Tissue box is my intimate friend.
****Update****
Actually, quicker to skip the tissue. :-(
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Christmas Tree
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
How lovely are thy branches.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Now that with lights, they are finally traced.
Some quantity over 600 we finally placed,
When mysteriously dead strands from the basement we had to replace,
And cheap strands from Target (Phillips) we placed and replaced.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Please don't incinerate our abiding place.
How lovely are thy branches.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Now that with lights, they are finally traced.
Some quantity over 600 we finally placed,
When mysteriously dead strands from the basement we had to replace,
And cheap strands from Target (Phillips) we placed and replaced.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Please don't incinerate our abiding place.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Testing, Testing. . . Testing, One, Two, Three
New toy on trial: Deal Kindle.
Nice graphics, capabilities; but TINY keyboard.
My phone keys might be larger.
Still, tempting. Processing "needs" vs. "wants."
Nice graphics, capabilities; but TINY keyboard.
My phone keys might be larger.
Still, tempting. Processing "needs" vs. "wants."
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Relationships Boiled Down (Packaged for Take-Away)
If there's life, then there's hope.
When everything's gone, God's there underneath.
Friendship with honesty: precious of blessings.
Three-stranded cords are not easily broken.
When everything's gone, God's there underneath.
Friendship with honesty: precious of blessings.
Three-stranded cords are not easily broken.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Today in Six Words or.... Six
Foul mood. Has throat. Need help.
Loved my hair. Hated my attitude.
Tollhouse crammed in back door: lifesaver!!
Justin mostly re-earns my jilted admiration.
Loved my hair. Hated my attitude.
Tollhouse crammed in back door: lifesaver!!
Justin mostly re-earns my jilted admiration.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
[correction: Obsessed with six-word memoirs...]
Summarizing today in six-word sets:
Emergency!: Almost out of coconut oil.
Flattered--he [mis]perceives me good housekeeper.
Set the couch on my toe.
Shadow bit Mema; she needed antibiotics.
No "pain in offering"; just gagging.
I usually always say "It's okay." "" ""
(I wonder what will happen next...)
...Yet.: (?...) Shalom = "nothing missing; nothing broken."
Emergency!: Almost out of coconut oil.
Flattered--he [mis]perceives me good housekeeper.
Set the couch on my toe.
Shadow bit Mema; she needed antibiotics.
No "pain in offering"; just gagging.
I usually always say "It's okay." "" ""
(I wonder what will happen next...)
...Yet.: (?...) Shalom = "nothing missing; nothing broken."
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
I Get Six-Word Memoirs!
This girl misses two best friends.
OR This girl misses late night chocolate.
OR You two always brighten my day!
OR...I could go on, but it's midnight and I desperately need sleep!
Off to bed I go now!
OR This girl misses late night chocolate.
OR You two always brighten my day!
OR...I could go on, but it's midnight and I desperately need sleep!
Off to bed I go now!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
"I have a theory, 99..."
Setting: Liz's trunk
Characters: Mouse/mice and/or accomplice (Shadow?)
Plot:
Justin and Liz set pair of semi-permanent mousetraps in Liz's trunk. Traps are carefully baited with peanut butter and set in no-mess mouse-removal Amazon boxes.
Liz goes on about her life, working around, forgetting about, and generally ignoring mouse removal boxes and inner traps.
Until. Liz has to use her trunk on a particularly taxing errand day and finds (gasp) mouse droppings and shredded cardboard. With very audible sighs and mutterings (unaware of the lady watching from her open truck window feet away), Liz grasps that mice have returned.
Justin and Liz return to reset pair of semi-permanent mousetraps in no-mess mouse-removal Amazon boxes.
Justin inspects mouse removal box #1--it is clean as a whistle, including the "cheese" tab where the peanut butter used to be. This is no "mouse-removal" box. Just a box.
Justin inspects mouse removal box #2--THERE IS NO TRAP. There is no mouse. There are poops and cardboard shreds galore.
Whodunnit?
Characters: Mouse/mice and/or accomplice (Shadow?)
Plot:
Justin and Liz set pair of semi-permanent mousetraps in Liz's trunk. Traps are carefully baited with peanut butter and set in no-mess mouse-removal Amazon boxes.
Liz goes on about her life, working around, forgetting about, and generally ignoring mouse removal boxes and inner traps.
Until. Liz has to use her trunk on a particularly taxing errand day and finds (gasp) mouse droppings and shredded cardboard. With very audible sighs and mutterings (unaware of the lady watching from her open truck window feet away), Liz grasps that mice have returned.
Justin and Liz return to reset pair of semi-permanent mousetraps in no-mess mouse-removal Amazon boxes.
Justin inspects mouse removal box #1--it is clean as a whistle, including the "cheese" tab where the peanut butter used to be. This is no "mouse-removal" box. Just a box.
Justin inspects mouse removal box #2--THERE IS NO TRAP. There is no mouse. There are poops and cardboard shreds galore.
Whodunnit?
Thursday, June 23, 2011
As the World Turns
In three weeks we will be in Romania. Someone may be staying at our house while we are gone. I am not cleaning the house, however. No.
We are moving all the furniture and anything on the floor so we can put copious amounts of white dust down, so we can vacuum it up later. We are also putting the dust (shaking it or smearing it) on all the upholstered furniture.
I am doing laundry, however. I am doing lots and lots of laundry.
We are doing this to get rid of a pesky (if mild) case of fleas that has bothered us since last spring, when we visited the SPCA. I repent of visiting the SPCA. I do not need another cat. I kind of wish we had gotten another cat, though, because then we would have gotten something for all this trouble.
However, this case of fleas could have been much worse. We could be dealing with any one or more of thousands of much worse plagues (fleas were one of the ten plagues visited on the Egyptians...) or trials. I am, in comparison, thankful for the fleas. We have it quite good, compared to many people. Some of whom I know. I would rather move all my stuff, put down dust, vacuum it up, and do it all again than have some of the trials that currently belong to various ones of my family and friends. Mark this down--I may be sort of complaining, but I am thankful, and I am blessed.
Also on the bright side, I bought a fresh pineapple yesterday. When I pass it, I can smell its sweetness.
We are moving all the furniture and anything on the floor so we can put copious amounts of white dust down, so we can vacuum it up later. We are also putting the dust (shaking it or smearing it) on all the upholstered furniture.
I am doing laundry, however. I am doing lots and lots of laundry.
We are doing this to get rid of a pesky (if mild) case of fleas that has bothered us since last spring, when we visited the SPCA. I repent of visiting the SPCA. I do not need another cat. I kind of wish we had gotten another cat, though, because then we would have gotten something for all this trouble.
Also on the bright side, I bought a fresh pineapple yesterday. When I pass it, I can smell its sweetness.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Death
A thick air of uncertainty and seeping sadness clings to me. I realized just now that I have preferred to be in motion to keep it trailing out behind me, because when I settle down, particularly in the house (my parents' house, not even my own), away from the daylight, it seems to cloak me more.
I had preferred to be in motion, planned to be in motion--either down to North Carolina to visit my dying aunt, sharing, talking, pleading with her to be sure she is reconciled with God, this aunt who is now a widow, her husband's memorial service yesterday... Or up to our house, where the busy tasks of each day manage to partially drown out heavy things. The laundry looks the same whether Aunt Gwen is dying or not. But I am not in motion. My plans were halted. Halted, like Gwen and Raymond's plans.
My plans also did not include a nuclear holocaust of anger this afternoon. Trips for ice cream are supposed to be fun. But now my heart is charbroiled; I appreciate quick apologies but appreciate a tempered tongue even more. I think the weekend was emotionally trying enough for everyone already.
Now I'm waiting, waiting to find out whether Aunt Gwen can take visitors in the next day or two. Chances are I'll be coming back this way soon--visit or no visit, certainly for another memorial service.
Uncle Raymond's death is still a surprise to me. But mainly it just feels like he left. Aunt Gwen's death feels like the natural next thing, though I don't want it. Anyone that in love acts together with their spouse, right? But I hope her death just feels like her leaving. I don't know yet.
I had preferred to be in motion, planned to be in motion--either down to North Carolina to visit my dying aunt, sharing, talking, pleading with her to be sure she is reconciled with God, this aunt who is now a widow, her husband's memorial service yesterday... Or up to our house, where the busy tasks of each day manage to partially drown out heavy things. The laundry looks the same whether Aunt Gwen is dying or not. But I am not in motion. My plans were halted. Halted, like Gwen and Raymond's plans.
My plans also did not include a nuclear holocaust of anger this afternoon. Trips for ice cream are supposed to be fun. But now my heart is charbroiled; I appreciate quick apologies but appreciate a tempered tongue even more. I think the weekend was emotionally trying enough for everyone already.
Now I'm waiting, waiting to find out whether Aunt Gwen can take visitors in the next day or two. Chances are I'll be coming back this way soon--visit or no visit, certainly for another memorial service.
Uncle Raymond's death is still a surprise to me. But mainly it just feels like he left. Aunt Gwen's death feels like the natural next thing, though I don't want it. Anyone that in love acts together with their spouse, right? But I hope her death just feels like her leaving. I don't know yet.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Easter Sunday
The afternoon smelled like a molded beeswax horse decoration my friend gave me in middle school... sweet, yet not so very like the smell of honey itself, and in a way warm: the smell of summer days not too hot and thick with bugs buzzing and things that grow in fields waving in the breeze. Sweet, and summery, yet indistinct.
The day would have been sublime for any normal person, but it even was for me, because it was not summer; it was spring, and yet clearly this was a summer day. I was not ready for it, and that is why it could strike me so deliciously; I was off guard.
I was charmed by the day itself and, in a synergy of charms, the unbelievable fact that we were playing croquet. I feel I have once imagined playing croquet in our yard--the yard is not perfect for it, but we are neither nobility nor rich so that doesn't matter--yet I don't believe I ever believed it would actually happen. The "thok" of wooden mallets conversing with the wooden balls was so pleasing I wished for a recording, to play on future occasions when I might wish to be back here, in today, playing croquet.
Another unexpected pleasure was that our croquet game was silently attended (for just a moment) by a hawk of some kind, gliding quickly above our heads, close enough for me to see the excellence of his marly underbody feathers. The dictionary tells me that "marl" is a kind of dirt, but I know that one can have a "gray marl" sweater or "marled" socks, and that is what I mean. The order and understated fashionability of his birdy breast was simply excellent. And the fact that he planed so low I could see it was very kind. I confess I was pleased that not everyone noticed him.
The odd thing about the croquet was that I was moderately good at it. That is, I would be good for a few minutes and get way ahead, then I would play poorly for enough strokes that the others would catch up. The unfortunate thing about the situation was how it fed my pride. The pride in turn fueled a competitive streak I had pretended to forget about. Then Justin's dad also finished the course, and we were both "poison," each of our balls capable of putting others and even each other out of the game upon contact. Imagine my disbelief when his ball struck mine and I was suddenly dead, defeated by his poison, which hurtled unbelievably across the course and even lifted off the ground with the impact from hitting my ball:
The day would have been sublime for any normal person, but it even was for me, because it was not summer; it was spring, and yet clearly this was a summer day. I was not ready for it, and that is why it could strike me so deliciously; I was off guard.
I was charmed by the day itself and, in a synergy of charms, the unbelievable fact that we were playing croquet. I feel I have once imagined playing croquet in our yard--the yard is not perfect for it, but we are neither nobility nor rich so that doesn't matter--yet I don't believe I ever believed it would actually happen. The "thok" of wooden mallets conversing with the wooden balls was so pleasing I wished for a recording, to play on future occasions when I might wish to be back here, in today, playing croquet.
Another unexpected pleasure was that our croquet game was silently attended (for just a moment) by a hawk of some kind, gliding quickly above our heads, close enough for me to see the excellence of his marly underbody feathers. The dictionary tells me that "marl" is a kind of dirt, but I know that one can have a "gray marl" sweater or "marled" socks, and that is what I mean. The order and understated fashionability of his birdy breast was simply excellent. And the fact that he planed so low I could see it was very kind. I confess I was pleased that not everyone noticed him.
The odd thing about the croquet was that I was moderately good at it. That is, I would be good for a few minutes and get way ahead, then I would play poorly for enough strokes that the others would catch up. The unfortunate thing about the situation was how it fed my pride. The pride in turn fueled a competitive streak I had pretended to forget about. Then Justin's dad also finished the course, and we were both "poison," each of our balls capable of putting others and even each other out of the game upon contact. Imagine my disbelief when his ball struck mine and I was suddenly dead, defeated by his poison, which hurtled unbelievably across the course and even lifted off the ground with the impact from hitting my ball:
Friday, April 15, 2011
Signing Off with These Quick Thoughts
Tightening up did not happen; rats!
Dramatic flair, words cascade, requires patience...
What I said about Rachael eludes.
Kay's tears help me know her.
Brenda's lips no longer look flat.
Liz moves like a crash dummy.
Mema says goodnight, go to bed(ish).
I'm addicted to six-word memoirs.
Dramatic flair, words cascade, requires patience...
What I said about Rachael eludes.
Kay's tears help me know her.
Brenda's lips no longer look flat.
Liz moves like a crash dummy.
Mema says goodnight, go to bed(ish).
I'm addicted to six-word memoirs.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Nighttime Thoughts
I have already obliterated any beneficial circadian rhythms, hormones, bio-cycles, and the like tonight. I sat in front of the blue, daylike screen of my computer before going to bed, I sat on the edge of the bed aimlessly, I read a mentally stimulating book until 2:30, and now, grand finale, I can't get to sleep.
Speaking of hormones, I begin to wonder if we have a bun in the oven. I hope so. But I don't know. So don't mention it to anyone. The lower half is quiet, very quiet... and the upper half was decidedly picky in finding a sleeping position. Seriously. Have we not been together for over ten years now? I'd think we could get along better than that.
The problem with doing any thinking before bed is that my mind (oh, so cliche) doesn't have an off switch (and sorry, I refuse to put " 'off' switch"--that's so bulky and unnatural). My mind has been positively racing since I turned off the light (it does have an off switch) at 2:30. My mind has been berating me, at high speed, for countless faults, failures, inconsistencies, unmotivations, uncoordinations, unfollowings-through... And in response to this assault, my mind has offered plot after plot of new ways to improve myself, counter my shortcomings, repair the breaches in my past plans, recover lost time, and simplify the trappings of my life that I both ignore and maintain, such a careful balance, during the daylight hours.
I like spontaneity. I love it. But I also love undiscipline. Is there another word for that? Undiscipline is so incriminating. But it is incriminating. It's like a mark on my forehead. Watch me long enough, and you will see signs of my undiscipline creeping out around me. It's like an aura. Like Pigpen's dust cloud.
You'll see it on my desk. On my computer desktop. On the floor; it's next to the granules of kitty litter tracked all over the bedroom. It's everywhere I want to be. And it's expanding.
Not quite, actually--let's be honest here; the truth is mostly against me, but there are some bright spots. So let's bring them out too! I need help here, self! Where have I made progress? Let's see. I'll number these items, to encourage myself. 1) consistency with quiet times. I have not been consistent, but I just this past week caught up to where I'm supposed to be. So far I'm still caught up. 2) I have played at least one game of Scrabble with Mema most days in the past several days. 3) I brushed Shadow two days in a row (but not including today, tsk tsk). 4) I have fed my family some sort of meal most every evening lately (I'm leaving leeway in there for some meal which may have serendipitously (is that the right use of that word?) been furnished by someone else (someone being a person or a company), and two of those meals (i.e. tonight's and last night's) were respectable, nutritional, yummy, homemade meals in the standard sense of the word. 5) I have reorganized my recipe shelf. 6) I have reorganized my jewelry. 7) I have scrubbed the tub when it was gross in the bottom. 8) I have rearranged my office (not so recently, but it definitely counts). 9) I have attacked the really old piles of specialty laundry items in the laundry room. 10) I have rearranged the laundry room (not so recently, but it definitely counts). 11) I have bought a lot of fresh produce and we have eaten most of it before it went bad. 12) I have made at least two homemade desserts recently. 13) I have hosted a group of people for a weekend movie extravaganza and provided the main meal (however meager) for both suppers. 13) I have maintained a planner, even if I didn't do the things on some of the lists and have moved them forward for 5-6 weeks. 14) I have finished a work of fiction borrowed from an acquaintance over a year ago and returned it. 15) I have reorganized our closet in some small but nevertheless important details. 16) I have provided laundry services to the family, such that Justin only almost ran out of underwear once and actually did run out of pants he likes to wear to work only once. 17) I have written a few little poemy things, even if they still sit where they have since I reshuffled their pile after I forgot to take them to writers' group.
I have made some decisions about how I want to change some other small aspects of my life (that add up together to larger and larger pieces of my life) but I fear it is only the frustrated rambling of a hormonally-impaired nearing-thirty-something ineffective housewife who, in her waking-but-should-be-sleeping moments remembers that life is short and I may soon be with child, i.e., with much less time for doing all these things you'd think I'd have under control by now, having been married for almost 5 years, without children for all this time, with grandmother for only 2.5 years, and with job for only 2.5 years. Seriously. What is wrong with me? What have I been doing with my time? Why am I hanging on to clutter, habits, and insecurities that are simply holding me back in this short life? Why???
More importantly, how will I change? How??? It's not like I woke up tonight (ha!) deciding suddenly I don't like clutter and my habits aren't working for me. No, I know this stuff. It's familiar.
Like my inability to change. Augh; I may not be sleepy, but I'm tired, and I don't feel like taking precious energy to think or write about this most depressing of subjects. Lord, I need Your help! I can't change. I can't even be motivated by myself. Help!!
Okay. It's time to address something that's been getting on my nerves. Probably something on my computer. I'll let you know if organizing any one of the "grab bag" junkpiles I maintain in several places on my laptop provides any serious satisfaction. Okay, no, I won't let you know. I'll forget I wrote this post and I won't come back to it. There, that was honest. Goodbye! Wish me luck.
Speaking of hormones, I begin to wonder if we have a bun in the oven. I hope so. But I don't know. So don't mention it to anyone. The lower half is quiet, very quiet... and the upper half was decidedly picky in finding a sleeping position. Seriously. Have we not been together for over ten years now? I'd think we could get along better than that.
The problem with doing any thinking before bed is that my mind (oh, so cliche) doesn't have an off switch (and sorry, I refuse to put " 'off' switch"--that's so bulky and unnatural). My mind has been positively racing since I turned off the light (it does have an off switch) at 2:30. My mind has been berating me, at high speed, for countless faults, failures, inconsistencies, unmotivations, uncoordinations, unfollowings-through... And in response to this assault, my mind has offered plot after plot of new ways to improve myself, counter my shortcomings, repair the breaches in my past plans, recover lost time, and simplify the trappings of my life that I both ignore and maintain, such a careful balance, during the daylight hours.
I like spontaneity. I love it. But I also love undiscipline. Is there another word for that? Undiscipline is so incriminating. But it is incriminating. It's like a mark on my forehead. Watch me long enough, and you will see signs of my undiscipline creeping out around me. It's like an aura. Like Pigpen's dust cloud.
You'll see it on my desk. On my computer desktop. On the floor; it's next to the granules of kitty litter tracked all over the bedroom. It's everywhere I want to be. And it's expanding.
Not quite, actually--let's be honest here; the truth is mostly against me, but there are some bright spots. So let's bring them out too! I need help here, self! Where have I made progress? Let's see. I'll number these items, to encourage myself. 1) consistency with quiet times. I have not been consistent, but I just this past week caught up to where I'm supposed to be. So far I'm still caught up. 2) I have played at least one game of Scrabble with Mema most days in the past several days. 3) I brushed Shadow two days in a row (but not including today, tsk tsk). 4) I have fed my family some sort of meal most every evening lately (I'm leaving leeway in there for some meal which may have serendipitously (is that the right use of that word?) been furnished by someone else (someone being a person or a company), and two of those meals (i.e. tonight's and last night's) were respectable, nutritional, yummy, homemade meals in the standard sense of the word. 5) I have reorganized my recipe shelf. 6) I have reorganized my jewelry. 7) I have scrubbed the tub when it was gross in the bottom. 8) I have rearranged my office (not so recently, but it definitely counts). 9) I have attacked the really old piles of specialty laundry items in the laundry room. 10) I have rearranged the laundry room (not so recently, but it definitely counts). 11) I have bought a lot of fresh produce and we have eaten most of it before it went bad. 12) I have made at least two homemade desserts recently. 13) I have hosted a group of people for a weekend movie extravaganza and provided the main meal (however meager) for both suppers. 13) I have maintained a planner, even if I didn't do the things on some of the lists and have moved them forward for 5-6 weeks. 14) I have finished a work of fiction borrowed from an acquaintance over a year ago and returned it. 15) I have reorganized our closet in some small but nevertheless important details. 16) I have provided laundry services to the family, such that Justin only almost ran out of underwear once and actually did run out of pants he likes to wear to work only once. 17) I have written a few little poemy things, even if they still sit where they have since I reshuffled their pile after I forgot to take them to writers' group.
I have made some decisions about how I want to change some other small aspects of my life (that add up together to larger and larger pieces of my life) but I fear it is only the frustrated rambling of a hormonally-impaired nearing-thirty-something ineffective housewife who, in her waking-but-should-be-sleeping moments remembers that life is short and I may soon be with child, i.e., with much less time for doing all these things you'd think I'd have under control by now, having been married for almost 5 years, without children for all this time, with grandmother for only 2.5 years, and with job for only 2.5 years. Seriously. What is wrong with me? What have I been doing with my time? Why am I hanging on to clutter, habits, and insecurities that are simply holding me back in this short life? Why???
More importantly, how will I change? How??? It's not like I woke up tonight (ha!) deciding suddenly I don't like clutter and my habits aren't working for me. No, I know this stuff. It's familiar.
Like my inability to change. Augh; I may not be sleepy, but I'm tired, and I don't feel like taking precious energy to think or write about this most depressing of subjects. Lord, I need Your help! I can't change. I can't even be motivated by myself. Help!!
Okay. It's time to address something that's been getting on my nerves. Probably something on my computer. I'll let you know if organizing any one of the "grab bag" junkpiles I maintain in several places on my laptop provides any serious satisfaction. Okay, no, I won't let you know. I'll forget I wrote this post and I won't come back to it. There, that was honest. Goodbye! Wish me luck.
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