tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79684645890903128512024-03-05T11:55:13.623-08:00stagno per anitre (the duckpond)vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.comBlogger1279125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-57120774348357838922012-01-28T22:32:00.001-08:002012-01-28T22:34:25.100-08:00moved on...visit me elsewhere, pleaseOkay, I have pretty long since moved on.<br /><br />Find me here: <a href="http://stagnoperanitre.typepad.com/">the duck pond</a><br /><br />Or, for fun, here: <a href="http://pinterest.com/duckiev/">duckiev pinboards</a>vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-13862344263249462062011-12-19T20:28:00.000-08:002011-12-19T20:29:49.121-08:00walking!Yep, that's my title. I'm not the only one extolling the fabulousness of walking.<br /><br />(Please be sedentary for 10 minutes for this...then you can go for a walk.)<br /><br /><iframe width="400" height="233" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/aUaInS6HIGo?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />"23 and 1/2 hours: What is the single best thing we can do for our health?"vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-38742491473162670182011-12-12T21:08:00.000-08:002011-12-12T21:13:31.417-08:00blog sprint: time travel? grazie, ma nonToday's <a href="http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/">One Minute Writer</a>: You have a time machine. What point in history will you never visit?<br /><br />Just about every point, ever. I'm a woman. I have red hair. I like to be clean. I like being able to go to school and read and choose whether to stay at home or go off to work (sometimes that choice is a bit more theoretical, given the current economy, no?).<br /><br />-----------------<br /><br />On another note: I figured out how to watch <span style="font-style:italic;">What Not to Wear</span> online. Begin me never accomplishing anything again, ever. I've always loved makeover shows. At the same time, I wonder why "we" buy into it all. And, yes, I totally buy into a lot of what they say. And, no, I don't dress the way they'd recommend. (I do remember they once let one guy shop at thrift stores. That'd definitely be one of my conditions...as if they'd allow me conditions.)vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-60609471134953947742011-12-12T07:17:00.000-08:002011-12-12T07:17:00.147-08:00monday music: 'going to the store for hot dogs and wine'Speaking of public transportation: this is the song that comes to my mind.<br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qx-vTUyZk5Y?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />"Is That You, Mo-Dean - The B-52s"vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-13523657690208301702011-12-11T20:03:00.000-08:002011-12-11T20:04:04.849-08:00ah, public transportationIt's been about two-and-a-half years since we became a one-car family. Most of the time, I'm okay with this decision. And, as I'm the one who made the decision, I probably should be. Every now and then, Cardo asks me if we should get another car, but I don't think so. We live in a small enough place and we can walk a lot of places we need to go.<br /><br />When we had two cars, we spend more money. Not just in insurance and registration, but just in crap we didn't need. It was so much easier for me to just go to stores and spend money when we had two cars.<br /><br />Every once in a while, though. Once in a while, I just want to scream when it comes to depending on others to get me where I need to go. Thursday, last week was just such a case. I left one place at 3:30 and didn't make it home until after six. I was exhausted enough and upset enough that I just wanted to cry. I managed to keep it under control, but barely. I tend to carry so much stuff with me (another topic for another time?) that I can't always comfortably walk all the way home. I love to walk, but not with sixty or so pounds worth of crap weighing me down.<br /><br />And, here I am again, having to remind myself of my goals and figure out if they are still my goals.<br /><br />And, later this week, there I'll be again, waiting for the bus to take me home. An hour-plus commute for a ten-minute trip. Ah, well. I am, overall, still grateful that I can easily access several busses and that there are day-passes and that I have a place to take the bus and all that.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-82241209483751220792011-12-09T21:38:00.000-08:002011-12-09T21:40:25.823-08:00to sleepOkay, seriously, who decided that December would just skip along? A moment ago, it was the fourth and now it's the ninth.* How did that happen?<br /><br />In a lot of ways, I'm grateful to be as busy as I am. At the same time, I am, as always, striving for some balance. I know that I've said it before, but I'm kind of an all-or-nothing person. That just doesn't work here in real life, not even, I don't think, for those prodigy-type-people who seem to devote all of their time and energy to one activity. I mean, they have to do other things to live, right? Eat, drink, sleep, relieve themselves. At least those things.<br /><br />Right now, I would really just like to tuck myself under my covers and catch up on my favorite blogs and look around on pinterest. I'd like to finish the book I'm reading. (I've been reading it since the end of October and if I keep up with my 10-pages-a-day schedule I'll be finished with it in the end of January.) I'd like to get the book I have on hold at the library and just devour it. (When I put it on hold yesterday, I was number 208 on the waitlist.) I would like to sleep until I can wipe out this exhaustion.<br /><br />Basically, I'd like to do a whole day of resting and relaxing and spending time alone. It feels selfish, but that's only because it is. I think I'll try for a day like that sometime within the next month. I think that's an okay thing for me -- a parent/spouse/employee/et cetera, et cetera, et cetera -- to desire and make happen.<br /><br />In the meantime, I think I'll head off to bed ridiculously early here. I have train rides and walking, planning and studying, laundry and dishes in my future. That calls for a good night's rest.<br /><br />------------------------------------<br /><br />* I seriously just typed that three times. It looks like the first three letters should rhyme with "pin." Ah.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-74755127159683951262011-12-04T19:17:00.000-08:002011-12-04T19:19:09.109-08:00twain on nablo...or somethingI just read the following.<br /><br /><blockquote>Nobody, except he has tried it, knows what it is to be an [newspaper] editor. It is easy to scribble local rubbish, with the facts all before you; it is easy to clip selections from other papers; it is easy to string out a correspondence from any locality; but it is unspeakable hardship to write editorials. <span style="font-style:italic;">Subjects</span> are the trouble -- the dreary lack of them, I mean. Every day it is drag, drag, drag -- think, and worry and suffer -- all the world is a dull blank, and yet the editorial columns <span style="font-style:italic;">must</span> be filled. Only give the editor a <span style="font-style:italic;">subject</span>, and his work is done -- it is no trouble to write it up; but fancy how you would feel if you had to pump your brains dry every day in the week, fifty-two weeks in the year. It makes one low spirited simply to think of it. The matter that each editor of a daily paper in America writes in the course of a year would fill from four to eight bulky volumes like this book! Fancy what a library an editor's work would make, after twenty or thirty year's service. Yet people often marvel that Dickens, Scott, Bulwer, Dumas, etc., have been able to produce so many books. If these authors have wrought as voluminously as newspaper editors do, the result would be something to marvel at, indeed. How editors can continue this tremendous labor, this exhausting consumption of brain fibre (for their work is creative, and not a mere mechanical laying-up of facts, like reporting), day after day and year after year, is incomprehensible.</blockquote><br /><br />-- from <span style="font-style:italic;">Roughing It</span>vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-24907691183765640412011-12-04T02:06:00.000-08:002011-12-04T02:07:31.647-08:00'jane, get me off this crazy thing...called love'<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/9UYjXyZHcqw?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />"This poem sucks!"<br /><br />Bits of this movie are stuck in my head right now, partly because Cardo and I were discussing how big my head is today. But, it's really the above line that's playing on repeat in my head. Not, because I am experiencing the sentiment, but because there are other crazy things I'd rather be off right now. (Oh, geez, I need to go back to reading eloquent writing, not mangled writing, before I stop by the pond. But, I'm oh-so-tired. And, whiny. And, oddly, giddy. And, restless. It's getting to be tight 'round here. I need to <span style="font-style:italic;">just b</span>e.)vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-59429936319590636862011-12-02T20:29:00.000-08:002011-12-02T20:30:08.738-08:00beginning of a traditionIt's been thirteen years since I've been "home" for Thanksgiving. (I use quotation marks because I've long since made my home where I am, but there in the quotation marks I'm referring to my parents' home.) Cardo and I have been together for most of those years (and, Pic has been around for almost half of that time) and we haven't really ever done much to celebrate (that or any other holiday). Celebrating holidays just isn't one of our things. Holidays tend to make me sad because I start to think about what I'm missing. To stave off the lowness, I just attempt to avoid the whole holiday deal (except Halloween, which I continue to love). I've long since known that my strategy doesn't quite work and I always allow myself to wallow a bit.<br /><br />So, this year, we decided to establish what we will eventually be able to call our Thanksgiving tradition. Becuase of the work I've been doing for the last many years, I'm home with Pic that day, but Cardo doesn't have that same luxury. He worked twelve hours this last Thanksgiving. When he got home, we were off to the movies. I figured there is always some general-audience-type movie that comes out right around Thanksgiving and we had several options this year. (That's probably always the case, but we don't go to the cinema often, and I don't really pay that much attention to what is going on there.)<br /><br />After the movie, we stopped at a friend's place for a bit and then came home to make dinner. I don't cook meat, so I bought some already-cooked turkey breast at the grocery store. We did make sweet potato casserole together and I made chocolate chip cookie dough (I don't think I ever got around to making the cookies that night.) We might have eaten something else, but I can't think what. Sparkling cider also made an appearance.<br /><br />Overall, it was an okay day. I love our friends, but I'd really rather it was strictly a family evening, so next year, I'm asking that it be just that. (That's the plan for now, anyhow.) A trip to the movies and a small dinner at home. Sounds good to me.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-49595317133956701442011-11-30T07:17:00.000-08:002011-11-30T07:17:00.414-08:00happy birthday (anniversary), mr clemensHave been doing a bit of reading around in Clemens's works lately. A sampling, from his time at the Virginia City Territorial Enterprise (December 30-31, 1862):<br /><br /><blockquote>THRILLING ROMANCE. -- On our first page, to-day, will be found the opening chapters of a thrilling tale, entitled "An Act to amend and supplemental to an Act to provide for Assessing and Collecting County and Territorial Revenue." This admirable story was written especially for the columns of this paper by several distinguished authors. We have secured a few more productions of the same kind, at great expense, and we design publishing them in their regular order. Our readers will agree with us that it will redound considerably to their advantage to read and preserve these documents.</blockquote><br /><br />I would so read the local paper if the writing was in this style.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-90429872972587576292011-11-29T23:30:00.000-08:002011-11-29T23:31:28.266-08:00not-quite-monday music: no one's gonna stop this girl from havin' fun<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fJ1hrhJQDC8?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />"The Muppets: 'Me Party'"vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-60325726752259325082011-11-27T20:46:00.000-08:002011-11-27T20:47:38.610-08:00yeah, so, hi thereOkay, the last post I wrote: I didn't mean that I was out of blogging. I just needed some rest. I have not felt very rested in the last few days, so not blogging obviously didn't help so much.<br /><br />Well, then. November is almost over. Last night, I was thinking to myself (y'know, as opposed to thinking to someone else), "NaBlo? Really? Who was I kidding?" I probably could have done it if I had jumped right back in, but I just haven't had it in me this month. I have had a whole lot on my perpetual to-do list, but not a lot to share in this space. And, not a lot of energy to even get myself around to this space.<br /><br />I'm working on all of that.<br /><br />For the last few days, though, I've been trying to figure out how to reach a state of peace for more than a few minutes at a time. How do you do that? Really?<br /><br />There has been lots of walking 'round these parts. Autumn is quickly fading and I know the next three weeks will rush right by, so I've been getting out into it as much as I can (and, I've been dragging the family with me).<br /><br />Ah! I'm so scattered today. I'm writing to get myself back into the habit. And, as a way to find some peace. I'm writing to remind myself that in three-and-a-half weeks, I'll have a moment to breathe. A lot of moments. Ah, yes. That, I am looking forward to.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-65338205332570056782011-11-19T23:03:00.000-08:002011-11-19T23:04:34.265-08:00and...i'm outOh, alas and alack. I have a really good reason for not posting on Thursday. Not an excuse, just a reason. A fabulous and needed dose of r&r. I'll not mention what time I went to sleep nor what time I woke up on Friday, but it was early enough on Thursday for me to think, "Hey, I've got plenty of time left in this day to post."<br /><br />Anyhow. I've received some dissapointing, yet expected, news today. Not devastating. It's small and personal; nothing like those whose lives have been directly affected by the fire here. Let me keep things in perspective, shall I? Yes.<br /><br />However, this news does cause me to slightly rethink my plans for the next several years of my life. And, I'll just say again that I'm disappointed.<br /><br />Okay, I have to go do some more paycheck-earning work, but I'm back in the posting mode, although, ah, NaBlo, how sad I am that I wasn't able to commit after all. But, I really needed the sleep.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-76089466437384424662011-11-16T21:14:00.001-08:002011-11-16T21:14:27.318-08:00look me in the eyesI wonder what it says about me that I am incredibly uncomfortable looking someone in the eyes for more than a few moments at a time. I start to have this little conversation with myself, in my head:<br /><br />"Where do I look?"<br /><br />"Left eye? Okay. Yeah, that was long enough."<br /><br />"Right eye? Yeah, that's not better."<br /><br />"Both eyes? My eyes aren't capable of that!"<br /><br />Then, I start to figure I can perhaps just look right between the person's eyes, but I start to think the person will realize I'm staring at his/her forehead. So, I look down. But, really, aren't we taught to look someone in the eye when they're talking to you? I'm pretty sure that wasn't just me. So, I can only look down for a while. I could just close my eyes, I suppose, but that seems weird.<br /><br />And, of course, by this point, I've had this freaking debate going on in my head the entire time I've been a part of the actual conversation.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-60163953451335518712011-11-15T19:20:00.001-08:002011-11-15T19:20:27.318-08:00peek-a-boo*You know that dream where you're talking in front of a group and you look down and realize you're naked? Well, I've never had that dream, but yesterday? I decided, eh, who needs dreams when you've got real life?<br /><br />Okay, so I wasn't naked, because I seriously think I would notice that. I did look down at one point yesterday, though, and realize that two of my blouse buttons were undone. Right there at my bust. (My bust was apparently going for a little pun there, busting out of my shirt. I was not amused.)<br /><br />I didn't really know what to do. I suppose I could have pulled a "Hey, everybody, look at that over there in the opposite direction of me!" but I simply kept talking and buttoned up my shirt.<br /><br />Insert long sigh here.<br /><br />--------------------------<br /><br />* I was tempted to title this 'peek-a-boob' but I never refer to my breasts as boobs, so I didn't want it to be the title. However, I was thinking about how convenient it would be as a title.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-3715764080322656042011-11-14T07:17:00.000-08:002011-11-14T07:17:00.500-08:00monday music: 'just sit right back and you'll hear a tale' (or, 'because i could not stop for death')One: Head on over and listen to the <a href="http://youtu.be/cfR7qxtgCgY"><span style="font-style:italic;">Gilligan's Island</span> theme song</a> (cannot embed, alas).<br /><br />Two: Read some Emily Dickinson. Try some "<a href="http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15395">Because I could not stop for Death</a>" or "<a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/237186">My Life had stood -- a Loaded Gun</a>."<br /><br />Three: Add steps one and two above. Sing to self or others until you can get something else stuck in your head.<br /><br />You're welcome.<br /><br />--------------<br /><br />I learned about this that semester I also learned about YouTube. I'm pretty sure I was one of the last people to know about either. Okay, maybe not, but probably, right?vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-28375025538328151002011-11-13T18:03:00.000-08:002011-11-13T18:04:22.879-08:00things that make you, well, want to gag, reallyThe other day, Pic and I were at the grocery store, waiting in the checkout line, when I saw an incredibly un-delectable sounding food: <a href="http://www.jerkysupermarket.com/product_details.asp?prodID=289">Sasquatch Big Sticks</a>. (You can click on that link to see the packaging.) Basically, think of a somewhat angry-looking Harry from Harry and the Hendersons on the outside of a box of meat sticks.<br /><br />Nothing about that sounds good to me.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />I wish I did have something delectable to share here, but I haven't made anything exciting lately. I did eat entirely too many dark chocolate-covered peppermint Joe Joes from Trader Joe's. So good, but I was so sick. I think I'll have to wait another year before I buy more of those. (Maybe.)vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-1292968398686786662011-11-12T19:40:00.000-08:002011-11-12T19:41:20.336-08:00oh, norms, lest we forget youSo, yes, Disney movies aren't exactly the location of social norm defiance or questioning. I know this. People should be paired off: man-woman. And, they live happily ever after. All is right in the world. Lather, rinse, repeat.<br /><br />I watched <span style="font-style:italic;">Tangled</span> with Pic today. I've seen it before and I'll probably watch it again.<br /><br />At the very end -- if you don't want to hear about the very end, don't read -- the male lead says something like, "And after years and years of asking, I finally said yes." Female lead admonishes him and he admits that he asked her.<br /><br />Why? Why do we need to reinforce that no only must everyone pair off into heterosexual couples, but that the man has to do the asking?<br /><br />That part just bugs me. The movie could just have ended with him saying, "I finally said yes."vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-26301379257145010622011-11-11T23:48:00.001-08:002011-11-11T23:50:09.876-08:00nearly wordless (and nearly out of time) fridayItem: One patient canine.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQwE_AtYK-mvJratAvjYtJedZkLPRxShoBlRBD1qCTABmd0FSKlDQa90S1kybb3F1KtAthyphenhyphentaabrmLKLMQEDb_g8Ge7NDSe98sEVRxygosqCM2z3EiD5Ce8V8nuY6K-wK6VGzH6ffEjGD/s1600/dogjacket.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQwE_AtYK-mvJratAvjYtJedZkLPRxShoBlRBD1qCTABmd0FSKlDQa90S1kybb3F1KtAthyphenhyphentaabrmLKLMQEDb_g8Ge7NDSe98sEVRxygosqCM2z3EiD5Ce8V8nuY6K-wK6VGzH6ffEjGD/s400/dogjacket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674013168388462194" /></a><br /><br />Totally blurry as child is not nearly as neurotic as mother about getting the picture.<br /><br />__________________<br /><br />NaBlo: We're still on.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-49128559007356540962011-11-10T19:18:00.000-08:002011-11-10T19:29:36.096-08:00a lesson in...somethingDetermination, perhaps?<br /><br />I am physically exhausted right now (my eyes want to close). I'm about to go get into bed and think about whether I should go to sleep. Yes, it's 7:01 in the evening as I write this.<br /><br />However, I knew I couldn't go lay down before I posted. But, I only have flitting ideas of topics. Enter: <a href="http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/">One Minute Writer</a>. Today's prompt: With the Internet at our fingertips, is there too much information available? If so, in what way?<br /><br />Yes. But, really, that's not what I wanted to write about regarding this topic. (The prompt brought to mind this other thing.)<br /><br />Sometimes, I come here and ask questions, the answers to which I could find through the google god. But, I don't always want to look things up online. Sometimes I want personal accounts from people I know (or people I "know"). This is why I read so many blogs. I want to know how other people do the day-to-day thing. When I want to know how to cook or bake something, I want to hear about the experience from someone non-random. When I want to decide on a new book to read, I want a suggestion from someone familiar.<br /><br />When I have a <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0050307/">Desk Set</a></span>-type-question, I want the mental exercise of trying to remember the answer with a friend, not by interacting with a search bar and dealing with the wiki-world and the like. Although I'm using the computer to communicate my queries, I don't always want EMARAC to be the one giving the responses.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-42710566825494168992011-11-09T22:41:00.000-08:002011-11-09T22:42:01.823-08:00i'm calling this 'stranger than fiction'I grabbed a box of tissue today because, out of all my choices of different boxes, it looked fun, like it'd lived up the room. I was checking out the weird alien/ameoba guys on the box when I noticed a "see bottom for directions for use" note on the top. Really? Directions for use? Okay, how could I resist that.<br /><br />On the bottom, something to this effect: "It is a violation of federal law to use this in any way other than directed. For use as a facial tissue only." The tissue was infused with some kind of bacteria-killing agent or something.<br /><br />That is some scary tissue. I returned the box to it's spot and grabbed another colorful box that didn't make me feel as if I might be contributing to the production of some super-bug, resilient to all of our antibacterial attempts.<br /><br />Really, though, that tissue freaked me out. Why would I want to put that on my face? Why would anyone?*<br /><br />------------------------<br /><br />*Yeah, I could be asking the same question about the sunscreen and makeup I wear; I'm doing the best I can there, so I'll do the same with disposable tissues.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-28552272333341113702011-11-08T21:35:00.000-08:002011-11-08T21:36:43.354-08:00toxic loveI've got plenty of, well, crap swirling around in my head right now. I feel full of uncertainties and questions and also a lot of hurt for other people. I think, after a pretty rough patch a few weeks ago, a patch full of briars that threatened to hold onto my skin, I'm actually okay. I'm kind of exhausted, which makes it difficult to ponder too much about anything for an extended amount of time without falling asleep, but I really do think I'm okay. Or, at least, I'll be okay.<br /><br />This does not stop the confusion and pain, though. Perhaps I'm just realizing that's part of life. I can feel that pain but not take it on as my own? I wonder if I'm capable of this, or if the pain is just waiting for me to allow myself to fall into old habits? As I said, it's only been a few weeks since the last low.<br /><br />But, oh, the questions. Why do we hide so much of our pain from others? Is it because we are ashamed that we are allowing ourselves to endure this pain? I feel this way sometimes; I want to just tell people, "Oh, yeah, I'm fine," even when I'm not because I know I shouldn't allow myself to not be fine. But, is that always a choice? I want to say yes and no at the same time. Yes, I'm allowing myself to wallow and hurt. No, the hurt and fear are uninvited and don't intend to leave and I can't do anything about that.<br /><br />I get why I don't hide my hurt with others, but do others hide their hurt away? Is it because they believe no one can help them? Because they feel they have to get through whatever it is alone? Because we're always supposed to look good on the outside no matter how screwed up everything seems when no one is looking too closely?<br /><br />Sometimes I feel that facade is a lie. Not just a cover, a protection against unwelcome eyes, but a lie. Life isn't always easy and I think sometimes we can make it more difficult by hiding the difficulties. Does the hiding somehow extend the trouble and pain? I wonder. We spend so much time trying to bury what's wrong that we don't address it, put it out there in the world, let it go?<br /><br />I have lots of questions, but no real, coherent answers.<br /><br />So, because I am afraid to go back to the constant wall-building and darkness, pain and, well, more fear, I've asked for help. I've asked for help once before, at a time when not asking would have resulted in something I can't think about. This time around, I'm feeling like I'm rowing calmly on a somewhat placid lake, not like I'm hoping for a dinky little lifeboat as I clutch a railing on the Titanic.<br /><br />So, I've asked for help. If I can offer help, I'm here. I probably don't have any good answers, but I can just be here and listen. And, I hope that helps.<br /><br />---------------------------<br /><br />I didn't mean to ramble so much, to think through writing only to come to no conclusions, but there it is. I'm starting to question whether there's not some great celestial event or something that can explain the current turmoil I see around me. Because I can't explain it any other way, so it might be time to start blaming the stars or the alignment of the planets or something.<br /><br />---------------------------<br /><br />On a much lighter note, as I try to skim the surface and not sink, I told Cardo that I may just be toxic, and then I couldn't get this song out of my head:<br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4PLQ1XfaTuU?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />"Hexxus (Tim Curry) sings Toxic Love"<br /><br />Ah, Tim Curry.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-1975225339331167432011-11-07T07:17:00.000-08:002011-11-07T07:17:01.046-08:00monday music: 'it's really time for you to be in bed'<iframe width="400" height="233" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7Ezy50aY6Bg?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />"I could have danced all night"<br /><br />This was running through my head last night, as I was facing an all-nighter. And, anyhow, I can always go for some Audrey. (Even though it's not her voice, it's still her and I'll be happy about that.)<br /><br />Anyhow, I got sleep. Ready to face this week. Yep. Enter Determination, stage right.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-38752510163585871672011-11-06T14:40:00.000-08:002011-11-06T14:42:45.666-08:00home cookingCardo and I were lucky enough to have a date night on Friday. We didn't do much, nothing fancy, but we did actually cook at home. I keep saying that we should do that on our date nights, but we often end up eating out. Last time, we were very much less than impressed with the restaurant we chose and we won't be returning. At least at home, we don't have to worry about bad service and we're more likely to cook something healthy at home.<br /><br />So, Friday, we roasted some Brussels sprouts with apples and turkey bacon. It was good. I keep thinking that I'll like Brussels sprouts more than I do, but then I have to remind myself that I've made them, like, twice. I totally believe that the more often I eat them, the more I'll like them. I think I'm right. We also cooked some pineapple (we just put in in the cast iron skillet on the rangetop) and it ended up fabulous!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNY1Fjcfdi6f0RBPkC3eOHZ0LjewTT2laYXqNwFmk2yw_UKHElHSk8X1iMGirLr6xkjFlUMw7dQ49efX4qDncG3vGVC0Ib38NJ9kLNIciGYaPTQojqFxVvS8JpbJY2I2fs2SDUETLWHeY/s1600/brusselssprouts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNY1Fjcfdi6f0RBPkC3eOHZ0LjewTT2laYXqNwFmk2yw_UKHElHSk8X1iMGirLr6xkjFlUMw7dQ49efX4qDncG3vGVC0Ib38NJ9kLNIciGYaPTQojqFxVvS8JpbJY2I2fs2SDUETLWHeY/s400/brusselssprouts.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672016756718015330" /></a><br /><br />Lest you imagine that's all I ate, fear not. We also baked some potatoes, but, geez, that takes forever. I suggested we put the potatoes in before the Brussels sprouts, but we needed more than just ten minutes. So, we had a two-course meal.<br /><br />I also made Cardo watch Jumping Jack Flash with me. He can't get over the fact that I watched it when I was a kid.<br /><br />[Not the cleanest language in this clip, just to let you know.]<br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/akcbz-1C8rA?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />"Jumpin' Jack Flash - Telephone Booth Scene"vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7968464589090312851.post-27459205312496235462011-11-05T01:19:00.000-07:002011-11-05T01:29:51.508-07:00cat talesOnce, a few years ago, I walked into a professor's office and he asked me, "What happened to your face?"<br /><br />"Oh, my cat attacked me."<br /><br />"That's funny," he said, "I wouldn't keep a pet who attacks me."<br /><br />Well, Kitsy, as we so often call him, is still here. While I get what Dr Chair was saying, I also love my cat. He's a member of the family, and we accept him despite his occasional testiness.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnQMjdbAPzDfcx4ics-o4ulLaPvBMelsBjzKNLMJ5LPP4H8G3AkDLvQaX8E5W0rvC71tVCxW8uWBnk5X2tlC0BfJXgi1Q6ASyZe6oEuPSKlVbpVuaXi9x81Mh-hLfCAVhdF5V2IQ7fqaV/s1600/snugattable.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnQMjdbAPzDfcx4ics-o4ulLaPvBMelsBjzKNLMJ5LPP4H8G3AkDLvQaX8E5W0rvC71tVCxW8uWBnk5X2tlC0BfJXgi1Q6ASyZe6oEuPSKlVbpVuaXi9x81Mh-hLfCAVhdF5V2IQ7fqaV/s400/snugattable.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671423850713029618" /></a><br /><br />He (the cat, not the professor) came into our lives in 2004. Cardo decided he wanted to get me a cat (a decision I think he still regrets sometimes) for Valentine's Day. In true us fashion, we didn't get a cat until March. We adopted Snuggles from the SPCA. He was already named and I had this weird notion that it wouldn't be right to change his name. He was absolutely tiny, and he was rather snuggly then.<br /><br />Shortly after we adopted Snuggles, I got pregnant with Pic. I was sick almost all of the time during months two through four (into my second trimester, which I didn't think was the way it was supposed to go), so I wasn't up and around a lot. Snuggles would sit on my chest and tuck his head under my chin when I was sitting down. Eventually, I also napped a lot during my pregnancy. Snuggles was only too happy to join me for a nap. He still looks at me when the day has gone on long enough expecting me to go take a nap so he can settle in too.<br /><br />For a while, he had a brother. This was 2007 to 2009. We had Lucky (also adopted and also already named) for a little less than two years. Snuggles, being a spry four years old, loved playing with his brother. Lucky, who had been found in a field with crates full of kittens, was probably older than the ten years the Human Society employees guessed him to be, and he wasn't always as enthusiastic about Snuggles's playfulness. However, Lucky tolerated it well.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLkYsXrCzrJpZmEuRQSSI-sZRCM8f1IUgaLmT5BSkLhXQiws0Fn2WWcZ7VRkdz4-qXjRABtD9gBBUZCfwSbuxf-0soBr3tNHpHo3pHrLn43Zu7srOUEdfauHMpJheEkuKdtRL_2e2sJz4/s1600/snugandluck.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLkYsXrCzrJpZmEuRQSSI-sZRCM8f1IUgaLmT5BSkLhXQiws0Fn2WWcZ7VRkdz4-qXjRABtD9gBBUZCfwSbuxf-0soBr3tNHpHo3pHrLn43Zu7srOUEdfauHMpJheEkuKdtRL_2e2sJz4/s400/snugandluck.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671423840715590866" /></a><br /><br />Snuggles himself has shown great patience with the young 'uns. When Pic was but a wee bairn, she would grab his fur, delighting in how soft he was. Snuggles waited until she had been up and running for several months before he started defending himself from Pic's often overzealous advances. He's the same way with our dearly beloved friends' little one now.<br /><br />With the rest of us, though? Well, he gets in his moods. He'll lure you in as he sprawls out, tempting us to pet him or rub his tummy. And, I still fall for it, even though I know he seems to detest having his tummy rubbed. It's a trick. He only wants to grab your hand and latch on with his claws and teeth.<br /><br />My dad still laughs when I mention Snuggles by name because he, too, knows the dangers of trusting the cat too easily.<br /><br />Although I'm wary of being too attached to animals because I know they'll inevitably die (as will we all), Snuggles is firmly tucked away in my heart.* I love that he still awaits a daily nap, as if those still happen on a regular basis (we both wish). I love that he plays fetch. I love that he purrs loudly to himself as he's getting ready to go to bed, even though no one is petting him. I love that he looks black in most light, but when the sun shines on him, he's the color of some fabulous deep dark chocolate. I love that he snores.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVPQ-qJP5bZBE8xLBrL6gwYBuKVaEymTL4-T1D3yRykd45F2XInUwyYANSKeGv_vz439egO6tksB9grlDHV4Xzhr1VFjEmr-vttcpZSngtBe2RHkK_0QWP9V2-Iya_FKYAEHutA80rRvK/s1600/snugasleep.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVPQ-qJP5bZBE8xLBrL6gwYBuKVaEymTL4-T1D3yRykd45F2XInUwyYANSKeGv_vz439egO6tksB9grlDHV4Xzhr1VFjEmr-vttcpZSngtBe2RHkK_0QWP9V2-Iya_FKYAEHutA80rRvK/s400/snugasleep.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671423837379964034" /></a><br /><br />When we were deciding on a new pet recently, I was so hoping to adopt another cat. I was overruled, two to one, though, and we got a dog. More on her next week.<br /><br />----------------------<br /><br />* Aren't you glad I didn't say "literally"? Because that would be gross.vhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17854030795263204694noreply@blogger.com2