So True

Seen on a bumper sticker:

Some days all I want to be is a Missing Person.

I think most of us can relate.

Returned to My Regularly Scheduled Programming

Yesterday there was dead silence from across the road. I imagine that's down to being hungover after Monday. Today, though, all is back to normal as a song filled with swearing and a constant refrain of "We don't care!" blasts from my neighbors' workshop next to their house.

All is as it was.

As for me, I'm pretty mellow. I'd tiptoe through the tulips, but you see I haven't got any right now. Maybe next year...

Party

My neighbors like to party. The parents are aging hippies, and the children (can that term really apply to those who are in their 20's? I guess it can since they still live at home) are free-spirits with lots of friends. These are the neighbors who set off a cannon from time to time. Yesterday, it was a total of 3 times, thoroughly traumatizing Patches and Wheezy.

Yes, they had a huge Memorial Day party yesterday. The field across the road became a parking lot, though room was left for people to throw frisbees and play soccer if they so chose. A bonfire burned late into the night, and they even had a live band complete with sound system.

None of this is really noteworthy; I realize this. There was one very memorable moment, though, and it came at the beginning of the day.

The younger set, lovers of Heavy Metal, Punk and Alternative -with a little Johnny Cash just to throw me off- blasted, of all things, Tiptoe through the Tulips while they set up! And not some funked out version. Nope. It was a warbly, 1920's recording by the sounds of it.

I will never figure those kids out.

But that's ok. They know who they are and are comfortable with it. They are talented and creative artists who are beginning to receive recognition locally. Pretty cool.

And Tiptoe through the Tulips isn't that bad, all things considered. Wouldn't we all be better off if we did?

Literary Tragedy

Man burns books to protest lack of reading

I get this man's point, but it breaks my heart to think of these poor, defenseless books being sacrificed this way.

Dream a Little Dream

I woke up from a very strange dream this morning...

I wandered through a local video store- long since defunct, but not in my dream- until I found a couple of movies. I can't tell you what they were, not because there was anything naughty or embarrassing about them, but simply because I don't know.

Anyway, I rented my movies and walked across a field and into a professional kitchen (not unlike the White Hart's where John and I once worked together, though it wasn't that one precisely) and while there, realized that I had to do something. I can't recall what, but that it required me to set down my movies, car keys and cell phone and leave the room for a minute. I placed them on a work area to do whatever. When I came back, my stuff was gone. I was concerned and questioned the staff. One surly soul informed me that he had moved my things because they were in the way- though in point of fact they hadn't been, as that spot hadn't been used at all. He indicated that my things were on a table near him. Once I went to collect them, however, my cell phone was missing! Quite upset now, I questioned him and he coldly informed me that he called the airport because I had left it unattended! It would seem that leaving a cell phone unattended was the equivalent of leaving luggage unattended in a U.S. airport: you call airport security, and that's what he had done. The problem was that the people from the airport would be listening to my messages- a terrible invasion of privacy!- and would then erase the SIM card, leaving it totally blank and needing reprogramming!

Damn that officious, bottom-of-the-totem-pole little chef who, not very important himself, went on a power-trip where I was concerned! My cell phone was gone, ruined.

Bastard.

Today

It's warm, and I can hear the birds chirping and the breeze rippling through the leaves of the trees. Peaceful.

Profits Make the World Go 'Round

Granted I'm still in pain and still cranky, but I've just got to say that I simply don't get why we continue to buy anything from China which will go in our mouths, or in the mouths of our loved ones, or that contains (dog or cat) fur.

Following quickly on the heels of the pet food crisis, we now discover that toothpaste is tainted.

What the hell?

Yeah, I'm still grumpy...

Now I've Done It

I don't know what I did, but I've hurt my back. It started as muscle strain down the right side after driving, though I hadn't done anything unusual which might have caused it. What began as strain turned into muscle spasms, which in turn has led to pinching of my sciatic nerve.

I'm in pain, and I'm grumpy.

New Arrival

Well, I have a brand new Alaskan cousin, a little boy. I don't know what his name is yet- we've been calling him The Bump. I don't think he'd like that as a permanent thing, however.

He's 9lbs. 6oz, and 22.5" long. Ouch. See, this would be one very good reason why I'm not having children.

It just isn't natural.

Vivid and Delicate

Shadow on the Wall

Not all shadows are ominous.

Hurt So Good

A vein throbbed by my left eye, creating a tick as my head began to ache. I was blinded by tears, unable to breath as my body convulsed.

I wasn't experiencing a medical emergency; I was watching Bill Cosby perform. It was the best night out I've had in years!

I always thought that "laughing until I couldn't laugh anymore" was a figure of speech, but it isn't. I literally couldn't breathe. I would laugh out all the air in my body, but before I could inhale he would say or do something else, leaving me totally unable to draw breath as my body continued to try to laugh. Two hours later, I still feel winded and my ribs hurt. It was sooo worth it, though!

You really have to see him to get the full effect of his comedy. The best part was when he told the story of his daughter's attempt to potty train his granddaughter. He came upstairs, around the corner, to find his daughter sitting on the floor outside of the bathroom. Glancing in there, he saw his little granddaughter, completely naked on the toilet with her little legs sticking straight out. She was on one of those training seats which clip onto the toilet. His daughter was reading "Everyone Poops," which at this point was explaining about the passage of broccoli through the duodenum. As if his 2 yr. old granddaughter had a clue. He found the whole thing to be totally absurd and was already struggling to contain his laughter when it happened: the clip on the training potty slipped. One side of the thing popped up, depositing his granddaughter into the toilet, jack-knifed with head, hands and feet sticking straight up in the air, training potty seat next to her face as her bottom hit the cold toilet water. "She went down like the Titanic!" At this point his granddaughter makes a noise, the toilet water being cold. Her mother, completely oblivious, tells her not to strain so hard, then continues to read about the journey of the broccoli. Cosby hits his knees, he's laughing so hard. He tries to tell his daughter, but she won't listen, insisting that he not interfere with her method of training her daughter, who is stuck in the toilet. She yells for her own mother- who comes up and scolds him. They then realize what's going on, and scold him some more for not letting them know.

You had to see his pantomime...!

He also discussed Viagra, pleading with men not to use this until they've worked out for awhile, for the sake of their wives. The body not being what it once was, you could really scare a woman, seeing that thing coming at her. When he was young his buttocks were round and firm like a cantaloupes. Now, though, they're like saggy peach pits. Etc. He went on a long and funny spiel comparing past and present physical condition. The way he used to come racing out of the bathroom and into bed, versus coming out of the bathroom and shuffling with tiny steps across the floor towards the bed with a body that is puffy or shriveled in all the wrong places, with Mr. Johnson standing at attention. Then you trip and fall forward, pegged to the floor. The wife calls to the children "Come here and play Spin the Daddy!"

Yes, spend 7 or 8 months working out before taking Viagra. By then you'll be too tired, he says.

There was just so much. He was only slated to be on for 90 minutes, but he gave us 2 hours. It was just amazing. If you have the opportunity to see him perform live sometime, it's definitely worth it!

An Evening Out

I'm taking my mom to see Bill Cosby perform tonight, thanks to Randy for the tickets he bought for me for Christmas. The show is sold-out, with a long waiting list. How lucky am I? We're really looking forward to it. We saw him years ago, when I was a kid living in Dallas. It was Father's Day, and so he geared his performance around that. I wonder what it'll be tonight? I'll find out soon enough.

Tell you about it later!

And We're Back

Right. That's the Spring semester done. I'm free now, at least until June 4 when my Public Speaking course begins. Won't that be fun?

I spent too much time cramming last night; I only got 4 hours of sleep. Then I was a little late, not that my professor cares. My classmates are regularly late; this was my first time. I cared, though. It isn't like me. Chalk it up to lack of sleep, last minute cramming and getting stuck behind a very slow truck. She was still going over the exam before the class began work on it, though, so I didn't miss anything. But she was relieved to see me all the same. Then she embarrassed me by saying "But you really don't have to take this exam; you have 104 average already!"

I ducked my head, and took the exam.

I was talking to the professor afterwards. She has a fourteen yr. old son with autism, and offered me a part-time job as his companion, taking him shopping, etc. if I find myself needing money. That was nice. She also offered to give me references anywhere in the future. She thinks I should apply for a job as a tutor over at Academic Support Services. These are things to consider if I have trouble getting financial aid.

All in all, a good day.

Accounted For, Not Present

I've been away much of this week and I wanted to come back with a cheery, funny post. But I'm just not feeling it.

As the semester winds down I have more time to think. While the first, intense wave of grief over Sam's loss has passed, I still carry an abiding sadness which had settled somewhere deep inside but which is now surfacing once more. Add to this the fact that my father's suicide has been brought up a couple of times lately as his birthday approaches, and you'll find that I'm in a fog and weighted down.

Perhaps this will help offset the tone of this post...

Achey-Breaky

I had my annual exam by the insurance's company's chosen doctor, to make sure there's no difference in my wrist. After all of the poking, prodding and twisting my wrist really hurts, so I'll keep this brief:

Math final completed, hopefully successfully. Only history left on Friday. I'll be catching up with all of you when this crunch is over. Sorry for being neglectful!

On an amusing note, a comment spammer is using the name "looneymoo." It doesn't leave me much to say about them, does it? The name kind of says it all.

Truth

Heard the other day, and it stuck:

Research causes cancer in rats.

How true!

Off to cram a semester's worth of math into my head before I take my final exam tonight...

Take A Deep Breath

The last bit of serenity before I take my finals this week.

The Passage of Time

My baby sister went to her junior prom tonight, looking so grown up and beautiful. I still remember holding her little baby-self in my arms when she was born; I was nineteen.

Time passes, and has turned her into a beautiful, sweet, funny young woman. I'm so proud of her.

Branching Out

I've Almost Finished

I've just handed in my last Composition assignment: the research paper. I turned my final exam in yesterday, and received a 19 out of 20 possible points, so that's good. All of my essays received a 10 out of 10. I just have to see how my class participation grade and my research paper grade factor in, but I'm pretty sure I aced this.

I also had my last math class tonight, in which our professor told us that in 12 years of teaching high school and college classes, ours was the best she'd ever taught. She looked forward to our classes each week, and thanked us for it. We've already turned in our course evaluations, so she wasn't sucking up. It was nice. I have my final exam in that on Tuesday. To be honest, despite my fears math wound up being my favorite course this semester. I wish I could have the same professor for the next math class, but she doesn't teach it. I hear good things about the prof who does, though. Keep your fingers and toes crossed for me. But wait until the Fall, because Spring and Summer are too long to go with crossed fingers and toes; they might cramp.

Tomorrow is my last History class, with the final exam next Friday. Then I'm done for 2 weeks, at which time I will take up the rather daunting summer course I signed up for: Public Speaking. It isn't the course itself which is frightening, but the schedule. Because it is condensed into one month, the class meets 3 times a week, 3 hours each time. But it's only for June, and then I'll have a month and a half off.

Hurray for being a student! I'm feeling more saggy than Patches in this photo...

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold...

It's Hard to Say Good-bye

Last night I dreamt (hey, that's the first line of a Smith's song. appropriate...) that Sam was restored to me, but only for one day. I threw my arms around him and squeezed him tight, scratching behind his ears. I was overjoyed. But then it sank in that I was only going to have him for the one day, and that thought hurt so badly that I almost wished that he hadn't been sent at all. I grabbed him and hugged him some more.

And then I woke up.

This afternoon, the animal hospital called; Sam's ashes were ready to be picked up.

I cradled the metal box as I used to cradle his head, and cried. Soon we'll be spreading his ashes, letting him go once more. It shouldn't be so hard; we'll see each other again. I'll miss him, though, until then.

Conclusions

By the time I finished digging the weeds out of the flower bed today I was attacking anything green, weed or not. And my overriding thought was this:

If my flowers can't withstand some weeds, they deserve to die.

Survival of the fittest, baby.

Why I Shouldn't Garden Without Music

Gardening without music can lead to some very strange thoughts. I'm not overly fond of gardening to begin with; I just do it sometimes because I like the results. And by "gardening" I really mean weeding, because I actually do very little by way of planting. I had a line about pulling things out and putting them in, but perhaps best not.

Anyway, I know many people enjoy gardening and they have simply lovely and profound thoughts such as:

"Ah, Spring! The renewal of life seen once more in the resurrection of the plants and the greening of the trees..."

Or

"It's amazing how nature works. Every worm, every insect, every dead mouse contributes to the richness of the soil..."

That's not me so much. Well, the latter one is a little.

But as I literally single-handedly shoveled weeds out of my flower beds- and yes, I had to shovel them, which should indicate how often I garden- I was thinking about that old Kenny Rogers' song, Coward of the County.

It began annoyingly enough, as these things tend to do. The words "His momma named him Tommy, the folks just called him yellow/but something always told me they were reading Tommy wrong" were stuck in a loop, as were my thoughts about them, which were "Hm. He's your nephew. Your brother died in prison making Tommy promise not to fight. You know this. You've raised him. You even know the exact words of the promise. So when others called him yellow, you'd think you'd know, rather than just have an inkling, that they were wrong."

These sames lyrics. These same thoughts. Repeated endlessly.

The loop finally broke though and I went on to consider the rest of the song. "I promised you Dad not to do the things you done/I walk away from trouble when I can/Now please don't think I'm weak I didn't turn the other cheek/And poppa I sure hope you understand/Sometimes you've gotta fight when you're a man"

Well, let's see. His wife was just gang raped by the Gatlin brothers. Now, I don't know for sure but I'm fairly certain his father wouldn't have minded, just this once. Which brings me back to the lyrics :

The Gatlin boys just laughed at him when he walked into the barroom.
One of them got up and met him halfway 'cross the floor.
When Tommy turned around they said, "Hey look! ol' yellow's leavin'."
But you coulda heard a pin drop when Tommy stopped and locked the door.

Twenty years of crawlin' was bottled up inside him.
He wasn't holdin' nothin' back; he let 'em have it all.
When Tommy left the barroom not a Gatlin boy was standin'.
He said, "This one's for Becky," as he watched the last one fall.

I don't know why my mind rearranged the order of the lyrics, but it did. I've always liked this part of the song. The Indian name given to me as a child by some fellow campers is "Mosquito Squasher Who Shows Violence in Many Ways" and I think it is this side of my nature which finds these lyrics so appealing. By the way, I rarely show violence anymore, except of course to mosquitoes.

You can find the lyrics for the song here if you like. Heads up my swiss friend, this may make it into my earworms of the week list...

Visitation?

Sam and Wheezy were always jealous of each other; they both wanted to be the center of our attention. Sam of course was much bigger- though far less mean *G*- than Wheezy and naturally he was never allowed to go after her. He'd woof at her from time to time, but that was it.

Yesterday, Wheezy went psychotic. Out of the blue she raced across the house and straight up to the top of the door jamb without pausing, ears back and eyes crazed! She stayed up there for about 10 seconds, then just as suddenly turned around and ran halfway down, upside down like a squirrel, before launching herself back to the floor. As soon as she hit the ground, she was normal again. She has never, ever done anything like that before.

I think Sam, being restored to a youthful body, suddenly realized that he could chase the cat and there was nothing I could do about it. It was pretty funny.

Ok, I'm Here

I still feel as though my heart is broken, but I'm slowly able to breathe again. I still miss him, still look for him; I've cried every day. But the memory of how tired and slow he was getting with age, and how he was in pain from arthritic hips, is enabling me to believe that he's in a better place, restored to his youth and running free. He's with Greta, and I'll see them again. I've discussed it with Randy, and we're going to plant a dogwood tree in our yard as a memorial not only to Sam and Greta, but also for all of the other furry companions with whom we'll share our lives.

It will get better with time. Thank-you all for your words of comfort; it has helped.

Still Grieving

I'm really struggling, but I'm still here. Just letting you know that. I know some people won't be able to understand the pain I feel over the loss of a dog, but he was family. I don't have children and never will. Our dogs, our cats- they are our children and we love them.

It's hard being in the house because I find myself automatically looking for him. He's not here, but there are reminders everywhere I turn. The house feels so large and empty; it feels wrong. He came to live with us only a month after we moved in. This is his home as much as ours.

It's hard coming home. I search the window for his face; his head always popped up when Randy or I pulled in the driveway. He's not there, and won't be again.

When I go to bed, he's not there to say goodnight to. When I wake up, I have to remember all over again, and face another morning without him there to wag his tail in greeting. Worst of all, whenever I was sad I could throw my arms around his neck, bury my face in his fur, kiss his head and cry on him. Now, when I need him the most, I can't.

He's been such a big part of my life for twelve years, protecting me, watching over me, forgiving me and loving me. He lived with me for two years before I got sober, and I spent the next ten making up for it. Whatever else I may feel, I know that Randy and I gave Sam a good life, and he knew that he was loved. I made sure that the last words he heard were "We love you."

I have to stop now.