A few days before Christmas, in December of 2006, my little rescued mouse, Martha, gave birth to five babies. We didn't even know she was pregnant. On Christmas day, our cat, Dizzy, knocked her cage over. Fluff went everywhere, along with five tiny little squiggly pink babies. Martha hovered over the babies to protect them from the cat until we could get there to help her. We scooped her up (and her babies), gathered up her nest, put her cage back together, and put them back in their home. What a crazy surprise that was!
A few weeks before Christmas, 2006, John and I were awakened in the middle of the night. The cats were causing a commotion, so we got up to investigate. Our four cats (at the time) had a tiny little field mouse cornered and were very slowly, and very systematically, killing this poor little critter. So, we caught her, stuck her in a cage, gave her some food and water, and hoped for the best.
The next morning I looked in on this poor little mouse. She was exhausted from fighting for her life, but she was otherwise unscathed. I put my hand in the cage and offered her a cashew, and she very confidently came over to my hand and took the treat. In in the past when we've rescued mice from the cats, we've let the mouse recover from their ordeal for a few days, but we've always set them free. They were wild mice and preferred their freedom. This little mouse, though, she was different. Some people describe animals like her as being "old souls", she was definitely a very special little mouse.
She trusted me. She recognized my voice after only a few hours and would come to me. She let me pet her, and care for her. She knew I wasn't going to hurt her. She had decided that this whole living in a cage with food and water gig was a pretty sweet deal. She immediately settled in and made a nice little nest out of the toilet paper I had given her. This was her new home, and she was content. She loved her little wheel, she loved her little wooden box I had given her. She was instantly my new pet, she had made the decision for me that I would keep her.
And then she had babies. I estimated they were born on December 21, 2006. Since mice grow so quickly, it was easy to determine their age from pictures I found on the internet. We named momma mouse, Martha, and her five babies were Bear, the only boy, and Angel, Tiny, Bella and Sweetie, the girls. Bear went to live in his own cage when he was about 6 weeks old, but Martha and her girls all lived together in the same cage until Martha died in the fall of 2008.
I still have two of Martha's babies, two girls. Sweetie and Bella. They're very old, they just turned four last week. They've slowed down a lot, they no longer run on their wheel. I usually find them asleep, cuddled together in a pile of fluff. Twice a day I'll wake them up and hand them cashews, their most favorite treats. They very slowly take their treats and nibble them, then they curl up together and go back to sleep. This morning, Bella was sound asleep on her back, feet in the air, and Sweetie was sound asleep with her head on Bella's tummy.
When they were juveniles, they were a deep gray color. When they reached adulthood, their fur turned a gray/brown brindle color with a black undercoat. In the last few months, their fur has changed color again. They're now an amazing golden color. They've literally reached their golden years. They're beautiful.
It's been so amazing to know these little beings throughout their lives. They, and Martha, have taught me so much. They have likes and dislikes. They have good moods and bad moods. They are completely, without a doubt, sentient beings. When I wake them up to give them a treat, they look me in the eye. They see me, they know me. They know my voice, my smell, they know what I look like. They make me laugh, and, ultimately, they make me cry.
Happy Christmas my little mice, you've been a great gift.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
I'll find my way back to you, if you'll be waiting
I stopped on my way in this morning to watch the sunrise.
At the corner of 13th street and Clifton Street in Washington, DC, it's possible to see for miles. The City is pretty much in a basin, with the exception of a few hills (Capitol Hill being one of them). From this corner on 13th, facing South, the Capitol Building and the Washington Monument are visible. I've always wanted to stop here on my commute in to work and watch the sunrise, in the mornings the view can be spectacular.
So, this morning I pulled over. It's the last day of work before Christmas and my car pooler stayed home, so I seized the opportunity. I stopped, turned off the engine, and I sat. Tracy Chapman's song, "The Promise", was playing on my iPod. There was a woman dressed in a warm coat and yoga pants, jogging up and down and up and down the steep hill, very focused on her workout. A man, wrapped in a scarf and a wool coat, was rushing down hill on the other side of the street. I was the only one looking to the East, waiting for the sun.
It wasn't a particularly spectacular sunrise, there were no glowing streaks of light, no splashes of oranges and pinks, no bright glowing yellow disk burning my retinas. This morning, the sunrise was subtle. There was some cloud coverage that hid the horizon, although the Capitol and the Washington Monument were perfectly visible. I sat, and I waited, and the world brightened. Very quietly, very peacefully, brightened. The streetlights in the distance became less twinkling, then less visible, then disappeared altogether. The sky, what was visible of it, very slowly changed from charcoal grey, to a pale light blue. I had just witnessed another day beginning.
It was at that moment that I realized I was wrong. This sunrise was spectacular. Despite the colorlessness of it, the beauty was in it's subtly. Another day has been given to me. Another chance to learn, to love, to appreciate the wonders that surround me. This City is my home. This Country is my home. This Earth, this glorious Earth, is my home. I am alive. I am thankful for today.
Tracy Chapman - The Promise
If you wait for me
Then I'll come for you
Although I've traveled far
I always hold a place for you in my heart
If you think of me
If you miss me once in awhile
Then I'll return to you
I'll return and fill that space in your heart
Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
If you'll be waiting
If you dream of me
Like I dream of you
In a place that's warm and dark
In a place where I can feel the beating of your heart
Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
If you'll be waiting
I've longed for you
And I have desired
To see your face your smile
To be with you wherever you are
Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
Please say you'll be waiting
Together again
It would feel so good to be
In your arms
Where all my journeys end
If you can make a promise
If it's one that you can keep
I vow to come for you
If you wait for me
And say you'll hold
A place for me
In your heart.
At the corner of 13th street and Clifton Street in Washington, DC, it's possible to see for miles. The City is pretty much in a basin, with the exception of a few hills (Capitol Hill being one of them). From this corner on 13th, facing South, the Capitol Building and the Washington Monument are visible. I've always wanted to stop here on my commute in to work and watch the sunrise, in the mornings the view can be spectacular.
So, this morning I pulled over. It's the last day of work before Christmas and my car pooler stayed home, so I seized the opportunity. I stopped, turned off the engine, and I sat. Tracy Chapman's song, "The Promise", was playing on my iPod. There was a woman dressed in a warm coat and yoga pants, jogging up and down and up and down the steep hill, very focused on her workout. A man, wrapped in a scarf and a wool coat, was rushing down hill on the other side of the street. I was the only one looking to the East, waiting for the sun.
It wasn't a particularly spectacular sunrise, there were no glowing streaks of light, no splashes of oranges and pinks, no bright glowing yellow disk burning my retinas. This morning, the sunrise was subtle. There was some cloud coverage that hid the horizon, although the Capitol and the Washington Monument were perfectly visible. I sat, and I waited, and the world brightened. Very quietly, very peacefully, brightened. The streetlights in the distance became less twinkling, then less visible, then disappeared altogether. The sky, what was visible of it, very slowly changed from charcoal grey, to a pale light blue. I had just witnessed another day beginning.
It was at that moment that I realized I was wrong. This sunrise was spectacular. Despite the colorlessness of it, the beauty was in it's subtly. Another day has been given to me. Another chance to learn, to love, to appreciate the wonders that surround me. This City is my home. This Country is my home. This Earth, this glorious Earth, is my home. I am alive. I am thankful for today.
Tracy Chapman - The Promise
If you wait for me
Then I'll come for you
Although I've traveled far
I always hold a place for you in my heart
If you think of me
If you miss me once in awhile
Then I'll return to you
I'll return and fill that space in your heart
Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
If you'll be waiting
If you dream of me
Like I dream of you
In a place that's warm and dark
In a place where I can feel the beating of your heart
Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
If you'll be waiting
I've longed for you
And I have desired
To see your face your smile
To be with you wherever you are
Remembering
Your touch
Your kiss
Your warm embrace
I'll find my way back to you
Please say you'll be waiting
Together again
It would feel so good to be
In your arms
Where all my journeys end
If you can make a promise
If it's one that you can keep
I vow to come for you
If you wait for me
And say you'll hold
A place for me
In your heart.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Coming in this morning, I saw a shooting star. It's always so amazing to me when I happen to be looking in the right direction at the exact moment that a meteorite shoots through the sky. The odds are against us that we see them. How many others are there, every night, that no one sees? Am I the only one who, for this brief moment, gave it's existence validation?
Years ago, I worked for a horrible place. We've all been there, I'm sure. It was the late-eighties, and I had thought that sexism was a topic of discussion for the history books. Wow, did I learn some life lessons at that place! It was a men's clothing manufacturer. It was run by men, for men. They did have a women's clothing line, too, but that was secondary. As were their women employees.
I'm not going to go into the details of why I left. While it was an influential lesson in my life, it's just not important anymore. It was incredibly traumatic while it was happening, but another event that occurred the day that I walked out, or rather stormed out (flipping everyone the bird as I did!), altered my life more. It's the day I learned who I am.
So, I quit that job. I said many choice words, I gathered my possessions, and I stormed out. I got in my car, a 1988 Chevy, and peeled wheels in the parking lot. I could not wait to get the hell away from that God awful place! I sped (have I mentioned how I like to speed??) down a little side road, turned onto a smaller side road, which eventually led me to my most favorite, and the most incredibly narrow, back road. I was pissed off and I was flying! Rounding blind corners, tires screeching, tears streaming down my face. I was pissed and I was determined to take it out on someone!! And then.....
For some reason, I stopped. I just stopped. A little voice, a little feeling I had....something just said to me, "stop". So I did. I took a few deep breaths, I rolled the windows down, and I realized it was a fantastic day. The sky was blue with fluffy white clouds, the trees were lush and green, and I did not have to go back to that horrible place anymore. The crushing weight I had been feeling was gone. I felt alive, and I was at peace.
I started driving again, very slowly. I was creeping along. I was smelling the air, I was drinking in the beauty of this crazy, winding, wooded back road. Suddenly, that horrible workplace seemed so completely insignificant. I slowly rounded a blind curve, and when the road straightened out on the other side, there was a deer standing in the middle of the road.
It was a larger female and she was beautiful. She was just standing there in the middle of the road, looking in my direction. It was as if she were waiting for me. I came to a complete stop and I turned off my engine. I sat there watching her, and she stood there, watching me. She very slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder behind her, wiggled her ears, and a tiny little spotted fawn came out of the woods and stood next to her. This beautiful creature trusted me, she was showing me her baby. They both stood there, in complete silence, watching me. I sat, in complete silence, watching them. I was awestruck. Her soulful brown eyes were meeting my gaze, she was seeing my soul and I was seeing hers. It was spiritual. Her beautiful little spotted baby stood close to her. He touched her with his nose, looking for reassurance, and she touched him back. He was safe.
She tilted her head and wiggled her ears, and the two walked away, together, into the woods. This was their home, they had allowed me to witness them, living. Being. For this brief moment, they gave witness to my life, and I to theirs. It was magical. It was humbling.
These moments, these quiet, subtle moments, are all around us. All the time.
Years ago, I worked for a horrible place. We've all been there, I'm sure. It was the late-eighties, and I had thought that sexism was a topic of discussion for the history books. Wow, did I learn some life lessons at that place! It was a men's clothing manufacturer. It was run by men, for men. They did have a women's clothing line, too, but that was secondary. As were their women employees.
I'm not going to go into the details of why I left. While it was an influential lesson in my life, it's just not important anymore. It was incredibly traumatic while it was happening, but another event that occurred the day that I walked out, or rather stormed out (flipping everyone the bird as I did!), altered my life more. It's the day I learned who I am.
So, I quit that job. I said many choice words, I gathered my possessions, and I stormed out. I got in my car, a 1988 Chevy, and peeled wheels in the parking lot. I could not wait to get the hell away from that God awful place! I sped (have I mentioned how I like to speed??) down a little side road, turned onto a smaller side road, which eventually led me to my most favorite, and the most incredibly narrow, back road. I was pissed off and I was flying! Rounding blind corners, tires screeching, tears streaming down my face. I was pissed and I was determined to take it out on someone!! And then.....
For some reason, I stopped. I just stopped. A little voice, a little feeling I had....something just said to me, "stop". So I did. I took a few deep breaths, I rolled the windows down, and I realized it was a fantastic day. The sky was blue with fluffy white clouds, the trees were lush and green, and I did not have to go back to that horrible place anymore. The crushing weight I had been feeling was gone. I felt alive, and I was at peace.
I started driving again, very slowly. I was creeping along. I was smelling the air, I was drinking in the beauty of this crazy, winding, wooded back road. Suddenly, that horrible workplace seemed so completely insignificant. I slowly rounded a blind curve, and when the road straightened out on the other side, there was a deer standing in the middle of the road.
It was a larger female and she was beautiful. She was just standing there in the middle of the road, looking in my direction. It was as if she were waiting for me. I came to a complete stop and I turned off my engine. I sat there watching her, and she stood there, watching me. She very slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder behind her, wiggled her ears, and a tiny little spotted fawn came out of the woods and stood next to her. This beautiful creature trusted me, she was showing me her baby. They both stood there, in complete silence, watching me. I sat, in complete silence, watching them. I was awestruck. Her soulful brown eyes were meeting my gaze, she was seeing my soul and I was seeing hers. It was spiritual. Her beautiful little spotted baby stood close to her. He touched her with his nose, looking for reassurance, and she touched him back. He was safe.
She tilted her head and wiggled her ears, and the two walked away, together, into the woods. This was their home, they had allowed me to witness them, living. Being. For this brief moment, they gave witness to my life, and I to theirs. It was magical. It was humbling.
These moments, these quiet, subtle moments, are all around us. All the time.
Monday, December 13, 2010
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice
I haven't blogged in a while. Again. Actually I suppose I shouldn't be too hard on myself, I've only been doing the blog thing for three weeks. I am, though, disappointed with myself that I'm not blogging every day. I'm a little bit obsessive/compulsive and a little bit perfectionist, which is not a great blogging personality. If it's not good by my standards, I don't want to post it. I really need to go back to the promise I made to myself years ago.... write it down. Just record it. It may not be poetic, it may not be Pulitzer prize material, but it's me. That should be worth something.
So, I'm wandering aimlessly again. My life will gain focus in fits and starts, and off I go....and then I'll lose it as quickly as it was gained. It's not for lack of motivation, or lack of interest, but more because life is just so darn overwhelming. A few years ago a very dear friend said of me, "You feel everything". She's right. Someone else's pain is my pain. My pain is my pain. Hell, I cried when I saw a tree on fire, I could feel the sadness. I just feel. Sometimes it's just too much.
It begs the question for me, would I be better off not feeling? Would I turn off feeling if I were able? I've known people over the years who seemed callus, or harsh, or unfeeling, and they appeared happy as clams. Narcissistic clams. Now, 20 years later, they're still the same harsh, selfish people I used to know. While I find myself a very different person now, for better or worse, those happy clams are still, for the most part, happy clams. Adding a very important caveat, these same people have also appeared to me to be in need of some heavy duty therapy. But who am I to judge? If it's working for them, well then Mazel Tov.
I envy them at times. Or, specifically, I envy the ability to turn it all off. They exist in a completely different world than I, and that world seems so simple. My ex-roommate said once, "I just gotta be me!", right before he stumbled down the street to a local bar, ran up a tab using our address, and then moved out the next week. I, being who I've always been, paid the tab. I guess we were both fulfilling our destinies, he, the happy clam, and me, the fixer of problems.
Thankfully, I still have a lot of growing to do, which I guess is the beauty (or curse) of feeling. I'm at a junction in my life, I have before me an infinite number of paths. It's not as simple as choosing "the road less taken", which is great in poetry (and one of my favorites!), it's a matter of keeping it going. It's about making a choice right now....and then right now....and then right now.... Each choice leads to a set of infinite choices, which leads to another set of infinite choices.... And this is life. Or, this is life as I see it. It's not one day at a time, it's one moment at a time. I chose to start writing a blog, then I chose to keep typing.... I may, I MAY make the choice to post it.
So, what was I saying? Oh yea, feeling. I feel too much. I've also been told that I think too much. Go figure.
So, I'm wandering aimlessly again. My life will gain focus in fits and starts, and off I go....and then I'll lose it as quickly as it was gained. It's not for lack of motivation, or lack of interest, but more because life is just so darn overwhelming. A few years ago a very dear friend said of me, "You feel everything". She's right. Someone else's pain is my pain. My pain is my pain. Hell, I cried when I saw a tree on fire, I could feel the sadness. I just feel. Sometimes it's just too much.
It begs the question for me, would I be better off not feeling? Would I turn off feeling if I were able? I've known people over the years who seemed callus, or harsh, or unfeeling, and they appeared happy as clams. Narcissistic clams. Now, 20 years later, they're still the same harsh, selfish people I used to know. While I find myself a very different person now, for better or worse, those happy clams are still, for the most part, happy clams. Adding a very important caveat, these same people have also appeared to me to be in need of some heavy duty therapy. But who am I to judge? If it's working for them, well then Mazel Tov.
I envy them at times. Or, specifically, I envy the ability to turn it all off. They exist in a completely different world than I, and that world seems so simple. My ex-roommate said once, "I just gotta be me!", right before he stumbled down the street to a local bar, ran up a tab using our address, and then moved out the next week. I, being who I've always been, paid the tab. I guess we were both fulfilling our destinies, he, the happy clam, and me, the fixer of problems.
Thankfully, I still have a lot of growing to do, which I guess is the beauty (or curse) of feeling. I'm at a junction in my life, I have before me an infinite number of paths. It's not as simple as choosing "the road less taken", which is great in poetry (and one of my favorites!), it's a matter of keeping it going. It's about making a choice right now....and then right now....and then right now.... Each choice leads to a set of infinite choices, which leads to another set of infinite choices.... And this is life. Or, this is life as I see it. It's not one day at a time, it's one moment at a time. I chose to start writing a blog, then I chose to keep typing.... I may, I MAY make the choice to post it.
So, what was I saying? Oh yea, feeling. I feel too much. I've also been told that I think too much. Go figure.
Friday, December 10, 2010
You can't always get what you want
Sometimes you just have to let things go. As much as it hurts, and as much as you want to fight to keep it from happening, some things can't be changed. Some people can't be changed.
I've been upset for a week now, trying to help a friend. I realized this morning, and it hit me like a ton of bricks, he doesn't want to be helped. It's that simple.
It's so hard not to help. That's what I do. I help friends, I help animals, I help friends' animals. It's who I am. So to let this one go....it's hard. I have to remind myself, it's not about me. It's about him, and this is what he wants.
So, I'll let this one go.
A poem I wrote in November of 1988. It's so appropriate for today.
The world is constantly changing
Spaces shifting
Grooves filling up
New grooves grow
Where do I go?
Places are forever moving
Lovers losing
People disappear
New people show
Where do I go?
Lovers leap
Off cliffs so deep
And nothing keeps
Them from the pains that grow.
A knife through the heart
What a start
To a man torn apart
From a world so well known.
Disappointment reigns
Pumps through veins
And drowns them from
The world they know.
Where do I go?
I've been upset for a week now, trying to help a friend. I realized this morning, and it hit me like a ton of bricks, he doesn't want to be helped. It's that simple.
It's so hard not to help. That's what I do. I help friends, I help animals, I help friends' animals. It's who I am. So to let this one go....it's hard. I have to remind myself, it's not about me. It's about him, and this is what he wants.
So, I'll let this one go.
A poem I wrote in November of 1988. It's so appropriate for today.
The world is constantly changing
Spaces shifting
Grooves filling up
New grooves grow
Where do I go?
Places are forever moving
Lovers losing
People disappear
New people show
Where do I go?
Lovers leap
Off cliffs so deep
And nothing keeps
Them from the pains that grow.
A knife through the heart
What a start
To a man torn apart
From a world so well known.
Disappointment reigns
Pumps through veins
And drowns them from
The world they know.
Where do I go?
Sunday, December 5, 2010
I just believe in me.
I feel like I haven't blogged in weeks now, realistically it's only been a few days. Oh, how easy it is to fall out of habit! I've been suffering from writer's block, I quite possibly may have run out of things to say. (Gasp!) I'll just keep typing and I'll see where this one leads. I may have something to say after all.
It's three weeks before Christmas. I'm just not feeling it this year. I'm not really a Christian anyway, so Christmas for me isn't about the Virgin Mary giving birth to the world's Lord and Savior. I don't intend to sound mocking, there are people in the world who take Christianity very seriously and I respect them for their beliefs. I also respect those who take Judaism seriously, or Muslim, or Hindu, or Pagan, or to whatever belief system they subscribe. Whatever floats your boat. Or, in the immortal words of John Lennon, "Whatever gets you though the night".
This Wednesday, December 8, is the 30th anniversary of John Lennon's assassination. I was riding the school bus when I heard he had died, I was in the 9th grade. I cried, along with a few others on the bus that day. It was, and has remained, one of my saddest days. I grew up listening to The Beatles, John was always my favorite. Paul was always the cutie, but Lennon, he was the genius as far as I was concerned. His words resonated with an entire world of people. He bridged gaps. He communicated. He caused havoc, had protests and "bed ins". Some people loved him, and some people were terrified. I loved him. His words were amazing. They still bring me peace.
So, I'm going to end my blog today with the lyrics to John Lennon's song, "God". Since most people have heard his more mainstream songs, this is the one I'm chosing to include. It's not usually played on the radio, for obvious reasons, but it's a great song none-the-less. I encourage you to listen to it some day.
God is a concept,
By which we can measure,
Our pain,
I'll say it again,
God is a concept,
By which we can measure,
Our pain,
I don't believe in magic,
I don't believe in I-ching,
I don't believe in Bible,
I don't believe in Tarot,
I don't believe in Hitler,
I don't believe in Jesus,
I don't believe in Kennedy,
I don't believe in Buddha,
I don't believe in Mantra,
I don't believe in Gita,
I don't believe in Yoga,
I don't believe in Kings,
I don't believe in Elvis,
I don't believe in Zimmerman,
I don't believe in Beatles,
I just believe in me,
Yoko and me,
And that's reality.
The dream is over,
What can I say?
The dream is over,
Yesterday,
I was the dreamweaver,
But now I'm reborn,
I was the walrus,
But now I'm John,
And so dear friends,
You just have to carry on,
The dream is over.
It's three weeks before Christmas. I'm just not feeling it this year. I'm not really a Christian anyway, so Christmas for me isn't about the Virgin Mary giving birth to the world's Lord and Savior. I don't intend to sound mocking, there are people in the world who take Christianity very seriously and I respect them for their beliefs. I also respect those who take Judaism seriously, or Muslim, or Hindu, or Pagan, or to whatever belief system they subscribe. Whatever floats your boat. Or, in the immortal words of John Lennon, "Whatever gets you though the night".
This Wednesday, December 8, is the 30th anniversary of John Lennon's assassination. I was riding the school bus when I heard he had died, I was in the 9th grade. I cried, along with a few others on the bus that day. It was, and has remained, one of my saddest days. I grew up listening to The Beatles, John was always my favorite. Paul was always the cutie, but Lennon, he was the genius as far as I was concerned. His words resonated with an entire world of people. He bridged gaps. He communicated. He caused havoc, had protests and "bed ins". Some people loved him, and some people were terrified. I loved him. His words were amazing. They still bring me peace.
So, I'm going to end my blog today with the lyrics to John Lennon's song, "God". Since most people have heard his more mainstream songs, this is the one I'm chosing to include. It's not usually played on the radio, for obvious reasons, but it's a great song none-the-less. I encourage you to listen to it some day.
God is a concept,
By which we can measure,
Our pain,
I'll say it again,
God is a concept,
By which we can measure,
Our pain,
I don't believe in magic,
I don't believe in I-ching,
I don't believe in Bible,
I don't believe in Tarot,
I don't believe in Hitler,
I don't believe in Jesus,
I don't believe in Kennedy,
I don't believe in Buddha,
I don't believe in Mantra,
I don't believe in Gita,
I don't believe in Yoga,
I don't believe in Kings,
I don't believe in Elvis,
I don't believe in Zimmerman,
I don't believe in Beatles,
I just believe in me,
Yoko and me,
And that's reality.
The dream is over,
What can I say?
The dream is over,
Yesterday,
I was the dreamweaver,
But now I'm reborn,
I was the walrus,
But now I'm John,
And so dear friends,
You just have to carry on,
The dream is over.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow
Yup. I like snow. Actually, that's an understatement. I LOVE snow! Nice, big, fluffy, wet snow! The kind that falls so fast you can't see two feet in front of you. The kind that makes your feet soaking wet despite your best attempts at keeping them dry. Bone chilling, traffic stopping, run to the store for bread, milk and toilet paper SNOW! There, I said it. So, shoot me, I love this cold, wet gift from Nature!
Last year we had the most amazing snow storm ever. Three feet!! The first storm dumped about two feet, it took us days to dig ourselves out. Then the second storm hit and reburied our excavated driveway. We were stuck, and it was awesome! We slept in, cuddled on the couch, popped popcorn and watched movies. Can life be any better than a snow storm? I just keep putting my foot in my mouth, don't I? I know I'm about the only one who loves it, but I do.
It's probably not as much the actual snow that I love, but more the way the snow stops life. Our world screeches to a halt. No one can go anywhere, there's no traffic on the roads, the stores are empty. It's almost post-apocalyptic. Instead of rushing around, creating havoc, producing trash and pollution, people are in their homes with their families. Unless you hate your loved ones, I don't see how a week off from work is a bad thing!
Snow forces people to stay home, to slow down. We have no choice in the matter. Ironic, isn't it, that a speed freak like me wants the world to slow down? When I stop, when I take some time to look around and appreciate the scenery, I feel whole. There's nothing like sitting in the window watching the snow falling, blanketing the Earth, the trees, connecting all of nature with one, even coating of sparking, white fluff. Ok, and knocking out the power lines, but...whatever. I still love it!
So, that's my short and maybe not so sweet blog for today. Let it snow!
Last year we had the most amazing snow storm ever. Three feet!! The first storm dumped about two feet, it took us days to dig ourselves out. Then the second storm hit and reburied our excavated driveway. We were stuck, and it was awesome! We slept in, cuddled on the couch, popped popcorn and watched movies. Can life be any better than a snow storm? I just keep putting my foot in my mouth, don't I? I know I'm about the only one who loves it, but I do.
It's probably not as much the actual snow that I love, but more the way the snow stops life. Our world screeches to a halt. No one can go anywhere, there's no traffic on the roads, the stores are empty. It's almost post-apocalyptic. Instead of rushing around, creating havoc, producing trash and pollution, people are in their homes with their families. Unless you hate your loved ones, I don't see how a week off from work is a bad thing!
Snow forces people to stay home, to slow down. We have no choice in the matter. Ironic, isn't it, that a speed freak like me wants the world to slow down? When I stop, when I take some time to look around and appreciate the scenery, I feel whole. There's nothing like sitting in the window watching the snow falling, blanketing the Earth, the trees, connecting all of nature with one, even coating of sparking, white fluff. Ok, and knocking out the power lines, but...whatever. I still love it!
So, that's my short and maybe not so sweet blog for today. Let it snow!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Instant Karma's gonna get you, gonna look you right in the face
So, once again, I'm sitting in front of a computer, blogging. I never thought I'd be sharing my brain with the general public. It's definitely a very scary proposition! Hopefully by now people are finding it enjoyable and aren't becoming bored with my words. I've heard from a few people that I'm making them cry, so I'll switch gears a little today. Hopefully, I'll make you laugh. We'll see.
In August of 2006, John and I took what we call our trip of a lifetime to celebrate our 40th birthdays. It actually started as a long weekend, and evolved into a 17 day trip to different parts of Europe. The first leg of our journey began in London, England. We had tickets to see the Rolling Stones "A Bigger Bang Tour" at the Twickenham Stadium, which is southwest of London.
The evening of the concert, John and I took "the tube" to the Richmond stop, then had to catch a bus to the stadium. It was a long journey, but we made it unscathed. We decided when we first walked through the gates to buy our tee shirts and souvenirs first, then we'd find our seats.
So we're standing in this brutal line, waiting to buy our items. It was mass chaos. Anyone who says that the Brits are civilized have never been to a Stones concert across the pond. People were pushing and shoving and cutting in line, it got to the point where there wasn't even really a line, it was just a mass of people, elbowing each other. Tempers flared. I'm Irish. It got ugly.
A British dude in a very expensive looking sherpa coat cut in line in front of me and literally pushed me out of his way. Then he shoved a boy who was standing in front of me, Dude just moved this kid over and got in line in front of him! Well, it's one thing to shove an adult, but don't you dare do that to a kid. I was PISSED!
I had a few choice words to say to Dude. He looked flabbergasted! He shot me a look like "who does this insane woman with the American accent think she's talking to?!" He copped a big attitude, said he was there first and I was mistaken. I turned on the "ugly American" and gave him hell. John was laughing by this point, he likes it when I get feisty. Well, long story short, after exchanging many not so nice words, Dude gave up, turned around, faced forward and ignored me. Everyone near us turned around. The "incident" with the ugly American was over. ...Or was it??
So, I'm standing behind Dude, by this point the kid had given up and left. Dude pretended that I wasn't there, he did his best to ignore my snide comments (did I mention that I was an ugly American??). Well, while this was going on, I realized that I had been really chomping down on my chewing gum and my jaw hurt, I needed to spit out the gum. I have bad gum Karma so I knew if I just threw it on the ground, I'd be the one to step on it. So, I looked around, trying to find a trash can or piece of paper. Then I had an epiphany....
Dude's nice, expensive sherpa coat. I can hear what you're thinking, "Oh no she didn't!" Well, oh yes she did!! I took the gum out of my mouth, waited a minute to make sure no one was looking, I gave John a little nudge, then I pushed the gum into the UNDERSIDE of Dude's coat. You know how sherpa's have that really nice fleece lining? Dude's now has gum ground into his! In the back! At the bottom! Did I mention that his coat was car length?! So when Dude sat down the gum more than likely stuck his coat to his pants!?!
OK, so I know it was wrong. I know it was childish. If I knew who he was or where he lived, I'd apologize. Ha, who am I kidding? No I wouldn't!! Dude completely deserved it!! I did feel bad afterward. I'm a big believer in Karma, I was worried this was going to come back to me three fold. When I told this to John, he said that me putting the gum in his coat was Karma. He said that Dude deserved it and that I was merely the conveyance of Karma. Thanks, honey, it's a nice thought.
So, the moral of the story. Don't mess with me when you're wearing your nice coat. ;-)
In August of 2006, John and I took what we call our trip of a lifetime to celebrate our 40th birthdays. It actually started as a long weekend, and evolved into a 17 day trip to different parts of Europe. The first leg of our journey began in London, England. We had tickets to see the Rolling Stones "A Bigger Bang Tour" at the Twickenham Stadium, which is southwest of London.
The evening of the concert, John and I took "the tube" to the Richmond stop, then had to catch a bus to the stadium. It was a long journey, but we made it unscathed. We decided when we first walked through the gates to buy our tee shirts and souvenirs first, then we'd find our seats.
So we're standing in this brutal line, waiting to buy our items. It was mass chaos. Anyone who says that the Brits are civilized have never been to a Stones concert across the pond. People were pushing and shoving and cutting in line, it got to the point where there wasn't even really a line, it was just a mass of people, elbowing each other. Tempers flared. I'm Irish. It got ugly.
A British dude in a very expensive looking sherpa coat cut in line in front of me and literally pushed me out of his way. Then he shoved a boy who was standing in front of me, Dude just moved this kid over and got in line in front of him! Well, it's one thing to shove an adult, but don't you dare do that to a kid. I was PISSED!
I had a few choice words to say to Dude. He looked flabbergasted! He shot me a look like "who does this insane woman with the American accent think she's talking to?!" He copped a big attitude, said he was there first and I was mistaken. I turned on the "ugly American" and gave him hell. John was laughing by this point, he likes it when I get feisty. Well, long story short, after exchanging many not so nice words, Dude gave up, turned around, faced forward and ignored me. Everyone near us turned around. The "incident" with the ugly American was over. ...Or was it??
So, I'm standing behind Dude, by this point the kid had given up and left. Dude pretended that I wasn't there, he did his best to ignore my snide comments (did I mention that I was an ugly American??). Well, while this was going on, I realized that I had been really chomping down on my chewing gum and my jaw hurt, I needed to spit out the gum. I have bad gum Karma so I knew if I just threw it on the ground, I'd be the one to step on it. So, I looked around, trying to find a trash can or piece of paper. Then I had an epiphany....
Dude's nice, expensive sherpa coat. I can hear what you're thinking, "Oh no she didn't!" Well, oh yes she did!! I took the gum out of my mouth, waited a minute to make sure no one was looking, I gave John a little nudge, then I pushed the gum into the UNDERSIDE of Dude's coat. You know how sherpa's have that really nice fleece lining? Dude's now has gum ground into his! In the back! At the bottom! Did I mention that his coat was car length?! So when Dude sat down the gum more than likely stuck his coat to his pants!?!
OK, so I know it was wrong. I know it was childish. If I knew who he was or where he lived, I'd apologize. Ha, who am I kidding? No I wouldn't!! Dude completely deserved it!! I did feel bad afterward. I'm a big believer in Karma, I was worried this was going to come back to me three fold. When I told this to John, he said that me putting the gum in his coat was Karma. He said that Dude deserved it and that I was merely the conveyance of Karma. Thanks, honey, it's a nice thought.
So, the moral of the story. Don't mess with me when you're wearing your nice coat. ;-)
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz
The song "Mercedes Benz" was recorded by Janice Joplin three days before she died, October 4, 1970, at the age of 27. It's one of the last songs she ever recorded. When Janice died, she owned a Porsche 356.
My dearest friend Mary loved Janice Joplin, as did I. A few years ago a group of us decided to go out for pizza during lunch. Kirk, our coworker, drove us in his minivan, Mary and I were sitting in the back seat, and Bob was in the front. "Mercedes Benz" came on the radio and Mary started singing along. She had a nice singing voice. I joined in, then Bob, then Kirk. There we were, driving down the road in a minivan, four forty-somethings singing as loud as we could to the A Capella rendition of Janice's last song. Mary passed away a few months after our pizza field trip on November 1, 2008, at the age of 46. I miss her every day.
Mary's passing was a huge conk on the head for me. Aside from the sadness I felt, and still feel, her passing made me realize that we are all limited. We are all finite. I've already outlived Janice but will I pass Mary's not-so-old age of 46? Maybe. Maybe not. Both are equally possible.
I bought myself a Porsche 987 on October 4th, 2009, just short of the one year anniversary of Mary's death. I was 43. I've always wanted one, a fast car, that is. Ever since I knew what a car was, I couldn't wait to drive. My first car was a Mustang (and what a POS that thing was!). I've had more cars now than most people have in a lifetime. I love cars. So, I bought a Porsche. For car fanatics like me, it's the quintessential cruising experience. Driving with the top down, at speeds I dare not admit, this is living life!
I lovingly refer to my Porsche as my mid-life crisis car. It wasn't exactly my mid-life since, technically, the average life span for a woman is 83. By that, I'm past my mid-life, so I better get a move-on! Mary, I wish you were here. You'd be proud. You inspired me to live my life, to put the top down, drive like a mad woman, and sing as loud as I can. I may not be here tomorrow. But today, damn am I having fun!
My dearest friend Mary loved Janice Joplin, as did I. A few years ago a group of us decided to go out for pizza during lunch. Kirk, our coworker, drove us in his minivan, Mary and I were sitting in the back seat, and Bob was in the front. "Mercedes Benz" came on the radio and Mary started singing along. She had a nice singing voice. I joined in, then Bob, then Kirk. There we were, driving down the road in a minivan, four forty-somethings singing as loud as we could to the A Capella rendition of Janice's last song. Mary passed away a few months after our pizza field trip on November 1, 2008, at the age of 46. I miss her every day.
Mary's passing was a huge conk on the head for me. Aside from the sadness I felt, and still feel, her passing made me realize that we are all limited. We are all finite. I've already outlived Janice but will I pass Mary's not-so-old age of 46? Maybe. Maybe not. Both are equally possible.
I bought myself a Porsche 987 on October 4th, 2009, just short of the one year anniversary of Mary's death. I was 43. I've always wanted one, a fast car, that is. Ever since I knew what a car was, I couldn't wait to drive. My first car was a Mustang (and what a POS that thing was!). I've had more cars now than most people have in a lifetime. I love cars. So, I bought a Porsche. For car fanatics like me, it's the quintessential cruising experience. Driving with the top down, at speeds I dare not admit, this is living life!
I lovingly refer to my Porsche as my mid-life crisis car. It wasn't exactly my mid-life since, technically, the average life span for a woman is 83. By that, I'm past my mid-life, so I better get a move-on! Mary, I wish you were here. You'd be proud. You inspired me to live my life, to put the top down, drive like a mad woman, and sing as loud as I can. I may not be here tomorrow. But today, damn am I having fun!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again
OK, so the title is a bit cliche. It wasn't my first choice of titles, but it'll do. My first choice was "And miles to go before I sleep", but those aren't song lyrics. So, in keeping with my theme.....
I watched the sunset from the window of the plane last night. Sunsets are pretty amazing, in and of themselves, but from a plane... there's nothing like 'em. The way the sun makes the clouds glow like fire, the accentuated roundness of the Earth makes the sun look miniscule. For me, they're a reminder of my limited time on this Earth. A reminder to slow down. Cheers to sunsets.
Years ago, I took a trip to L.A. It was my first trip as an adult, I was 18 or 19, and I was on my own. Well, I was with my boyfriend at the time but he was there for work, so I was on my own during the day. I rented a car, I bought a map and I drove. Each day I picked a different direction and I ended up where I ended up. One day I inevitably ended up in Mexico. Tijuana. Not something I'd do again, but, well, lets just say it was memorable.
I stayed in Tijuana only a little while, maybe an hour, and decided it's not for me. So I came back to the U.S. and hung out in San Diego the rest of the day. I stayed in S.D. as long as I could, it was gorgeous there! Regrettably, I did have to leave so I dragged myself away from the S.D. Zoo and I walked back to my rental car. (Am I sensing another blog topic??)
I left San Diego and drove north on the Pacific Coast Highway. I was a little rushed, I didn't really know where I was and I didn't like the idea of being in a mystery town after dark. I was driving my usual style (speeding) until I reached a little town called Laguna Beach, which now holds a very special place in my heart.
Along that stretch of the PCH, the road parallels the ocean. I couldn't help myself, I had to slow down. It was the most amazing little town! I was sightseeing as I drove, no doubt pissing everyone off behind me. I was so caught up in the amazing houses and shops to my right that I didn't think to look left towards the ocean, but when I did... WOW!! It was the beginning of the most amazing sunset I'd ever seen. I pulled off the road onto a little beach access parking lot, stopped, got out of the car, and stood there. On the beach were dozens of people, all just standing there, watching the sunset. It was breathtaking. Literally. The blues, pinks, oranges, reds, purples of the sunset were all reflected in the Pacific Ocean. I was surrounded by these colors. The crashing waves sparkled like Christmas lights in every color of the sunset. It was magical.
I stood there for a while. I watched the sunset, then I watched the people who had been watching the sunset. When the sun was gone, they all slowly crossed the PCH to go back to their houses, their shops....their lives. Traffic picked up again. Life began again. For that small amount of time, though, Laguna Beach had stopped.
It was then that I realized THIS is what is important. THIS is what life is about. Not necessarily watching a sunset (although they are pretty amazing!), life is about paying attention to the small gifts we're given. These little, seemingly insignificant details of our days, these are what make up our lives.
It really, truly is the little things....
I watched the sunset from the window of the plane last night. Sunsets are pretty amazing, in and of themselves, but from a plane... there's nothing like 'em. The way the sun makes the clouds glow like fire, the accentuated roundness of the Earth makes the sun look miniscule. For me, they're a reminder of my limited time on this Earth. A reminder to slow down. Cheers to sunsets.
Years ago, I took a trip to L.A. It was my first trip as an adult, I was 18 or 19, and I was on my own. Well, I was with my boyfriend at the time but he was there for work, so I was on my own during the day. I rented a car, I bought a map and I drove. Each day I picked a different direction and I ended up where I ended up. One day I inevitably ended up in Mexico. Tijuana. Not something I'd do again, but, well, lets just say it was memorable.
I stayed in Tijuana only a little while, maybe an hour, and decided it's not for me. So I came back to the U.S. and hung out in San Diego the rest of the day. I stayed in S.D. as long as I could, it was gorgeous there! Regrettably, I did have to leave so I dragged myself away from the S.D. Zoo and I walked back to my rental car. (Am I sensing another blog topic??)
I left San Diego and drove north on the Pacific Coast Highway. I was a little rushed, I didn't really know where I was and I didn't like the idea of being in a mystery town after dark. I was driving my usual style (speeding) until I reached a little town called Laguna Beach, which now holds a very special place in my heart.
Along that stretch of the PCH, the road parallels the ocean. I couldn't help myself, I had to slow down. It was the most amazing little town! I was sightseeing as I drove, no doubt pissing everyone off behind me. I was so caught up in the amazing houses and shops to my right that I didn't think to look left towards the ocean, but when I did... WOW!! It was the beginning of the most amazing sunset I'd ever seen. I pulled off the road onto a little beach access parking lot, stopped, got out of the car, and stood there. On the beach were dozens of people, all just standing there, watching the sunset. It was breathtaking. Literally. The blues, pinks, oranges, reds, purples of the sunset were all reflected in the Pacific Ocean. I was surrounded by these colors. The crashing waves sparkled like Christmas lights in every color of the sunset. It was magical.
I stood there for a while. I watched the sunset, then I watched the people who had been watching the sunset. When the sun was gone, they all slowly crossed the PCH to go back to their houses, their shops....their lives. Traffic picked up again. Life began again. For that small amount of time, though, Laguna Beach had stopped.
It was then that I realized THIS is what is important. THIS is what life is about. Not necessarily watching a sunset (although they are pretty amazing!), life is about paying attention to the small gifts we're given. These little, seemingly insignificant details of our days, these are what make up our lives.
It really, truly is the little things....
Thursday, November 25, 2010
I guess they can't revoke your soul for trying. Get out of the door, light out and look all around.
I spent the day today with some amazing people, I'm thankful for today. It is thanksgiving, after all.....
At dinner today we placed a bowl in the center of the table. We all wrote on pieces of paper and placed into the bowl the things we're thankful for. When we read them aloud there were the usual thanks for football teams, thanks for the food, thanks for family, love, happiness...
I'm not at all discounting these things, they're so so important and, admittedly, a few were written by me (go Ravens! :-P) I'm very thankful to be here with amazing people, sharing a huge meal of fantastic food...making memories.
What I'm grateful for though, at least at this point in my life, is my spiritual journey. What a long, stange trip it's been and I'm loving every second of it. This universe is amazing. Every animal, every grain of sand, every breath of air can be so overwhelming when I stop to think about it. The every essence of our Earth feeds my soul, it makes me whole.
After dinner we took a walk on the beach, the clouds were hiding the moon but I knew she was still there. I could feel her warmth. Sometimes all it takes is an open heart.
At dinner today we placed a bowl in the center of the table. We all wrote on pieces of paper and placed into the bowl the things we're thankful for. When we read them aloud there were the usual thanks for football teams, thanks for the food, thanks for family, love, happiness...
I'm not at all discounting these things, they're so so important and, admittedly, a few were written by me (go Ravens! :-P) I'm very thankful to be here with amazing people, sharing a huge meal of fantastic food...making memories.
What I'm grateful for though, at least at this point in my life, is my spiritual journey. What a long, stange trip it's been and I'm loving every second of it. This universe is amazing. Every animal, every grain of sand, every breath of air can be so overwhelming when I stop to think about it. The every essence of our Earth feeds my soul, it makes me whole.
After dinner we took a walk on the beach, the clouds were hiding the moon but I knew she was still there. I could feel her warmth. Sometimes all it takes is an open heart.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
I know my place is home where the ocean meets the sky, I'll be sailing.
It's Thanksgiving Eve. I have so many blessings in my life, but what I'm most thankful for is being right here, right now....
We walked out to the beach tonight. The sky was dark, full of stars, and the waning half moon was inches above the horizon. The ocean waves were loud and made conversation impossible, so the three of us, John, Joe and I, stood in silense and drank in the pitch blackness, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the night.
John left to "crab" with the boys, so Joe and I hung out on the wooden walkway. Joe had his camera and took shot after blurry shot of this absolutley incredible moon. No amout of pixels, no shutter speed, no special lense, could caputre this moment. I was standing, had my arms leaning on the wooden railing and I had my head tilted back as far as my neck would allow. Every star was visible, I wanted to memorize this moment...the stars, the waves, the salty smell... I love this Earth, this Universe.
Something moved and it took me a second to register what was seeing. I finally just pointed and managed to grunt "look" to Joe. It was a meteorite, shooting across the sky. The brightest "shooting star" I've ever seen, it had a long tail trailing behind it. It lasted maybe 10 seconds, and then was gone. We both stood there in silence, neither of us knew what to say. We were awe struck. We had just witnessed the death of an ancient mass of rocks, dust, water...a mass that could have been the size of our Earth at one time in it's existance. Maybe a million years ago, another being stood on this once life supporting planet that I had just seen die, and witnessed the death of another planet.
I made a wish on my "shooting star". I can't tell you what it is. I will say, though, that's pretty amazing.
We walked out to the beach tonight. The sky was dark, full of stars, and the waning half moon was inches above the horizon. The ocean waves were loud and made conversation impossible, so the three of us, John, Joe and I, stood in silense and drank in the pitch blackness, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the night.
John left to "crab" with the boys, so Joe and I hung out on the wooden walkway. Joe had his camera and took shot after blurry shot of this absolutley incredible moon. No amout of pixels, no shutter speed, no special lense, could caputre this moment. I was standing, had my arms leaning on the wooden railing and I had my head tilted back as far as my neck would allow. Every star was visible, I wanted to memorize this moment...the stars, the waves, the salty smell... I love this Earth, this Universe.
Something moved and it took me a second to register what was seeing. I finally just pointed and managed to grunt "look" to Joe. It was a meteorite, shooting across the sky. The brightest "shooting star" I've ever seen, it had a long tail trailing behind it. It lasted maybe 10 seconds, and then was gone. We both stood there in silence, neither of us knew what to say. We were awe struck. We had just witnessed the death of an ancient mass of rocks, dust, water...a mass that could have been the size of our Earth at one time in it's existance. Maybe a million years ago, another being stood on this once life supporting planet that I had just seen die, and witnessed the death of another planet.
I made a wish on my "shooting star". I can't tell you what it is. I will say, though, that's pretty amazing.
Monday, November 22, 2010
In my life, I'll love you more
Since we're on vacation in a city where we've never been, we decided to test out the ol' GPS and do a little bit of exploring. We picked the "nearest restaurants" button and settled on Panera for our breakfast.
John ordered a bagel. I, a four cheese soufflé (yum!) and an orange scone. Of all the ooie gooie sweet treats they have there, I always order the orange scone. There's something comforting about that not-so-sweet biscuit drizzled with orange icing, it takes me back to my Granny's house. When I was a child, she always gave us home made biscuits. I remember eating them with every meal. In the mornings she would serve them hot out of the oven with butter and orange marmalade. The hot biscuit would warm the marmalade, the combined fragrance of the two was wonderful! My Pop-Pop always told me that he married my Granny because of those biscuits.
My grandparents met in the 1930s in Cumberland, Maryland. Isabelle, my grandmother, had just finished college and was working a new job at an insurance company. She was fiercely independent, she put herself through college during a time when most women didn't even go to college. She was living in a boarding house, the single women lived on one floor, the single men on a separate floor. Men were never ever allowed on the women's floor, those were the rules.
Isabelle came home from work one night. It was a cold, wet evening. It had been raining and everything was a muddy mess. A gentleman held open the door for her as she made her way into the boarding house. She nodded her thanks, took the stairs to here room on the women's floor, took off her shoes, and left them outside her door so she wouldn't track mud into her room. That was another rule of the boarding house, no muddy shoes in the rooms. Isabelle was cold and wet so she made herself dinner, went to bed, and forgot she had left her shoes outside her door in the hallway. The next morning, Isabelle opened her door and her shoes were neatly laying on the floor, perfectly cleaned and shined. Someone had cleaned the mud and had polished them during the night. She had no idea who it was. She asked around but no one took credit for the good deed.
The next evening was more of the same cold, wet, rainy, muddy weather. Isabelle came home from work, left her muddy shoes by her door, and, once again, they were cleaned and polished the next morning! This went on for a week. Every night, she left muddy shoes by her door. The next morning they had been cleaned and polished.
She was very curious by this point, she had no idea who was cleaning and shining her shoes! She had asked the other women on her floor but they didn't know either. It took her a while, but she finally talked to the right person and she found out who it was. A young gentleman by the name of Leonard had a friend who lived in the boarding house on the men's floor. Leonard had been visiting his friend one wet, cold, rainy evening and had held the front door open for a woman. Leonard noticed as she walked past him that she was soaking wet and her shoes were covered with mud. She had completely caught his eye, as they used to say back then, but Leonard was shy. He didn't know how to approach Isabelle. He was very resourceful, so he came up with his plan. He would sneak onto the Women's floor and clean her shoes. So he did. Every night.
Long story short, they finally met, fell in love and were married. Isabelle married Leonard for his chivalry, Leonard married Isabelle for her biscuits. They were married until Leonard passed away at the age of 73.
And damn did my Granny make some good biscuits.
John ordered a bagel. I, a four cheese soufflé (yum!) and an orange scone. Of all the ooie gooie sweet treats they have there, I always order the orange scone. There's something comforting about that not-so-sweet biscuit drizzled with orange icing, it takes me back to my Granny's house. When I was a child, she always gave us home made biscuits. I remember eating them with every meal. In the mornings she would serve them hot out of the oven with butter and orange marmalade. The hot biscuit would warm the marmalade, the combined fragrance of the two was wonderful! My Pop-Pop always told me that he married my Granny because of those biscuits.
My grandparents met in the 1930s in Cumberland, Maryland. Isabelle, my grandmother, had just finished college and was working a new job at an insurance company. She was fiercely independent, she put herself through college during a time when most women didn't even go to college. She was living in a boarding house, the single women lived on one floor, the single men on a separate floor. Men were never ever allowed on the women's floor, those were the rules.
Isabelle came home from work one night. It was a cold, wet evening. It had been raining and everything was a muddy mess. A gentleman held open the door for her as she made her way into the boarding house. She nodded her thanks, took the stairs to here room on the women's floor, took off her shoes, and left them outside her door so she wouldn't track mud into her room. That was another rule of the boarding house, no muddy shoes in the rooms. Isabelle was cold and wet so she made herself dinner, went to bed, and forgot she had left her shoes outside her door in the hallway. The next morning, Isabelle opened her door and her shoes were neatly laying on the floor, perfectly cleaned and shined. Someone had cleaned the mud and had polished them during the night. She had no idea who it was. She asked around but no one took credit for the good deed.
The next evening was more of the same cold, wet, rainy, muddy weather. Isabelle came home from work, left her muddy shoes by her door, and, once again, they were cleaned and polished the next morning! This went on for a week. Every night, she left muddy shoes by her door. The next morning they had been cleaned and polished.
She was very curious by this point, she had no idea who was cleaning and shining her shoes! She had asked the other women on her floor but they didn't know either. It took her a while, but she finally talked to the right person and she found out who it was. A young gentleman by the name of Leonard had a friend who lived in the boarding house on the men's floor. Leonard had been visiting his friend one wet, cold, rainy evening and had held the front door open for a woman. Leonard noticed as she walked past him that she was soaking wet and her shoes were covered with mud. She had completely caught his eye, as they used to say back then, but Leonard was shy. He didn't know how to approach Isabelle. He was very resourceful, so he came up with his plan. He would sneak onto the Women's floor and clean her shoes. So he did. Every night.
Long story short, they finally met, fell in love and were married. Isabelle married Leonard for his chivalry, Leonard married Isabelle for her biscuits. They were married until Leonard passed away at the age of 73.
And damn did my Granny make some good biscuits.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Her Magesty's a pretty nice girl but she doesn't have a lot to say
Sometimes actions speak louder than words. Sometimes things are better left unsaid. Sometimes it's better to be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt. Most of the time, I forget this.
So here I am, somewhere in the sky, between Atlanta and Houston...blogging. I promise I won't make anyone cry.
I'm on my way to spend Thanksgiving with my family. They're not really my family, I inherited them when I married. But they're my family of the heart. Thank you my friend (and also part of my family) Bunni for teaching me that you don't have to be related to someone to call them family.
I grew up in a weird situation. My family hated each other. Literally. My father resented having kids and my mother...let's just say she never should have had a daughter. By the time I was 11 I had moved myself into the basement of our house, i used to pretend that I had my own apartment and "those other people" were my neighbors. I guess we all do what we have to, to survive.
So, I never had a family I was close to, and I never understood the importance of family. I only had myself to rely on, and that's all I needed. I was perfectly happy with it that way, too...
Until I fell in love with my family. I don't mean "those other people", I don't talk to them anymore. I met and fell in love with the people who are in my life now and who mean the absolute world to me. THEY are my family.
I've been completely overwhelmed by the love and compassion and the welcome I have been given. I have a family, and it's the best thing in the world! I have brothers and sisters and cousins and even a few moms now, and I love every one of them dearly.
Let's face facts, the world can be a big, bad, scary place...everyone ne a family.
So here I am, somewhere in the sky, between Atlanta and Houston...blogging. I promise I won't make anyone cry.
I'm on my way to spend Thanksgiving with my family. They're not really my family, I inherited them when I married. But they're my family of the heart. Thank you my friend (and also part of my family) Bunni for teaching me that you don't have to be related to someone to call them family.
I grew up in a weird situation. My family hated each other. Literally. My father resented having kids and my mother...let's just say she never should have had a daughter. By the time I was 11 I had moved myself into the basement of our house, i used to pretend that I had my own apartment and "those other people" were my neighbors. I guess we all do what we have to, to survive.
So, I never had a family I was close to, and I never understood the importance of family. I only had myself to rely on, and that's all I needed. I was perfectly happy with it that way, too...
Until I fell in love with my family. I don't mean "those other people", I don't talk to them anymore. I met and fell in love with the people who are in my life now and who mean the absolute world to me. THEY are my family.
I've been completely overwhelmed by the love and compassion and the welcome I have been given. I have a family, and it's the best thing in the world! I have brothers and sisters and cousins and even a few moms now, and I love every one of them dearly.
Let's face facts, the world can be a big, bad, scary place...everyone ne a family.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
To everything, there is a season...
So, I begin my blog today with no specific direction, not unlike my life right now. I tend to exist on a plane of habits and routines, which really aren't that bad, as habits and routines go. When life starts to kick my ass, it's these little things that mean the most to me. My touchstones.
Yesterday was what I lovingly refer to as my "pony day". I drive about 35 miles to visit my horses. I have a 10 year old show horse, Nosey Rosie, whom I ride, and a 27 year old retired show horse, Hallie, who is just the apple of my eye. She's been to hell and back so many times now, and yet she still trots over to me every Friday as I approach the fence to her paddock with a handful of peppermints, or, her favorite, orange jelly fruit. She lives on an incredible farm in the Hunt Valley area of Maryland, prime horse country.
Every Friday, I drive up the long driveway of the private estate where my retired Quarter Horse lives. The house to the estate sits high on a hill, overlooking the horse fields and barn, which is actually bigger than my house! My little girl is living in style! There are four smaller paddocks closer to the house, and two larger fields closer to the road. Hallie and her BFF, Jane, are turned out together in one of the larger fields. There are usually three "ladies" as I called them, but yesterday there were just the two. Suzie, Hallie's other BFF, was MIA.
It took me a minute to find Suzie. I thought maybe she was in the run-in shed in the "ladies" field, but nope, it was empty. I looked everywhere. Finally I saw her, laying in field, perfectly still. Not good. She was on her belly with her legs tucked under her, her nose was resting on the grass in front of her. She moved her head only inches when I walked to the gate and called to her. Suzie is a 7 year old "off the track" thoroughbred racehorse, my friend owns her now. She raced in her younger days until a hoof injury ended her career. The original owner was going to put her down until Dawn offered to take her. She's usually full of life, despite her now deformed hoof, but today.... this was not Suzie.
I opened the gate and walked to her while I called her and rustled the rappers of the candy I had for her. Nothing. She then let out a quiet "ooof" and rolled completely over. She was exhausted. I unwrapped the candy, peppermints, and fed them to her one at a time as she lay there. Her eyes said it all. She was done.
I called my friend Dawn to give her the news. Her gorgeous light bay mare, with the beautiful white blaze and the coal black socks, mane and tale, was sprawled out in the field and I couldn't get her up. She lifted her head for me, she wanted to do what I was asking of her, she just couldn't. Dawn's phone rang to voice mail, so I hung up. I just couldn't say it, especially in a voice mail. She manages a horse farm down the street, so I called the farm number. Bruce, her boss answered. Good, I thought, Bruce can tell her. I just can't.
Through my tears, I told Bruce that Suzie was down. He said that Suzie had been this way since Thursday morning, Dawn wanted to put Suzie down but the owner of this estate, David, wouldn't let her. David is 83 and has Parkenson's. He's a Holocost survivor, a quadruple bypass survivor, and as of a month ago, a stroke survivor. He just bought himself a new horse, he still rides. These horses are his life. He treats my blind, arthritic backyard pony like she's worth a million dollars. Again, these horses are his life.
I stood there in the field, feeding Suzie peppermints, sobbing. I knew Suzie was not long for this world. She probably had hours left. Dawn would be there soon with the vet, and it would be done.
I love these horses, they are my Prozac. They are my breaths of fresh air, my rainbows after the storm. They are my touchstones. Even though I knew that Suzie's time had come, she was ready to go, I was hoping David would wobble out of his house and down to the field, and put a stop to it. I understand how he feels. These horses, regardless of who "owns" them, are his touchstones too. They are his reasons to get up in the morning. Literally. At 83 years old, David also is not long for this world. Putting Suzie down is a not so subtle reminder of that. Everything has a life span. Everything has a time on this Earth.
As I fed Suzie peppermints and scratched the mud from her face, I said my goodbyes. I'm going to miss her, and I know my Hallie is going to miss her too.
Yesterday was what I lovingly refer to as my "pony day". I drive about 35 miles to visit my horses. I have a 10 year old show horse, Nosey Rosie, whom I ride, and a 27 year old retired show horse, Hallie, who is just the apple of my eye. She's been to hell and back so many times now, and yet she still trots over to me every Friday as I approach the fence to her paddock with a handful of peppermints, or, her favorite, orange jelly fruit. She lives on an incredible farm in the Hunt Valley area of Maryland, prime horse country.
Every Friday, I drive up the long driveway of the private estate where my retired Quarter Horse lives. The house to the estate sits high on a hill, overlooking the horse fields and barn, which is actually bigger than my house! My little girl is living in style! There are four smaller paddocks closer to the house, and two larger fields closer to the road. Hallie and her BFF, Jane, are turned out together in one of the larger fields. There are usually three "ladies" as I called them, but yesterday there were just the two. Suzie, Hallie's other BFF, was MIA.
It took me a minute to find Suzie. I thought maybe she was in the run-in shed in the "ladies" field, but nope, it was empty. I looked everywhere. Finally I saw her, laying in field, perfectly still. Not good. She was on her belly with her legs tucked under her, her nose was resting on the grass in front of her. She moved her head only inches when I walked to the gate and called to her. Suzie is a 7 year old "off the track" thoroughbred racehorse, my friend owns her now. She raced in her younger days until a hoof injury ended her career. The original owner was going to put her down until Dawn offered to take her. She's usually full of life, despite her now deformed hoof, but today.... this was not Suzie.
I opened the gate and walked to her while I called her and rustled the rappers of the candy I had for her. Nothing. She then let out a quiet "ooof" and rolled completely over. She was exhausted. I unwrapped the candy, peppermints, and fed them to her one at a time as she lay there. Her eyes said it all. She was done.
I called my friend Dawn to give her the news. Her gorgeous light bay mare, with the beautiful white blaze and the coal black socks, mane and tale, was sprawled out in the field and I couldn't get her up. She lifted her head for me, she wanted to do what I was asking of her, she just couldn't. Dawn's phone rang to voice mail, so I hung up. I just couldn't say it, especially in a voice mail. She manages a horse farm down the street, so I called the farm number. Bruce, her boss answered. Good, I thought, Bruce can tell her. I just can't.
Through my tears, I told Bruce that Suzie was down. He said that Suzie had been this way since Thursday morning, Dawn wanted to put Suzie down but the owner of this estate, David, wouldn't let her. David is 83 and has Parkenson's. He's a Holocost survivor, a quadruple bypass survivor, and as of a month ago, a stroke survivor. He just bought himself a new horse, he still rides. These horses are his life. He treats my blind, arthritic backyard pony like she's worth a million dollars. Again, these horses are his life.
I stood there in the field, feeding Suzie peppermints, sobbing. I knew Suzie was not long for this world. She probably had hours left. Dawn would be there soon with the vet, and it would be done.
I love these horses, they are my Prozac. They are my breaths of fresh air, my rainbows after the storm. They are my touchstones. Even though I knew that Suzie's time had come, she was ready to go, I was hoping David would wobble out of his house and down to the field, and put a stop to it. I understand how he feels. These horses, regardless of who "owns" them, are his touchstones too. They are his reasons to get up in the morning. Literally. At 83 years old, David also is not long for this world. Putting Suzie down is a not so subtle reminder of that. Everything has a life span. Everything has a time on this Earth.
As I fed Suzie peppermints and scratched the mud from her face, I said my goodbyes. I'm going to miss her, and I know my Hallie is going to miss her too.
Friday, November 19, 2010
The days, they pass so quickly now. The nights are seldom long.
Well, I've blogged two days in a row now, it's my new personal best!
Last night I was thinking about what the hell I'm actually going to blog about. It's not like my life is interesting. On a good day I could maybe describe it as being a notch above boring. It just is what it is. I get up, go to work, come home, go to sleep, get up... you get the picture.
I don't really know what I did to end up here. I graduated high school with average grades, went to college, went to grad school... I did everything I thought I was supposed to do. And I'm still doing that. I guess I need to stop here and say that I'm not disappointed in my life. I don't have regrets. I don't wish I had majored in something else, I don't wish I had married someone else. I'm just living a very standard, white bread life. For the most part, I like it like that.
I do miss, though, the carefree childhood days of no responsibilities. I know everyone, at some point in their lives, gets to this place. They start to look back and think about how their lives used to be. I'm not exempt from nostalgia. I do miss the feeling of freedom when I would ride my bike as fast as I could make it go, no helmet, no elbow or knee pads, the wind whipping my long hair in front of my face, blinding me for split seconds. I didn't care. I didn't think to care. I wasn't worried about falling, or crashing, or hurting myself, and I certainly wasn't worried about looking stupid, or making a fool out of myself. I was on my bike, going fast, and that's what mattered at that moment. It was the best feeling in the world!
So, I guess I'm not nostalgic for the things I did, or for the people I knew, it's more about missing the "me" that I was then. I was carefree. I didn't know that pain hurts. I didn't know that hospital bills can cause you to lose your house. I wasn't concerned about the critical, judgmental, and oftentimes malicious opinions of others. I was just being me. I miss that.
I wrote a poem years ago. It was written when I was young and confident, and just down right cocky at times. I miss being cocky most of all! I made a promise to myself when I was a kid, I would write everything down. Even if it sucked. I would write it as-is, and I would not go back again and rewrite it. My words were me, at that moment in time. I'm grateful for them now. There I go being nostalgic again.
Written December 25, 1987. I was 21 years old.
I think I'm getting better at being me.
I've always been me
at least as far as I can remember me.
Even when I wasn't me, I was me,
And I've always been good at being me
Even when I was the bad me.
I've always been me.
Even if I didn't know who me was.
I've always tried to be me
Even when people didn't like me.
I've always understood me
Even when I couldn't understand why I'm me.
I've always wanted to be me
Even when I didn't know me.
I've always cared for me
Especially when the caring wasn't for me.
I've always trusted me
Even when people didn't trust in me.
I've tried to be the me I thought I should be.
I think I'm getting better at being me.
Last night I was thinking about what the hell I'm actually going to blog about. It's not like my life is interesting. On a good day I could maybe describe it as being a notch above boring. It just is what it is. I get up, go to work, come home, go to sleep, get up... you get the picture.
I don't really know what I did to end up here. I graduated high school with average grades, went to college, went to grad school... I did everything I thought I was supposed to do. And I'm still doing that. I guess I need to stop here and say that I'm not disappointed in my life. I don't have regrets. I don't wish I had majored in something else, I don't wish I had married someone else. I'm just living a very standard, white bread life. For the most part, I like it like that.
I do miss, though, the carefree childhood days of no responsibilities. I know everyone, at some point in their lives, gets to this place. They start to look back and think about how their lives used to be. I'm not exempt from nostalgia. I do miss the feeling of freedom when I would ride my bike as fast as I could make it go, no helmet, no elbow or knee pads, the wind whipping my long hair in front of my face, blinding me for split seconds. I didn't care. I didn't think to care. I wasn't worried about falling, or crashing, or hurting myself, and I certainly wasn't worried about looking stupid, or making a fool out of myself. I was on my bike, going fast, and that's what mattered at that moment. It was the best feeling in the world!
So, I guess I'm not nostalgic for the things I did, or for the people I knew, it's more about missing the "me" that I was then. I was carefree. I didn't know that pain hurts. I didn't know that hospital bills can cause you to lose your house. I wasn't concerned about the critical, judgmental, and oftentimes malicious opinions of others. I was just being me. I miss that.
I wrote a poem years ago. It was written when I was young and confident, and just down right cocky at times. I miss being cocky most of all! I made a promise to myself when I was a kid, I would write everything down. Even if it sucked. I would write it as-is, and I would not go back again and rewrite it. My words were me, at that moment in time. I'm grateful for them now. There I go being nostalgic again.
Written December 25, 1987. I was 21 years old.
I think I'm getting better at being me.
I've always been me
at least as far as I can remember me.
Even when I wasn't me, I was me,
And I've always been good at being me
Even when I was the bad me.
I've always been me.
Even if I didn't know who me was.
I've always tried to be me
Even when people didn't like me.
I've always understood me
Even when I couldn't understand why I'm me.
I've always wanted to be me
Even when I didn't know me.
I've always cared for me
Especially when the caring wasn't for me.
I've always trusted me
Even when people didn't trust in me.
I've tried to be the me I thought I should be.
I think I'm getting better at being me.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Inspiration is the greatest form of flattery, or so I hope.
Well, I've been inspired to give this blog thing a go. I don't plan to tell anyone about it, so if you're reading this you probably came here uninvited. So be it. It is a blog, after all, they're not exactly private.
I've been trying very hard lately to let it all hang out. To dance as if no one is watching, so to speak. To be me, to do me, and most importantly, to understand me. I've been on a 44 year long journey to somewhere, my destination is still unknown. Oddly enough, the older I get, the more OK I am with not knowing my destination. I'm getting pretty good at this wandering aimlessly gig.
So, here I sit, in front of a computer, blogging. We'll see how it goes. Or not.
I've been trying very hard lately to let it all hang out. To dance as if no one is watching, so to speak. To be me, to do me, and most importantly, to understand me. I've been on a 44 year long journey to somewhere, my destination is still unknown. Oddly enough, the older I get, the more OK I am with not knowing my destination. I'm getting pretty good at this wandering aimlessly gig.
So, here I sit, in front of a computer, blogging. We'll see how it goes. Or not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)