Tuesday, June 30, 2009


It is a good rule to face difficulties at the time they arise and not allow them to increase unacknowledged.
Edward W. Ziegler

One's objective should be to get it right, get it quick, get it out, and get it over.
You see, your problem won't improve with age.
Warren Buffett
i was thinking perhaps my aneurysm was insignificant enough that perhaps it could
remain in its spot, unperturbed...These were today's quote's of the day in my email box. ?.
I'm hanging in there! :)

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Debbie Downer Day

I was sitting here thinking about how salty my tears were, slobbery faced,
and, yikes, it has been a while, hasn't it..
So I go to open this email that has little recipe things but I only open them to read
the little quotes which are usually really cute.
Today's Quotes Were

When you get into a fight with a bear, you don't get tired until the bear gets tired.
Coleman Young
Only fitting, I s'pose.
Today I was told I have a brain anuerysm.
I've discovered MRI's and MRA's, and needle happy people that scare me. I can tell you I have had a crippling headache for days on end. I can also tell you that I'm gonna eat the hell out of some gluten when I get over this mess. (Turns out my sickness was never a gluten allergy.)
I think I'm supposed to see a neurosurgeon tomorrow. I'm not even sure; my husband is in change of all the doctor stuff. I did yell out while he was on the phone with her that I should get a mandatory supply of valium with any news like that and, Wee, my wish be granted.
Is that how to spell Wee.. Like the Wee when you get pushed on a swing,
not the wee my kids do in the pool. I just blew my nose on my shirt. There are no tissues in here and I'd have to drag my ass downstairs, so the shirt is making do. And it doesn't actually bother me to say the fact out loud. I'm too old to care about snot on a shirt, I guess. Or maybe it's just that I feel like shit.
Mind you, snot on jeans would be a completely different story.
Sorry I haven't been blogging. Frankly, I've just not been well. Please hang in there and wait for me to be back to my old self soon. :).
(It'll happen. And I'll be funny again.) much love, yours truly
oh, hey, today's my 100th post! um.. yeah. lovely.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Race Car Bed

I was looking on Craigslist for used furniture and I saw
that someone was selling a Little Tykes Racecar Bed in Full Size.
I have no sons nor a guest room, but if I ever were to have a guest room,
perhaps when I'm old as hell, I shall buy the little tykes full racecar bed
and subject grown friends and relatives to sleeping on it whenever they stop in to visit...
I'll act like I don't notice that it may be odd or unfashionable,
but in fact, I'll go to sleep in my own bed smiling.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Sick Day

I could actually feel that you were missing me?
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


Steven left a giant salamander in a casserole dish in front of the coffee maker this morning. Like the hunter men of old, I can only hope it's not 'What's For dinner'...and if so, please email all of your scrumptious but gluten free salamander recipes over to me, hell, just write them in the comments, that would be excellent...

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...

enjoy :)

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Retrospect (Thursday, May 18, 2006)

Still covered in hives. Still itching. The cat came back home.
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!
Much love to you always~ your truly