My neighbor hath fouleth my compost. With his grass clippings. For crying out louder than necessary! This is not only bad manners, it's bad composting! If I wanted grass clippings in the compost I would be putting them there myself! But I don't bag when I mow, I have a mulching mower and let the finely chopped clippings lie. Too much nitrogen and too packed down. This does not make for a good soil amending final product. The compost smells nasty. When done properly, as I make every effort toward, the chemical and acid balance enhances the stink-free breakdown of the mix of yard and kitchen waste. Which I am keeping out of the landfill. You're quite welcome. It also must be turned or stirred for aeration and be adequately watered. In an effort to resolve this situation, I have knocked at said neighbor's door twice. Not finding him at home, or maybe just not in a door-answering mood, this morning I left a note taped to his patio door. I noticed about half an hour ago that the note was gone. I haven't checked the compost as yet, it is out of sight on the south side of the garden shed. So I don't know if he has cleared out his smelly grass clippings. I do know this. If he was a decent fellow, he would have asked before dumping.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
For the first time in my life I have tasted Dom Perignon. And I must admit it is quite delicious. As a footnote I have to say that, dollar for dollar, I will be sticking with my fave Domaine St. Michelle. Because for just under fourteen bucks it's pretty darn tasty, too. So I have tasted the high end of bubbly. And admitted that I am, at heart, a low rent girl. But will follow you pretty much anywhere for a little swig of the Dom. Saint or otherwise.
I have woken up happy. And rather than question this state of being or examine it too closely I have decided to go with it. So if you should happen to catch me dancing, join in. Even if you have to duck around a corner to not feel self conscious, we'll be dancing together in spirit. On the other hand, if you're ready to burst out of your closet of doom and anxiety, come dance with me. It's a frabjous day.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
There she is, my adorable little feline namesake. She lives with Sara in Wisconsin. Along with her brother, Cliff, dogs Augie and Blue and Lowrey, and a couple of Guinea pigs. Let's not forget to mention Sara's lovely daughter Maddie. Carla's my favorite though. Here she is demonstrating what Reid calls the hovercat position. Thanks, Sara, for sharing this with me. I am about to go into cuteness overload and pass out. This is a clear sign that I need to eat chocolate. We now conclude the cute cat photo op/chocolate consumption rationalization for today.
A few weeks ago I decided to begin referring to my former husband as my first husband as opposed to my ex-husband. This was inspired by my friend Karen, who refers to her current husband as her first one. Which he is. But due to the fact that they remain married, the context has very funny implications. Which I find amusing. So, in homage to her reference, I have adopted doing the same. Almost without fail I now refer to my ex as my first. I can't wait until some unsuspecting person asks how many times I have actually been married. So I can reply, oh, just the once. If I were a better person, I wouldn't take such delight in this inevitable possibility.
Today's title has become my universal disclaimer. I have been told a number of times that when I begin a sentence with this statement that it gets their attention. Because I'm about to say something funny. Or confess some bit of behavior or a tiny secret that binds us together and makes us feel a bit less petty for our pettiness. Sometimes it provides an open forum, breaks down the walls of self-judgement and makes us feel a little better for recognizing our own personal foibles. Case in point. Last Friday evening. If I were a better person, I would not take such utter delight in speaking to people who are not speaking to me. It's fine with me if members of my former social group choose to ignore me. It's no skin off my nose. I'm not likely to attempt to ingratiate myself with them by making nice or apologizing for my presence in a public place. How dare I exist! The nerve of me, anyway! But I do most definitely have a stubborn streak, and this is where I draw the line in this situation. If you join the table where I am sitting with friends we happen to have in common and do not acknowledge my presence, you better bet your self-righteous ass that I'm going to say hello to you. In a very pleasant manner with a smile upon my face. Which will force you to respond in kind. And maybe squirm a little. Which, if I indeed were a better person, I would not enjoy. I do remain a bit mystified as to why I still elicit such a strong response from these people who used to be among my closest of friends. They still claim the social ground from which I was ousted eight years ago. They still have each other. But for whatever reason, I have overstayed my welcome in their bubble. And may I point out that this is a function of their choice, not mine. Why on Earth are they allowing me to take up space in their heads rent-free? I have moved on to rebuild my life without them. And am the happier and healthier for the lessons learned. My final thought on the matter would be this. When a sister-in-law arrived at the door for Reid's high school graduation party three years ago, it was our first face-to-face since the divorce. She said she was finally over being mad at me and missed me. We cried a little and hugged. And I said, if Allen and I can can treat each other well and move beyond the sadness and pain we inflicted on each other while our marriage was falling apart, it's time for everyone else to do the same. For the life of me I can't understand why others continue to take our marital problems more personally than we did.
Monday, May 20, 2013
So sang George Michael way back in 1987. Just checking in with an update on the social experiment I implemented four months ago. I couldn't tell you why I thought this would be so difficult. Because it's going rather swimmingly. The sample size remains too small to be scientifically valid. But I must say that anecdotally FAITH has turned out to be interesting, educational, and entertaining. Speaking just for me, I have to admit that there are few things better than being interested in something that edifies as well as amuses. Win, win, win, if you ask me.