Friday the 13

Ok. So that happened. Yeah, has never bothered me. My mom was born on the 13th, so she considers it her lucky number. MLB says it's his favorite prime number. DLG has been assigned it as her classroom bin number.

I think I even forgot, for a moment, that it has been Friday. Silly me.



"Jesus, our Good Shepherd, we call upon You for the continued well-being of our Parish. Help us in this our time of need. Make our parish a family of one heart and mind towards you. Grant that our common life and work may be an example to all about us. Guide our Bishop and his assistants in their discernment. Hear us now, in this our time of special need; send Your continued graces upon us and bring to a happy solution the situation that confronts us.  Dearest Mother Mary, we ask you to assist us and to be our advocate for the continued spiritual and physical growth and well-being of our Parish. We make our prayer in the name of Jesus, Our Lord and Savior.   Amen."

(Follow this prayer with 3 Hail Marys; 1 Our Father)

"Hail! Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.  Amen."

"Hail! Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.  Amen."

"Hail! Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.  Amen."

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  Amen."

50 Day of Christmas

So I can't schedule myself to blog every day.  I know that.  But I do like finding something to say.

I enjoyed giving you "50 Day of Christmas."  Fifty days of, I hope, good vibes and fun in what can be a sometimes disheartening world.

Almost 50 days.  This post marks 49 posts.  I'm missing one.  It's one I want put some serious thought into.  I'm looking forward to giving you "Day 17" from December 8th.

Right now, my Christmassy family.  Love y'all.

Tagged

So, Tara tagged me on Facebook to do one of those "about me' things.

Ok, so......

Here's a bit about me!

3 names I go by:
1. Elizabeth
2. Lizzie
3. Beth

(Hey! Let's go out and seek a bird's nest.)

3 places I've lived:
1. Brunswick, GA
2. Germantown, TN
3. Huntsville, AL

3 places I've worked:
1. McDonald's
2. American Red Cross
3. Huntsville-Madison County Mental Health Center

3 things I love to watch:
1. The backs of my eyelids
2. Cat videos
3. The scene outside the window

3 places I've been:
1. Walt Disney World
2. Chicago
3. Crazy

3 things I love to eat:
1. Chocolate
2. Cheese
3. Did I already mention Chocolate?

3 favorite drinks:
1. Diet Cola
2. Tequila
3. Gin and Tonic without the Gin

3 things I am looking forward to:
1. Tomorrow
2. Christmas
3. More Chocolate

The three people I think will respond and accept this challenge:

You, You, and maybe You---
Now copy and paste and forward your answers.

NYE

New Year's Eve, and I think back on 2015.......


I don't blog as much as I should because ___________.

A)     I'm busy

B)     I'm lazy

C)     I'm me

D)     All of the above


I'm busy.  Drive my kids.  Shepherd my kids.  Double check their schoolwork and backpacks.  Coddle them too much.  Teach them to do chores (and attempt to not re-do those things they do.)  Clean stuff.  Clean up after them.  Cook and shop.  Perform other duties as assigned.

I'm lazy.  Sweep only once a week (tops.)  Mop quarterly.  Clean bathrooms monthly.  Vacuum as needed.  Launder smaller loads more often or bigger loads less often.  Stalk Facebook and play solitaire daily.  Finish a new book within two days.

I'm me.  Get ideas and then forget them.  Worry about yanking someone's chain.  Wonder about even caring what others think.  Plan out things mentally.  Can't find some photo.  Endure PMS, the stalled-brain and the motivation shut-down.  Go to play rehearsal.  Spend sweet, comfortable time with Carl.


Isn't everyone, 365?

On the Feast of Stephen

My daddy would have turned 75 today.

I still miss him.

Year and a half, and I do miss him.  I have to accept he lived his life the way he wanted, and if that meant dying sooner than I would have liked, well....    I remember and cherish all that was wonderful and amazing and loving about him.  What was fallible and fragile about him, however, I won't forget.  I won't forget, because it helps me continue to grow into the better person he hoped for me to be.

My daddy would have turned 75 today.

Carl & I & the kids drove over to my mom's house to "have" Christmas. Wow! my mom & my brother spoiled the kids.  I built a tower of gifts around me as they opened them.  My dad would have enjoyed watching them.  We ate "finger" foods like cheese and crackers, but not any cheese and crackers; even trying to do "simple," my mom served baked brie and gourmet crackers.  She made mimosas.  In memory of my dad, a tumbler half-filled with bourbon was at the head of the table.

My daddy would have turned 75 today.

While the kids played, my mom pulled out a DVD of our "old home movies."  I hardly saw my dad in any of them; he was the guy with the 8mm camera.  Even with him "missing" from the reels, I knew it was him with the camera.  He not only would film people, he'd film the scene. Many of the movies were from Christmases, and there were almost as many frames of the tree and the china and the furniture.

My daddy would have turned 75 today.

My mom would make a big deal of his birthday, since it falls the day after Christmas-- laments about him not getting a cake or presents as a kid. (His sister said otherwise, and my dad admitted it, but it made my mom happy to make a fuss over him.)  If we couldn't be there on Christmas, she wanted us there on the 26th.  She'd make him a cake he liked-- Carrot cake, German chocolate, Italian cream (things my brother wouldn't eat.)

My daddy would have turned 75 today.

He loved Christmas!  My mom loves the decorating and the cooking and the presents.  My dad loved the enjoyment.  My mom would make special foods, and he enjoyed eating them.  He enjoyed hearing people compliment her cooking.  He enjoyed watching us open the gifts.  My dad never wanted anything special for gifts; practical things like socks or wood glue made him content.  But my dad was a great present selector!  He wrapped them perfectly... or deceptively......  He enjoyed the music the best, and would sing with joy.  My dad had a strong and beautiful voice, and he gladly shared with everyone.  But mostly, he enjoyed the wonder and joy of KIDS at Christmas.  We tease my mom about "loving" her grandkids more than her kids.  But in his less-over-the-top manner, my dad adored and cherished his grandkids as much.  He was happy with them sitting his lap.  If the baby was fighting sleep, his warm embrace and his warm voice lulled them.

My daddy would have turned 75 today.

I'm afraid that my kids won't remember him.  I hope I have enough pictures and memories to remind them (especially for DLG) of their precious, short time with their Paw-Paw.

My daddy would have turned 75 today.

I love you, Daddy.

Merry Christmas!

We are waiting to "have Christmas" when the kids are back with us.

My Carl is a love, and gave me my special gift today.....

Hmmmm....
small artisan box....
Le Real......
le animale....

artisan bag....
is that a cat.....

No!!!
Not a cat!
A rabbit!
Not just ANY bunny......

My very own
REAL
Velveteen Rabbit!

Do you see
how he dances
for joy!

When the fairy
kissed him for
the last time,
he became real.








He loves me.  My husband "gets" me and he so truly loves me.  We are real.

Winter Solstice

Here upon our shortest day of the year, and the longest night, let me amuse you with a few more year-round Christmas touches.

Joy!  This is important to me.  As a picked-on kid, my life lacked joy, except when I was walking in the woods or riding my bike.  I didn't know it was joy that I lacked.  I just knew I was unhappy.  As a teenager, I kinda "found" who I was, found groups of friends I could be myself with.  And, every now and then, I found myself surprised by a happy, bubbly feeling in the very core of my self.  I wondered what it was.  I wondered if a shoe or two were about to drop and stomp that feeling away.  Nope.  To say I found joy would be incorrect.  I'd found a place in me where I could relax, be free and let joy find me.

My "favorite" JOY,
made in college
from repurposed ornaments

A smallish, but increasing flock of penguins have settled here.  I would say Opus, from a colligate crush, was my first, but he's Opus, man, not just a bird.  Penelope is actually my first, acquired after she bit me, Miss Preen, in "The Man Who Came to Dinner."  I also acquired several penguin Christmas ornaments that year as cast gifts.  Still not penguin-mania, but the stage is set.

We don't know why MLB loves penguins so.  Maybe its because they are an adorable blend of science & cartoon. Maybe it's because, as he was practicing walking, the toddler-sized Penelope was a great target.  But when DLG was in 4yo-Pre-K, she personally chose and bought her brother a penguin, at the same time he was buying himself one at his school's Candy Cane Lane shop.  He fell in love, and Pengu has been a constant companion since. The one he bought was named Anonymous, and they have been joined by Sparkle the baby Gentoo and little penguin themed things.  His sister has a couple of penguins as well, Waddles and Little Penelope.  Yes, I might have to rename our home "The Rookery."

Cats and Christmas go together.

The music box my beloved Babchu let me play with. Artfully hidden so my kids don't play with it.  (I'm surprised it survived me!)

Vintage Shiny-Brite ornaments.  They remind me of my childhood-- both of my grandmothers had these, my parents still used their "our first christmas tree" ones.  Their gentle patinas are comforting.

Finally, our "Two Turtle Doves." My first gift to Carlos.  It's us. Love-come-down is the reason for the season.  I'm glad Carl and I can shine that love to each other.

Keep Christmas in My Heart

My first true step to a little bit of Christmas year-round was the year I sent out this Hallmark card.  In addition to "The Velveteen Rabbit," I have a fondness for Teddy Bears.

There, tucked amid Victorian-style touches, the fuzzy sits and waits for its special child.  I liked this card so much that I framed and hung it up. What? I thought to myself, Only I will know that it's really a Christmas card.  At first glance it's a Teddy Bear and presents--- could be a birthday.

A couple of years later, I chose another Victorian-theme as my Christmas card.  I had to admit to myself, that I do try to live this very sentiment.

I do try honor Christmas in my heart.

I do try to keep it all the year.

I try to think of others.  I try to act with kindness.  I try to give without counting.  I try to like myself.  I try to love.  I try to discover joy.

I don't consistently succeed.

I get self-centered.  I speak thoughtlessly.  I hold unrealistic expectations. I turn despondent.  I become angry.  I hide from all, from myself.

But I try again.

Even Ebenezer got a fresh chance.  Every morning we get a fresh chance.

I try for Peace.  I try for Joy.  I try for Love.

"There once was a velveteen rabbit, ..."

and in the beginning he was really splendid."


Thus opens my favorite story of all time.  I CANNOT read it aloud, nor to myself, without crying.

Maybe "The Velveteen Rabbit" started my personal "Christmas creep." Margery Williams opens the story on on that very day:  "On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming."

The first time I recall hearing this story was when my mom read it to me for a bedtime story. I was maybe seven or eight-- too old and capable of a reader for a story-- but she was reading to me.  I craved the attention.  The story was included in a two-volume treasury of children's stories & verse that had been given to me by my Babchu.

I cried as she read it; I cried because the little rabbit was ignored, then he was adored; I cried because he was real, yet no one else noticed; I cried because it looked as if he was to meet his demise, but he was transformed beyond that merest of existences.

I cried because I had my own "little rabbit" who was so very shoddily loved-to-bits, and if I ever lost her, I would be devastated.

I cried because I often felt un-real.

I was teased A LOT as a kid.  Sometimes I even felt unloved.  At my lowest, an angel would remind me who did love me and would miss me.  And knowing that I was REAL at least to one, that would get me through.

In college, during another low time, Tara sent me a Christmas present from Target: a plush Velveteen Rabbit, in a stocking with a sprig of holly between his paws.  David Jorgensen's illustrated version of "The Velveteen Rabbit" had just come out in 1990, and the story was captivating a new generation of parents and kids.  But I was just a lost 20-something unsuccessfully drifting through college;  Tara was just one of my best friends who wanted me to know I was loved and missed--- here's a cute from our favorite department store!

Oh, how cute he was!  When I was shopping at the Hallmark in downtown Auburn, I noticed that another artist, "Flavia" had her own take on the tale.  I bought her book, and an ornament of the rabbit wrapped in a quilt, the base stating, "Love makes you Real."

That's how it started.  I thumbed through bargain racks and used selections.  I found that many people had illustrated the story over the years.  Sometimes they edited it for younger readers.  Sometimes they updated the setting for the times.  Always, the message of the Skin Horse was the same.  Always, the little rabbit looked so eager to share love.

I collect versions of "The Velveteen Rabbit."  I find them "in the wild" to bring home.  (Again, none of this scrolling through eBay for me.)   I have 25 different printings of the story, a few A/V versions, three plush (not including my precious rabbit,) three figurines, and an assortment of ephemera-- the newest being programs and photos from Academy of Academics and Art's own version of "The Velveteen Rabbit."  (Wish I had a show shirt.)

"The Velveteen Rabbit" remind me that love does make us real.  At Christmastime, we Christians are reminded that Love Became Man, and real like us.

Let's Call this Day 1

Hello, Bloggersville!!!


Yesterday was Sunday, November 22, 2015, and the last Sunday in Liturgical Cycle B 2015. Designated "The Feast of Christ the King," we wrap up the Church year.  For most Americans, who rarely attend daily Mass, the next time they come to church, it'll be a new year (Cycle C, 2016) and the First Sunday of Advent.  The "countdown" to Christmas will begin.

I'll have to admit, I'm becoming one of those people who "really like" Christmas.

I got excited way back in April when I got my Hallmark Dreambook for this year's ornaments.

I don't know when I started becoming one of those people.  Don't know how far it will go.  I'm certain that Carlos will put a stop to me when I reach his limits.  (We still de-decorate sometime between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday.)  But as I go there, I know I'll have plenty of good company.  (His mom feels the same way about Christmas.)

Maybe I've always been this way.  Maybe, as a middle-aged mom, I'm comfortable being me.  Or maybe I'm appreciating the wonder & joy of the season like I did when I was a kid.

Whenever, whatever, wherever, whyever and how,
I LIKE IT!


(Oooo, DLG just brought in the mail.  More stuff from Hallmark!  "Festive Snowflake Candy Dish"-- gotta' get it!  And the December Event circular with my bonuses!!!  "A Little Jingle" ornament!  Must get this one, too!!)



(I'm hopeless.)

Eenie, Meenie, Mynie, More

*** I Got Skills *** In Good Faith ***

*** Call Me Ishmael ***

*** Bone of Contention *** Audience of One ***

These are the writing prompts for the past few days.

I've just not felt like writing. I wanted to force myself to do it, but come on! this is not NaBloPoMo, so I really don't NEED to post EVERYDAY.

Sometimes these prompts just don't thrill me. They "hook" with these titles, but their writing suggestions are mild. When I've used them, I've let myself be inspired by the title; when I look at their page with linked blogs, I think, "Wow, nowhere close to what I wrote." So, there you go.

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"I Got Skills" tempted me, but.... I.... just.....

It prompted describing any skill I'd like to master.

I have skills, and sometimes I work on improvement. I'm more proficient in some, more instinctual in others. I'm currently pleased with my competencies. I can't think of any that I dream to totally master.

On top of that, the phrase is "I Got Skillz," which connotes a skill or ability you have that has surprised/impressed someone when you use it, often unexpectedly used but apropos. I do that already, starting back when as "the roommate who cooks."

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"In Good Faith" asks writers to consider a significant day in their faith-eveloution. Check. That shows up around here. Just not in this post.

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"Call Me Ishmael" suggests starting the post with the first sentence of a favorite book. Right.... interesting, but I'll pass.

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"Bone of Contention" is more a debate training tool: to write about the opposing viewpoint of an issue you have a strong stand upon. It comes with a follow-up psycho-self-anaylsis-- how did that make you feel. Good exercise. Right now, I don't think that is a brain part that needs work.

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"Audience of One." Ooo, that's an interesting title! So, prompting minds want to know, who is the ONE person-- more than any other-- do I want to read my blog? Would I write that person a letter, an open invitation?

I want YOU to read it. YOU, yes you. Right now. Friend or wanderer, I want you here. I've learned that I'll never fully know who I'll make an impression on. More surprisingly, I'll never guess what it is I do or say that connects. So, I just do what do and say what I say. I strive for integrity-- balancing candor with consideration, formal with colloquial, inspired with insipid. I'm just glad you stopped by.

My blog title says it all, "Me, myself, am I."

My blog posts just flesh it all out a bit.

For Posterity

Scanning, I thought the prompt said "For Posterior."

Which would have been much more apt for today, since I managed to finally convince myself that my keister wasn't half as big as I dreaded it was. I bought a NEW pair of jeans (first in ages) that actually fit like jeans and not like clown pants.

18W "Average," Lee Rider, Straight-leg-- for the historical record.

Daring Do

Daring-do: daring spirit or deed; boldness or bold action; heroic feats.


I'm not sure any of that applies to me.


When I think "daring." I picture...

Sensational people like Evel Knievel or any Wallenda;
Courageous individuals like Harriet Tubman or Mahatma Ghandi;
Unbridled talent like Madonna or David Bowie;
Heroic folk like troops or emergency responders.
Brave employees like electrical line men and girder workers;
Unique vocations like astronaut and deep-sea diver;
And maybe a few outright crazy souls that do dare to act.


I don't think I'm like any of those.


Others tell me I have "daring-do" because I...

Read at Mass;
Raise a son with ADHD, Asperger's Syndrome and a mild cleft;
Perform in community theater;
Don't lose my cool in a crisis, even if 911 is called;
Cook, with or without a recipe;
Make crafts, needle arts, scrapbooks;
Let my kids sometimes push their limits and mine.


Is it "daring-do" if I...

do what I want to do,
do what I have to do,
do what is right?


Maybe it is.

Be the Change

Pretty big topic, right??

I'm kind of stumped/stymied/blocked/constipated when it comes to blogging material right now.

I know. An Irish-American woman at a loss for words.

uh-huh

Not a loss for words, but a loss for concise, cohesive thoughts.

Stream-of-consciousness I can do until you're comatose.

I'm going to lean on The Daily Post's "Daily Prompts." I've never heard of this site before-- I just Googled "daily blog writing prompts," and this site was a top hit. It's by the editors/creators/managers of WordPress, so it's got its gravitas.

I want to create more, to spend more time with creative people. I'll start by writing more (again.) I hope that once I start getting my thoughts back in order, I can get my personal spaces for crafting & reading in order.

I'll be the change here that I want to see everywhere.

Pretty small step, right?

New Skin

~~~~~~~~~~
||  New skin  ||
||  Begin        ||
||  Again        ||
~~~~~~~~~~



I haven't written for a year. It's been a tiring year. A year of waiting. Lots of waiting. Holding it together. In retrospect, 2014 hasn't been a great year. Like any year, it's had its "high points." But I think, all-in-all, I'm ready to put it behind me and live 2015 the way I want to live it.

I thought about changing the "skin" of my blog, but I didn't. I like the way it looks just fine.

Maybe, in 2015 I'll put up a new "portrait." I like this skin I have just fine, but a new view can make a difference.

My Life as a Divorcee

Well, there's this guy.

This really really great guy in my life.

Not a perfect guy, but a PERFECT for ME guy.

A guy who, every day, is proving to be the companion in my life that I need.

I love him.

Meet Carl.

There's an Elephant in this Blog

Yep, there's an elephant in this blog.

And it ain't Big Al. (I'm an Auburn Fan.)

It's that I used the word "ex-husband" in my first NaBloPoMo post.

"Ex-husband" implies a divorce.

Yep. I haz one.

I wouldn't have pegged myself as the "divorcing kind."
But I guess I'm full of surprises.

I haven't talked about this much.  It might even be a part of the "subconscious" reason I didn't complete NaBloPoMo last year, or even blogged at all afterwards.

I'm not "ashamed" that I'm divorced.  It's just that it seems like talking about it is awkward, and an invasion of privacy.  Not my privacy, but Scott's-- my ex-husband.  There are two sides to every story, and if I get into too much of my side of the story, then it neglects his side.  Or might show him in a bad light.  Or even worse, assign thoughts and words to him that are not his.

I don't want to do that.  I respect him; I respect what our marriage once had been.  I especially respect his fatherhood of our children and I never, ever want them to believe I think less of him.

My closest family members, my dearest friends and my therapist know all the "whys," and that's enough.

I'll try to tell you what I can.

It was my idea, my desire to get divorced.  It took him for quite a shock.  I asked for a divorce out of the blue November 2012.  It wasn't something I'd been planning; but looking back, I could see that for quite a while I wasn't feeling like our marriage was what I'd expected of it.

It wasn't that I stopped loving him. Or liking him.  I just felt like we weren't the true companions that we should have been.  I felt we had seriously diverged in our plans for not just the future, but for the here-and-now.  I felt disconnected from him in many ways.

That wasn't fair to me, it seemed.

Could we have "fixed" our marriage with counseling?  I don't really know.

Me, as I'd have bouts of my depression, I'd get counseling for myself to get past them.  After over a year on my antidepressant, I'd been feeling "normal," with no bouts of depression or dysthymia.  So I don't think my dissatisfaction was due to my mood.

But for "our issues"?  I don't know.  Scott had been resistant to counseling, and I knew from my experience "on the other side of the chair" (I used to work as mental health client intake technician) that "forcing" a person into counseling would likely only effect meeting a condition, not effecting a true change.  I'd been hinting, tip-toeing, dancing & lately bluntly suggesting that he "talk" to someone-- even a friend!-- about things that seemed to be stressing him out and causing him to "go to ground" with his own interests and comfort zones.

I'd just reached my limit.

Not to truly give him a "fighting" chance really wasn't fair to him.

But to threaten "get shrunk or get out" wasn't fair, either.

It took us about a dozen years to unravel.  I'm 46.  I didn't want to wait another dozen years to see if we could knit ourselves back.

I was selfish, and asked for a divorce.

I didn't "take" the kids.  I didn't "take" the house.  Scott was the one with the job, the benefits.  I didn't think it was fair that he have to support two households because I said so.

Through the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, I slept on the sofa and we kept it sort of "normal" for the kids.  It wasn't until after the holidays that we told our family and friends.  We told the kids after the first of the year and I moved out shortly after that.

We made a gentle transition for the kids.  I'd move a bit out at a time, and would try to load the truck when they weren't watching.  They'd see stuff "disappear," but I wouldn't leave empty space.  I rearrange art and nick-knacks, I shift closet usage, unstack things in cabinets.

Scott trusted me to divide up our stuff; I think there were very few things that he questioned.  I suggested that as the residential custodian, he use the sedan and would take the truck.  We each liquidated equal amounts of assets to close out our unsecured debts and out attorney fees.  We would share custody of the kids and I would care for them any time that Scott was at work until I was a point in my life where they could have overnight stays with me.  Neither of us pays child support or spousal support.  We work together to make sure the kids have what they need from us both for creature comforts and for love and attention.  We do our best to make sure the kids know that our divorce has nothing to do with them, they they are not in the middle of anything but love.  We do our best to communicate with each other, if not about our lives, then about the kids.

No, the kids did not like it at all that we divorced.  They took it with some confusion for a while (especially little DLG,) but they seem to have adjusted OK, and are making the best of it.

Our families were not pleased with our decisions.  I don't think Scott's family will ever want to see my face again.  I insisted that since my family developed a friendship and affection with Scott that they continue to welcome him into their lives.  Yeah, that's awkward, but it's for what's best for the kids, in my opinion.

We worked out all the details ourselves.  We got one lawyer to represent Scott (to save money) and file our paperwork.  I didn't feel I needed representation.  We didn't rush things.  It was all done by the end of July.

We didn't rush things, and I haven't been trumpeting it.  That's why I've been slow in changing my name back to my birthname.  Slow in getting my "statuses" updated with various providers, contacts, etc.

But I am divorced now.  I'm no longer "Mrs. Anyone."

Now.  Truly.  Me, myself, am I.

Life Is So Strange

When you don't know where you're going.

Or at least that's what the song says.

Sorry I failed to complete a perfect 30 days of NaMoBloPo, but let's just say that "life is so strange." In a matter of speaking.

I'm feeling stifled, not writing as regularly as I have been. And, admittedly, some friends have encouraged me to take time to put my thoughts on paper. They seem to think I'm good and they miss what I have to say.

Sometimes, I don't know where my thoughts are going, so this is a good of a forum as any. But until something gels, and it will (and it will faster as I figure out this whole iCloud thingie-- I have WAY TOO MANY photos stored on my phone, but I need them all!!!), let me throw out another blast from the past. Another poem from high school. (I suspect I'll start composing verse again soon.) In case you ever wondered about the name of my blog, some inspiration from back in 1983.

Me, Myself, Am I

Me, myself, am I.
As I look in the waves
Of the pond, I know
That she is right and
That they were right and
That I've been right all through
My pains, my sorrows, and
My joys, my loves, too.
Alone, in a single,
Coveted morning--
Sweet, still, damp and living
In the midst of winter,
With ducks quacking like kids,
And kids acting like ducks--
I write a memo for morn:
Me, myself, am I.

Just These Sort of Thoughts

Sunday now. Well, that's done.  On to what's next.

Or in the words of William Wordsworth from his "The Prelude: Book I"


     "Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows
Like harmony in music;  there is a dark
Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles
Discordant elements, makes them cling together
In one society.  How strange that all
The terrors, pains, and early miseries,
Regrets, vexations, lassitudes inferfused
Within my mind, should e're have born a part,
And that a needful part, in making up
The calm existence that is mine when I
Am worthy of myself!"

All in all-- me, myself, am I.

The "C" Word

Y'all, I generally don't mind bugs. Insects, specifically, but I tolerate spiders, too. They fill a niche in the world, they have a purpose. They're a part of the circle of life (I keep reminding myself, we won't have dragonflies if they don't have mosquitoes to eat.) Live & let live, sort of. If they're outside, they're where they belong. If they're inside, they're fair game for the hunt; Scott is all about slaying them, while I prefer catch-and-release. We even have tools that make us good at what we do: he has an electric bug racquet for wasps and other large creepies and I have have the bug jars from my kids. Either way, we keep the house occupants bipedal.

But there is one bug I loath. Of the myriad scavengers, those unattractive crawlies that consume our garbage & compost, there is one I will not abide. Do we not have pill bugs, millipedes, centipedes and crickets a plenty? (All I care not much for.)

Why do we need-- shudder-- cockroaches?
(There, I've said it. Sorry, Tanja.)

I've never liked them. They are creepy and gross. Sneaky, too, nor a respecter of personal space. I don't care if they are capable of surviving a nuclear Armageddon. So will kudzu and Twinkies, big deal. I find no point for the "c-word."

There was a bug under the bookshelf in my sixth grade classroom. I thought it was a cricket, and tried to help catch it. When it scuttled out and proved to be the-other-thing, I think my scream gave the PE coach a heart attack, and he was on the other side of the pod. Years later, one had the audacity to scuttle across the floor while I was baby sitting; I sprayed it with window cleaner, then with the bug spray (I was watching out for the kids,) finally resorting to smashing it with my shoe-- the demon insect kept crawling with its guts hanging out. Arrrgh!!!!!! Now, as a high-demand sitter, I'd handled many crises quite calmly. I resorted to calling my brother over to handle the final dispatch.

I cannot stand them.

So where did I go to college? Auburn University. Home of cockroaches so big & so aggressive that students from Louisiana and Florida were impressed. Not only that, those suckers flew.  Technically, they are "Palmetto Bugs." We don't HAVE palmetto in the area, so I blame some ag student in the past for accidentally importing it. I don't care. I just want them GONE. They eat everything. Plastic wire insulation is a fav dessert of theirs. Horror is waking up late for class because your alarm clock doesn't work and you can see the body of the culprit trapped against the lurid glow of the digital display. Just not right.

At Auburn, I learned: if you are alone in a room, it is useless to scream at one. That only gives it advanced warning. It'll fly right at you and laugh at your vain attempts to swat at it with a broom. (Wish that poster could have laughed about it... sorry.) I'll go on a stealth offensive, if there's no other recourse. My preferred method of destruction is to scream loudly as I jump up on some furniture; I can usually summon someone else within a 30 foot radius to do the deed.

My brother recommends a can of Raid. And a match. (No, he refrained from that during the baby-sitting rescue. But his method has a vengeful appeal.)

So there. Something I dislike, loath, abhor, despise, detest and just out-right can't stand-- nay, just plain hate.

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A whimsical note, I took a walk at the Botanical Gardens on Friday. The day had warmed up delightfully. Staying indoors would have been a sin. All sorts of six-legged things were buoying about, especially pairs of butterflies in their last hopeful, enamored dances.

As I approached the gazebo, I could see quite a few things buzzing about a trellis. Bigger than gnats, smaller than wasps. Thinking they might be honey bees out for a final hurrah, I tried to focus on one, only to realize they were flying polka-dots glowing red. Ladybugs! Oodles! They'd been lured out of their hibernation. With so many, it was easy to have one alight on my hand. Not so easy to take a picture of it as it scurried along. Even less easy when it became three, eight, twenty conveniently landing on me. Left arm, right arm, shirt, pants. I watched one hang from my bangs. Maybe there were too many ladybugs. The ticklish legs weren't a problem, but one of them wondered if my arm tasted like aphid.... party over. Shoo, shoo! (I got odd looks from others in the glen.)

I was almost out of the garden when I felt something at my shoulder. A straggler. It perched a moment on my sweater.

Shoo to you, too.