Monday, November 25, 2013
Cold. Temps in the teens over night. Birdbath water frozen. Fed the bluejays their peanuts and they were a pretty site swooping down to the stump this morning. Squirrel waiting his turn. A light snow on the ground, not enough to cause problems. Winter is here.
I can't listen to the local radio stations anymore. All controlled by the Republican attack machine, with Fox news parroting the latest echo chamber propaganda at the top of every hour. I see the latest Anti Obama talking points have been released.You will hear them again and again. Predictable. These people are definitely part of the problem, because they certainly aren't helping with a solution. 40 million people without health care. The Republicans don't give a damn. Far better to find fault, sabotage, and position themselves
So, I've taken to listening to VOCM AM 590 out of Newfoundland. The internet is a great thing. The voice of the Common Man. It's a big shift from the choices here. Reminds me a bit of radio in the told days, with a lot of local news coverage, local people on the air, local concerns, local fund raisers. Interesting characters. Moose accidents. Less trumped up outrage. People actually talking to each other.
Thanksgiving has been crowded out by the onslaught of the gift giving shopping frenzy season. Not for me, though. I intend to keep T-day as it should be. Food, Family and Football. I'd be content to skip the whole gift thing altogether and keep the holidays a simple celebration of the season with friends, and make a few visits to see family and spend time. Maybe I have my own war on Christmas. This fake Christmas that has nothing to do with love, peace, tolerance, hope, and more to do with getting a good deal on a TV and
getting far into debt to try to give kids things they don't really need, when so many people are lacking basic things.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Darkness, rain and 54 degrees. Cats are squaring off already this morning. I'm trying to ignore them. It's been a week. Sambo has psychogenic alopecia. Pulling out her fur. I can relate. I feel the same way sometimes, Kitty. But it is more than that in that she has caused some kind of festering wound on her belly.
Sweet Pea went through the hair pulling out thing awhile back and it got pretty bad. Vet recommended Prozac, but I'm not going to do that. Me, or the cat. Two shots later and flea meds, $134.
We both need to de-stress.
So I'm going to build a room of my own downstairs. Decided on DriCore for the subfloor and cleared out the space. The Bro-in-law will help. Not a "Woman Cave" or any dreadful word like that. This is not a space for huge TVs and overstuffed furniture and entertaining and noise. Rather, I imagine a clutter free zone with space for yoga, a few chairs, a small table, some shelving, who knows what else right now, but I want a defined space. A place to retreat, maybe take Sambo with me. Build a cat climbing thing for her.
The rain is steady now. Reading three books at once, and I can guarantee no one in the world is reading the same ones at the same time. I'm re-reading The Shipping News by Annie Proulx, because I love her writing style so much that I want to write like her. A Pulitzer prize winner. Wonderful characters. I ordered the Billy Bob Tapes by Billy Bob Thornton and Kinky Friedman on an impulse. Thought it would be entertaining. Maybe a laugh or two. So far...well. Jury's still out. Then there's Monkey Mind... A Memoir of Anxiety by Daniel Smith. Recommended by a friend who saw him speak. Rambles a bit, but spot on at times. Especially if you have ever suffered an anxiety attack. Three quarters a way through he lost my interest. I just got tired of him.
Genvalia Coffee smells coming from the kitchen. Gotta go for now.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Sunday, November 10, 2013
"Look at me and take my breath away..." Listening to Autumn Song this morning and waiting for the sun. A good late night or very early morning song. Huge cloud covering in the southeast. Just a small opening in the spotty sky.. Cat wants to play, and has tons more energy than me today.
The back is no worse for wear after leave raking yesterday, which is good. I got to wear Aunt Sylvia's animal print head wrap. It kept my clogged ears warm. Three weeks now hard of hearing. Eustacian Tube Dysfunction. It's a diagnosis. It's a thing. So I feel better about it. Not Sudden Deafness for no reason. (Not that I didn't brush up on my sign language letters I learned in elementary school. I think I know about 20 of them. Then I realized I could probably still talk if I went deaf. Catastrophic Thinking. That is my downfall sometimes.)
I first noticed it while driving to work one morning. I got tired of AM radio people bloviating about sports and put some music on the CD player. And it still sounded like AM radio. Hmmm. Speakers going bad? Press again, put up louder, different song. Same thing. Popped ears....chewed gum, freaked out a few times. Saw doc. Antibiotics, decongestants. A little better on one side. That's the whole story for now. Still freaking a little since it's taking so long to clear, but that's just normal for me.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Time to sit and drink some hot tea and focus on the week that's been. I haven't done a Stream of Consciousness in awhile, and perhaps now is as good of time as ever.
On the homefront, the crockpot war is over. I call it a draw, only because I drew the line at throwing the thing out altogether, and...I did eat what I cooked, so I know it was at least edible. Crockpots are a lot like life. You can throw everything you can at it and hope for the best, methinks. The end result may not be pretty to some, but in the end, all that matters is that you were OK with it. I really hate cooking for other people. I get no pleasure from it and never have aspired to it. This said, I'm so very grateful to people who are good cooks and take pity on the rest of us. I ate some really good pumpkin cookies today from my Aunt. Thanks.
Roy G. Biv. (Red orange yellow green blue indigo and violet.)
On the political spectrum....it's fun to have political discussions that put everything in such good perspective, that you know EXACTLY where you are in the scale of things. It's also a good way of honing your verbal skills while defending in honest terms what you believe. The blues and reds are so much more than simple, cookie cutter ideologies. I know a blue who is bluer than me. And that says something. But there are many blue hues....he may be an ultramarine blue... full of ideals and purpose, loves the Mother Earth, and hates war and nukes...and is also quick to criticize or defeat his own, in search of purity of spirit. He is noble and sincere and genuinely consistent in his values, no matter what color he finds himself confronted with. He really demands MORE from our elected officials. I admire him with my heart and soul and more than anything hope he finds his solace.
I see myself more in the Cerulean blue range. Jaded. Certainly a true blue, but without the opacity of deeper blue hues. I can see through some of my blue ideals and forgive indiscretions, enter into "ends justify the means type arguments" and not feel judgmental about how things get done. My expectations are lower, I guess. This way I am happy when I get "more." And I will not cut my nose to spite my face. I'll support my own and take what is offered.
These ideas are subject to change with no notice, however. That is the promise of a new day. Someone can always emerge, and their presence changes everything....and that is where the hope lies in all of us.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Finally a chance to use Anthony's drawing for a very appropriate occasion. Janis Joplin will get a posthumous star on the Walk of Fame Monday. I wish you could have lived to see this, Anthony. I don't dwell on sentimentality all that much anymore, but in this case I'll make an exception.
Some people enter and leave your life much too quickly. But a piece of them stays with you forever. Janis was like that, and so was the man who introduced me to her music when I was in Jr. High school. Anthony, like Janis, was a misfit. He simply did not fit in here, nor did he try. He was an artist, a singer, a painter, and someone who could make you laugh at the absurdity of life.
His search for like minded souls took him out west to California, just like Janis. He sent me a post card from Noe Street...saying that was a place where she had lived. His letters were artwork....written on the back of movie advertisement placards..... in magenta marker. Or a collage of sorts, cobbled together with scraps of his life. He often added his own stickers....and pictures of himself from those old fashioned photograph booths, and embellished them with glitter. One time he sent me nothing but an envelope with a shredded Chinese newspaper and his new address. When he did write, his words were always cheerful, hopeful....and full of unabashed affection for the people around him. He liked tofill me in on his search to find a way to live life on his own terms, and pursue his dreams.
Ironically, I saw his obituary purely by chance, on an April Fool's day, twenty-six years ago. My first thought was, how did he accomplish this stunt? This is something, even for him! Then it set in, that Anth was really dead. Wow. No more letters. He's just gone for good this time. . . slipped away up near Salinas....