Time to start Christmas shopping

Yup, I'll get started now - better late than never.

Sadness

I don't go looking for it; it just shows up.  The day can be as positive as ever, but the hours come to an end and there it is. 

Is it the lonesomeness or the loneliness?  One of these feels like being endlessly homesick while the other feels like exile.  

Both are hideous (and possibly avoidable), but one is definitely given to you and the other is sought out.  Either way, with either outcome, the sadness materializes and brings you to a low you didn't see coming. Couldn't see coming.  

I should say "I" since I am speaking of my own experiences, but the little bit of distance this difference in verbiage affords me makes it seem just that much less painful.

Wow, that is a complete cop-out on my part, and I know I'm trying to fool myself.  Sad is sad, and sadness is real.  My sadness may subside over time, but how do I make it leave me alone until I am stronger?

I don't know this for certain, but I am of the frame of mind that a pill shouldn't be the way I handle it.

Is it the lonesomeness or the loneliness?  

When I reached out to a years-long friend to get together recently, and was put off several times, I wanted to believe the first one or two rejections were legitimate reasons, but the last two attempts?  Well, let me just say I now know were met with less than genuine responses; but because I wanted to believe the reasons (because the alternate thought I was entertaining was not ideal for fighting the sadness).  I hung up the phone thinking, 'some other time.'

I bought being gently rebuffed, until I found that this person ended up getting together with other people instead, and I then I fell apart inside.  Tried not to take it personally, but that is easier said than done.  This was a friend.

It's heartbreaking.

It's an eye-opener.

It's demoralizing.

It's trust-breaking.

It's a horrible way to reinforce learned behaviors - learned over a lifetime of a poor self worth.  Does anyone have any extra self-worth I can borrow, or have, or pay you for?

This all makes me feel like walking off into the distance; like disappearing and finding a new place to blend into the woodwork.  At least if I make the effort to never be seen right from the start, the lack of interaction won't hurt, as much - right?  

No boo-hooing here, just stating what I feel is the a better way to exist.

Life goes on

When this whole quarantine thing began I made the choice to send Karl away - in the off-chance I really did come in to contact with someone who really had the virus, I would not be endangering him.  With his asthma (and the double heart infection a few years back), there were no two ways about it.  He could not remain here with me being out and about.

The kid has been holed up with his father for two months.  At the time, he was not happy in the least, and refused to pack more than two of anything (underwear, t-shirts, night clothes, etc.), thinking there would be a quick determination that everything would be a fast whirlwind of activity and panic, then all would return to a scary sort of normal.  Well, we all know how this has gone, don't we.

After all of these weeks, he's still not happy, but he's not as sour over it any longer, either.  Every so often I will make the drive to visit and drop off banana bread or dinner dishes (because there isn't a whole lot of home cooking going on there), spare clothes (which he turned out to be truly grateful for), his desk chair, an Easter basket, books, his favorite tea; you know, basic POW packages but with an additional pay-off.

I miss him.  So when I take him something, I cash get to in, too.  Just seeing him replenishes my lonely heart.  On my last trek I took banana bread (two loaves they could share), tea, fig newtons and a hug!  Yup, we did - and he initiated it!  And what's more amazing, he has lost some weight - quite a bit from the way his pants were cinched and pleated.  He doesn't think so, and somehow he's not feeling it...but he looks so good.  This has been a Covid blessing, and I couldn't be happier.

Of course, it will be wonderful to have him back home - when it's safe - but for now it's pretty good.  Life goes on and we will be back to all things normal eventually.

Moving on - sort of

I've been wanting to write lately ("lately" equating to from around December 2019 to about now), but ran into a couple of technical issues that kept me from the blog.  As you can tell, things are right again (for the time being), so here we are, and here we go.

It's a bright, beautiful Saturday afternoon.  The boys are cuddled up and napping, and since Odin currently is hunkered in 'the tent', I feel obliged to remain in bed, too.  Yes!  It's after 7:45AM and I am still in bed, so calm your jets.  Do I have a lot of things to get to...things I should already have accomplished after all of these weeks of flying solo?  That would be an emphatic "YES" (- doesn't everyone?), but I seem to have skillfully managed to fritter away so many weekends finishing very little after starting so much.  [grimacing]

Let's blame it on:
 - the doldrums, or
 - the blues, or
 - rewarding myself with weekend laziness for having made it through another week, or
 - Covid19.  Goodness knows this pandemic is the root of all unhappiness at present.

Oh, and in case you've lost track, my lovely girls are all gone now.  Old age and health issues have taken sweet, outgoing, robust Cleo, her glorious-but-skittish litter sister (and Blue Cream Maine Coon) Flop, and lastly our mouthy mama bean Hobbes.

After Clee and Flop departed we found Hobbes was depressed and lonely in the kitty partner category, so we adopted/rescued an older sweet street waif - a gentleman through and through - we named "Jake."  He was in worse than rough condition, and diagnosed with extremely advanced FIV (feline AIDS), but none of that could tarnish the desire to add him to our brood.  Jake was priceless and one of a kind, but besides all of that, he deserved a home and an easier future (for whatever remained of it) - even though it only ended up lasting 5.5 months.

November found us looking for another companion for 'Beana', and she was quickly joined by a totally different sort of brute in the form of an immense Red Maine Coon we dubbed "Booker."  Book was a thin-ish juvenile (judged to be around three years of age by the rescue vet), rambunctious and rag-tag in his furriness.  He needed some love and care, and a place where he could learn to feel safe once again.  He hated my crying over Jake from time to time, and had no issue hissing at me to express his dissatisfaction.  I have to admit to being somewhat terrified at his full-faced hisses, and lack of desire to be held, so it's little wonder there was good cause for confusion and trepidation about this new addition.

While he and Beana were excellent company from the start, we humans were held at bay in the get-to-know-you arena.  I should say that was true more for me than Karl.  Book took to Karl at the beginning more than to myself, and I had a hard time adjusting to the whole thing in general.  Don't get me wrong, I loved Booker - I wanted to show him this - but we did not hit it off at the first, and I am not an inwardly patient person.  Outwardly, people see me very differently...but this is of little consequence to the story at hand.

A few months later we came to the end of Hobbes' earthly reign, and it was time to search for a companion for Booker.  This was not going to be easy or straight forward...and perhaps Book would have been alright as a solo house cat but, truth-be-told, I needed to have another kitty.  After all, this had been a three kitty household (and family) for the better part of twenty years!

Once again our purveyor of rescue cats, Dottie (the bringer of Booker and Jake), stepped up to ferry a new rescue into our lives in the form of Odin (formerly dubbed "Possum").  His hard luck story has been told here before, so I won't bore you with it again.  If you need to review, you can find it by clicking the label "Odin," and all entries pertaining to our little rapscallion will be at your beck and call.

It took very little time to get the boys integrated - granted, it took more time than other introductions had in our shifting feline dynamics - but less than it could have with these two strong male personalities.  Before long, they were comfortable and silly with one another, and we had a working, co-habitating family once more.  If you haven't seen it, I put together a very short photo display of the two boys ("the Twins" as we called them), and I will try to locate it and include it in the blog.  It shows Booker and Odin, in napping form - and always, ALWAYS with Odin inching closer to Book, until one day...boo yaka shah! [thanks for that, Faraaz]

After less than three years in our arms and beds, and everywhere in between, Booker's time on earth  came to an abrupt end.  It took the rest of August and all of September for Karl to allow even the possibility of finding a new addition to our family.  Odin was in tremendous need, and I was, too, but Karl was torn apart and unable to permit himself the thought of another addition.  So, one day while he was out and I ran errands, I came across a roadside rescue event...and the rest is history.

Moving on is not always easy, but it isn't always difficult either, it's just a process.  Sometimes the process is messy or protracted.  Sometimes the process requires additional steps to be added to the flow chart.  Sometimes you don't have anything more to the process other than simply getting up each and every day and surviving until the sun sets and you crawl back into bed.  This is where I have been lately, stuck in the get-up-go-do-make-it-through-and-get-back-to-safety routine.  I am trying to put distance between myself and my miserable recent past.  Depression, the doctor said, and here's a pill for it.

Well, I said "no thanks" - maybe it was a wrong decision, I know it cheesed off one friend - and I am still finding my way around the fuzzy corners and through dark mental hallways.  It looks (in my emotional-mentals) like a long dark space (not unlike a wide corridor), and every so often I come upon what I swear would be a doorway.  There's a narrow beam of light piercing the gloom, as if from under a closed door, but when I get to the wall where the 'door' should be to feel for a doorknob or handle, there's nothing.  I get down on my belly to look under the door, but have the distinct feeling of fear that I am far too close to the edge of being on that floor and falling over instead of seeing something tangible in the space where the light is existing. 

Sorry, that's the best way of describing how it feels.  It makes taking chances seem futile and overwhelmingly frightening, and so it is safer to keep to myself.  Don't reach out; leave your hands at your sides and be careful.  See, it feels if I reach out - instead of receiving help - I might actually accidentally push people (family, friends) away...over the edge and out of my life.  If I do nothing, if I keep my hands to myself, I won't be doing any unintended harm.  Does that makes sense?  Don't pull people down and don't push them.

Maybe I am doing it all wrong, but I am also not moving forward (good) or backward (not so good).  However, I'm also not moving on.

[sigh]

How do you do that?

Odd but true:
I have three salads due me, all around town, because several restaurants 'forgot' to put them in with my lunches or dinners over the past couple of weeks.

Yeah, guess that means I will be a 'regular' sort of customer. [insert groan here]

Ugh

I've let myself go.

Oh boy, have I let myself go.

In fact, I've gone, come back, and left again.  Go, go, go.  Going, going...GONE!

I'm wearing years of 'another birthday fat,' 'disappointment with life fat,' 'i don't have a full time job fat,' 'ouch fat (A.K.A. 'what is that pain - i can't walk fat'),' 'what the eff has happened to my life fat,' 'eat because i want to mask the pain of reality fat,' 'why is my bladder doing that fat,' 'why didn't i recognize that was God's sign fat.' 

You name it, the fat stopped here.

Well, after eleven years of trying, falling, re-inventing, getting back up and trying again, following the trends and trying, and falling, and getting back up once more, I finally found a full time job.  Or rather, the job found me - but either way, that's a BIG "thank you," God.

No, this is not me feeling sorry for myself, it's just the unbridled realization that I am so behind an eight ball with my name written on it...bedazzled in Liberace-style rhinestones.  Like a disco ball of ugh - swinging wrecking ball-like through my life - and I have a tracking device brilliantly embedded somewhere so that I cannot duck or hide, no matter how hard I work to improve things.

How do I make myself un-go?

Is there a way to undo the damage and get back to a good place, or do I just have to start all over again from here?  Really...from here?  Right here?  Really!?

Well, I suppose there are only truly two choices then, eh.  Keep loving the chocolate and potato chips, and all of the other bad things which taste so good and make me feel better, or confront those things that hold me back, make me feel scared and incapable and unworthy.

OK, this is me telling them to get the bleep outta my way!

But just in case, does anyone have a bag of bread crumbs I can use?

Make a bigger dent

I totally get Karl's conundrum with homework for two classes - which set of classwork to start on first?  He couldn't just choose one and get busy, for fear of not doing what was 'right' by working on the other class homework instead.

At the time, I couldn't get how this was such a problem.  Not wanting to think he was using an oddly elaborate dodge, I tried to help him see that by just getting started he could finish one thing and then start the other... eventually both assignments would be accomplished.  The more he dug his heels in over one subject, the more we butted heads and became frustrated.

The more frustration, the more we argued.

The more we argued and debated, the less homework got done.

It was a vicious, unhealthy, unhappy situation. 

It was a difficult time but we did finally move past that.  Karl graduated last May, receiving two - TWO Associate degrees.

Currently, I have multiple large tasks to tackle at home, and no matter what I do I cannot make myself choose one thing over another.  I start one chore, only to distract myself somewhere in the process and lose momentum.  Or, I'll make lists to outline the day or the order, but can't make myself actually dig in and start because the items further down the chore list suddenly seem more important than they had when the list was made.  Aaaargh!!

So, I get it, Karl.  I see your trouble, but there has to be a way to overcome and move forward easily.  I'll let you know how this all comes out.  Until then, here's hoping everything in your life falls in to place easily.

Don't ask

How does that work?

I was bundled to the max.  I had a scarf in place OVER the hoodie, and over the secured-under-the-chin-and-totally-zipped-up jacket.  Cold air was not getting in, so how - how - did a chip of frozen windshield snow find a chink in the impermeable layers?

I felt that minuscule frozen menace the moment it began to pinball down the front of me; and I mean past the defenses of the knotted and tucked scarf, to inside the coat and hoodie.  It never even hit my chin or grazed a cheek.  Amazingly, it sailed unimpeded over the neckline of my t-shirt to somehow bank inextricably to the area of my unsuspecting decolletage.  From there it began a free fall of epic proportions, even though it should have (by all rights and scientific data) melted upon entering the realm of my mid-life-lady-hot-flash-mixed-with-the-steam-bath I created by layering.

But it didn't.

I was scraping the window of the Duke like a woman possessed, thinking to myself how odd it was that I actually felt pretty comfortable out there in the sub-zero stuff, with an approximate windchill of negative twenties+ (or is that 'negative twenties minus'?).  The wind was blowing, and luckily I found I was on the right side of it, and the churning ice storm I created was whipping away from me. 

Then, just at that moment, the breeze stopped....and it happened.  That pimple of ice sailed undetected across the car and impossibly enough into my coat, where it tumbled under the t-shirt, from my chest, to my abdomen, to - I would swear - straight towards my bellybutton.  Before that happened, I raised my arm against the intrusion and squished the crumb of moisture.  My! but that was cold.

And as shocked as the sudden cold against my skin was, [shh, don't repeat this to anyone] it was bracing-ly refreshing.

Bbbr-r-r-r-r....no more of this extreme cold stuff, if you please.

Christmas cards

Many people send them; many more people love to get them - and why not?  What's not to love?  A token of friendship and remembrance, but also a way to tell people they mean something to you.  Even though you may have fallen out of general contact with them, you're saying (in a minute way)  that they still matter to you, even though you may be horrible at showing it (the rest of the year).

I am familiar with the sensation, I receive cards, too.  It's never not delightful.

I'm not certain how other people go about it all, but in my case, I take time to search for the most representative cards to send.  I don't make out many - maybe thirty or so - but that's enough for it to be a chore (not a 'bad thing' chore, just a process that requires time and thought).  Do I buy any cards of a 'more personalized' nature in addition to boxes of one card or another?  You betcha - one special one for mom, one for my son and his bride, certain friends... I search for style and substance, not one over the other; something that sounds like me and pleases my mental palette, so when the recipient reads it they can tell I am sending my greetings. 

Yes, I buy boxes of cards, 16-20 per box (usually two boxes of totally different cards/messages), that way the folks who might not appreciate one message or illustration may be a better fit with the alternate selection.   And yes, one of the greetings tends to be a bit more secular than the other.  It's worked for me for years - and on occasion I've received complements because of the card choice.  That's when it's totally worthwhile. 

With very few leftovers (from the boxes), I easily use those for co-workers the following year; or as thank you-type notes to people who have affected my life positively throughout the year... people I don't communicate with otherwise.  It all works out well, usually.

Except [sigh]... this season I slipped into my all-too-familiar blue funk, and while I wanted to send cards, I simply couldn't produce (or hold on to) the necessary momentum to seal the deal.  Thanksgiving weekend is typically the time I make out my notes (then address and stuff the envelopes) so that the cards can travel that first week of December, but for some reason I could not propel myself into action.  When cards began arriving in our mailbox, I knew I was up against it then.  Yikes!

Even that wasn't enough to force my hand - not completely.  With the heaviness of an unrelenting Navy blue hue now hanging about me, I tried to make myself accomplish the task - sets of six cards at a time.  Anything to get the ball rolling.

So, if you are still waiting for your Christmas card from me... just know, YOU SHOULDN'T BE.  I completed the task prior to Christmas (thank you very much), including the part where you drop the addressed, stamped envelopes into a mailbox for the carriers to do their thing.  If you normally get a card from me and you still haven't received one, let me know - please.  I would love another reason to go postal.

Ah, Christmas cards, oh, Christmas cards. [humming carols quietly to the cats]

Oh, yeah - and another little thing

Apparently, the person formerly known as my 'dad' passed away January 10, 2017.

Who knew?  [shoulder shrug]

Not a day late, just the day after

Yup, yesterday was Christmas, and I managed to keep from uttering 'the phrase" to all but two people, - so, I feel as though I've achieved almost complete hermit status.

All of my cards made it out of my hands and to their recipients (at least I hope they made it to their destinations), but Karl dragged his feet and missed getting one of his (I say three, he says one) out the door and on the way.  Not a bad average

Karl and I each took a turn speaking with mom, but I truly wish she were here - or, at the very least, much closer. it would make visiting easier.  I am aware she doesn't want to leave her beloved northern tundra, her moose and deer, and that icy lake, but I think it's time to get her south of the bridge.  Much as she dislikes living in the land of the trolls, she should be moving into closer proximity to the bulk of her sibs and kinder - sooner rather than later.

We had dinner at the kids' new home in Holly on Christmas eve; it was fairly low-key, and the meal was delicious. 

Just in case you are behind the eight ball, Brian and Angels bought a condo - not too far from their old apartment - and it's a world of difference in size and sounds and smells.  Needless to say, the honeymooners are happy in their new digs, and the pets are settled in, too.  Bud will need to look a little harder to find work with a decent income in that direction, just to keep from having to drive great distances in his old car, but that was the decision they made.

No complaint here, but an observation: it's been a 'warm' season so far - between Thanksgiving and Christmas - and the weather peeps are calling for more of the same... and warmer!  With the bulk of winter ahead of us, I wouldn't mind a bit of this sort of thing lasting the next month or two.  Yes, I do prefer cooler temps to warmer ones, but you take what you can get, right?

The twins are doing well: Booker is far more playful again, so hopefully I can get Karl to play along when I am at work and keep Book moving more to rid him of some chunky monkey pounds.  Even a Maine Coon can be too large.  And Odin is doing better intestinal-ly speaking.  He remains rambunctious and Odin-rific, keeping Booker jumping with his spastic antics; and the FiV is well off in the background for the time being.

OK, so I've covered all of the bases for the time being.  I was trying to be informative and still keep from being too verbose; practice makes perfect, or so they say.  For now, I am going to tidy up a bit, then plunk myself in a chair and sort through some old papers and balance the bank account against the statement!  In the background I will binge on The Great British Baking Show, starting at the first episode.  Yes, I've seen them all before, but it's enjoyable (tasty) viewing, and well worth a second screening.  From there, goodness knows what I'll do, but it will be in the house and not out and about with throngs of people or crazy 'me first' drivers.

Oh, there is one item of note which I didn't go into, but it will keep for the time being.

Blessings to one and all, and safe travels to those on the roads or in the air ~

Up before the alarm

'Natch.'

Odin had been exhibiting signs of illness, so I took him to our 'regular' vet - the family vet we found at the start of the girls' decline in health as old ladies.  The office people were very kind when we had to put down Flop, and then Hobbes - I only wish we had been their client for Cleo's sake.  But all of that was eons ago, or so it feels.  It stills aches as though that was just last month, and since I am a soft touch, recounting all of it will most likely always move me to tears.

Anyway, the last trip I took to the 'family vet' late spring, found me pleading to have the tri-test repeated on Odin - the test which tells of impending doom (heartworm, FiV, FLv).  Upon adopting 'O' we were told that test had been run at the rescue vet office, and that he was free of all three - thank God.  After having 'lost' Jake no less than half a year too soon, I was not interested in shattering my still-healing heart again... at least, not right away.

A little history: 'O' was found in a field, frozen to a towel, starving, bald in areas, obviously suffering from fleas, and (as we've been told) stinkier than 5-day old roadkill on a 99*F day.  What was scarier was this semi-feral little boy had the imposing 'forearms' of Popeye, 9" nails, and a limited vocabulary consisting of "now," "more," and "%!#&!"   The latter we call his cuss word, and he uses it a lot.  He was in rough shape.

To complicate his hard-scrabble life even further is the lack of vision in one eye, missing teeth and, as we found out a couple of weeks into life with Odin, a definite digestive issue.  In short, 'O' was a hot mess, but he was our hot mess, so we set out to improve his life in every way possible.

Fast-forwarding 1-1/2 years finds Odin thriving and turning into quite the tremendously needy love bug.  Neither he nor Booker are lap cats (more's the pity), but they are wonderful lads, and good company nearly any time of the day. 

Anyhow...

...several months back, I took Odin to the vet, wondering about getting some answers and fixes to help him feel better for whatever might have been the matter.  His breathing seemed 'off' and was growing worse day by day.  His poops should have solidified after more than a year on medicated food, too.  And the smell from his mouth...what was that?!?  But it was his breathing that most concerned me, and mostly because Jake's demise was marked by a similar onset of frequent and worsening respiratory episodes.  Could we help 'O'?  Oh, how I prayed that we could - and quickly.

Instead of waiting five weeks for the first non-emergency appointment with our usual vet, I called the local Humane Society and asked if I could get Odin in to be seen any sooner.  Due to my new daughter-in-law working there, 'O' was moved up on the list quickly, and in no time we were in the office and speaking with a doctor.  X-rays were taken, blood was drawn - and most importantly, they listened to my request for having a repeat on the tri-test. 

It wasn't a long wait before the doctor was informing me of the positive results for feline immunodeficiency virus (FiV = kitty aids).  My heart sank.  The x-rays revealed no mass of any sort on Odin's airway or lungs, so the respiratory distress was all due to the FiV. 

He was prescribed a rather strong antibiotic, which made a huge improvement in his breathing in no time, and knocked out the oral/nasal infection in nothing flat.  Also, 'O's' lost another tooth since then, but everything else seems to be at bay - and so we take it day by day.  On the other hand, the antibiotic created a new problem in the form of colitis, and now Odin wakes with a scream and a start, having to poo immediately.  This is bad news for sleeping through the night and for the rug in my bedroom, but it's all doable because it means we have a little more time with our sweet diminutive weirdo.  For a good couple of weeks I'd been awakened way before the alarm - sometimes two-to-three times per night.  Happily, these instances have all but subsided.

Ultimately, my wish is not to trade one set of problems for another.  I don't want to keep the respiratory infections at bay at the cost of Odin feeling crampy and suffering from unpredictable diarrhea - that just wouldn't be fair... or kind.  Therefore, we will watch and listen to and care for Odin with every ounce of love and attention we can muster, until he tells us the time has finally come.  'Natch.'

Recently, Odin was started on a new prescriptive food, and seems alright with it.  While it took some time to get him weaned from the first prescriptive to this new one, I can finally say he is eating most of his meals each day - and that is a blessing.  The abrupt screaming poos are winding down, although I must remain on guard when he begins to cry incessantly, and wander from place to place.  Karl is not as attentive during the day while I am at work, so there have been many days when I've arrived home to find a secret, stinky gift from Odin laying in wait for me in front of my closet. 

Oh, 'O'!  I love you, love you, love you.

Life as you know it, or life as you make it?

I have lately been absent from doing one of the things I absolutely love to do.  In fact, I've been so delinquent in taking part in one of my most favorite activities that you might think I'd given it up completely.

Well, no, I haven't.  I haven't given anything up, but I think I have nearly - almost completely - given up on... myself.

Can I trouble you for a moment to truly cogitate over that last line.  Really read the words and ponder over the differences between the first and second pieces of that statement.  You might think that that's a difference without distinction - or you may even believe there to be no difference at all - but you  know you would be wrong.

Yep, dead wrong.

In fact, I had almost convinced myself that my writing didn't matter to anyone else, so I needn't waste my time to communicate my thoughts or feelings, my musings or daily highlights, my opinions and aspirations, my successes and disappointments.  Myself.  My words.  I am lost without my words.  I am no one and nowhere without my words.

So whether anyone else reads them, whether I am communicating with the silence of the stars or flecks of dust in the sunshine, or somehow, amazingly with another human, I will write - and the words will be mine.  And if I am doing little more than saving my thoughts for myself to read years from now, so that I might remember that I did ultimately survive a horribly defeating time in my life, well then, that's enough of a reason for speaking my piece.

My words; I may couch them at times, or I may brazenly lay it all on the line.  However the spirit moves me or the winds carry me day by day, I am entitled to express myself.  Mainly, I will speak my mind and empty my heart, because to to be less than I am, to say less than I am able, to slip into silent corners and molder away is not really my style.  It shouldn't be anyone's style.  I should never have allowed myself to become less than I was meant to be.

I am a child of the most high God, and I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

I am back, and I will not be silenced.  No telling how often or infrequently, but there will be words.

Ostrichotitus

Funny (odd) how the human mind works.  Then, you couple it with the 'heart' (the emotional side of our brain) and you find conflict.  Add the psyche (still more brain stuff) and you come up with a crock pot full of "Whoa. What have you done?... "What were you thinking?"... "WTF?"

Prior to Christmas (one year ago) I was going to head up to a friend's place to help them finish prepping their domicile for the arrival of family.  I was supposed to receive a phone call the night before, letting me know what time to be there the next day; but the phone call didn't come.  In my infinite realm of being a horrible human - not to mention, the world's biggest disappointment to others (my entire life) - I assumed that that was a hint aimed at me.  The next day, the hint became an enormous message (in my mind) when the silence extended itself throughout the entire day and on into the evening.

Rather than call and ask my friend if they were alright, I let it go, believing I was reading the message loud and clear.  A 'message' that probably wasn't there, but that I most definitely read as an "I don't want you around" sort of thing.  If you spent any time at all stumbling around in my brain pan, you would know this was an easy conclusion for me to reach.
The surest path.
Common sense.

I have 'a gift,' you see.

My 'gift' has been put to great use lo these past several decades, and as I have gotten older my 'gift' has become more finely honed and excessively refined. 
Razor sharp. 
Infallible. 

That phone call from my friend that never came... yeah, I let that tip my emotional scales to become nearly two months of self-imposed exile.  I reasoned that it was all obvious simple math; that 'one' (my friend) added with other 'ones'  (1+1+1+1...), and that became lots of reasons why I should vanish from life.  I pulled into my shell and remained cloistered and reclusive for weeks.  I tucked myself in and locked up good and tight against everything and everyone, and remained untouchable and impervious to any more slights and outright injuries - perceived or otherwise.  I had been on my own for so long, it just seemed the natural next step.

After all, I wasn't hurting anybody... else.

In fact, my gift has most likely become the largest impediment in my bag of tricks; the single most utilized implement of destruction which keeps me from enjoying more of that part of life I so badly miss and want to take part in - people stuff.  Life itself.

I activated the gift to protect myself, my heart, my feelings, my self from damage and rejection, but it's only served to insulate me in a 'bass-ackward' fashion.  I've become so used to reading the signs bass-ackwardly, that I am afraid I have become quite adept at sabotaging my life before giving anything a chance.  All those things I want to take part in - all of the things I could have included myself in, but held back from, because I knew rejection would be the first thing dished out - has all been lost opportunity and wasted life.

The long and the short of it is:
I wonder if I can undo the damage from so many years of incorrect intuitive behavior, and begin practicing more self-inclusiveness?  Can I get to a place where I don't wait for direct invitations, but don't shut myself off out of fear, either; automatically assuming abject rejection is one breath - one answer - away.  Can a lifetime of conditioning be reversed?

Decisions

Gee, we humans make an awful lot of decisions in a day, don't we?  Some of us have to make decisions minute by minute, and when you are driving, well.... it's goes without saying.  Suffice to say, life is a decision-making roulette wheel.

Just over a year ago I decided to go into blogging hibernation with this blog.  I have two others that I regularly write in, and since there was/is no readership on this blog I figured, "why not."  This was the first of my forays into blogging, and I hated the thought of eliminating all of the work and words that had been committed to e-paper, so I simply walked away for a while.

I hoped the time away would have helped me keep from sharing the absolute bitterness I was feeling in nearly all aspects of my life at the time.  And so it did.

Am I any less bitter?  Oh, probably not.
However, I am feeling more akin to the description I originally posted for the blog so many years ago.
I am feeling more in control and less frazzled than I have for a long time - and that's a good thing.
I feel more likely to share and (hopefully) less likely to 'vent' than I would have a year ago.

I posted once or twice from around June, and then again back in October, and realized there was still an overriding element of anger in what it was that compelled me to pen an entry.... so I stopped and took another step back.  Life had become a nemesis.

Deep breath.

So here's me, blogging once more.  It most likely won't be lots of stuff, and most definitely won't be every day, but it will be something.  If you have a curiosity about the sewing/quilting activities, you can make your way to one or both of these bloggy-type addresses:
 1) for Crazy Quilting only - www.bethsmadasahatter.blogspot.com  and
 2) for traditional block quilting updates - www.truenorthquilter.blogspot.com

I carry on at those two sites about quilting simply because anyone who loves quilting will want to be there, and some folks who have read here in the past had been critical of "quilting stuff" showing up in my everyday life/words.  Well, hey! Gee I am so sorry my interests got in the way of you reading about my life, but....thpbt!  Pardon me while I snicker at your idiocracy.

'nuff said.

Those other two blogs are full of happiness and accomplishment from the last year (and more), but if you can't handle that sort of happiness, by all means stay here. [laughing at your folly, you grumpy person out there]  This year was full enough of things to catch up on, and over time, some of it will be revealed - but much of it will fall by the wayside, and that is OK, too.  At least, it's OK with me.  I lived through it, and I know what happened.  The automotive world has their 'big three', and so do I. Mine are work, family, and other stuff.  I guess that's enough to look forward to, eh?

Anyhow, lots of stuff needs doing, and I haven't a moment to spare, so let's not dawdle here.  I will be back in a day or two to begin the recap, and if you're good, Santa will leave you a cookie or two for the new year.

Glad we're all back - this feels like a good decision.  Enjoy your day :v)

Relationships and whatnot

Mom has just swooped in for a visit, and is now off to visit my younger brother before heading back home.  She would liked to have visited with one of her own brothers (whom she is concerned for, and whom she loves very much) before trekking west across the state, and then ultimately to her home w - a - y up north, but she received absolutely no response from him or his wife in all the time leading up to the trip, nor once she arrived.  I attempted to make contact with them while she was here, giving them three phone numbers to reach us/her by (and an email address) for planning.

All of it was to no avail and I feel horrible for her, since she is driving down into the heart of rotten Detroit-suburbia traffic to their home, and will only hope to make contact with them before heading on to Lansing later in the afternoon (most likely encountering crappy commuter traffic in the process).
UPDATE -
Mom did finally get them to answer their door, but I am not certain what sort of visit she was able to have.  The rigamarole and drama created by these pious 'born again' people borders on the incredibly heavy-handed...and just outright rude, at times.

It's always very stressful - for both mom and myself - when we two are in tight quarters for more than twenty-four hours.  Sad to admit, but it's true.  If someone wrote a story to describe our relationship it would be titled:
"How a Leo Begat a Taurus and How They Lived Tenuously to Tell the Tale".  Seriously.

Suffice to say we are bruised and and bent and pretty much our strained normal, but still mother/daughter in love.

I have to laugh

Look at it outside.  Really....look at it!

Sunny, gorgeous blue sky, and yeah, breezy. Gusty, really, but hey - it beats the crap out of yesterday.  Steel grey sky, windy as the ef-word, and that whole rain/snow mix ("snain").

And unbelievably enough, those little trick-or-treaters were out in droves.  DROVES.  More bunches of kids passed by the house last night in the first hour - garbage bags and all over their sad lil' costumes - than have been down this street over the past two...maybe three years combined!

Couldn't even tell you who looked more miserable - the parents standing at the ends of the driveways, escorting the mini demonites, or the actual candy beggars.  Doesn't matter.  I'll just bet the lack of houses giving out candy along our stretch last night sharply curtails what we see bopping down the street next year.

HA!

Huzzah!

So far, I've managed to navigate the day without the aide of one throat lozenge, absent hot tea and honey, and sans headache (although I do realize I may have just jinxed that last one). However, I have used my share of tissues since waking, and am now ready to take a nap! Furthermore, I still have no rough draft to speak of for next week's comp class; I am tired of nudging Karl to finish his overdue essay for this week, and; have completed as much of the construction of someone else's quilt top as I have been asked to - because she 'wants to do some of it herself so she can learn how.' [forehead smack]

I can understand her difficulties with the instructions and methodology, anyway. The directions (as supplied by JAF for a quilt class project) are pretty piss-poor as written, and are very wasteful to boot. Due to my understanding of quilitng - and knowledge of piecing (even without directions) - I could reason it through fairly quickly, DESPITE the included JAFBS.

Wasn't easy to stop myself though, let me confess that right now, and it is a design I can see some merit in repeating in order to make several simple reproductions (with variations) in many color schemes. I'll be able to sell these fast little projects at farmer's markets (and the like) in the coming months...perhaps even rent a space at the local art-in-the-park broohaha late next summer! Scraps, happiness and cash - can't beat it.

Anyhow, I now need to begin getting ready to head off and teach a little applique` tonight. Maybe I should take something for a headache now - pre-emptively nip it in the bud, eh?

Ugh

ENTIRELY certain I am not thrilled with the fact that my bra size now reflects the meaning of life.

If you don't know what that means, you may wish to pick up a book and start reading!

Trying to figure out how it is the cats know when I intend to do laundry.

Today is one of those cold, damp days of fall when I won't be able to put stuff on the clothesline out back. Instead, I will need to load up the old drier that came with the house and crank 'er up. Sadly, this old drier has just about seen its last days, and has sounded more and more like a cement mixer churning fifty-pounds of large, jagged rocks with every successive repair.

"We can make it heat to dry AND add a little more noise to the process for ya, lady. How's that sound?"

Yikes. And the tremendously sad thing is as loud as it sounds for me (from everywhere in the house), I hate turning it on when the girls cuddle up somewhere in the lower level for a day-long catnap, 'cuz I know how disruptive it would be for them.

Sheesh.