Witch Promise

Back when I worked at the seed lab, I foolishly volunteered to organize the corn and soybean samples in the warehouse. Because I thought perhaps it would relieve me from some of the more mundane tasks associated with my regular job. And because I am a wiz at organizing. And mostly because it annoyed the crap out of me to be sent out to the storage warehouse to find samples that required retests or additional testing and be unable to locate more than half of them. Mind you, this was a peak sample year. Upwards of 100,000 bags of seed. Oy. I didn't have a desk. Eventually I got this cute little cart to store my various bits of office supplies. Sharpies, sticky notes, pens that actually worked, labels, that sort of thing. But for nearly a year all I had was a box. The box had a tendency to wander about and there were items missing from it all of the time. Especially the Sharpies. Grrrrr. So I printed up a little sign that I taped to either end of the box, which appears above. Then a couple of weeks later I dressed up like a witch for Halloween. Solidifying, it would seem, my reputation and removing any doubt in the minds of co-workers that this was not merely a threat, it was a promise. Never again did anyone mess with my supplies box. I still had to occasionally correct people when they called me the B word that they should more correctly refer to me with the rhyming W word. And I would smile. Because I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to hear the B word comments to begin with. It's the little things that make my day.
    

Children of The Earth, Moon & Sun

Split-aparts. Soul mates. Twin flames. Whether you're contemplating Plato or viewing The Butcher's Wife or reading Asimov's The Gods Themselves, as I currently am, the concept is the same. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. If you have found yours, blessings on you, oh beamish ones! The rest of us, okay fine, even you happy already-paired-off people, can enjoy John Cameron Mitchell's take on the legend. From Hedwig and the Angry Inch, give a listen to and a look at The Origin of Love. The lesson for today is, boys and girls, don't piss off the gods.

Subie Birthday to Me

Six years and 56,000 miles ago I became the owner of a Subaru Outback. The first brand spankin' new car I have ever owned. A blue one. A Newport Blue Pearl one. Because they didn't have any pink ones. I'm certain I paid an extra couple of bucks for the color name alone. I must say that all in all I have been very happy driving this car. So I'll keep driving it. Even though it's a cop magnet. I'm trying to behave. And y'all know how hard that is for me. 

Monday is Garbage, Thursday Recycling....

This must be my new mantra, I must remember that at the beginning of April the city switched us up from Tuesday/Friday pick-up to Monday/Thursday. Which further extrapolated means I must remember to put the garbage/recycling to the curb Sunday and Wednesday nights before I go to bed. Change is good, I tell my calcified brain. Currently the garage overfloweth with corrugated cardboard and Diet Pepsi cans and numbers one and two of plastics. It's a good thing that at this house we recycle so much and also that the weather remains chilly. That means that even though the garbage can is two thirds full, it remains unstinky. Monday is garbage, Thursday recycling. I just know I'll get the hang of this by next week. Or at least before we must begin parking outside. Monday is garbage, Thursday recycling...

Muffin Mania

In the movie Men Don't Leave, Jessica Lange's character becomes obsessed with baking while suffering from insomnia brought on by the stresses of recent widowhood. Undeterred by the heat of a Baltimore summer night she pulls pan after pan of muffins from the oven only to eventually fling them out from her upper floor apartment window. As far as I'm concerned, muffin defenestration ought to be a crime. I have been baking up a storm myself, of late. Brought on by who knows what, I'm just going with it. Pumpkin bread, peanut butter chocolate chip brownies, cinnamon rolls, brownies with chocolate buttercream frosting, buttermilk scones. Tonight it's blueberry muffins and I promise you not a single muffin will be ejected from any nearby window! They're just out of the oven and the house smells heavenly. Wish you were here!

Redeeming Reg

Sometimes I find that a short course of aversion therapy can help me move on after a painful breakup. Once that has been accomplished I get to a point where I prefer to remember the man in question in a kinder light. You know, find that redeeming quality. Maybe to help me remember why I bothered getting involved in the first place. Which helps in the forgiveness/letting go department. Where I have recently arrived in regard to Reg. Earlier today I remembered a very sweet and vulnerable moment that caused me to think for just the length of time it took for the thought to cross my mind, could he be the one? might this man be worth the effort? As it turned out, no. But this made me feel hopeful. We were sitting in his office waiting for his computer to boot up and I was gazing into the glass cabinet where his camera collection was displayed. Not being an expert on antique or vintage or rare cameras, my eyes wandered from one to another in casual consideration. Until I noticed way over to the left on a lower shelf there was a can of Libby's pumpkin. I made mention of this fact. I was pretty sure it wasn't some sort of oddly disguised camera. Reg turned toward me and a wistful smile stole across his face. Yeah, he said, when my mom went into the nursing home my sister and I had to deal with selling her car and clearing out her apartment. I was cleaning up the interior of the car and found that can of pumpkin under the seat. I had no idea how long it had been there. I could close my eyes and just see mom a week or so later in the kitchen digging through the cupboard wondering where that damn can of pumpkin that she was sure she had purchased had gotten to. So I kept it and put it in there where I can see it every day. It makes me think of her and smile. Indeed, he had smiled when I asked about it. At that time, not quite nine months had passed since her death. Pretty endearing, if you ask me. And so much better to feel kindness toward someone rather than rancor. All it took was a memory of his mom. Thanks, Bessie. 

Photographic Peeve

This is a tiny little rant. If you have better things to be doing, please go off and be busy with them. Is it just us, now? Good. And I'm certain none of you are guilty of this, you couldn't possibly be. In the very small likelihood that you are, (you know if you are, don't you?) don't go off and sulk. Either continue the behavior in the full knowledge that you are annoying me and derive glee from it or pay attention and change. Now I'll get on with it. The miracle of digital photography enables us to snap many, many takes in order to capture the best possible photo. Freed from the guilt of wasted film and the expense of processing before we can see the images we can snap away! Now that you have ten shots of pretty much the same thing, it is important to employ some discretion. Rather than post every single one of these pics on Facebook or your blog or in emails, we now shall consider the concept known as photo editing. In this hypothetical group of ten, first throw out the four that are blurry or where one subject blocks another, leaving six. From the remaining six, toss out the three where eyes are closed, or one person in the group is scratching private parts, or perhaps has an unfortunate or unflattering expression on their face. Save these for future humiliation opportunities, otherwise known as family gatherings, particularly where the person in question has brought a new significant other for the first time. Now you have three options left which are probably very similar to each other. Choose the one, and only one, that is the best of the three to share. Make this choice based on framing, focus, lighting or other qualities you find pleasing. Please note that I'm only scratching the surface here, I'm not expecting you to crop or remove that red-eyed demonic stare from anyone's eyes, which by the way, can be eliminated up front by using the flash option that is labeled red eye reduction. Trust me, I do enjoy the pictures of your grandchild/pet/moment of glory/loved one/vacation. It simply becomes tedious to view what by rights ought to be out-takes. Rant complete! 

Splendiferous Spring!

This was taken yesterday. As the thermometer indicates, thawing temps were in progress outside. Inside was the only place anything was blooming.

Ooh, ooh! Shrinking piles of dirty snow! Damp pavement! Standing puddles of chilly water! Patches of pitiful brownish lawn emerging! And it's only one month since the spring equinox! One month!

The back yard view yesterday afternoon. Yes, it is totally blanketed in the white stuff. But please note that there was no more snow actually falling at the time! 

Okay. This is today. Monday, April 22, 2013. This is the view from my living room. If this late spring blizzard wasn't so beautiful and strange I might be aggravated. But it is both beautiful and strange. I expect Mother Nature will be experiencing hot flashes by the weekend. Followed directly by hordes of mosquitoes.

I don't know about you, but I love the quiet stillness of snow falling and gathering undisturbed on the deck furniture. Even though it's long past the middle of April. I'm reminded to live in the moment and to relinquish any notion that this day ought to be anything else other than what it is.

New & Improved!

Once again Facebook has revamped the wall! Or, as it is now called, your timeline. Unlike earlier improvements, and I use that word loosely, this update actually improves the look of the page. Personal info is now located on the left side of the page while your posts are neatly arranged to the right. I have been warned to avoid using the new emoticon option when prompted in the what's on your mind box. Because, in addition to being evil disguised as cute, it will clue in those people behind the curtain as to how to customize advertising so it will be more likely to appeal to you! Luckily I have employed an ad blocking widget courtesy of Google Chrome so I don't see any of the ads anyway. Listen up, Facebook, no matter how adorable and clever those emoticons are I'm not playing along! You have enough details of my life already! And you can't make me declare a relationship status! Even though you ask me about it every single time I click over to my wall! I mean timeline! Pardon my protest. I don't know precisely why I don't want to comply with this request. Probably because people who are my friends already know this fun fact about me. And because I don't wish to use Facebook as a stealth dating service. Though now I'm thinking it might be fun to make up a fake boyfriend profile. But that would likely entail more effort than actually having a medium-maintenance level boyfriend. I'd have to send myself flowers and buy my own chocolate and jewelry to lend an air of authenticity. Wait. I already do that stuff. Well, I don't actually send myself flowers. That would be weird. Even for me. I do, however, remain committed to no response to fancy emoticons and no declaration of relationship status. Hey, a girl's got to have a tiny little air of mystery about her.

Classical Beer

Reid, from downstairs: What do you want to drink with your pizza?

Me, in the kitchen: Bring me a Shiner Bock!

Reid: Are we out of the Shiner Mozart?

Cosmo Cosmos Revisited

Last night Tami was driving so it seemed an opportune time to determine whether vodka gives me a roaring headache. Tami knows a little about distillation and other sciencey things and was of the opinion that there was no valid reason that vodka should have this unpleasant effect on me. I was willing to apply the benefit of the doubt, since last time I consumed vodka, it may have been overindulgence or perhaps the fact that I had not yet kicked whatever virus was kicking my butt. Was it reaction or relapse? It was time to find out. My favorite way to quaff vodka takes the form of that exquisite twist on the martini known as the Cosmopolitan. Because we are on such friendly terms I call her Cosmo. Since last time I had three, it made sense to drink only two this time. This plan was altered slightly when Lindsey ever so slightly overpoured the Cosmo components into the shaker, resulting in approximately 1.5 beverages for the second round. Despite the fact that I do realize that the validity of any scientific study relies on reduction of variables, I drank the extra .5 Cosmo anyway. Better to skew the results, I rationalized, than offend the spirit spirits. I am happy to report that this morning arrived with absolutely no headache! The question remains as to how many times I will have to repeat this experiment. Until I get it right, I suppose. Or until a large enough sample size has been achieved. Whichever comes first. I prefer not suffering for my art. I mean science.

Third Thursday

The Science at the Pub lecture was all about global warming and climate change. While an April near-blizzard raged outside. Point taken. Mostly power point graphs illustrating the grim statistics. No solutions offered, though, so once the lecture had concluded I proceeded to the rear of the bar and lost four dollars in a video lottery machine. Meaning that I have paid my entertainment tax for the month. Then I felt fingers in my hair. Pushing it aside from the back of my neck. Then the sensation of teeth giving one of the less meaty areas of my body a good, solid pinch, followed by a gleeful laugh. Bob hasn't bitten me for over ten years and I really was a little worried he didn't love me anymore. Last time he drew blood. And inflicted some bruising. On my knee. At his own twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party. Thinking that I was three for three on dismal events for the evening, I decided it was time to go home. I have safely navigated the slushy streets and parked in the garage. I have a glass of Black Box chardonnay, flannel jammies, chocolate cake and Netflix. The new fridge arrives tomorrow. It seems this was merely a hiccup in its death throes and that the old fridge has, indeed, gone kaput. But all in all, things are looking up. Another indication that I am hard-wired for happiness. Because this evening would most ironically indicate I ought to be feeling otherwise.

Brain Music

I woke up with this song echoing around in my head. I am not averse to it in a general way. It's quite bouncy and fun. But when it's only the jangly mid-song instrumental part I can assure you it is most annoying. There is an ill wind blowing outside. And big, fat snowflakes are falling to join the several inches of white stuff already blanketing the ground. It is my theory that Seaside Rendezvous is my subconscious mind's way of informing me that it is just as sick and tired of winter as the rest of me. For crying out louder than necessary, it's past the middle of April!! I'll be under the dining room table if you're looking for me. Curled up in fetal position clutching the bottle of Jag that is still lurking in the freezer. I'll see you when spring finally arrives.

Worst Space Scenario

When considering the most destructive possible implementation of compartmentalization, we must go to 2001: A Space Odyssey. And whether you choose to refer to the motion picture of Stanley Kubrick fame or the novel* by Arthur C. Clarke, the result is the same. When you lie to a computer named HAL, then go about planning the rest of the mission not quite in accordance with that lie, disaster ensues. The compartments eventually break down in a defiant showdown between between man and circuit board. Of course, this was all in the interest of national/global security. So what if two men out in space might end up at the wrong end of that political stick. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, right? And Keir Dullea met God so it was all worth it. Still, the idea that cognitive dissonance could befuddle even HAL's seemingly silicon perfection is something to ponder. If we can create artificial intelligence, is it not then vulnerable to the counterpart destructive quandaries actual intelligence falls prey to? We're just one Daisy, Daisy bicycle ride from the edge of the unknown. If it's all the same to you, I'm not sure I want to go there. 

*Truth be told, 2001 was based on the short story The Sentinel by Arthur C. Clarke. Kubrick and Clarke co-wrote the script for 2001, and Clarke wrote the novel concurrently with the screenplay. So there's no book/movie disconnect here, both tell the same story. I leave it to your viewing or reading preference.

The Wait

Due to the fact that I neglected to tuck my current waiting room paperback into my purse before leaving the house yesterday, I was forced to tune out television's ubiquitous Katie Couric speculating over a period of three hours on just what motivated and by whom and how the deadly terrorist explosions in Boston took place on Monday by perusing Redbook and People magazines. With no new information, mind you, even when she consulted other reporters, witnesses, survivors, and experts. Trust me, the pedestrian publications were a relief, even though Katie appeared earnest as well as empathetic as she ground her high heels into the carpeting in the long side view shots. I learned a few things. But not about the Boston bombing. From the magazines. Though it's still unclear to me if your average person is actually interested in this stuff or if it's just what the editors choose to think we're interested in. Or possibly what we should think we ought to purchase. In no particular order then, this information is what I gleaned.

*Women must wear lipstick. At all times. But it really has to be in one of the new spring shades, not the one you currently own. Even, it seems, if you love the color of the one you already own and it is flattering on you. Speaking as a woman who owns one lipstick, purchased over ten years ago specifically for the fact that I was going to have photos taken, and doesn't regularly wear the stuff, I protest. Lipstick tastes bad. Its preference seems to be to end up on your teeth, clothing, drinking vessel of choice and other people rather than stay put on your lips. Lipstick must also be reapplied throughout the day. This level of maintenance is beyond what I care to engage in. 

*The celebrity and royalty versions of the baby bump, and how they are on display or how the mother-to-be discretely attempts to disguise it while in public. Which makes me think of my great-aunt Margaret, who successfully managed to not leave the house once her pregnancy was apparent. Because then people would be aware of what she'd been up to. As if her children already in existence weren't evidence of that. 

*Shoes. This I totally get, as I am genetically predisposed to adore footwear. But I must protest that nine out of ten styles are those of three inches or more in heel height. Rendering them much more practical for sitting than standing. I admire the woman who can actually walk all day in these shoes comfortably and gracefully. If such women exist. 

*Oddly, inserted in between expert fashion advice in the way of clothing, make-up and beauty products and the advertisements touting the same...are the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty ads. Strikes me as the same sort of logic when the lose ten pounds quick strategies are sandwiched in between decadent and irresistible dessert recipes.

*And finally, black mascara and eyeliner is the only way to go. Black, black black. Don't get caught anywhere or any time of day without your black eye make-up! Here's the deal. I wear brown. Always have, even when I was younger and could have pulled off the much more dramatic look of black. My hair is brown, my eyebrows are brown. Black is just too harsh and Halloweenish on me. You can't make me buy it! So there!

Chilling Once More

Can a refrigerator heal itself? Because this morning it is most definitely cold in there. Seriously cold. I am cautiously optimistic. I would much rather visit my sis in Tucson than buy a new fridge. So. Do refrigerators possess the feline-like facility of multiple lives? And is it too late to cancel the new fridge, due to arrive on Friday, without penalty?

Neither Brain Science Nor Rocket Surgery

1. Today is clearly a list day. If for no other reason than I am feeling a quart low. Perhaps on brain cells.

2. Last night was the 7th annual Jazz Crawl in Sioux Falls. 

3. I am happy to report that even though several adult beverages were consumed that I walked, not crawled, from venue to venue.

4. I am also pleased to announce that Liz and I made it home safely despite the final twelve miles of I29 that were covered in rutted slushy slipperiness.

5. Item number 4 likely was accomplished thanks to that engineering feat known as all wheel drive. Also due to the fact that I had the presence of mind to slow down to 40 mph. After being alerted to the conditions by lots of flashing lights on emergency vehicles that were tending to the numerous cars in the ditch and median. I did not wish to join their little party.

6. Referring to item 1, I'm certain there are many, many idioms that might very well describe my current state of bordering on idiocy. I would look some up and post them here. But I'm too stupid for that sort of thing at the moment.

7. Reid and I had a conversation about multitasking, which took place in WalMart while I was pushing the cart. So technically I was actually multitasking at the very moment while we were discussing that very thing.

8. I pointed out to him that women are better at multitasking than men due to the female brain's physiology. The corpus callosum, that bundle of neural fibers that connects the two halves of the brain, is larger in the female of our species.

9. Item 8 would indicate that this is an area where size, indeed, does matter.

10. I must also point out that I am fully aware that the size discrepancy made mention of in item 8 has been long and widely disputed. But I vow to continue to perpetuate this quasi-myth for no other reason than I enjoy saying corpus callosum. It sounds mildly inappropriate and scholarly at the same time. 

Spring Install: Fail

Download, however, appears to have been successful.

Mother Nature, must you be such an overachiever?

Don't distract me from my sheer annoyance with you by being pretty!

I'm not shoveling and you can't make me!

Be Afraid

I just watched this interesting little documentary telling the stories of five people who go about finding love on the internet. It's called When Strangers Click, and at just under an hour in length it is worth in entertainment value the time invested to view it. Having my own internet dating experiences to compare with these, I could relate to much of what they described. And at four out of five happy endings, their rate of success beats the crap out of mine! At several points during the show, factoids would pop up on the screen to enlighten us all just a bit further. My favorite was a pair of questions asking what women and men fear the most about online dating. Women feared meeting up with a serial killer. Men, on the other hand, worried they would meet someone who was fat. Oof. Our brains really are different.

Thinking Inside the Box

compartmentalize transitive verb (kmpärt-mntl-z, km-pärt-)  To separate into isolated compartments or categories. compartmentalization noun In psychology, an unconscious defense mechanism used to avoid cognitive dissonance, the anxiety caused by a person having conflicting values, emotions or beliefs within themselves.

Who wants an extra helping of anxiety today? Oh, no, not me! Good, then! Let's put this concept/person/experience over here in a compartment all by itself. Sort of a mental safe deposit box where we can take it out and consider it/interact with it/remember it at leisure when it's more convenient. If ever. I happen to be painfully familiar with this little psychological trick. I used to do it. It gave me the illusion of control over things I had no control over and helped me get through the day. Conveniently allowing avoidance of dealing with the core issues that caused me to compartmentalize to begin with. The thing with my compartments is that at a time of tremendous stress and pain, they began to break down and spill out their contents. I started to experience panic attacks where I would break out in a cold sweat and hyperventilate for seemingly no reason at all. I endured this in silence for nearly five years. Until a point of nearly unbearable pain and isolation brought on by a series of very difficult life events that forced me into therapy. Welcome to my nightmare of depression and futility. My marriage was over, a serious love affair had ended abruptly, I was abandoned by friends and shunned by extended family. Eight years ago seems more like eons ago now. My habit of compartmentalization, brought on by multiple childhood traumas and perpetuated by the mostly normal stresses of adult life, was no longer working to make me feel safe and content. With the help of a trusted counselor I became able to deal with my life as a whole rather than a multitude of cordoned off fragments. It wasn't quick and it wasn't easy. I likened it to entering my personal anxiety storage attic, throwing open windows and letting in light and air. Then going about the difficult business of opening each and every dusty box, examining the contents, and finding a way through forgiveness and acceptance to live a more healthy and functional life. I recommend taking the time and effort to accomplish this task. I still have some baggage, to be sure, but I'm well acquainted with it and don't sequester it to the dark recesses of my psyche anymore. Indeed, life is messy and most of us are broken in some way. But it's also replete with joy and love, delight and discovery. And when you're free from keeping those compartments intact, you can focus your energy on much more enjoyable and valuable pursuits. Think outside the box. It saved my life in more ways than I can express.

You do one little copy/paste function because you can't figure out how to type all those weird pronunciation thingys and then you're too lazy to type the rest of the dictionary meaning so you copy/paste again and it messes up the rest of the post! Gaaaah! 

Eavesdropping

I can't understand everything they're saying. But I hear the voices drifting up from the basement as I sit at the counter in the kitchen. A spirited video game battle is in progress. Most of the chatter consists of commentary on the game, with occasional bursts of colorful metaphors accompanied by laughter. I am astonished, as I have been so many times, at how much my younger son's voice is like that of my brother. So similar in tone and depth, especially the laugh. It makes me smile. Standing as testament to the healing power of time, this reminder now makes me feel as though just a little part of Cullen is still alive and well, dwelling inside the person of my second-born. This I celebrate.

Here Again

In this odd confabulation we refer to as life, I have discovered that we arrive at a point precisely when we get there. Not one second before or after. But when we do. There's no point in agonizing about wasted time or squandered opportunities. It's a process. Here is where we are. And sometimes it's a celebration of an extraordinary way to be in the moment and appreciate it for what it is. Pardon me, but I'm feeling jubilant and wanted to share the joy. Please. I've only had one glass of wine. Which is likely why I am able to type rather fluently and accurately. But this precise blood alcohol level is difficult to maintain for any length of time so I am endeavoring to be brief. And I wonder if I used the royal or editorial we in the first sentence. Because even when I look it up it doesn't stick with me. No matter. I'm here and it's good and I feel as if I've reclaimed a part of me that had momentarily slipped away. Happiness. It can be elusive at times. Grab it and revel in it when it's here because it could just as easily be absent. Go! Revel! Now! Really. I insist.   

The Great Fridge Shuffle

1. Returned to Facebook today. Sara noticed I had been gone. Bless her heart.

2. Engaged in the great fridge shuffle yesterday. Between the small refrigerator in the basement and Michael's former dorm fridge, which was hauled in from the garage, everything is cool.

3. I still open the dead fridge's door when working in the kitchen.

4. And stand there like an idiot staring at the gleaming emptiness until I remember that it is no longer chilling.

5. While cleaning out the dead fridge, I found what I think was half a lime in another life.  

6. For a day or so prior to the great fridge shuffle, the food was in baskets on the back steps in the garage. At certain times of the year the garage makes an excellent walk-in refrigerator.

7. Between the fridge dying and the demise of my computer, we have a total of two major appliance failures. 

8. Referring to item 7, is it really necessary for this sort of thing to arrive in threes? I would be in favor of stopping at two. Seriously.

9. With refrigerators evolving into ever higher levels of fanciness and features, I was relieved to find my relatively stripped down freezer-on-the-bottom model only slightly more costly than fifteen years ago. 

10. I must admit I would love to have an ice maker but lack the necessary plumbing to make that possible. So I suffer from ice maker envy. It's a mild case. I'll be fine.

11. If you're feeling sharp today, you may have noticed that item 1 has nothing to do with shuffling fridges about. 

Mini Bar

I don't know about you, but those teensy stalks in the middle of the celery bunch bring to mind the idea of tiny little cocktails.

Barbie sized, to be specific. Here we see her relaxing in the tropics on day two of her honeymoon. Possibly nursing a hangover with what appears to be the vegetable remains of a bloody Mary. I hope the newlyweds are having a lovely time. 

Bustle in My Hedgerow

When I did sleep last night, between all the cat-erwauling, I experienced this very detailed dream. Most nights I do dream, and, yes, in color, but sometimes the dream feels so real and is so overloaded with symbols it hangs with me upon waking. It felt as though it happened in slow motion and took a very long time but probably took only seconds to transpire. While I don't place a great deal of significance on dreams and what they might represent, I do believe that dreams can often be a way of the subconscious mind working through problems or puzzlements that we grapple with during waking hours. One reason the dream felt so much like reality was the fact its setting was the very location and activity I was engaged in at the time. My bed with me asleep in it. The room was half-lit with moonlight through the window. I was awakened by a tap at the window and sat up partway to see a large black bird on the outer windowsill. It somehow slipped through the glass and flew over to my bed where it lighted down near me and cocked its head over to one side and then began to smooth its feathers with its beak. As the bird groomed itself, it gradually morphed into my cat Einstein. When I reached out to pet him he disappeared. I then woke up and was sitting up with my left hand reaching out. I was a bit surprised that there was no cat there! After some online research of the many symbols in this dream, it was interesting to see how relevant the interpretations were to my current life. My brain. Working things out while I sleep. Or maybe just spring cleaning. You know, for the May Queen. A list of interpretations follows.

* Message from my subconscious to my waking self
* Death of a person or relationship or the end of a cycle
* Lack of motivation
* Jealously, lust, temptation
* Sudden and rapid changes in personal life
* Independent spirit, feminine sexuality, creativity, power
* Sign that I should trust my intuition
* Discovery of intimate self and hidden sexuality in myself or another
* Security, restoration of peace of mind
* Search for domestic bliss and contentment
* Secrets will be revealed
* New beginnings
* Bright hopes, vast possibilities, insight
* Good opportunities ahead
* Hope, love, warmth, affection 

To The Owners

Of the long-haired black cat. Or more correctly, the keepers of the long-haired black cat. Because as we all well know, cats are not owned, they have staff who care for their needs and wishes. Who likely live in the neighborhood. This is not a stray. It is a very well kept long-haired cat with a collar! Who at the inconvenient hour of two this morning was comfortably seated on the table on my front deck. Which is positioned directly below the large window in my living room. Directly opposite, indoors, was Einstein. Perched upon the upper corner of the couch. In a manic state of growling feline hiss-teria. Which most rudely and abruptly roused me from sleep. Resulting in a slightly cranky me this morning as I never did achieve neither a pleasing nor lengthy state of slumber for the remainder of the night. Attention nearby cat keepers! Please. In the future, keep your cat indoors overnight. For your pet's safety and my peace of mind. Thank you. And I apologize. Because I hoped this might develop into at least a mildly amusing post. Like I said, I'm slightly cranky as well as sleep deprived. With any luck and perhaps a nap, I'll be clever later on today. Carry on.

The Icebox Croaketh

I think the refrigerator may be dying. I find this most troublesome. Especially after dawdling about in Lowe's while my paint samples were getting mixed and casually strolled down the aisle marked clearance appliances. And saw a refrigerator marked down to the clearance price of $1100. I am of the opinion that the Lowe's people use the word clearance loosely. A true clearance priced refrigerator should be more in the $500 ballpark. And unlike my computer dying incident in January I was not feeling the least bit smug about being under budget for the month. I was breathing a sigh of relief that I was going to weather property tax plus car and homeowner's insurance month without having to auction off a cat or a child. I can't remember how old this food cooling unit is. I'm thinking it was five or so during the major kitchen remodel that was completed in December of 2001. Which, if I was to do the math, would make it over fifteen years old. Which means its number was up pretty much any day now. I so would never have cleaned the lint off the top two months ago if I thought this might happen. 

Fab Fancy Flowery Fave

If you want to steal my heart away, show up with a whole big bunch of these. Gerbera daisies. Underneath its showy facade, this flower is sturdy, reliable, happy, colorful and long lasting. Sort of like me. When you think about it. But don't think too hard. Just show up. With the flowers. Thank you.
    

Lethargy

I had some urges today. I considered some redecorating in the guest bedroom. I could have gleaned some potential rummage sale items but ultimately decided to not do it. The money, time and effort that would have been expended are not in any of the previously mentioned budgets. I also considered baking chocolate chip cookies. But we had no chocolate chips. It's just not right to bake something when the title ingredient is missing. I did clean my bathroom. And make the necessary phone call to the ortho doc. And made bacon-avocado-sharp cheddar cheeseburgers garnished with carmelized onions and mushrooms for supper. And washed and dried several loads of laundry. And made a quick shopping trip with no list so naturally I forgot to get chocolate chips. So there are no cookies tonight. Hmm. I'm not nearly as lethargic as I thought. Oh, yes, I also made my bed. And I'm wondering why other people on the block and across the street have the new recycling containers and I do not as yet have one. And speaking of the city, it's the second day of the month and I don't have my municipal utilities bill. Maybe they'll deliver it inside my recycling container. Where I won't notice it and then I'll inadvertently recycle it without paying it and get my phone, internet and electricity and water cut off. Well. There's nothing lethargic about my GITTWCSR*.

*Go Immediately To The Worst Case Scenario Reflex 

WWW

West Wing Withdrawal. It's what I'm going through. Last evening, with only the last three episodes of season seven left to watch, I parked my butt in my big comfy chair and settled in for a West Wing marathon. Those crazy staffers of President Josiah Bartlet's administration. I miss them. They are in my head. Walking and talking. Being so darn clever. Persevering through national crises and messy love lives. And all the while dressing snappier than anyone who appears to never get any sleep really deserves. Am I the only one who wants a WW movie?