Unwise Whys

Man, this fork in the road looks familiar. The emotional side of my brain is asking a multiplicity of most likely unanswerable whys. Why, why, why? Like a five year old hopped up on Twizzlers and glazed donuts. When I know that I need to listen to the rational side of my brain. Which is saying, quietly but firmly, you may never know why. Never. And you must accept this. If you do receive an answer to these plaintive queries, it will arrive only in a moment of peace, never when you are in the midst of turmoil. True understanding follows acceptance, not insistence. I need some stillness. I need some quiet. Deep breath.
  

Easily Amused Dept.

It astonishes me that a full three years after my dismissal from the seed lab that I continue to receive confidential emails from the health insurance provider that used to cover me! My password still works! Their informational newsletter that advises me on how to improve my health through lifestyle changes arrives in my inbox without fail! So. Who's minding the store at UnitedHealthcare?

An Even Dozen

I am an avowed town/city girl. Though I occasionally perform a farmish chore. On Friday I was in charge of watering various livestock and the gathering of eggs. First let me say, an up-close, loudly squawking chicken can be a little frightening. But considering that she was in the process of producing the egg in the upper right corner of the carton at the time, I cut her some slack. In fact, I felt admiration for the ole girl. Okay, I was downright impressed. Some of these went into the making of French toast yesterday. Others will go into a lemon tart tomorrow. Eggs. A little miracle that chickens own like nobody's business.
                                                                                     

Diagrammation

In honor of John Venn's natal day, and heck, because I do adore a cleverer than average Venn diagram. Enjoy. 

It's Universal

Something that happens to all of us. Unless you are that couple who fell in love at first sight as toddlers and never left each others' sides. Does this actually happen? Anyway, I just listened to a repeat of This American Life featuring break-ups as a theme. Sigh. The segment with a nine year old girl talking about her parents' divorce struck me in a tender spot that I am surprised is still there. I am forty years past the first time my own parents split up. It's such a normalized part of my history that I usually give very little thought to it. But hearing Betsy's child voice describing her feelings took me back in time to my own experience of learning that I was about to become a child from a broken home. Broken home. The way I often heard divorce described at that time. I was not surprised to learn that it is more common to be a child who is a survivor of divorce than a child who has not had this experience. My own two children are included in this majority, making it less a statistic and more of a reality, a reality I have personally lived through. My experience as a child did have one positive effect, though. In light of the fact that my own parents' divorce was very disruptive and traumatic, it was of paramount importance to me that my divorce should inflict as little pain as possible on my kids. Making me the generational sandwich filling on the divorce delicatessen menu. My ex and I were grownups and sheltered the boys from the adult business that through no fault of theirs would impact their lives. So that they could continue to be kids. That's how it should be. It's enough that they have weathered their own inevitable break-ups. 
  

My Tigh

This wasn't yesterday, it's a fave pic of us from four years ago.

Yes, boys and girls, Tigh is back in the neighborhood! Truth be told, he's been on American soil for a couple of weeks already. He was in Seattle and managed to get my elder son to venture out of the house and be social over tasty beverages! The important thing is, he showed up on my front doorstep yesterday and we got to hang out for most of the day! Even more fortuitous is that Brittney is also in town and she joined us for a beer out on Cubby's patio. What an excellent day. 
                                                                                          

My Little Badass Sistah!

Aside from being hilarious, the girls in this photo look amazingly like my sister Martine and me! That's right. Freakishly resemble, even. And the age difference is accurate. Plus, Martine can so pull that don't mess with me expression. I'm reminded of the biker gang in the desert confrontation scene from The Gauntlet when Clint Eastwood's character Ben Shockley says that yes, indeedy, he can do what he's doing because he's got this here badge, this here gun, and the love of Jesus in his pretty green eyes. In Martine's doppelganger's case, all she has is the attitude, the properly positioned middle finger, and the pretty green eyes thang. If you ask me, that's all she needs.