Sometimes you just have to write something.
Seeing as it's been so long since I've written anything.
I got out of the habit.
And now I think of things to write and then forget them and it doesn't help that my laptop's been hibernating on the top of my bookshelf.
So here goes...
Something.
There.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
background on Babyland
We first discovered the existence of Babyland when we stumbled across an old recording of something unimportant. However, in the background there was a baby singing a song. Our team of researchers worked diligently to amplify the background singing and mute the mundane mutterings in the foreground. What we heard turned out to be an epic song of valient warriors led by the heroic Baby Trudy. It went a little something like this:
"Baby Trudy from Babyland, and the water balloon brigade!
Baby Trudy from Babyland, and the water balloon brigade!
Baby Trudy from Babyland, and the water balloon brigade!
Water balloon,
Water balloon,
Water balloon,
Water BALLOON...
Brigade!!!"
We then determined that our course of action should be as follows: we should listen carefully to the babies around us and see if we could figure out what they were talking about.
We listened with our hearts... and we began to hear! Stories were told of journeys taken in race cars facing backwards in baby safety seats. Tales tumbled forth of water balloon fights that went on so long the babies' hands got pruney. Crying babies wept over the early days when there was little food in Babyland - before the nurses arranged for cooks to live in - and all they ate was Bitter Apple Stew...
There were stories of pie, dancing, dinner, and freshly baked bread with butter. And how after dinner every night the babies retire to the parlor where they play games and laugh and clap their hands. Until, one by one, they yawn and stretch. And one by one, they trundle upstairs to get into their little baby beds with white downy quilts, close their eyes, and dream... of butterflies and pear crisp, and sheep chewing bubble gum, and cows jumping over the moon.
At this point, we have a working hypothesis: Babyland is where babies live before they come here. And if we really listen, we can hear all about it.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Hope is On the Way!!
I've been thinking lately about when I was young. I believed in destiny and soulmates. I believed that I was an ancient soul who had been on the planet since the advent of time and that I had been at least partially responsible for the sinking of Atlantis. My goal in this life was to bring something fantastic to fruition on the planet.
But first I needed to lose weight and grow my hair long.
I was saddened by the fact that my soulmates - yes there were more than two and yes I realized that I had been wrong about the first three - were dating other people. It was ok though, because I knew their souls and I knew that they loved me even though they thought they loved their girlfriends. So I hung on their every word listening for the hints that would indicate their true feelings for me. And I knew that they would recognize who I really was just as soon as I lost weight and grew my hair long.
The first step in the process of achieving my ultimate goal - and fufilling my destiny - was to get the world's attention. Then everybody would be listening when I gave them the enlightening fantastic universal news bulletin. That meant I needed to become a famous movie star. Quickly. And in order to attain that status, I really needed to get on the ball about losing weight and growing my hair long.
I guess what I'm doing here is offering you - the world - an apology. I am sure the message would've come through if I'd managed to get organized about the whole thing. But unfortunately I've been consistently stuck on level one. I was thin with long hair in my mid twenties for about 3-4 years but sadly I was pretty self obsessed and forgot all about saving humanity.
Sorry.
The good news is that I've recommitted to growing my hair long and I am really going to try to stop eating at night. So within about a year (fingers crossed) I'll be back on track to becoming a famous movie star and then I'll be able to, you know, tell you all what I was planning to. And it should help.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Something is Amisssss in Babyland
Something has happened somewhere in Babyland and all of the nurses put together have not been able to figure out what it is. But they know something's been done - something not right - because all of the babies are hiding when called. When found, they look sheepish. So far, Horowitz is claiming the 2nd. (That's the Babyland ammendment that states that any baby capable of defending other babies in court doesn't have to say anything even if he or she knows exactly what happened because it might come up later in an issue of attorney / client priviledge. This ammendment was ratified shortly before the missing shoe mystery was discovered to have happened.)
When babies break the rules, the nurses can tell because they all get a peculiar expression on their soft sweet faces of waiting to be caught. Please see the following example:
The Bakery is strangely devoid of patrons and the Library is filled with stage whispers of babies hidden in the shelves of picture books and behind the puppet stage.
This reporter took the liberty of placing a mini tape recorder inside one of the puppets and was able to discern the following discussion between two unknown little ones:
"They took it. Why are we hiding?"
"They said they'd frame us if we told."
"But what does that mean?"
"I don't know. But I don't want it."
"Did they eat it?"
"Yes."
"Did they share it?"
"No."
"What's this?"
"A tape recorder."
"Did they put it there?!"
"Don't even touch it!!"
"We must run!"
The soft sound of baby bare feet running away followed.*
Well, whatever was taken, we know that "they" ate it. And I, for one, hope it was edible.
Updates will be forthcoming as information becomes available.
*Note: if anyone has any information regarding the disappearance of my tape recorder within the past few minutes while I was writing this article, please contact the offices of the Babyland Gazette. You know who you are. Baby Trudy.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
conversations with my children
On boundaries:
My son was quite clear with me the other day as I was rocking him in the chair. "DON'T Flinnnnnnn!" he ennunciated. "DON'T Pannuuuuuuu!"
???
Now we have a song about it.
Don't Flinnnnn, Don't Pannuuuuuu...
Don't Flinnnnn, Don't Pannuuuuuu...
If you flin, but don't panuuuu
thats not an improooooooooov-
Ment.
So Don't Flinnnnnn,
and never Pannuuuuu...
And growing up:
My daughter was thinking aloud in the car today.
"If I was born already knowing everything that adults know and being able to do what adults do," she said, "then... I would buy my own house and get dressed by myself."
"Wow." I said. "Then I would have to find something else to do with my time, since it's my job to teach you how to do things."
"Yeah. Then you would have to find another baby."
"No" I responded. "I'd just stand back and watch you and applaud."
This conversation made me realize that I was going to have to figure out my own path again at some point in the next 13 years.
The interaction with my son, on the other hand, made me realize... I shouldn't ever Pannnuuuuu. Or Flinnnnn.
???
Now we have a song about it.
Don't Flinnnnn, Don't Pannuuuuuu...
Don't Flinnnnn, Don't Pannuuuuuu...
If you flin, but don't panuuuu
thats not an improooooooooov-
Ment.
So Don't Flinnnnnn,
and never Pannuuuuu...
And growing up:
My daughter was thinking aloud in the car today.
"If I was born already knowing everything that adults know and being able to do what adults do," she said, "then... I would buy my own house and get dressed by myself."
"Wow." I said. "Then I would have to find something else to do with my time, since it's my job to teach you how to do things."
"Yeah. Then you would have to find another baby."
"No" I responded. "I'd just stand back and watch you and applaud."
This conversation made me realize that I was going to have to figure out my own path again at some point in the next 13 years.
The interaction with my son, on the other hand, made me realize... I shouldn't ever Pannnuuuuu. Or Flinnnnn.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Orange Geraniums
I strive for elegance but often overshoot the mark and end up striving for excellence. And I fail.
Sometimes that leaves me so deflated that I greet the morning with a sense of overwhelm and despair. I would love to meet the dawn with a smile and an expectation of good things. Rarely, I do. I have a role model for this ideal: my Granny Boggild.
She was tall and thin and always well put together. She wore orange cable knit cardigans with pearls, and sat in her wing back chair in front of her stone fireplace, knitting and watching tennis on her small television with the view of the lake behind it. In the window boxes that lined her wooden deck, she'd planted orange and yellow geraniums. I should probably add that she also wore pants, usually cream coloured, lest you get the wrong image stuck in your mind.
As time passes since Granny's passing, I realize that I remember her in colours: her blue and white bedroom, her silky light sweaters of orange, pale blue, or brilliant deep green. Her cottage was beige and olive green with accents of color here and there. Her hair was light reddish brown until the day she died at 92 years old.
Yellow painted wicker chairs sat in the screened in porch on the green painted wooden floor. We would sit together there and knit and drink Earl Grey tea while discussing other people who we really hoped would get their lives together.
Her kitchen glowed deep yellow with a red and black rooster lamp on her tiny wooden table for two. Long ago we perched there together on chilly mornings eating slightly burnt whole wheat toast with homemade strawberry jam when it was too early for my Mom and brother to get up. Later I sat there holding my cocker spaniel puppy, talking to her about my life and my puppy and she smiled and shook her head in advance sympathy and told me how it's so hard, we get so attatched to our puppies. She was right.
Not so long ago I sat there trying to burn the image of her and her kitchen into my brain. I did that with all of the rooms in her cottage and boathouse. I knew that she would leave us, it would all be changed and if I let it, it would fade.
Happy Birthday Granny. I bet that even if Heaven was all white when she arrived, it's got orange geraniums now.
Sometimes that leaves me so deflated that I greet the morning with a sense of overwhelm and despair. I would love to meet the dawn with a smile and an expectation of good things. Rarely, I do. I have a role model for this ideal: my Granny Boggild.
She was tall and thin and always well put together. She wore orange cable knit cardigans with pearls, and sat in her wing back chair in front of her stone fireplace, knitting and watching tennis on her small television with the view of the lake behind it. In the window boxes that lined her wooden deck, she'd planted orange and yellow geraniums. I should probably add that she also wore pants, usually cream coloured, lest you get the wrong image stuck in your mind.
As time passes since Granny's passing, I realize that I remember her in colours: her blue and white bedroom, her silky light sweaters of orange, pale blue, or brilliant deep green. Her cottage was beige and olive green with accents of color here and there. Her hair was light reddish brown until the day she died at 92 years old.
Yellow painted wicker chairs sat in the screened in porch on the green painted wooden floor. We would sit together there and knit and drink Earl Grey tea while discussing other people who we really hoped would get their lives together.
Her kitchen glowed deep yellow with a red and black rooster lamp on her tiny wooden table for two. Long ago we perched there together on chilly mornings eating slightly burnt whole wheat toast with homemade strawberry jam when it was too early for my Mom and brother to get up. Later I sat there holding my cocker spaniel puppy, talking to her about my life and my puppy and she smiled and shook her head in advance sympathy and told me how it's so hard, we get so attatched to our puppies. She was right.
Not so long ago I sat there trying to burn the image of her and her kitchen into my brain. I did that with all of the rooms in her cottage and boathouse. I knew that she would leave us, it would all be changed and if I let it, it would fade.
Happy Birthday Granny. I bet that even if Heaven was all white when she arrived, it's got orange geraniums now.
Monday, June 20, 2011
News Update from Babyland
New details are now available concerning yesterday's Key Lime Pie disaster at The Bakery on Main Street in Babyland. Contrary to popular belief, Baby Trudy did not instigate the attack on unsuspecting mean babies dining at the next table. It was, in fact, a mean baby who stuck her tongue out at Baby Judith who was dining with Trudy and their nurse Elise. Evidently, Baby Judith was struck dumb at the obvious insult to her honor by this mean baby who goes by the name Luanne. Baby Trudy realized immediately that the appropriate response would be up to her. She grabbed a Key Lime pie from the bakery counter and hurled it at Luanne. Trudy has not been reached for comment yet, but our experts agreee that this action probably stemmed from the fact that babies lack impulse control.
As our readership has probably surmized, Luanne quickly retaliated with a Bannana Cream Pie. Which was followed by a volley of pies from unknown assailants throughout the bakery. The baker has declined to comment, pending negotiations with Trudy's attorney, Horowitz.
Mean baby Luanne has chosen to represent herself. (Our investigations have revealed that Babies Trudy and Judith have had Horowitz on retainer for the last year, during which they have allegedly been involved in several food, water balloon and non-verbal insult incidents.) As yet, charges have not been filed.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Please Knock.
Perhaps you are aware of the saying: "My door is always open."
After years of marriage and children I have realized that it doesn't work for me. In the same way that I realized that just because a line rhymes, that doesn't make it true. For example, "If you spot it, you got it!" as applied to unfortunate character traits. Sooooo, I say "Hitler is an asshole." Does that mean that I, because I noticed it, am also an asshole? Maybe. But not like him.
With that off my chest, I have decided that in order to preserve my sanity, I need to lock my doors. Not just shut them, lock them. I now lock the bathroom door when I am on the john and also when I am bathing and getting ready for the day. If I don't, I get unwanted "help". The dog decides that whilst I am toweling off my upper half, he will lick my knees for me. As I reach for my toothbrush, deoderant, face cream, or Q-tip, little hands will grab them "for me" and take them just beyond arms' length. I end up thwarted in every thing that I try to do before I've even come downstairs.
I also have begun locking the children's door when I put my youngest to bed. Otherwise, I get unwanted input from my 5 year old and sometimes my spouse and always the dog. Though in all fairness, the dog doesn't interupt the bedtime story by giving away the ending. The dog also doesn't question my technique in the middle of my calming process. Ok. So I'll let the dog in before I lock the door. I suspect he's also seeking a brief respite from the clamour and clatter of our home.
The results of this new habit are extraordinary! I am calmer, happier, and more efficient. Oh Happy Day!
After years of marriage and children I have realized that it doesn't work for me. In the same way that I realized that just because a line rhymes, that doesn't make it true. For example, "If you spot it, you got it!" as applied to unfortunate character traits. Sooooo, I say "Hitler is an asshole." Does that mean that I, because I noticed it, am also an asshole? Maybe. But not like him.
With that off my chest, I have decided that in order to preserve my sanity, I need to lock my doors. Not just shut them, lock them. I now lock the bathroom door when I am on the john and also when I am bathing and getting ready for the day. If I don't, I get unwanted "help". The dog decides that whilst I am toweling off my upper half, he will lick my knees for me. As I reach for my toothbrush, deoderant, face cream, or Q-tip, little hands will grab them "for me" and take them just beyond arms' length. I end up thwarted in every thing that I try to do before I've even come downstairs.
I also have begun locking the children's door when I put my youngest to bed. Otherwise, I get unwanted input from my 5 year old and sometimes my spouse and always the dog. Though in all fairness, the dog doesn't interupt the bedtime story by giving away the ending. The dog also doesn't question my technique in the middle of my calming process. Ok. So I'll let the dog in before I lock the door. I suspect he's also seeking a brief respite from the clamour and clatter of our home.
The results of this new habit are extraordinary! I am calmer, happier, and more efficient. Oh Happy Day!
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Happy Birthday.
I am afraid I behaved rather badly yesterday. You see, it was my birthday.
Let me preface this tale by informing you that there are two days in a year that I count on - I mean really count on - to be able to sleep in a little. Perhaps to have an entire cup of coffee at one sitting. To have someone else answer the relentless questions of my children. Those two days are Mother's Day and my birthday. I have mentioned this many times, out loud, when discussing what I would like for my birthday or what I would like to do on my birthday. "You know," I mused, "The thing I would really like is to be able to just sleep until I wake up, have a cup of coffee... do my morning readings in the morning..." Then I would take a deep breath, smile, and wait. Knowing, in the way that you know that the Tylenol you just took will eventually help your pounding tension headache, that a morning off was coming.
So the night before my birthday, when my husband had fallen asleep early, I sat up and watched some television. I admit I felt giddy with the knowledge that the following morning I would not be woken up by a whining beagle, a hungry 5 year old climbing on my shoulders, and a 2 year old with a number two diaper before 7am. It happens every morning, it happens all at once, and it happens early.
I crawled into bed. I was actually smiling. I didn't sleep until about 2am. But it didn't matter.
The next morning I awoke to a gentle kiss from my spouse. "Happy Birthday!" he said and showered my face with kisses. My daughter then wished me a happy birthday and gave me kisses too. The curtains and windows were open to reveal a beautiful fresh sunny morning. What a day! "Mmmmmm..." I stretched and smiled. "Thank you both so much. What time is it?"
"7 o'clock."
"What?"
"It's 7 o'clock." he repeated. "I thought you'd want to get up early to enjoy all of your birthday day."
He then continued: "I have a couple of things to do before we leave, so I want you to get up and take a shower and then we'll be ready to go by the time I'm finished with my e-mails."
"But... I don't want to get up yet." I protested.
"Ok. You can sleep in until 7:30."
I am afraid I did not behave very well yesterday. In fact, I was distinctly ungracious.
So I have decided that today was my birthday. This morning I slept in until 10am. I had a full cup of coffee. I read a little, I enjoyed my family and our back patio, and I did no chores.
Happy Birthday.
Let me preface this tale by informing you that there are two days in a year that I count on - I mean really count on - to be able to sleep in a little. Perhaps to have an entire cup of coffee at one sitting. To have someone else answer the relentless questions of my children. Those two days are Mother's Day and my birthday. I have mentioned this many times, out loud, when discussing what I would like for my birthday or what I would like to do on my birthday. "You know," I mused, "The thing I would really like is to be able to just sleep until I wake up, have a cup of coffee... do my morning readings in the morning..." Then I would take a deep breath, smile, and wait. Knowing, in the way that you know that the Tylenol you just took will eventually help your pounding tension headache, that a morning off was coming.
So the night before my birthday, when my husband had fallen asleep early, I sat up and watched some television. I admit I felt giddy with the knowledge that the following morning I would not be woken up by a whining beagle, a hungry 5 year old climbing on my shoulders, and a 2 year old with a number two diaper before 7am. It happens every morning, it happens all at once, and it happens early.
I crawled into bed. I was actually smiling. I didn't sleep until about 2am. But it didn't matter.
The next morning I awoke to a gentle kiss from my spouse. "Happy Birthday!" he said and showered my face with kisses. My daughter then wished me a happy birthday and gave me kisses too. The curtains and windows were open to reveal a beautiful fresh sunny morning. What a day! "Mmmmmm..." I stretched and smiled. "Thank you both so much. What time is it?"
"7 o'clock."
"What?"
"It's 7 o'clock." he repeated. "I thought you'd want to get up early to enjoy all of your birthday day."
He then continued: "I have a couple of things to do before we leave, so I want you to get up and take a shower and then we'll be ready to go by the time I'm finished with my e-mails."
"But... I don't want to get up yet." I protested.
"Ok. You can sleep in until 7:30."
I am afraid I did not behave very well yesterday. In fact, I was distinctly ungracious.
So I have decided that today was my birthday. This morning I slept in until 10am. I had a full cup of coffee. I read a little, I enjoyed my family and our back patio, and I did no chores.
Happy Birthday.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Flap Metaphor
The news is in: there is a flap to prevent vermin from coming up into your toilet. But you have to install it yourself.
...And it strikes me that this is a powerful metaphor for our modern lives: how much anxiety we live with during our most vulnerable moments, and how we push that fear away in order to function. So we tell ourselves that we're protected by any number of devices - from government to God - which may or may not exist. (Or which may exist but be unavailable or in-operational when we need them.) We choose to believe in these mythical "flaps" that are supposed to keep the "vermin" out, in order to leave the house or even use the toilet. Because if we really stop and think about what does happen every day it doesn't matter what the probability is that it will happen to us. In fact, I don't even have to leave the house in order to have a statistical probability of getting dead - as my daughter puts it. So I pray (and take medication) to help me believe the illusion that everything will probably be alright today.
Here's the good news: there is a "flap" that you can install yourself to protect you from unwanted rodent and reptilian visitations. You have to take off your toilet and install it in the hole in your floor. And you'll never guess: it's a tube with a flap in it that only flaps one way!!
Now I shall strive to make the metaphor complete by tying in the do-it-yourself protection plan for your life beyond the john:
As I see it, there are two options:
1. Physical defense - eg/ carrying a firearm, learning to fight really really well, being able to run very fast, always having a getaway car at the ready, hiring a body guard, living in a rubber walled bomb shelter stocked with lead free canned food and a fresh water supply.
2. Spiritual or Psychological defense (known by some as the delusional defense)- eg/ separating your mind and body so that nothing that hurts or kills you can really hurt or kill the essential you, and studying the original Star Wars Trilogy in order to truly understand what it means to become stonger than they can possibly imagine if they do kill you and possibly learning how to disappear before the light saber hits you.
...It is at this point that you need to ask yourself if you have the necessary time, energy, and inclination to install a flap guard against, well, LIFE. That's completely up to you.
...And it strikes me that this is a powerful metaphor for our modern lives: how much anxiety we live with during our most vulnerable moments, and how we push that fear away in order to function. So we tell ourselves that we're protected by any number of devices - from government to God - which may or may not exist. (Or which may exist but be unavailable or in-operational when we need them.) We choose to believe in these mythical "flaps" that are supposed to keep the "vermin" out, in order to leave the house or even use the toilet. Because if we really stop and think about what does happen every day it doesn't matter what the probability is that it will happen to us. In fact, I don't even have to leave the house in order to have a statistical probability of getting dead - as my daughter puts it. So I pray (and take medication) to help me believe the illusion that everything will probably be alright today.
Here's the good news: there is a "flap" that you can install yourself to protect you from unwanted rodent and reptilian visitations. You have to take off your toilet and install it in the hole in your floor. And you'll never guess: it's a tube with a flap in it that only flaps one way!!
Now I shall strive to make the metaphor complete by tying in the do-it-yourself protection plan for your life beyond the john:
As I see it, there are two options:
1. Physical defense - eg/ carrying a firearm, learning to fight really really well, being able to run very fast, always having a getaway car at the ready, hiring a body guard, living in a rubber walled bomb shelter stocked with lead free canned food and a fresh water supply.
2. Spiritual or Psychological defense (known by some as the delusional defense)- eg/ separating your mind and body so that nothing that hurts or kills you can really hurt or kill the essential you, and studying the original Star Wars Trilogy in order to truly understand what it means to become stonger than they can possibly imagine if they do kill you and possibly learning how to disappear before the light saber hits you.
...It is at this point that you need to ask yourself if you have the necessary time, energy, and inclination to install a flap guard against, well, LIFE. That's completely up to you.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
bad news gets even worse
I've been doing some investigation into this whole snakes in the toilet thing and it turns out that my feeling of safety was an illusion. There is a whole world of snakes in the bathroom! I found it on YouTube. I showed my husband video after video and he pointed out that we have seen snakes in the toilet and snakes in the drains and snakes coming out of bathtub drains, have not seen the snakes enter the toilet bowl from the bottom. Then he took the time to explain to me again about the flap. The mystical flap that guards against reptilian intrustion. The story of the flap told to him by his brother! I don't know man! I've now got some wickedly spine icking images slithering around in the back of my brain.
So then he says,"But why don't you go look for a video of a snake coming up through the toilet drain? If anyone can find it, I'm sure you can."
So I turn my focus to toilet structure. There's no flap.
Right this minute, my spouse is on the phone with his brother, who has confirmed that it is possible for snakes to come up into the toilet. He is currently confirming that there is in fact ... NO FLAP! There is only an S curve. "So there's nothing stopping a snake from coming up through the toilet..." my husband is currently saying to his brother.
Oh. My. God.
Now he's apologizing to me for giving me a decade of false comfort and lack of toilet anxiety.
I feel sick.
...
Now they are discussing how horrible it would be if RATS came up and tickled or bit their bums! Who cares about rates? Snakes ... oh god.
"Yeah, I just made it up I guess... " he's telling me now. "I may have dreamed it. Somehow I got the idea. Maybe I just assumed..."
Now he's asking, "It's never happened to you though, has it?"
Not.
Yet.
So then he says,"But why don't you go look for a video of a snake coming up through the toilet drain? If anyone can find it, I'm sure you can."
So I turn my focus to toilet structure. There's no flap.
Right this minute, my spouse is on the phone with his brother, who has confirmed that it is possible for snakes to come up into the toilet. He is currently confirming that there is in fact ... NO FLAP! There is only an S curve. "So there's nothing stopping a snake from coming up through the toilet..." my husband is currently saying to his brother.
Oh. My. God.
Now he's apologizing to me for giving me a decade of false comfort and lack of toilet anxiety.
I feel sick.
...
Now they are discussing how horrible it would be if RATS came up and tickled or bit their bums! Who cares about rates? Snakes ... oh god.
"Yeah, I just made it up I guess... " he's telling me now. "I may have dreamed it. Somehow I got the idea. Maybe I just assumed..."
Now he's asking, "It's never happened to you though, has it?"
Not.
Yet.
Monday, May 30, 2011
rats in the toilet
Evidently there are rats coming into people's houses through their toilets. This is happening in the city where I live. We are being advised to keep our toilet seats down. This "epidemic" for lack of a better word, is ticking me off. The reason for my ire is rather personal, but I'm willing to share it in the hope that it will help someone.
For years I was nervous about using the toilet. You see, I had heard about giant snakes making their way up from the sewer system through the plumbing pipes into peoples' homes through their toilets. Snakes that had been flushed when they were smaller and the owners realized that they'd inadvertantly purchased an anaconda instead of a ... garter snake? (I don't know what they thought they'd be buying. I don't know the names of non-venomous small snakes.) So, when the urge would strike to use the facilities, I would always carefully peer into the toilet bowl and scan for reptilian intruders. And at night, I would have to turn on the light to see the toilet and floor clearly - in case the snake had already slithered out of the comode and was coiled in the shadows behind the tank. This fear was something I lived with. Not a huge deal. Not something I talked about.
Let me add here that it did not help my state of mind when I would have my snake dreams: dreams of snakes, warm heavy snakes with dry scales, chasing me or lurking in my bed (ok, dial back the Freudian analysis people - sometimes a snake is just a snake). Dreams so real that I would wake up and know that if I stretched my toes I would touch the snake underneath my duvet. So I'd carefully withdraw my feet and scooch up onto my pillow and turn on the light, before whipping off the covers to make sure I was alone.
When I began living with my soon to be husband, he questioned me about my pre-toilet precautions. So I told him. He assured me that toilets didn't work that way. He told me, with the authority of someone whose brother is a plumber, that there is a flap of some kind that prevents things from making their way up from the pipes. He said that the flap only flaps one way. And I believed him!
Slowly I let go of my snake invasion visions.
Many years passed.
I felt proud that I could relieve my bladder in the middle of the night without turning on the light, secure in the knowledge that the flap only flapped one way and there was no way a snake, a huge sewer snake with abandonment issues, would raise it's head from the coil of it's slumber in my toilet bowl.
Then, I hear from some people that rats are coming up through the toilets!!
How come rats can do it and snakes can't? Has it all been a lie? Have I just been supremely lucky to have avoided a reptilian standoff thus far?!
Can I trust my husband?
So, yeah. I'm pretty ticked off.
Oh well, I had hoped that this anecdote might help someone. But I honestly don't think it can. I think in order to help, you pretty much have to end on an optimistic note, a plan of action, or a lesson you've learned... OK. Here's the lesson: when discussing possible bathroom incursions, I've learned that it's best to get the blueprints directly from the plumber.
Fare well friends. Keep those seats down.
For years I was nervous about using the toilet. You see, I had heard about giant snakes making their way up from the sewer system through the plumbing pipes into peoples' homes through their toilets. Snakes that had been flushed when they were smaller and the owners realized that they'd inadvertantly purchased an anaconda instead of a ... garter snake? (I don't know what they thought they'd be buying. I don't know the names of non-venomous small snakes.) So, when the urge would strike to use the facilities, I would always carefully peer into the toilet bowl and scan for reptilian intruders. And at night, I would have to turn on the light to see the toilet and floor clearly - in case the snake had already slithered out of the comode and was coiled in the shadows behind the tank. This fear was something I lived with. Not a huge deal. Not something I talked about.
Let me add here that it did not help my state of mind when I would have my snake dreams: dreams of snakes, warm heavy snakes with dry scales, chasing me or lurking in my bed (ok, dial back the Freudian analysis people - sometimes a snake is just a snake). Dreams so real that I would wake up and know that if I stretched my toes I would touch the snake underneath my duvet. So I'd carefully withdraw my feet and scooch up onto my pillow and turn on the light, before whipping off the covers to make sure I was alone.
When I began living with my soon to be husband, he questioned me about my pre-toilet precautions. So I told him. He assured me that toilets didn't work that way. He told me, with the authority of someone whose brother is a plumber, that there is a flap of some kind that prevents things from making their way up from the pipes. He said that the flap only flaps one way. And I believed him!
Slowly I let go of my snake invasion visions.
Many years passed.
I felt proud that I could relieve my bladder in the middle of the night without turning on the light, secure in the knowledge that the flap only flapped one way and there was no way a snake, a huge sewer snake with abandonment issues, would raise it's head from the coil of it's slumber in my toilet bowl.
Then, I hear from some people that rats are coming up through the toilets!!
How come rats can do it and snakes can't? Has it all been a lie? Have I just been supremely lucky to have avoided a reptilian standoff thus far?!
Can I trust my husband?
So, yeah. I'm pretty ticked off.
Oh well, I had hoped that this anecdote might help someone. But I honestly don't think it can. I think in order to help, you pretty much have to end on an optimistic note, a plan of action, or a lesson you've learned... OK. Here's the lesson: when discussing possible bathroom incursions, I've learned that it's best to get the blueprints directly from the plumber.
Fare well friends. Keep those seats down.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
in recovery
I have a confession: I am a recovering drama whore.
Not you! You may say upon reading this. But yes, it's true.
It is I who appear seemingly out of nowhere at the scene of any disruption asking - as if I could help - what transpired. It is I who knows, or will shortly know, who was weilding what when and what the police had to say about it.
I drudge through my life which sometimes feels more like Cinderella before the ball than a happily ever after, until I hear a siren. And then a little thrill surges through the marrow of my bones and I think "At last! Something's happening! Something exciting is happening." And if, perchance, the siren stops near our building... what luck!
Now, I am trying to abstain from drama. Just today I heard a siren and it stopped nearby and when I was leaving our parking lot for a legitimate errand, it turns out that there was an ambulance. Just down the street. But I did not give in to temptation. I turned the steering wheel away from whatever issue was happening and went to where I was supposed to go.
Once I got there... well... it turns out that some guy with a lot of tatoos had lost his phone. He'd set it down on a table next to his bag of Cheetos and then it was gone. Obviously someone had jacked it. I took him aside and told him exactly who I thought did it. He had been thinking the same thing! He decided that he was going to prevent her from leaving the scene, and frankly I concurred. I was starting to feel kind of shakey. I wasn't sure how we were going to tackle the situation. I didn't think I should physically restrain this woman, even though we both knew she was the perp. Damn it! I needed to get my husband involved. Unfortunately, he was more concerned about the possibility of falsely accusing someone than stopping her from getting away with it. The tatooed victim was getting more and more agitated. So was I. Thank goodness another guy got involved too. The girl was getting antsy. I informed the guys that she was going to make a break for it. My spouse didn't seem upset about that. It was at that point that I made an announcement to all present that a phone had been lost and if we could all take a moment to check around us, that would be very helpful. Then the victim decided to confront the thief. She backed away from him nervously. I turned to another friend for support. "Something's about to go down." I said tersely. "I'm not involved in this." she replied.
What?!
Slowly, clarity began to filter into my adrenaline infused brain.
It dawned on me how close I had come to tackling an allegedly innocent young woman over an allegedly stolen phone which was not even mine. Which belonged to a man who I did not actually know before we started talking about his phone.
And as I watched the scene unfolding, I began to wonder if I'd backed the wrong horse. Because by now the guy's shirt was off. I don't know why he took off his shirt. My husband asked me if I knew why he took off his shirt and I really don't know.
Anywhoooo...
turns out the girl didn't have the phone on her. The police arrived. I quietly made my way to my car. And as I watched the shirtless man gesticulating ardently to a taciturn cop, I drove demurely out of the parking lot.
Oh well. Tomorrow's another day.
Tomorrow I won't get involved in a drama.
One day at a time, starting Tuesday.
(You have to take into account that it's Memorial Day weekend and I can't control the shit that goes down on a holiday weekend.)
Not you! You may say upon reading this. But yes, it's true.
It is I who appear seemingly out of nowhere at the scene of any disruption asking - as if I could help - what transpired. It is I who knows, or will shortly know, who was weilding what when and what the police had to say about it.
I drudge through my life which sometimes feels more like Cinderella before the ball than a happily ever after, until I hear a siren. And then a little thrill surges through the marrow of my bones and I think "At last! Something's happening! Something exciting is happening." And if, perchance, the siren stops near our building... what luck!
Now, I am trying to abstain from drama. Just today I heard a siren and it stopped nearby and when I was leaving our parking lot for a legitimate errand, it turns out that there was an ambulance. Just down the street. But I did not give in to temptation. I turned the steering wheel away from whatever issue was happening and went to where I was supposed to go.
Once I got there... well... it turns out that some guy with a lot of tatoos had lost his phone. He'd set it down on a table next to his bag of Cheetos and then it was gone. Obviously someone had jacked it. I took him aside and told him exactly who I thought did it. He had been thinking the same thing! He decided that he was going to prevent her from leaving the scene, and frankly I concurred. I was starting to feel kind of shakey. I wasn't sure how we were going to tackle the situation. I didn't think I should physically restrain this woman, even though we both knew she was the perp. Damn it! I needed to get my husband involved. Unfortunately, he was more concerned about the possibility of falsely accusing someone than stopping her from getting away with it. The tatooed victim was getting more and more agitated. So was I. Thank goodness another guy got involved too. The girl was getting antsy. I informed the guys that she was going to make a break for it. My spouse didn't seem upset about that. It was at that point that I made an announcement to all present that a phone had been lost and if we could all take a moment to check around us, that would be very helpful. Then the victim decided to confront the thief. She backed away from him nervously. I turned to another friend for support. "Something's about to go down." I said tersely. "I'm not involved in this." she replied.
What?!
Slowly, clarity began to filter into my adrenaline infused brain.
It dawned on me how close I had come to tackling an allegedly innocent young woman over an allegedly stolen phone which was not even mine. Which belonged to a man who I did not actually know before we started talking about his phone.
And as I watched the scene unfolding, I began to wonder if I'd backed the wrong horse. Because by now the guy's shirt was off. I don't know why he took off his shirt. My husband asked me if I knew why he took off his shirt and I really don't know.
Anywhoooo...
turns out the girl didn't have the phone on her. The police arrived. I quietly made my way to my car. And as I watched the shirtless man gesticulating ardently to a taciturn cop, I drove demurely out of the parking lot.
Oh well. Tomorrow's another day.
Tomorrow I won't get involved in a drama.
One day at a time, starting Tuesday.
(You have to take into account that it's Memorial Day weekend and I can't control the shit that goes down on a holiday weekend.)
Friday, May 27, 2011
meditations for women who meditate too much
chapt 1: listening to your monkey mind
chapt 2: make that list with a real paper and pen
chapt 3: taking shallow breaths and getting things done
chapt 4: STOP SITTING STILL!!
chapt 5: I SAID STOP IT!!!
Epilogue: Why it really does matter and and why it will matter to everyone
in 100 years.
chapt 2: make that list with a real paper and pen
chapt 3: taking shallow breaths and getting things done
chapt 4: STOP SITTING STILL!!
chapt 5: I SAID STOP IT!!!
Epilogue: Why it really does matter and and why it will matter to everyone
in 100 years.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
a question of faith
Last week I saw a sign in front of a church that really intrigued me. It said, "Feed your Faith and your Friends will Starve".
What? I thought.
What do they mean? I wondered. I checked the denomination on the front of the building. No clue there. Just your typical Protestant place of subdued worship.
I thought, who do they have in charge of signs? Is it some newcomer upstart determined to overthrow the establishment and upset common social mores? But are they even supervising this person? Do the signs have to follow some biblical protocol? Does anyone actually look at them? Is this a test? Are we supposed to respond by going to the service in a "Hey now! This is new!" reaction?
Then I thought that maybe it's our friends who are in question. But what did Jesus say about friends? I try to remember...
Well, the story about the loaves and the fishes -- where he feeds the multitudes with only a few fish and a loaf -- would seem to go against the idea that friends were to be starved. Even if they're whores or work for the IRS.
At that point I had arrived home and forgot about it.
Until today.
When I drove by the same church and saw the sign.
"Feed your Faith and your FEARS will Starve".
Oh.
What? I thought.
What do they mean? I wondered. I checked the denomination on the front of the building. No clue there. Just your typical Protestant place of subdued worship.
I thought, who do they have in charge of signs? Is it some newcomer upstart determined to overthrow the establishment and upset common social mores? But are they even supervising this person? Do the signs have to follow some biblical protocol? Does anyone actually look at them? Is this a test? Are we supposed to respond by going to the service in a "Hey now! This is new!" reaction?
Then I thought that maybe it's our friends who are in question. But what did Jesus say about friends? I try to remember...
Well, the story about the loaves and the fishes -- where he feeds the multitudes with only a few fish and a loaf -- would seem to go against the idea that friends were to be starved. Even if they're whores or work for the IRS.
At that point I had arrived home and forgot about it.
Until today.
When I drove by the same church and saw the sign.
"Feed your Faith and your FEARS will Starve".
Oh.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
beautiful nightmare
This afternoon the sun was out, the breeze was cool and my daughter was running ahead of me and behind me and not hearing me as I yelled for her. The flowers were in the first fresh bloom of late spring as I trudged after my fleeing 5 year old, wearing my slip on clogs and my 2 year old on my back in a carrier. The delighted laughter of children playing met my ears as my eyes scanned the playground for my runaway and couldn't find her. I smelled the salty marine tang of the water in the air as I headed back down to the street and mentally rehearsed a defense to my spouse so he wouldn't kill me when I confessed I'd lost our first born.
"She took off! I swear! I went after her, calling, and she didn't listen. And then she was gone. I couldn't find her anywhere!" I pleaded as I looked into his bewildered grief. It's not my fault.
It's her fault. She's the one who's not coming. She's the one who's running off and not listening.
And she's five.
So it's my fault.
I catch a glimpse of her on the other side of the playground. I yell. Nothing. She runs down toward the school again. I think, 'She's not dead yet.' I head around to cut her off but she's gone again. I follow the circle around and back up to the playground - again - and there she is playing on the jungle gym.
Happily.
I'm calm, I think. Now I know that in the sun drenched spring afternoon, breathing in the soft warm air... I was numb.
I take her hand, and, in the gentle voice of the most evil villans, I tell her, "You are in soooooo much trouble."
"She took off! I swear! I went after her, calling, and she didn't listen. And then she was gone. I couldn't find her anywhere!" I pleaded as I looked into his bewildered grief. It's not my fault.
It's her fault. She's the one who's not coming. She's the one who's running off and not listening.
And she's five.
So it's my fault.
I catch a glimpse of her on the other side of the playground. I yell. Nothing. She runs down toward the school again. I think, 'She's not dead yet.' I head around to cut her off but she's gone again. I follow the circle around and back up to the playground - again - and there she is playing on the jungle gym.
Happily.
I'm calm, I think. Now I know that in the sun drenched spring afternoon, breathing in the soft warm air... I was numb.
I take her hand, and, in the gentle voice of the most evil villans, I tell her, "You are in soooooo much trouble."
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Reflections upon Dora the Explorer as I drifted off to sleep:
It occured to me this afternoon as I was lying next to my 5 year old daughter at nap time, that reading Dora books is like looking into a mirror when there is also a mirror behind you. It's you, cascading backwards into smaller and smaller reflections of yourself, looking more and more perplexed...
My daughter was saying, "This is MY book, and that is HER book..." as she was reading her Dora adventure. And she was saying it in the same manner as a first year university student paraphrases Plato's analogy of the cave in order to "get" it. What is truth? she seemed to be saying to herself. Is it my book? Is it her book? And in Dora's book - here's where it get's interesting - the characters come out into Dora's world in order to request her "help." So Dora jumps into her book and into the fairytale land that she has been reading about... Now. Dora, from inside the book that is inside the book that my daughter is holding, calls upon her readers for "Help." My daughter
is asked to clap like the clapping spider or dance like the snake or flap her arms to help the snow fairy fly...
The issue is this: these books have within their reality the assumption that the characters in the books can see the reader, and that the reader in turn can "jump" into the book and "help." And that reality permeates our real reality and causes innocent 5 year olds to flap their arms and jump up and down and yell things like "ABRE!! ABRE!!!!"
No, I don't know what it means. But it sure brings up a lot of questions...
What are they training our children for?
Wake up people!!
It's a CALIPHATE!!!
My daughter was saying, "This is MY book, and that is HER book..." as she was reading her Dora adventure. And she was saying it in the same manner as a first year university student paraphrases Plato's analogy of the cave in order to "get" it. What is truth? she seemed to be saying to herself. Is it my book? Is it her book? And in Dora's book - here's where it get's interesting - the characters come out into Dora's world in order to request her "help." So Dora jumps into her book and into the fairytale land that she has been reading about... Now. Dora, from inside the book that is inside the book that my daughter is holding, calls upon her readers for "Help." My daughter
is asked to clap like the clapping spider or dance like the snake or flap her arms to help the snow fairy fly...
The issue is this: these books have within their reality the assumption that the characters in the books can see the reader, and that the reader in turn can "jump" into the book and "help." And that reality permeates our real reality and causes innocent 5 year olds to flap their arms and jump up and down and yell things like "ABRE!! ABRE!!!!"
No, I don't know what it means. But it sure brings up a lot of questions...
What are they training our children for?
Wake up people!!
It's a CALIPHATE!!!
Monday, May 2, 2011
a puppy named Po
The other morning, after I dropped my daughter off at school, I saw a little dog with a pushed in nose out on the sidewalk. As he had tags, and there was no person
in sight, I figured he had no business being out on his own. So I pulled over and spoke to him about it. At first, he just yelled at me, like it was my fault for interrupting his adventure, but eventually he came to see my point and let me take a look at his tags. The voice mail box for the phone number I called was full and so I took him to what I thought was his home. Turns out it was across the street from his home but these neighbors told me that he's out all the time and he's going to get run over. So I take Po - that's his name - down to the police department. They recognize him as a repeat offender and advise me to take him up to a bed and breakfast for puppies that holds onto them until their owners collect them. So I did. Oh Po!
I told them to call me if he didn't get collected. And I haven't heard from them.
Next puppy story: this morning I am getting out of the car at my place and there's tagless puppy scampering along the sidewalk outside my door! I said "Hey! Who're you?" He came on over. As it was raining, I scooped him up, resolving to keep him warm and dry until we figured out who he belonged to. Then some gardeners came along and said that he was a neighbor's dog who they'd accidently let out of the yard. By that time I'd put the puppy inside my home, to the delight of my 2 year old. "Puppy!" he shrieked happily. At that point my husband stepped in. "Give them back the puppy." he said. "They need to put him back." I sighed and said "OK."
My husband then asked me if I wanted another dog. I denied it. Intellectually I don't want another dog. But if someone were to, say, toss a puppy my way...
well...
I'd have to catch it. Wouldn't I?
in sight, I figured he had no business being out on his own. So I pulled over and spoke to him about it. At first, he just yelled at me, like it was my fault for interrupting his adventure, but eventually he came to see my point and let me take a look at his tags. The voice mail box for the phone number I called was full and so I took him to what I thought was his home. Turns out it was across the street from his home but these neighbors told me that he's out all the time and he's going to get run over. So I take Po - that's his name - down to the police department. They recognize him as a repeat offender and advise me to take him up to a bed and breakfast for puppies that holds onto them until their owners collect them. So I did. Oh Po!
I told them to call me if he didn't get collected. And I haven't heard from them.
Next puppy story: this morning I am getting out of the car at my place and there's tagless puppy scampering along the sidewalk outside my door! I said "Hey! Who're you?" He came on over. As it was raining, I scooped him up, resolving to keep him warm and dry until we figured out who he belonged to. Then some gardeners came along and said that he was a neighbor's dog who they'd accidently let out of the yard. By that time I'd put the puppy inside my home, to the delight of my 2 year old. "Puppy!" he shrieked happily. At that point my husband stepped in. "Give them back the puppy." he said. "They need to put him back." I sighed and said "OK."
My husband then asked me if I wanted another dog. I denied it. Intellectually I don't want another dog. But if someone were to, say, toss a puppy my way...
well...
I'd have to catch it. Wouldn't I?
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Twas the night before Easter
Twas the night before Easter when all through the house,
not a creature was stirring,not even a mouse.
The locks were all locked on our doors for the night, in hopes that the perps would remain out of sight.
With me in my T shirt and Pa in his cap, we'd just settled down for our chips and dip snack.
Then out our front door there arose such a clatter, we sprang from our couch to see what was the matter.
When what to our wondering eyes should appear, but seven police officers in full riot gear!
"Put down the sword!" They commanded respect. Then they brandished their guns, for added effect.
Our neighbor's response was lost in the clatter, of our shutting door as we jumped back from matter.
Our curiosity quickened, we rushed to the kitchen,
peered out the window to catch the infraction.
Our once laid back neighbor insistant, unyeilding, refused to put down the sword he was wielding.
We knew in a moment, he was in it quite deep. As rubber bullets flew, he fell to the street.
Then soft the police to the crumpled man drew. Cuffed him, rebuffed him, told him what to do.
"To the squad car." they said as he moaned for relief. They brooked no dissent and pulled him to his feet.
But I heard them call out ere they withdrew from sight:
"Happy Easter to All, y'all have a better night!"
not a creature was stirring,not even a mouse.
The locks were all locked on our doors for the night, in hopes that the perps would remain out of sight.
With me in my T shirt and Pa in his cap, we'd just settled down for our chips and dip snack.
Then out our front door there arose such a clatter, we sprang from our couch to see what was the matter.
When what to our wondering eyes should appear, but seven police officers in full riot gear!
"Put down the sword!" They commanded respect. Then they brandished their guns, for added effect.
Our neighbor's response was lost in the clatter, of our shutting door as we jumped back from matter.
Our curiosity quickened, we rushed to the kitchen,
peered out the window to catch the infraction.
Our once laid back neighbor insistant, unyeilding, refused to put down the sword he was wielding.
We knew in a moment, he was in it quite deep. As rubber bullets flew, he fell to the street.
Then soft the police to the crumpled man drew. Cuffed him, rebuffed him, told him what to do.
"To the squad car." they said as he moaned for relief. They brooked no dissent and pulled him to his feet.
But I heard them call out ere they withdrew from sight:
"Happy Easter to All, y'all have a better night!"
Sunday, January 30, 2011
anniversary
Yesterday marked one year without my dear friend Margie. I must admit that I resent the fact that she had other close friends, though they came in handy when we gathered together in the afternoon. If she had not been so important to so many, well, it would have been just me... sitting there at her kitchen table, chuckling to myself over unshared anecdotes.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
question
This afternoon at lunch, my four year old posed this question: "Mommy. What does hope have to do with edemame beans?"
I answered as honestly as I could: "I don't know honey."
I answered as honestly as I could: "I don't know honey."
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