Today was a beautiful day. In all ways.
Joseph kissed me goodbye this morning on the back of my head as I lay half asleep in bed. I rolled over and practiced some sleepy Reiki. I got up and made my bed. I got Desmond up. Carried my little boy downstairs and we fed Spidey together like we do every morning. I had delicious organic oatmeal with raisins, cinnamon and milk. We got dressed for the gym and got our Halloween decorations out. We hung black paper bats in our windows. We went to the gym. A girlfriend of mine told me I have great legs. I took the Friday, no joke, kick your ass, class and I felt strong and healthy and good. Desmond played with his friends in the child care. We came home and swept the old cobwebs off the porch so we could hang fake spiderwebs in their place. We decorated the house for Halloween because we just can't wait. Desmond napped his three hour nap. I ate some organic roasted chicken and sweet potato black bean saute for lunch. Had a homemade healthy almond joy bar for dessert. I had hot tea. My good friend and neighbor came over for a haircut. We talked and we laughed. He paid me. Another friend came by and bought a big painting of Joseph's for a big price and I felt nothing but joy for Joseph. I laughed and talked with that friend too. We got Desmond up together. Des and I said goodbye to our friend and we got ready for Desmond's gymnastics class. I watched Desmond, so much more confident and comfortable than he was at his first class last week, swinging from the rings, tumbling on the mats, jumping on the trampoline, playing air guitar to klezmer music while he waited for his turn. I got to spend time with my good friend while we watched our kids roll and jump around. We gave his little friend a ride home. Made a stop at the health food store in town for some cashews, peanut butter, shredded coconut, whole wheat bread, whole wheat tortillas and a $6 pint of organic chocolate ice cream, because, why not. Came home to our Halloween house, with it's twin ghosts lit up and candy corn lights glowing in the dark. I managed to resist the urge to buy Chinese food and had home made mushroom soup and toast with Joseph's home made pesto instead. Desmond and I ate our chocolate ice cream cones together and talked about our day. Joseph's car pulled up to the house and we all went outside to greet him, Desmond, Spidey and I, and we talked about our spooooooky house. I got a kiss, a hug and a smile. Joseph got Desmond ready for bed, giggling and cuddling. I tucked Desmond in and was tickled, kissed and hugged. I made tea.
And now, I am sitting next to my cup of hot tea, at my friendly lap top, listening to Joseph talk with his new designer contact that wants to sell his art. I am writing to you. I have an incredibly blessed life. I am OK. Today was a good day. Tomorrow is Saturday. All is well.
And, I love you. Goodnight.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Spiderman
My dog's name is Spiderman. Before I got him, I worked on coming up with the perfect name for a dog. It was between Spiderman and Boy Howdy. I polled my friends and Spiderman won. If I ever have another dog, I will name him Bill Murray.
We call Spiderman, Spidey. Or Spider, or Spide. I like when Desmond calls him Spide. Spidey was 9 years old when Desmond was born and before that, the dog was my baby. I was never an over the top dog owner. I didn't buy him clothes although he did have antlers for Christmas. I have baked him dog treats a couple of times in his life.
When Desmond was born, Spidey limped for a few days. I think he was looking for some attention. One day, while my sister was visiting. Desmond was a week old or so. Spidey was at the back door barking. My sister said, "I think the dog wants to come in." And I said, "He doesn't bark like that when he wants to come in." And she said, "He does now." My sister is very smart. From then on, he did. He needs to. Because otherwise me might forget he is out there.
He is 13 now. He was a 2000 baby and his birthday is exactly three months before mine. I bought him for my 26th birthday. Picked him up November 19th, 2000 and he was exactly three months old. He was brown like a bear with a black face. He is a wheaten terrier and they are all dark when they are puppies and then they grow light fur. Desmond did the same thing, come to think of it. He was born with a full head of dark hair and now he is all blond.
So Spidey had 9 good years of being the baby. When Des was born, he was demoted to dog. I could not manage walking both of them at the same time very well. I tried. The older Desmond got, the harder it got to bring Spidey on walks. Desmond tormented him. I think I have finally trained Des to leave our poor old Spide alone mostly but he still gets some over excited hits and shoves and too tight hugs.
This year, Spidey suddenly got old. He does not see as well or hear as well or climb stairs as well. Today he seems especially troubled by getting his legs to do what he wants them to. I put some coconut oil in his food and some of Desmond's liquid vitamin C in his water. I gave him a warm gentle bath, his doggy vitamin for his joints and half an ibuprofen in a banana. Although Joseph, my nurse husband says dogs should not have ibuprofen. Oh well.
I have had a few dogs in my life. I have never had one just die peacefully in it's sleep. Seems most dogs go according to when it's owner decides the dog or the owner has had enough. I hate to think about making this decision. And how will I tell Desmond? Oofa.
I tell myself I will do some reiki for him. And maybe that will help. And I am afraid I won't. Because there does not seem to be enough time in the day to reiki my old dog.
This is really depressing.
I thought because this is what's on my mind today, I should write about it. So I did. And then you read it. And now we both feel bad about my poor old dog.
Mostly I wanted to say that I gave him a warm bath and a banana and that felt good. I wanted to say that I love that old dog.
I would also like to say that I hate picking up dog poop. It is one of my least favorite things to do in the whole world. Especially if it has rained recently.
One last thing. There are moments in our lives, that remind us of past similar moments. And the memories of those past moments can make the present ones much harder. As we get older, our collection of memories grows. It's like our wing span gets so much bigger and there is ever so much more to feel. It can, at times, be a little overwhelming.
We call Spiderman, Spidey. Or Spider, or Spide. I like when Desmond calls him Spide. Spidey was 9 years old when Desmond was born and before that, the dog was my baby. I was never an over the top dog owner. I didn't buy him clothes although he did have antlers for Christmas. I have baked him dog treats a couple of times in his life.
When Desmond was born, Spidey limped for a few days. I think he was looking for some attention. One day, while my sister was visiting. Desmond was a week old or so. Spidey was at the back door barking. My sister said, "I think the dog wants to come in." And I said, "He doesn't bark like that when he wants to come in." And she said, "He does now." My sister is very smart. From then on, he did. He needs to. Because otherwise me might forget he is out there.
He is 13 now. He was a 2000 baby and his birthday is exactly three months before mine. I bought him for my 26th birthday. Picked him up November 19th, 2000 and he was exactly three months old. He was brown like a bear with a black face. He is a wheaten terrier and they are all dark when they are puppies and then they grow light fur. Desmond did the same thing, come to think of it. He was born with a full head of dark hair and now he is all blond.
So Spidey had 9 good years of being the baby. When Des was born, he was demoted to dog. I could not manage walking both of them at the same time very well. I tried. The older Desmond got, the harder it got to bring Spidey on walks. Desmond tormented him. I think I have finally trained Des to leave our poor old Spide alone mostly but he still gets some over excited hits and shoves and too tight hugs.
This year, Spidey suddenly got old. He does not see as well or hear as well or climb stairs as well. Today he seems especially troubled by getting his legs to do what he wants them to. I put some coconut oil in his food and some of Desmond's liquid vitamin C in his water. I gave him a warm gentle bath, his doggy vitamin for his joints and half an ibuprofen in a banana. Although Joseph, my nurse husband says dogs should not have ibuprofen. Oh well.
I have had a few dogs in my life. I have never had one just die peacefully in it's sleep. Seems most dogs go according to when it's owner decides the dog or the owner has had enough. I hate to think about making this decision. And how will I tell Desmond? Oofa.
I tell myself I will do some reiki for him. And maybe that will help. And I am afraid I won't. Because there does not seem to be enough time in the day to reiki my old dog.
This is really depressing.
I thought because this is what's on my mind today, I should write about it. So I did. And then you read it. And now we both feel bad about my poor old dog.
Mostly I wanted to say that I gave him a warm bath and a banana and that felt good. I wanted to say that I love that old dog.
I would also like to say that I hate picking up dog poop. It is one of my least favorite things to do in the whole world. Especially if it has rained recently.
One last thing. There are moments in our lives, that remind us of past similar moments. And the memories of those past moments can make the present ones much harder. As we get older, our collection of memories grows. It's like our wing span gets so much bigger and there is ever so much more to feel. It can, at times, be a little overwhelming.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Friends
My friend David called me today. Said he'd been reading my blog and he wanted to check up on me. So sweet of him. I realize my blog seems a little depressed. Cheer up, little blog, it's not so bad. I assured him everything was actually better than OK and that it is merely the landscape of my inner mind that is defunct. Not to minimize the importance of my inside world, my inside voice, as quiet and polite as it may be. It is not fun to feel blue when everything around you is quite fine.
Staying home for 4 plus years to raise a little person will send you to weird mental places. I have checked this theory with several other moms. Particularly moms whose children have grown, who can look back and say, yes, that was a very hard time, maybe the hardest of my life. No shit! For real. So I am in good company. And this too shall pass.
Do you know what has been a fantastic part of becoming a mom that I did not foresee? Meeting some amazing women who live in my town and are being moms at the very same time as me. I probably would not have met them otherwise and certainly would not have shared the moments we have shared. This morning I plopped Desmond in his stroller and we walked to our lighthouse on the Hudson River. It is about a 25 minute walk from our house to the small parking lot and a 10 or 15 minute walk out to the light house where there is a big deck that juts right out into the water, with tables and chairs and steps down into the water. There is always a strong breeze blowing and on a hot day like today it was particularly glorious.
I put a post up on Facebook last night that we were heading to the light house this morning and four wonderful women and their children came to join us.
These women are beautiful. They are strong. They are smart. They are funny. They are quick to laugh. The are brave. They are patient. They are my mirrors and my examples. We compare notes and stories. They are especially impressive to me because they all have two children and I only have one. When I am with them I am reminded of why I have only one and just as often I am tempted to have another. I am so grateful for these women. I love them.
There are moments when I am with them when I want to yell, "I love you guys!!" Like a crazy, drunk might except without slurring my words and without falling over them. This morning I stood on the deck of the lighthouse, looking down at them standing in the sand, talking together, their kids splashing around them in the water and I wanted to shout into the wind, "I love you!" But I didn't. I didn't shout it. But I thought it. And it washed through my inner mind, settling the racket, like the wind that flew in off the river, keeping us cool and smiling.
I want to bottle that wind. I want to bottle the sun, the wind, the sound of the water, my friends talking, our kids laughing and keep it. Where would I keep it.... On a shelf? In a drawer? In the freezer? I guess it is just as well I keep it in my mind. Where it needs to be, to balance out the racket and the roar when I am alone the air is so still.
Staying home for 4 plus years to raise a little person will send you to weird mental places. I have checked this theory with several other moms. Particularly moms whose children have grown, who can look back and say, yes, that was a very hard time, maybe the hardest of my life. No shit! For real. So I am in good company. And this too shall pass.
Do you know what has been a fantastic part of becoming a mom that I did not foresee? Meeting some amazing women who live in my town and are being moms at the very same time as me. I probably would not have met them otherwise and certainly would not have shared the moments we have shared. This morning I plopped Desmond in his stroller and we walked to our lighthouse on the Hudson River. It is about a 25 minute walk from our house to the small parking lot and a 10 or 15 minute walk out to the light house where there is a big deck that juts right out into the water, with tables and chairs and steps down into the water. There is always a strong breeze blowing and on a hot day like today it was particularly glorious.
I put a post up on Facebook last night that we were heading to the light house this morning and four wonderful women and their children came to join us.
These women are beautiful. They are strong. They are smart. They are funny. They are quick to laugh. The are brave. They are patient. They are my mirrors and my examples. We compare notes and stories. They are especially impressive to me because they all have two children and I only have one. When I am with them I am reminded of why I have only one and just as often I am tempted to have another. I am so grateful for these women. I love them.
There are moments when I am with them when I want to yell, "I love you guys!!" Like a crazy, drunk might except without slurring my words and without falling over them. This morning I stood on the deck of the lighthouse, looking down at them standing in the sand, talking together, their kids splashing around them in the water and I wanted to shout into the wind, "I love you!" But I didn't. I didn't shout it. But I thought it. And it washed through my inner mind, settling the racket, like the wind that flew in off the river, keeping us cool and smiling.
I want to bottle that wind. I want to bottle the sun, the wind, the sound of the water, my friends talking, our kids laughing and keep it. Where would I keep it.... On a shelf? In a drawer? In the freezer? I guess it is just as well I keep it in my mind. Where it needs to be, to balance out the racket and the roar when I am alone the air is so still.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Balloons
Sometimes I obsess. About all sorts of things. Food, people, my shortcomings, my failures, my body, my face, aging, the color of the walls, my patio table, weeds, the internets, shopping, money, you know, stuff. Mostly things I perceive as negative, wrong, off, or broken. I think about how to fix them and feel sad they are broken. I hate it a ten. If I could snip that cord in my brain, I would. Unplug it. Dowse it. Wash it away. Burn it down. Stomp it out. Or gently tie it to a hot air balloon and let it float away.
It is important to be aware of these things, is it not? When I become aware of my next obsessive thought maybe I will imagine tying it to a hot air balloon and watching it float away. I will imagine my neighbor Jim across the street, taking a break from blowing his leaves around his yard and leaning on his fence, taking a drag off his cigarette and watching the hot air balloons floating up through the roof of my house, into the blue sky, his face set in concentration, squinting. I don't know anything about Jim. He is old, he likes to work on his yard. We smile and wave at each other. He smokes. He has a wife inside his house. For some reason, I think he would not be phased by hot air balloons rising off my house like seeds blown off a dandelion. They would come in bursts. A series of balloons. Then nothing. Maybe sometimes a steady stream like a bubble machine. Bloop bloop bloopbloopbloop. Bloop bloop. Bloop.
Be gone, balloons. Blow high and away into outer space and splinter apart. Let the splinters float and tumble and burst into tiny clouds of dust. And the dust will dissipate then disappear, with a sigh.
I will try.
It is important to be aware of these things, is it not? When I become aware of my next obsessive thought maybe I will imagine tying it to a hot air balloon and watching it float away. I will imagine my neighbor Jim across the street, taking a break from blowing his leaves around his yard and leaning on his fence, taking a drag off his cigarette and watching the hot air balloons floating up through the roof of my house, into the blue sky, his face set in concentration, squinting. I don't know anything about Jim. He is old, he likes to work on his yard. We smile and wave at each other. He smokes. He has a wife inside his house. For some reason, I think he would not be phased by hot air balloons rising off my house like seeds blown off a dandelion. They would come in bursts. A series of balloons. Then nothing. Maybe sometimes a steady stream like a bubble machine. Bloop bloop bloopbloopbloop. Bloop bloop. Bloop.
Be gone, balloons. Blow high and away into outer space and splinter apart. Let the splinters float and tumble and burst into tiny clouds of dust. And the dust will dissipate then disappear, with a sigh.
I will try.
Nap time
It's nap time, people. My kid naps about 3 hours a DAY. Every day. No joke. He's 4. It's awesome. And it's boring. For three hours a day, mid-day, I hang out in my house, by myself. Ho-hum. It's lovely, because for 3 hours I get some me time. I can sleep, watch TV, do house work, waste time on the computer, work in my studio, write, whatever. Mostly, I waste time on the computer. Probably because it's a lonely job and I want to see what you're up to. I am not up to much. I just ordered some sunglasses off a website. After my $5 coupon was applied for subscribing to their mailing list and the $7 shipping fee, they came to $11. I saw them in a photograph on a pretty blond, young woman and they looked so great. They may be ridiculous on me and in that case, I will give them to you. They are red and big.
I also stumbled onto a friend's blog which I decided I should follow. So I clicked on something called bloglove to follow it and it made me come up with 5 blogs to follow. I think I wasted at least 30 minutes trying to find 4 other blogs to add.
I made a cup of tea that is probably cold by now. It's all the way over there. I checked Facebook 20 times. I checked Gmail 10 times. I ate a bowl of blueberry chia seed pudding, a gummi vitamin and 4 prunes. I have no good junk food. If I did, I would have eaten it all already. Junk food can't live here. It lives in my mouth if it gets anywhere near me.
You'd think with 3 hours a day, at home, to yourself, you could learn to play guitar or learn to speak french or finish that novel you started 4 years ago. Maybe you could. Maybe even I could. But I have not. When he goes to sleep, I am too tired. I am too drained. I want to sleep but if I sleep, I will miss my 3 hours of quiet. It will be over too fast. I have in the past started and completed big projects. Like painting rooms or the foundation of the house, sewing slip covers and quilts, painting paintings, baking cakes, all kinds of stuff. I should give myself a little credit. Some days I am very productive.
But today is a lazy day. It is supposed to be warm but it feels cool. My feet are cold. It's cloudy and wet outside. It is a good day to curl up on the couch and watch TV. But there is nothing to watch.
Am I boring you? I am boring me. I told you, it's boring.
I also stumbled onto a friend's blog which I decided I should follow. So I clicked on something called bloglove to follow it and it made me come up with 5 blogs to follow. I think I wasted at least 30 minutes trying to find 4 other blogs to add.
I made a cup of tea that is probably cold by now. It's all the way over there. I checked Facebook 20 times. I checked Gmail 10 times. I ate a bowl of blueberry chia seed pudding, a gummi vitamin and 4 prunes. I have no good junk food. If I did, I would have eaten it all already. Junk food can't live here. It lives in my mouth if it gets anywhere near me.
You'd think with 3 hours a day, at home, to yourself, you could learn to play guitar or learn to speak french or finish that novel you started 4 years ago. Maybe you could. Maybe even I could. But I have not. When he goes to sleep, I am too tired. I am too drained. I want to sleep but if I sleep, I will miss my 3 hours of quiet. It will be over too fast. I have in the past started and completed big projects. Like painting rooms or the foundation of the house, sewing slip covers and quilts, painting paintings, baking cakes, all kinds of stuff. I should give myself a little credit. Some days I am very productive.
But today is a lazy day. It is supposed to be warm but it feels cool. My feet are cold. It's cloudy and wet outside. It is a good day to curl up on the couch and watch TV. But there is nothing to watch.
Am I boring you? I am boring me. I told you, it's boring.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Oh, you know.
Hello, good person, reading my blog. I'm not sure what we're doing here just yet but I feel like I should be writing. And I feel like you keep asking me to write. So let's hang out. Facebook posts are just too flimsy for us, I know. And nobody quite understands why I post so much stuff there anyway. Maybe they are all misdirected blips and bloops that really should be channeled into a blog. Surely, I have more to say. Of course I do. Who doesn't. Oprah said, the one thing that everyone she ever met wanted, was to be heard. We all want someone to listen and to hear us. So if you're reading and "listening", I thank you. You are kind and good.
I am sitting beside a bowl of gemstones and crystals that I intended to "cleanse" today. Happily my new crystal bible says I can just use my MIND. So glad. So let us imagine, as I am writing and you are reading, my bowl of stones are being cleared and recharged. We don't have to get up or measure salt or get our hands wet or nothin. Good news.
When I was a kid, I loved crystals. For my thirteenth birthday my mom took me and two girlfriends to a gem and mineral show. That's what I wanted to do. I had a small collection of pretty rocks. I wonder what happened to them. I didn't use them for anything, I just really liked having them. I kept some in a pouch that I wore. A rainbow, crocheted pouch. I know.
These days, I am older. So much older. And I am on my own really. I am home mostly with my little boy, who is 4 now. Other than taking care of him and his needs, keeping him safe, clean, fed, healthy, happy, and answering his many, many, daily questions, I am with myself. He is in his four year old world and I am in my 38 year old world and we wander through our days together, holding hands. I have no-one to please but myself these days. My husband seems to love me no matter what I do, or say, or wear. He's good like that. I'd like to say I don't care what anyone thinks of me. But that is not entirely true. I am hoping as I age I will become gradually more and more eccentric. I am going to work my way there. By the time I am 80, I will be a full-on wack-nut. But for now, I'm going with becoming a Reiki Master and gettin my crystal on.
You know, all this stuff like Reiki and crystals, astrology, psychics, mediums, tarot cards, I believe in it. I don't understand how any of it works. I love not knowing. I get the feeling that what I think I know about this life is not really accurate and this is comforting to me because what I think, freaks me out. I figure the "truth" is better than what it seems.
I would like to go to a metaphysical college where you could take classes in this stuff. I would major in astral projection and time travel. Do they have colleges like that? Underground? I hope they are free. I bet they have conferences like that. Maybe for my 80th birthday, I will go. Covered in sequins and glitter, with a big feathery hat. That sounds like a show-girl. I guess I'll grow up to be a show-girl. An elderly, astral projecting, show girl. And I'll sing too. Watch out.
I am sitting beside a bowl of gemstones and crystals that I intended to "cleanse" today. Happily my new crystal bible says I can just use my MIND. So glad. So let us imagine, as I am writing and you are reading, my bowl of stones are being cleared and recharged. We don't have to get up or measure salt or get our hands wet or nothin. Good news.
When I was a kid, I loved crystals. For my thirteenth birthday my mom took me and two girlfriends to a gem and mineral show. That's what I wanted to do. I had a small collection of pretty rocks. I wonder what happened to them. I didn't use them for anything, I just really liked having them. I kept some in a pouch that I wore. A rainbow, crocheted pouch. I know.
These days, I am older. So much older. And I am on my own really. I am home mostly with my little boy, who is 4 now. Other than taking care of him and his needs, keeping him safe, clean, fed, healthy, happy, and answering his many, many, daily questions, I am with myself. He is in his four year old world and I am in my 38 year old world and we wander through our days together, holding hands. I have no-one to please but myself these days. My husband seems to love me no matter what I do, or say, or wear. He's good like that. I'd like to say I don't care what anyone thinks of me. But that is not entirely true. I am hoping as I age I will become gradually more and more eccentric. I am going to work my way there. By the time I am 80, I will be a full-on wack-nut. But for now, I'm going with becoming a Reiki Master and gettin my crystal on.
You know, all this stuff like Reiki and crystals, astrology, psychics, mediums, tarot cards, I believe in it. I don't understand how any of it works. I love not knowing. I get the feeling that what I think I know about this life is not really accurate and this is comforting to me because what I think, freaks me out. I figure the "truth" is better than what it seems.
I would like to go to a metaphysical college where you could take classes in this stuff. I would major in astral projection and time travel. Do they have colleges like that? Underground? I hope they are free. I bet they have conferences like that. Maybe for my 80th birthday, I will go. Covered in sequins and glitter, with a big feathery hat. That sounds like a show-girl. I guess I'll grow up to be a show-girl. An elderly, astral projecting, show girl. And I'll sing too. Watch out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)