Thursday, October 22, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
"Can't I be a witch or a fairy?" she tells me. No. No, No, No. This year, we're going as a group project, we're building a special memory. Her trick or treating years are limited, isn't it a great idea to start building a special memory? And perhaps it's the toil of '09 that's made a family changed, we've been given a new sense of urgency & appreciation; Appreciation for things we would never do, and also things we said we may one day do but never took seriously.
We're in a way now forced to take life less seriously, because the fact is one of the greatest parts of taking life more seriously is taking it less so. (Yes, there you have my thought for the day. In order to take life more seriously, you must take it less seriously. It makes sense after awhile.)
Because sometimes folks stifle their joy in order to be serious.
So I believe we're going to have to pay her. She says she'll do it for $100, but we think it's steep. I have a month to talk her down to $25. Honestly though, if Steven can agree be Tinky Winky, then what's she got to worry about? (That's right, baby, there's four of us & four of them.)
With insurance and hospital bills, brain surgery and its after effects, is it so wrong to want to have one trivial afternoon? One day to be silly? Hmmm.
I had this strange dream last night. I was out with friends, shopping or hanging out (which is strange, because I do not have friends with which I shop or hang out. Not one, let alone 3-4. I'm honestly not that friendly. And perhaps living in the South, when someone fails to convert me to their religion, I get frequently sacked. It's no big deal.)
Oh! So anyhow, these friends and I go to an Indian Restaurant. I'm a huge fan of Indian food, so this is pretty normal. But then I'm glancing over the menu, and notice a strange item.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Just wanted to stop in for a moment. I'm still recovering, but better each day. My left eye, still gimpy. I've informed my husband he's now in charge of shaving my left armpit, I just can't see it. I go back to my NS next week, and he may possibly clear me for driving. It scares me a little since my vision is so bad, and they tell me it may take three months for this eye to heal. But I may be back in traffic next week (?) . Part of me needs to, I'm out of canvas, and no one will buy it.
When I look in the mirror, the hair sorta reminds me of when Naomi cut the ponytail off the front of her head. Like a childs first do it yourself haircut, lol! It's okay.
We're having a funeral for our cat today. She was sitting in the lawn watching the birds at the birdfeeder, and a pit bull and another dog came and killed her. She'd been our cat for almost seven years. I've had a sick feeling in my stomach all day. I'll miss her big orange moony eyes, and I suppose now it could be you'll think I'm one of those weird cat people, but here's a video of my sweet cat from last year on YouTube-
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Can't say I'll be extremely productive, as I have a gimpy eye for a while, and typing with one eye is currently challenging. Seems they cut certain muscles in your face when you have brain surgery, and these include muscles that connect to your jaw and make chewing and yawning painful, and muscles to the eye on that side that make your eyelid funny and the eye is in a painful mode right now, but in another month I've been told it'll all be normal again.
The hair surprisingly doesn't bother me in the least. My mother tells me the scar is a 9" question mark across the top of my head. Funny. If anyone were to have a question mark carved into their scull, it figures it would be me. It's okay.
Today I get to shower.
For the first time.
Since I left. I have been able to sit in a shower chair a couple times and clean myself, but the idea of running water on my head wasn't possible until today. Friday they pulled the staples out of my head. I brought a sandwich bag as I felt it was necessary to keep them.
I'm eager to be myself again. I'm eager to shop, and drive, and paint. I'm eager to put my makeup on though my husband tells me I don't need it. Considering I cannot leave the house for another month, I guess I won't stress about the makeup too much. I'm not able to read at the moment, but my mother has been humouring me, reading David Sedaris books to me outloud in her perfect for books on tape French accent. Everyone should be so lucky. It's especially funny when she reads words like 'fucking', it makes me happy to hear my mother read this out loud, and my husband even snuck in and sat listening, commenting how funny it was that she read those words out loud. She tells him she can't leave any words out.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
the rear view mirrors full of raggedy stuffed animals.
Car after car of them.
& sick people.
& today before I leave I resent both the sick people
and the rearview mirrors with their tigers
and kittens and doggy plushies.
I feel a wave of hostility and I cannot explain why.
& I cannot imagine 5 days in a hospital.
How am I gonna crap when I'm not in the comfort of my own
I'll be so stopped up. Stopped up, stapled. bald.
Steven says going in the hospital is just like having the girls.
"sure, I say, but without the baby."
I have to leave now.
The baby brings me her pink elephant plushie
& I'm taking it with me, loved & holey, ketchup stained.
But that doesn't make me the rear window lady.
I have to go now.
Monday, August 3, 2009
I'm having a wee bit of brain surgery Thursday, August 6th. Full Moon.
I came to write my passwords down in case I don't remember them.
I think the other night I heard deer hooves on the driveway.
Nasty flower eating creatures.
I couldn't sleep, I just sat up waiting to hear them again, or maybe just trying to see if that's the thing I was actually hearing.
I'm feeling really sad.
I'll be home next week but not home online, just home.
Wish my awful week away. Wish me to blink and be here again, recovered.
And if you've stopped in by accidentally Googling Brain Aneurysms or brain surgery,
feel free to comment with any questions you may have.
By then I may have some answers.
We ate out food Steven brought home. I got a Dr. Pepper, a fountain Dr. Pepper. It's been years since I'd had one. "How come you get a drink?" The wee one asks.
"I have Princess powers this week. All week." The looming cranial cracking grants me wishes, red shimmery Dorothy slippers that come with a heavy price.
Friday, July 17, 2009
So I give you a time when I could. Here's Monday, November 21, 2005
Hurrah! Hurray! Harumph! ?... I don't know exactly why I decided to start that way, but it felt right at the moment. Shouldn't we all begin things with a hurrah & hurray sometimes?
(Actually I had a great first sentence, but it was lost in the typing of Hurrah...)
Steven hooked up my dishwasher yesterday! As I still don't have the rest of my kitchen, the dishwasher is probably what was the most necessary thing at the moment. Dishes were on every surface in my home, piling up in my tub, my sink; the cups stacking and teethering, pots and pans and their friends gaining strength in the army that I foresaw overthrowing my home. We were digging through papers on the tables. Where did all the spoons go?
Ah, but I've loaded them, filled my dishwasher with ammunition, and faught and won the was at last. There is not a dish (in sight) in here no more...unless you count the one in my fridge. You know the one, that one bowl that completes my set, but has been in there covered in aluminum foil since, I'm guessing May? July? I stood in contemplation, staring at the bowl, then closing the door. I'm too scared. I have no idea what it ever was, but likely it will see the can one day.
What else is new?
We went to a Baptist funeral this weekend, which I thought was going to be excruciating. You know how the Baptists are always trying to convert you at the funerals. Naomi cried real tears, but didn't know who they were for. Shanna smacked her gum and wanted to go home.
Afterwards, theres a dinner, and we followed along. Turns out I met this interesting man. An incredible, interesting man. (Yes, I remember I'm married.)
An incredible, interesting, 84 year old man. Happy Lee was the son of sharecroppers, went on to college, then to become one of the most outstanding democrats I've met. He worked under a few presidents (JFK & Bobby Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson, Jimmy Carter) worked with Martin Luther King Jr. during the civil rights movement, and in 2004, was the first recipient of the Gandhi Foundation Lifetime Acheivement Award. At the same ceremony, Coretta Scott King won the Gandhi Peace Award.
Now in the early stages of Alzheimers, he looked at my husband in shock when he told him his name. "Steven Lee? Steven Lee?" Walking him to his wife, "Look, this is Steven Lee!" We found he'd had a son that passed away named- Stephen Lee.
"He died at 40 from a brain tumor, but before that he was a veterinarian, and you know, he invented this contraption..." With pride, he told us about this thing that tied (?) to a horses vagina (yes, he used that word...about 6 times, hee hee) and when the horse went into labor, the cord broke, and it automatically called three people and told them which horse was having her baby. They use this all around the world, we learned. If you can find a copy of Happy's book, I recommend it.
Man, I haven't even covered yesterday at church yet. I know I don't have room or time, but it was bread communion. (Everybody brings bread or soup). Steve Bell brought Matza ball soup. The Matza are all different sizes, he said. He went on to tell a story. (Here goes)
There were these two old women who only got one meal a day, and today there was this pot with broth and two matza, a big one and a small one. They stared at the soup and faught over who would go first. Finally, one goes first, and ladles out the big one. The other woman looks on in disbelief. "I can't believe you took the big one! How selfish!" Ranting and raving about the others large ball, the woman with her bowl full said, "Well, which one would you have taken?"
"The small one!"
"And that's what you got!"
And the moral of the story is before you go complaining about getting the short end of the stick, maybe thats what you asked for. (I think. I'm not quite as eloquent as Dr. Bell).
Oh! And the whole thing about him calling Irene! I have to tell you this, then I'm done, promise. Okay, he turns to Irene.
"Good. You got my call you bring soup or bread."
"No, you didn't call me."
"I did. I left a message on your machine."
"I don't have a machine."
"Isn't your number XXX-XXXX?"
"No, that's not my number."
about 20 minutes later...
Woman walks in with a covered dish.
"Where is Steve Bell?"
"Did you call me?"
"Did I call you?" laughing, "Is your number XXX-XXXX?"
"Yeah, I did call you. Who are you?"
"Gracia. I don't know who you were, but I thought maybe I just didn't remember. So I brought the soup." Okay, it doesn't translate to be as incredible as it was, but it was awesome. There are no coincedences. Irene looked over, "But I know her!"
Gary looked over, "Me too! She used to be in my Tai Chi class!"
Gracia was a wonderful addition to our day. So full of life, and did I mention she speaks 6 languages? Portuguese, French, Italian, Spanish, English, & Turkish! Wow. She is going to come back to our Hannukah, and she's Catholic (On her way to UU?) :)
And little did I know we'd be discussing the items we brought in front of the congregation.
There I was, the first from the left, starting with...the Left. I brought Wheat Thins. (I have no kitchen! Who knew. I'll do better next time)
Happy turkey Day! Much Love as always, Kat Lee
Thursday, July 16, 2009
My doc made the cover!!! Woo hoo!
Also, I lived through the cerebral angiogram, and after my experiences with the damned thing, I'm going to suggest ways it can be better for you if you are needing to have this same procedure done.
Dr. Frank Tong at Emory was the Doctor that performed my C.A., and after we got home, my husband's words-
"I've never met a nicer doctor in my life."
I believe that Tong makes an uncomfortable procedure better because of a kind nature that put me at ease. Palpable integrity, easily put.
Jeff Steinig, Karen Patterson, & Norma Jeans confirmation name is Kathleen... :) hello!
Here are a few steps to make your Cerebral Angiogram a tad easier :).
1. Forget your new panties at home. You will not get to wear them. (I know, I wanted to wear my new panties too. forget it.) They don't call it 'groin' for nothin. However, during your procedure, you are on a heated table, and are covered, um, mostly. When you read other more medically stout sites and they say thing like, "they will shave, scrub, and sanitize the groin area" this does not mean your entire groin area. Actually, you can stick those knees closed tight if indeed it makes you feel less exposed. The ' my ass is in the air' fear is the very least of your worries. (although, I have to tell you that the guy before me that was having the same procedure was pulling the side of his gown trying to cover his exposed ass- but unfortunately, was pulling it the wrong way. I sat horrified watching his naked ass all the way down the hall. Horrified because their were tons of people there, and yikes, that could be me.)
2. Schedule your procedule as early as possible. Things happen. My C.A. got delayed by almost 4 hours, due to a hospital emergency. Scheduled for 2 pm, this means I did not eat since the night before, and the procedure didn't end until nearly 7. Then, you have to lay flat for 4-6 hours, so you have an opportunity to be extremely weak at that point. I could not wait to go home, yet when the nurse had me walk down the hall and back before I could leave, I passed out cold. I had to stay an extra 45 minutes while they got a new bag of IV fluids in me. Personally, I think they should have given the IV bag when I got in the room while I waited the 4 hours. If you are scheduled at an earlier time you may not need this, though. Just in case, bring a big bottle of gatoraid and a bendy straw. In retrospect, I'd get an earlier time, but I'm hoping this won't be something I'll have to go through again. So this is just a suggestion for your sake :).
3. They can put a mild sedative in your IV bag. But not unless you ask for it! I was extremely nervous, but did not actually get the sedative. They forgot. But it was okay, I survived, it really was not so bad. But I say go ahead and ask for it for comforts sake. Also, I closed my eyes almost the entire time- the spaceship technology, hospital atmosphere, and bright lights can be daunting- but you can zone out if you close your eyes. Pretend you are lying in a tanning bed, ha! Chit chat with your Doctor. You'll be fine & it'll be over before you know it.
4. Don't move, don't breathe, don't swallow...This is what they tell you when they shoot the dye in your head. You hold your breath, then they repeat this as they film your arteries. I don't know if explaining the exact feeling of this would be a good or bad thing, because my description will make it sound worse than it is. You'll see some little white lights in your eyes. You'll feel a 'fizzy' feeling in your neck. And you head will feel like it is being filled with hot fluids? It's just strange. I personally feel that all med students should have this done for personal experience sake before they are allowed to perform this procedure on someone else, but that's just me.
5. The worst part of my experience was-A. The fear of the thing. and B. The IV needle. The fear. I'm chicken little, so the idea of it was scary. But the idea of lots of things are scary. My IV needle was poked in my wrist at an angle and I felt it scratching me the entire time, especially with movement. But I have crappy veins for IVs, and you'll do better for sure.
Good luck to ya :)
Saturday, July 11, 2009
My Etsy find of the Month is by artist Treasure Frey...I think she's amazing.
I just ended up running across this and felt it really relates. http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=24006939
Thursday, July 9, 2009
I initially thought I'd quit blogging until fall, then resume my blog when I felt better. But then, probably from googling brain aneurysms and surgery so much, I figured I'd document some of the little events that led up to my lovely summer of brain funk & maybe it will help somebody, or even guide someone through what they may themselves experience when diagnosed with a brain aneurysm.
It started when I got a severe allergic reaction. Which led to all sorts of other things, including severe headaches. My doc decided we should get an MRI. The MRI is not so scarey, just expensive as hell. And the MRI man tells me I have terrible nonexistant veins, so he stuck me twice in the first arm, then when he started sticking the second arm, I was slightly nervous. But it's okay.
Initially, they said they thought I had a congenital AVM, which is a abnormal vein you are born with. Another MRI & MRA later, they called my husband and told him i had an unruptured brain aneurysm. My uncle died at 44 in his sleep from a brain aneurysm. My aunt died from a brain aneurysm as well. Two of my mothers siblings. It makes me worry for my mother a bit.
Our neurosurgeon happens to be Dr. Barrow at Emory, and I feel like he's a good choice. I hope he's a Jew, you know your good and safe with a Jew. But who knows. (I'm just being silly...that's the Kat Lee in me coming out. "Look for a good Jew name!" I tell my husband. "Like what?" "You know, something that ends in Man or Berg or has Stein in it..." Barrow doesn't sound Jewish, but his first name is Daniel. So it's a toss up.)
The neurosurgeon tells me my syptoms are completely unrelated.
It's just an extra little thing to work out.
They don't actually cut your brain, they go in between the left and right brain somehow.
That is comforting, I think.
Atlanta traffic is a nightmare.
Steven's trying to work his way in, and he's partly in and a suburban rushes past, doesn't let him thru. He yells Cocksucker, rolls the window down, and he spat on the car. I'm looking at him like he's crazy. Who is this man? It's his birthday. :)
He comes to sit down on the sofa when we're home. I'd put my lawn chair under the giant oak, the one with all the moss, and I sat there the other day, half napping. I left my chair under the oak, and his was still on the patio.
"I moved my chair," he tells me. "It looked lonely and I don't like your chair being so far from mine." He'd gone out and dragged his chair across the field. Every day should be his birthday.
He needs my keys to turn the airbag on. I can't find them.
"Look at my purse!"
"What?" he says. The giant orange bottles are taking up too much space.
"It looks terrible! I don't want to be one of those ladies with pill bottles filling their purses..." and I gripe and complain until I'm not anymore.
I try to blog, then give up. I then reread my little letter and wonder where the symmetry went. My flounce. My swagger. (That makes me laugh! I keep hearing that term, & was just waiting for a chance to use it...though I'm not exactly full of literary swagger.) Where was I? I just ran downstairs to hit the timer on dinner, talked to my friend, took a valium, and now I'm back.
No fussing with me about the valium, people. I firmly believe that valium helps me with the whole little 'aneurysm thing'. Though I don't take them everyday, only on days where I have to talk about it. If your doctor calls you and say that you have a brain aneurysm, go on and request your valium then. Preferably the 10's. I have 5's currently, and only take them when I'm forced to talk about it or get too curious and google brain surgery.
(Could be how you got here...Don't Google. It'll only make you feel bad. Look up something completely separate from your issue...Like new tile flooring or Etsy.com. Googling will only make you cry.)
Talking about it is much harder than having the damn thing. It's like having a giant freaking mole on your forehead, it doesn't get away from you, but you surely don't want to have to talk about it. And it can start with your mother or sister knowing, or one friend. Then, you're getting calls from your sisters ex-husband and old neighbors, and they want to know how your doing. Which is nice. But mostly, you don't want to talk about it. You want to talk about Michael Jackson and if it'll rain and the stupid but out of the blue status reports on Facebook. You want to talk about stuff other than it.
But today, I guess I thought I'd talk about it. Get it out in the open.
I'm so happy I found it.
I'm so lucky too. I know. Happy & lucky. :). But a wee stressed.
My friend told me on the phone she'd shave her head when they shaved mine.
"What? They don't do that, do they?"
(That was the trigger that led to me taking the above valium...) I am not yet sure about the head shaving thing, but I will keep you informed.
Next Tuesday, I go for the next test, where they run dye into the artery near my groin, into my brain, and it gives them a 3-D scan. One doctor called this a Angiogram, another a Cerebral Arteriogram. While not interesting, I'll probably blog next week about that, because Googling it made me feel slightly ill, and I had hoped I could read someone's simplified version of what it's actually like. I'm hoping it's no big deal. Also, I'm hoping they drug me heavily.
They said my aneurysm surgery could be done as early as the following week after that.
I would kind of like to take the kids to see the new Harry Potter first. I've read about people not remembering things, not being able to spell afterwards...I figure I'll blog and we can see how it turns out.
I'd like to focus on Fun soon. Some sort of vacation maybe. Steven says I can pick where we go, which is cool. He wants water; I'm not so much into water, & prefer Historic things, like the Parthenon, but cheaper. A nice Euro garden, which my kids would not be thrilled with.
Maybe Barbados. I hear there are monkeys there. Who doesn't love monkeys? We save our change in a big water bottle. It won't get us the parthenon, but I'll be happy with a monkey or two!
My Ravi Shankar ringtone is playing but I don't recognise the number. I don't answer.
More later. Kat :)
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
It is a good rule to face difficulties at the time they arise and not allow them to increase unacknowledged.
One's objective should be to get it right, get it quick, get it out, and get it over.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
When you get into a fight with a bear, you don't get tired until the bear gets tired.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
It be a palpable thing, and though I'm not having an all that interesting week,
I thought I'd check in. How are ya?
I've been covered in hives this week due to some sort of food allergy. My throat is choked as though an invisible hand has me by the gullet, could be some red twizzlers are to blame. I'm itching and scratching and debating the last momentous words I'll utter, because, when I have a food allergy, I become kitten in the ocean, thrown; anxious and surely dying. With the driven in knowledge my grandmere gave to mon mere, and she to me, I go about getting dressed. I choose carefully my underpants, heaven forbid I arrive in an emergency room in my neon yellow with fuschia ribboned thong, or worse those God awful time-of-the-month panties. My smart but ill mind thinks it best to wear a black or pale flesh toned boy short underpant, just in case.
I stand before you (make that sit before you. Slumped, for that matter, in a backless chair...) and try to make sense of the world. I imagine my dead self visiting loved ones with the invisible power everyone wished they had but not to the extent of the dead ghost kind. The thought quickly creeps me out, so I start to envision a less 'dead' power, like say, hovering three feet over the ground in a yoga guru pose.
So I'm in guru mode, and all I can think of is what a great idea it would be to have full length mirrors on the inside of the doors of bathroom stalls. I wonder about my guest bathroom, and why I couldn't have thought of that sooner, a full length mirror directly opposite the john, that your guests may watch themselves lay eggs in the moment.
I enjoy the idea, then decide it's too vulgar for my imaginary guru self. Were my true self able to hover, I'd teach a class- because hovering would make me worthy, right?- and all bathroom stalls would be equipped with mirrors.
"Why mirrors?" Pupil says to teacher. I'd vary my answers on a day to day basis, with quotes like,
"To know self, pupil must see humble moment," or ,"Man can not know what chicken go through without first seeing his own eyes lay egg," and it would all fly because I could hover. Without being dead. Ah, yes, I should write the Mah Jong fortunes :D.
Toilet eggs turn in my mind, and I'm then thinking of corn and how Food Lion had corn on the cob ten for a dollar. Corn on the cob and watermelon are two of our favorite summery things, and I jump off topic from one end of the...um, spectrum, to the other.
We watched a great zombie movie this week, called Fido. I highly recommend this one. If you can find it, it'll be a treat! Take the kids to see it. (It's harmless, really). I think it's on the independent film channel or sundance. I readily admit I watch too much of these channels. Can't get enough. Who doesn't want to sit down with a few slices of supreme and watch Rickie Lake give birth? The Business of Being Born- seriously, watch before you give birth. I especially love when they have very foreign numbers; not your standard French or Japanese film, but those rare Greenlander moments, when characters are trudging through waist high snow.
My gluten free withdrawals are making me cranky, as I'm on week three now. I wrote this short story about this cranky old woman, only to discovered cranky comes way too easy. (But I feel any emotion at all beats ambivalence).
I took the girls on a playdate to a friends, which is rare for me. My good friend lives in a palace with labyrinth corridors, and every time I visit, the home seems to have grown a room or two. Several types of doughnuts sit atop the kitchen bar, and my kids pass the bag of powdered.
"Guess you won't be going to Daylight Donuts everyday after swim this summer?" No. No daylight donuts. I smell refined carbs and see myself licking the powdered sugar off the wee baby's fingers, were my friend not two feet away; and of course, were the baby not known for scratching her booty with her nails when she wipes. So the thought escapes, and i don't miss the donuts too much.
I watched as my friend thawed chicken in the microwave, then stuck it directly on the grill. No fancy marinade, not even a shake of pepper. The little ends are nuked white. I cringe. There are hundreds of ways to cook chicken. This is one I'm fearsome of. I feel the French superiority gene rise the hairs on my nape.
"I'm having a girls night out party Saturday, you want to come?" Mojito's, she tells me. I watch the chicken and feel concern for my friend, suddenly volunteering to cook for these unknown ladies. Later, safely in my right mind, I think of excuses. The idea of complete strangers is a crippling one, and Hermit Kat has a social circle of approximately four. Two of these are my children. Party? Me? My eyes took turns swelling shut last week and it could likely happen at any moment. So we'll see.
I'm feeling proud as I've not yet succumbed to Twitter. I jones for Facebook in the mornings and hearing Oprah toot the Twitter horn made me curious...but I didn't go. Like my friends halls and secret dwellings, I fear I'd get lost there, and I only have so many hours in the day.
Here are twenty minutes, just for you, my friends, my wee internet social circle.
I'm sorry I haven't written more, but I'll try and do better...
Friday, June 5, 2009
I'm rerouting you to this blog I read today because it's just that good, and since I really am not in an entertaining mood, here's a blog entry from Petunia Face, one I only wish I'd written myself...
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
So another Retrospect day for ya. (Don't be bummed; I am actually having to type the thing in.)
Stacks of old stuff. So here's Thursday, May 18, 2006
Sitting here with a bowl of sour cream and a side of microwaved burrito, I decided to say hello. I wasn't going to write today. Actually, I haven't felt like writing in a while, but I got a sign.
There was a man standing on the side of the road with an empty milk jug, turned sideways, on his head. I didn't know if I was seeing correctly, because sometimes, I don't. But most definitely, a milk jug, bent into a little milk jug hat.
"This must mean it's time to write my friends," because when I see a man on the side of the road with a milk jug on his head, I'm compelled to tell someone. So I go into Food Lion, and the old man that usually bags my groceries is in the meat department.
"Good Morning," he says.
"There's a guy with a milk jug on his head out by the road," I tell him.
"Does he have a long white beard?"
"Yeah, that guy comes in the store sometimes. He seems pretty normal when he speaks, you know. One day he came in and was telling me how to plant my turnip greens."
"He may just need some medicine," he says.
"I bet that's it," and I push my cart to the dyed red cherries.
A thought popped into my mind that perhaps I'm as screwed up as the milk jug guy if I have to talk about him. I'm feeling guilty for gossiping; guilty for thinking I may be in some way superior. Perhaps God is testing me. I think when we talk of others downfalls, we do it out of insecurity...'I'm not so great, maybe I can talk about how screwed up this person is and take the spotlight off of myself.'
You know, you can never take the spotlight off of yourself. You know that, right? The brightest spotlight you will ever see will always be your own. So here I am, writing to you about Milk Jug Hat guy, but revealing that we are all just milk jug hat guy, we just ain't all wearing the same hat. I didn't know when I began this that I would come to this conclusion. You see what rambling does to me?
The young grocery store manager smiles at me and says Hi when I'm leaving. I've had a cold and feel raggedy and tired. I wish I had dressed for the store. Why is it, when a handsome guy smiles at us, we wish we looked better? Even if you're married or have a buggy full of screaming rugrats, or you're 150,000 years old, the young store manager smiles, and you want to look better. What for? I want to get over that. I guess it's the spotlight thing again. I want to be able to smile back, knowing I have spinach in my teeth, and laugh about it.
That's what I want.
So I haven't been writing in the book either. After asking my mother and Steven if they would read the first 80 pages, they said they would when they had time. Months later, they still haven't found a time slot, and discouraged, I wonder if maybe I should take it back before they find the time. I don't know if I ever fully make sense.
The other day, I was driving over a little bridge, over a little creek, and saw something out of the corner of my eye. My first instinctive thought was that it was a tiny beached killer whale (like Orca, just wee tiny). My second thought was to tell myself that I'm completely out of my gourd. More likely it was a white plastic bag. Why on Earth was my first instinct to think there was a killer whale in that tiny creek? Strangely, I saw a man walking down to that creek with a fishing pole the other day, and I laughed to myself.
"He's going to try to catch that killer whale." God help me. Now you are probably wondering if the guy really had a milk jug on his head. I'm telling you, he did. But I am less and less sure of the fact that I make any sense; I can only ramble and write what I know, and hope that you can pick out something that you can relate to.
I gotta run, Shan is having an ice cream picnic & I'm in charge of Reddiwhip and cherries!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
My eyes took turns being swollen this week, Thursday left,
Friday Right, Saturday, under eye right...
Giving up bananas this week to see if that's the culprit.
(Off gluten 2 weeks!)
I guess I'll eradicate everything until I'm living off of
Starbucks and apples. (Kidding!)
Hm. So nothing of interest here. Oh! Saw two guys playing tennis outside the court yesterday, I thought because the court was too full. (Which it was.)
"They are not playing tennis," Steven tells me, "They're playing birdie."
So we drove past the two grown guys playing 'birdie' on the lawn, next to the tennis court.
"I think it's sweet," I said.
"Yes," my husband says. "Two men involved in sweet activity." We're laughing now, and he tells me sweet isn't the word. Sometimes you can use a word that isn't exactly the right word and it can work. (For instance, my husband's odd use of the word 'birdie' in lieu of badminton. Personally, I prefer it.)
Something else happened yesterday, and I remember saying, "I'm gonna blog about that!"
Unfortunately, I no longer remember what it was, only that it seemed blogworthy.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
I woke up this morning and opened the deck door. Something about the day called me to garden, something I love to do. Maybe I can get some weeding done! Pulling tangles of wild strawberry vines up from under the roses, I was bit by a spider.
"Let me explain," he said.
"I've been watching you uproot plants. You can sit there and uproot a small plant, and yet you lovingly work around the larger one that you've decided to befriend. What makes you the judge of what is good?"
"I was just pulling weeds," I said.
"Ah. How do you determine which plant is the weed?"
"Well, usually the one I didn't plant. Are you through now?"
"I'm just getting started," said the spider. "This morning I had two friends. We had a nice breakfast in the undergrowth, and your large filthy hand appeared." I looked at my hand, and indeed, it was filthy.
"I watched you encounter my friend earthworm. You carefully cradled him up in your hand and moved him to safety."
Ah yes! This morning while weeding, I found a little earthworm, trying to escape the newly sunlit ground I uncovered. He slid across my palm, and I wondered, 'Do worms feel love?' As a child, I would pick them off the city sidewalks after the rain, trying to save their drowning little bodies from the afterlife. Even now, when the rains come, I pick them off my driveway, setting them in pots. My husband fishes with them, insuring me that they stay on the hook better if slid on lengthwise, hook through their little worm mouths, the sideways and again. If worms feel pain, do they also feel love? Is it better to feel neither than both? I watched him slip under the landscape timber that borders the garden.
"I remember Earthworm."
"Then I watched you encounter my friend grub worm."
Grub Worm? I didn't remember. I told him so.
"You don't remember GrubWorm because you smashed him with the flat end of your shovel."
"Oh." I did remember that.
"What makes you think you can be the judge of what is good or what is beautiful? I have never met a larger hypocrite than you! Do you take on this God Complex in every aspect of your life? GrubWorm had a sweet, juicy inner core...but based on your opinion of what was good, you disposed of his little grubby life! Hypocrite, I say! Long live your gushy spirit, Grub friend!"
And with that, I smashed him with the flat end of my shovel. (Hey, that way, they can be together, right?)
My spider bite is still sore. (Yes, there's a real spider bite. It all happened, just like that. Although walking back to the house to get some mango tea, I thought I heard a little spider voice, telling me that the spiders wre going to band together. They would hide where I least expect it! I think this voice was Steven's, ha ha...)
One of the things I've learned from Steven over the years is to shake my shoes upside down before I put them on. Spiders, he tells me. Once when he was little, he had cowboy boots. After summer one year, he went to get them out of the closet, and there was a dead rodent inside one. So not only does he shake his shoes, but he also sticks the pair he's going to wear the following day up high on a table. I don't go that far yet, but I do shake, and YES, I have shaken out a spider in the past couple months. (Steven also won't get into bed without checking the sheets & under pillows for spiders. Would you say he has a phobia?)
I was really going to talk about my weekend. My mother, trying to make a lemon meringue pie, saw her crust cracked. Irritable, she went home. Steven, thinking we were having pie, brought his sweet tooth home from office depot, and stood staring at the cracked crust. He decided he'd make scratch brownies. After working on them for twenty minutes, the last ingredient was flour. There were two recipes, side by side, and instead of using 1 cup of flour, he used 2.25. His dream of watching Kill Bill One (again) and eating late night brownines was ruined. No more sugar meant there were no more second chances.
"There's half a pear in the kitchen. If you want, I'll put some chocolate syrup on it." He didn't see any humour in what I'd said. I got a kalhua White Russian out of the fridge and sat with him, watching the hansou sword scalp Lucy Liu. Again. Hmmm.
If I ended this with "I went to the kitchen and got that pear half that the kids had left; sometimes you just have to appreciate the little things" that might sound good. But in truth, I threw it in the trash the next day, so that would be a lie. (Like the spider story is not a lie? you say? Hey, I'm even writing your dialogue in here! No, the story is not a lie, merely the dialogue. Perhaps not even that, but spiders talk much too low for me to be able to understand them.
I hadn't remembered the rain ever looking like that. Soft, like hair. Strings. Bouncing off my hand like rubber ball snowflakes. Moonlit and majical.
This is the actual exchange between my husband and I as I held my hand out the window marveling at this newfound discovery of rain.
ME- "Look! The rain- it's like moonlit hair; floaty shiny strings of somesort. Amazing..."
HIM- "I wonder what kind of mushrooms they put on your steak."
Friday, May 22, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
cringe worthy inspirational song about reaching your dreams?
That's right, I'm talking about American Idol.
And that yearly CRINGE WORTHY ballad at the end.
This year Kara wrote the song. I think she were a wee uncomfortable, but the judges were trying to be nice. "Let's not judge you by that song, let's say you had a great year."
Riding the train of thought for a moment.
Train of thought says
I hate ignorant people.
then, doesn't everyone hate ignorant people?
then, what if ingorant is just a point of view...
I'm probably ignorant.
Monday, May 18, 2009
"They have a 50' swinging bridge over this swamp filled with alligators..."
Well, they don't. They have a little boardwalk, maybe 10-20 feet, over a park area that has no gators. 10-20 feet is probably big for a kid, and children can imagine an empty marsh full of alligators easily. People haven't squashed all the creativity out yet. His mind had to grow the sight he'd seen in order to make it still awe inspiring for the grown mind.
Because the things that we think are great when we're small may not seem so as we get older.
I experienced this yesterday.
Yesterday, I made an old familiar dish my mother made every week growing up. We ate it often, so I didn't remember it to be out of the ordinary.
Boiled chicken hearts & gizzards. You boil em, then dunk them in ketchup with hot sauce. (I told you, my mother said as a kid, I'd eat whatever she cooked. She was right!)
So I boil up hearts and gizzards, and my 10 year old is walking past.
"Taste this," I tell her, and I hold the fork out. She eats it. "Pretty good," she says.
So she walks in circles, talking, eating bites of hearts and gizzards. Fifth or sixth bite in, I hold a little heart up on the end of the fork. "Look! BaBump, Babump, Babump..." (Okay, babump babump is my heart beating sound).
She gives me an odd look. "What? Is that what it is?" Then she spits the bite in the trash, runs out side and starts to spit in the yard.
"You said the first five bites were pretty good," I commented. There'd been a running joke that one day I'd cook em, and my mom was coming over, so I did yesterday.
"I made your favorite," I tell my mother. She responded that we were poor and ate that stuff to make do- when we weren't eating the free Denny's food on the days she worked. Funny, in my mind, Denny's is still this fabulous place, too. I still have an old collection of paper Denny's masks, not even cut from the original sheets. Maybe I could frame then and hang them in the playroom. :D.
Friday, May 15, 2009
not everyday but sometimes, when I'm
trying to gather little pieces or ordinary that you may not notice
but are not that ordinary after all.
What I give to you is akin to Fallon's giving choice bits to his cats,
A bite here and there yet not the bulk of my day.
The bubbles on the bath, shiny and lovely
but I never go near the water.
There aren't moments where I slip and go deep;
Writing this is like writing to myself.
It's a one-sided sandwich; I am the speaking and the listening.
I am the bread folded over hiding my peanut butter, honey and bananas inside.
There is no second slice of bread in blogging.
I do not let you view bruised banana chunks
But the big nutty bits are too much of me as a whole!
So you have to eat them
Hope you like them
If you're here you're probably full of nuts yourself
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
(this rose is called L'Ingenue)
Thanks for stopping in-
Monday, May 11, 2009
Bare with me as I go through my gluten withdrawals.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
But my to do list is long, too long for the days limited hours, and I should NOT be here.
Really. But I am, so I'll be very quick.
My 13th Anniversary today! Definitely, I should be blogging about how awesome my husband is, but instead, I'll blog about his and my favorite things during the trip.
So we got home late last night, and after getting all our stuff unloaded & kids to bed, we sat and watched Ladies #1 Detective Agency, then went to bed ourselves, exhausted.
The light went out and Steven says to me,
"What was your favorite thing on the trip?" & I'm drifting off already. Huh? I say.
He asked again. I already know what he's going to say.
"You wanna know mine?"
"I know already. You're gonna say breakfast."
"Not just breakfast, you remember the-"
"The ladies who thought I was crazy. Yes. I knew you were going to say that."
In order to keep the girls surprised, we said we were going to Kentucky. We got lucky when they never saw us cross the Florida state line, and checked into the hotel that night. But the next day at breakfast, Shanna mentioned to the waitresses it was her birthday.
"Are you going to Disney? Epcot?"
The kids didn't hear her and I panicked. (Interesting, panic has a k when you add ed...)
"H-huh?" I'm stuttering.
"Are you in Florida for the Birthday?" they ask.
"We're not in Florida, W-we-we're in Kentucky," I get out. Steven is staring at me across the table and in that moment, I know this is coming back to me. The waitresses look afraid, as they back away from the table slowly. I'm nuts.
"Do you know what my favorite thing was on the trip?" I say.
"When we were at that raggedy backwoods Captain D, and I ordered the salmon plate, and you asked the little hillbilly girl if the Salmon was caught in the wild or farm raised..."
He did. He did it, and I just stared at him.
"Are you for real?" the girl asks, "Is he jokin?"
"No, he's not joking."
When they start to holler back to the folks in the kitchen the origin of the fish, people were getting in line behind us. I went to the table with the girls because I didn't want them to think it was me.
"I should've pinned that on you," he says. "I should've said 'My wife wants to know!' "
That would have been completely like him. For those of you that don't have Captain D, it's like McDonald's but with fish.
His question would be the equivalent of asking the origin of the beef in a big mac. Um.
I really do not have time to blog today though.
And there are things I'd love to blog about!
Accidentally getting on the email list for Freecycle.
Every other email is about guinea pigs, guinea pigs taken, free guinea pigs, but the other day, somebody was giving away their control top hose. 14 pairs. Various colors.
I sold the naked cucumber painting! (There's a photo on this blog somewhere, but I don't know the exact location/day of it. I think it was early 2009, if you are wanting to see it.)
And the time alloted for blogging
And Jimmy Fallon didn't answer my email
So I'll probably have to blog about that as well soon
but not on my anniversary,
which also happens to be the last day we can work on my daughters project
which is far from finished. Argh.
More later. Have a really good day!
Friday, May 1, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
this old stuff is new again. ?. But I thought maybe a couple times a month I'd throw one in.
Here's Monday, January 30, 2006 for you.
"Horsie!" she said, pointing out the window. It's a concrete stretch of 41, right where the interstate meets the highway. I look over and there it stands. It's the giant Budweiser horse, sitting in front of a gas station. Or shall I say standing. Really, it wasn't standing; I mean technically it was, but to be honest, somebody just pulled it off a rig somewhere and put it in place, a clump of metal or clay or whatever. Large and statuesque, it's the Trojan horse of our generation hiding some sort of message deep into its underbelly. My child loves it, and if I could, I would steal it for her and set it up in the backyard. She could ride it all day and we wouldn't have to feed it or wipe its steaming turds of off the soles of our shoes.
I'm sure the store would sell as much beer without it. I don't really know what the horse has to do with beer anyhow. What is the message they are trying to convey?