time to do a fast, small load... it was just the washer decided to stop, not once, but twice. Same for the dryer. By the time I finally got things washed, the dryer would not stay on. These are relatively new machines. It was bizarre. 4 hours later, I managed to have a damp pair of painting clothes to wear. I went to load up the car when my dogs decided jumping up on the door would be a good idea thus shutting it. Of course the door was locked. Of course the emergency key was not in its spot. Of course my house keys were inside, in my purse, with my phone, and my car fob. Of course it was starting to rain. I ditched my uber-heavy painting bag on the patio and hoofed it to work, luckily having my work key in my coat pocket. I also knew YL would get home before me, so she'd have her keys... I'd get back inside. I just didn't think of what it would look like to her when she got home. There'd be my purse, phone, keys, etc, on the table, and my painting bag on the patio, car in the driveway,  but no me! I came home to find a tearful YL on the phone with her father telling him I'd been kidnapped.

The day had other weirdness, but I'll briefly summarize the ending by saying the father we always joked about being a perv, was actually arrested for being a perv. All attention went to news stories about that.

Flash forward to the present. Grizzled and I had been commenting off and on how we had not heard from a longtime friend for a while. She hadn't returned my email... her landline was disconnected... not that odd as her cellphone was still taking messages, but none were returned. She was a lone wolf type so it wasn't unusual to not hear from her for a few months. Still, something wasn't sitting right. I finally remembered to enter her middle initial into a google search the other day and found out she'd been killed in a car/pedestrian accident... almost 4 months ago, on that totally messed up day. Had it not been for all of the perv news, we would have heard about the accident, would have known it was right by her place, and would have thought to check on her sooner, but we missed it. It feels so wrong to have known someone for 25 years and that they can die and you don't know it. I feel neglectful even though I know I've done nothing wrong... it's just the way it is. In this world of hyper-connectivity, we still have our space. It's a blessing and a curse. Still, I wonder, were my washer and dryer trying to tell me? Were the dogs trying to tell me? Was the universe trying to tell me?? "Hey! This day is fucked because your friend was killed this morning! Pay attention!"

Most of us don't blog anymore, or at least not like we did... and even when we were checking in daily, I always remember thinking, we were connected, but we weren't really a part of a family/friend phone tree. People could die and we'd never know... not unless we hit it lucky with a morbid google search. It seems wrong. For all of our advancements over the centuries, it seems like we should have invented a way to let people know, but no, we're not much better off than we were a hundred or more years ago when people would move to far away locales and who knew if you'd ever hear from them again... Still, it seems like we should know.

RIP Maureen.

Just a thought...

I realize not everyone has stopped blogging completely, but was thinking it would be fun, if somehow, for a week, we could all do it again.

Confession...

My potential breaking point in any task is when I'm about 9/10's of the way through. I realize that with certain tasks, I have found ways to justify the lack of completion. When unloading the dryer, I imagine the load like starter dough... you never use it all... therefore it's fine to keep 3-5 small items from previous load in the dryer when starting a new load. RIGHT??

As I've said before, I'm not really a car person...

If you'd like, you can read about my quirks here... I'm not oblivious to car stuff, but it does not rule my world or determine my worth. My car quirks though?? What makes me like or not like a car? Well, they can be frustrating to someone who is a car person, or who is actually looking at the facts about what might make a car worth having...

This past Saturday, Grizzled pleaded with me to look at a couple of cars with him. I acquiesced. I put on my best "go with the flow" face and went along. One car he wanted to see in person was the Chevy Volt. I was fine with that. I was fine with everything he had read about it and everything that the overly-attentive car salesman discussed. I was fine until we got into the car and I looked at one of the instrument panels. It was white.

It bothered me.

I stayed quiet... knowing this was one of those "quirks". A white instrument panel was not going to have an affect on the workings of the car. I tried to ignore it, but still... it bothered me... it reminded me of something that didn't belong in a car... but a lot of things don't belong in a car and yet don't bring me down. This was bringing me down...

And then it hit me... it looked like the control panel on a washer or dryer! Who in the heck wants to spend 35K on a car and think of all of the laundry you "forgot" to do because you hate doing laundry?? I realize that cars and washer/dryers are about function, but I don't want my car reminding me of laundry. I would, however, do laundry in a machine that looked like a car...

On the way home, I confessed... Grizzled just shook his head and then thanked me for not saying this outloud to the salesman.

After we got home, I checked, it comes in a more subdued and "car-looking" black/taupe/gray/whatever.

Is it still brain-drain if you're aware it's happening?

I got back into town late Saturday afternoon. I was relieved to be back amongst my own family unit and was happy to feel like a grown-up again instead of the youngest. It doesn't matter how old you are, when in certain settings, you fall into line with your birth order. I'm surprised I didn't break out with acne while gone.

Anyhow, I got back and was pretty much a waste product. I was looking forward to doing nothing but the the crossword puzzle on Sunday when I remembered that Grizzled had signed us up for a glass class. Working with glass was always something that called to him, and a number of months back, he convinced me to go to a class with him. It was not something I ever felt the need to do, but hey... he was asking, and I wanted him to do it. I'm so glad we went.

It was just Grizzled, me and a very wonderful, knowlegable instructor. Since we were working with ovens that were cranking out 2400 degree heat and were going to be carrying around rods with molten glass, we had to focus. We had to really focus. There was no time for imaginary scenarios going around in your head... no time for judgment, no time for anything other than making sure you kept that rod spinning in your hand and doing what you needed to do to that molten blob of glass... at some point after my "second gather", while fusing my colored glass in what was called the "glory hole" (our instructor made the jokes, filthbot did not need to), I realized my mind was completely silent. I had experienced brain-drain, and I felt peace. Even though my mind acknowledged this, it couldn't stay on it for too long as I had to move to the next station, had to keep moving and doing, intensly focusing on the task at hand...

We pick up our paperweights sometime at the end of the week... they spend a fair amount of time in the annealing oven and then have to have their bases polished. They were so hot when we last saw them, I'm not even sure how they'll look. I don't even care. The process would have been worth it had we gotten nothing to take home. The brain-drain was definitely worth it.

When we left, the instructor asked if we'd be interested in doing more. He said it was addictive. Oh, I'm sure it is. I could already tell it was one of those things where once you got the feel, you had to go back to see if you could do it again, and then try this and try that. I'm not sure I need to do glass though. I kind of hope Grizzled does, but I know I need to do something that's hard... well, maybe not hard, but truly challenging... not something you know you'll be good at if you just give it a whirl, but something completely new... something that takes all of your focus and is also a little bit scary. I think the part that was most addictive for me was the brain-drain.

A Strange New World

This morning was the first morning I woke up without a living father on the planet. It was the obvious next chapter and yet seems incomprehensible... how could this be??

I know I have not been blogging in a while, and was not even sure if I was going to come back here, somehow this felt done... I was being called in new directions, but I felt the need to close his chapter on this as I have written about it here before... a few times.

I have made my peace with my father's inevitable passing... a number of times. I have said goodbye to him... a number of times, but this is where the real rubber hits the road. This one is real. This is not just knowing what will come, or even hoping for what will come... this is having it head on. Your father is gone. You will never see him again. I know it happens. I know no one gets out alive, and yet I still feel somewhat surprised...

He went into hospice care a little over two weeks ago. I was able to see him on the 22nd, and spent a couple of hours with him. He was aware of part of the visit, thank God... maybe more, but I was able to elicit two more weak laughs out of him, and even a word. He held my hand and I held his... and I held his stare for as long as he wished. I told him I knew his eyes were talking up a storm, but I was not quite sure what they were saying... maybe just saying he was still there... for a bit. For a little bit, my father was still there...

And now he's not.

Fathers are interesting creatures... larger than life... and yet so very, very human.  I bless the good, the bad, and the ugly that comes with being human.

 

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. :)

Sinus medicine stream of consciousness....

I've been waylaid over the past 36 hours by sinus pain of the gods. I haven't had it like this in a while, but blame record level pollen and a weather roller coaster that soars into the 90's only to plunge into the low 40's... high pressure, low pressure, high pressure, low pressure. My head gave up and so did I. I took lot of sinus medicine, something I don't really like to do, and crawled to my bed... trying to read, trying to sleep, trying to watch some TV. I've had some interesting conversations with myself. A few one-sided ones with the dogs, who were more than happy to share bed space in the middle of the day! I don't know if they get sinus headaches. If they do, they're better at managing the really bad ones than I am. I can't wag my tail and a smile hurts. I also wonder if a dog can be in a bad mood. Sure, they can be angry, they can be scared, but they don't hold grudges, they don't spew crap, they just are what they are... usually fuzzy bundles of goodness... happy for whatever is in front of them whether it's a ball, a favorite human, a fallen piece of food, a scent on the grass, or a whole scenery of scent blowing in the window. I had the window cracked for a bit, thinking fresh air might help my head, and I loved watching the dogs catch a whiff of what was going on out there. You could see them actually catagorizing it all. It was like they were watching a movie with their noses... I wanted to see a printout of every little molecule they were deciphering and what it meant to them. OK, I was actually jealous of their ability to inhale large quantities of air without pain...

After 40-some years of living with dogs, I am still amazed at their ability to just be. This is who I am (I know... what I am... but to me, they're a who) take me or leave me. I will not change my hair, I will not change my size, I will not bark like a different breed, I will not even think about how I stack up against a different breed. I will just be, and I will revel in it. You can enter me into competitions that tell me if I'm superior or not, but that's for you. It doesn't mean a thing to me. I will just be happy here... going along for the ride that is life. Scratch my rump and I'll be even happier.

People have said it in many different ways, but I'll say it again... it'd be a happier world if we took a few more lessons from dogs. I should take a lesson and be happy where I am... and I kind of am... I'm getting to spend bonus time in my island of a bed, but I mean where I live... not the people I live with. I love and like them, but the damn place where I live. The place that seems to have a pole stuck up it's ass and demands that you do the same if you want to fit in.

I wonder how many people are naturally happy with a pole stuck up their ass. Really. I mean it. How many people chose that? I know I have met some people who were definitely born with an inserted pole and they seem happy that way. More power to them... but the rest of us?? At some point we buy into the fact that we're supposed to have one, and if we don't actually have one, by gawd, you'd better act like it. Don't act as if you can move freely about your world, reveling in your choices... no... follow some strict "pole up your ass" code. It will make everyone happier... or does it?

I feel like I am surrounded by a sea of discontent... people think they're kind of happy, but they're not. They're just trying to do what they think is expected of them and then find out that usually bites them in the ass as well. Do what your parents say, do what your school says, do what your peers expect, do what the village code demands, do what your boss demands... remember, if it's wet and it's not yours... don't touch it... I'm tired of it. What's going to happen if we didn't volunteer to stick that pole up our asses?? I'm guessing not much, but I think everyone would be happier. Everyone would be happier if they weren't spending so much time wondering if they've got the right car in the driveway or if they're asked to the right parties, or worrying that they've got the damn clover out of their yard... and they probably wouldn't worry about spending a sick day or two in bed... hanging out with the dogs... the dogs who have no poles up their asses and are so at ease with themselves that they'll crap on your lawn, even if someone is watching.

No... I don't want to crap on the lawn... but maybe I'd like to metaphorically crap on the lawn a little bit more than I do. Things seemed screwed up these days, on any number of levels... I think we'd be a little better of if we removed the poles from our asses and let the country go to the dogs.

I'm going back to sleep.

 

Want... Update

Update: ECHIDNE of the snakes has been kind enough to link to this post. I saw that people were wondering about the source of the shoes... I wish I knew. I have to admit, I "borrowed" the photo from FB, and saw no obvious links.

I still want them... the shoes, not so much the links...

 

New Bird

When I told one of my brothers about my Buntingpalooza, he said to keep an eye out for Rose-breasted Grosbeaks... that if Buntings are in the area, these will probably show up as well. Pffft. Yeah, right... I thought of my small (though critter-friendly, even Mr. Coyote has sauntered through) yard compared with his much larger and VERY critter-friendly backyard. I did not expect to see one... Then this morning, while responding to email, I looked up, and who was perched on top of the feeder hook?? Looking all "Hey! See me! See me!!" That's right! Mr. Rosy-breasted Grosbeak!

What's  next??