backing in. slowly.

backing in. slowly.
and oh so very carefully.

Come on in. Relax. Put your feet up.

Wine? Coffee? Tequila?

April 26, 2010

Speaking of cleaning. NOT L(ing)OL. ;(

Has this ever happened to you? Am I just extremely weird??? (don't answer that, plz)

Woke up yesterday, stretched, padded into the kitchen. Snarfed my java, smoke-smoke-smoked my cigarette. Time to clean up the kitchen. Crap.

Opened the dishwasher, (I seem to be fixated on the dishwasher, I know. Just plz let it go. lol), looked up and around, trying to remember....What the hell WAS it? I was supposed to load into this damn contraption?

I think, at this point in time, I finally woke up. Did I really dream about LOADING THE DISHWASHER?!!

I've finally lost it. Send help, plz.

Not the slightest bit important.

Cleaning the sink. Again.
Since purchasing a dishwasher, it occurred to me that the sink never gets cleaned now. (you know, doing dishes scrubs the sink, automatically! how kewl is that?)...errrrr....WAS that.

anyhoo. scrubbing the sink. thinking.

Back a few(?) years. My dad and mom come over for coffee. (Well, mom does. Dad's just snooping). Daddy dearest walks into the kitchen, scopes out the sink, grumbles, takes my mom aside.
"Doesn't she ever clean the sink?"--mind you, back then it was the old ceramic-type-sink, lots of stains and pits--

Seeing how dad's whispers tended to boom out, unbeknownst to him, I heard. Hurt my feelers. (Remember back? When the slightest disparaging comment, from your parents, could cut to the core?)

OK. Enuf whining. Now for the Rest of the Story...

Thanks, Dad. You left an impression on me. I believe, after all these years, that you taught me to NOT "critique" (sp) my children's cleaning habits, lifestyles, and overall life choices. I've tried hard to keep from hurting their feelers. Oh, sure....I've crossed the line at SOME point. (What mother hasn't?) Gimme a break, kids. I'm trying, and, hopefully, succeeding. For the most part.

April 22, 2010

Just a thought.

"Those who don't perceive beauty in the face of a Down's Syndrome person are blind to all beauty and are so fearful of difference that they must at once turn away from every encounter with it. In every face--in even the plainest and the most unfortunate countenances--there is some precious aspect of the divine image of which we are a reflection, and if you look with an open heart, you can see an awesome beauty, a glimpse of something so radiant that it gives you joy." (1)

"There's a reason they say that love is a two-edged sword, rather than a two-edged Wiffle bat, or a two-edged Fudgsicle, because love is sharp, it pierces, and love is a needle that sews shut the holes in our hearts, that mends our souls, but it can also cut, cut deep, wound, kill." (1)

(1) excerpt from "Seize the Night". Dean Koontz.

April 13, 2010

I'll admit it.

I'm a bona fide graduate of the Women's Movement. I fought the good fight, in my day.

Listening to the Bob and Tom Show this morning, while showering, (to be all sparkly and clean, to take my mom to the DMV). Bob/Tom etal are always good for a laff, IMHO.

The topic this fine morning? The space station. And the difficulty level of outside repairs. Specifically, repairs allocated to the "Womens" aboard the station. You know...waiting for them to get ready to go outside and all.

"Does this spacesuit make my butt look big?"
"Just a sec. I'm having a bad hair day, hon."
"Is this color good? I mean, for me?"

Don't know about you, but me? Laffed-my-ample-buttinski-off!

I realized how much I've, (for lack of a better word), "matured". In the good ol' days, a few short years ago--(ok. ok. 20, even 30, or so years ago)--I would have shouted to the rooftops, concerning the "INJUSTICE OF IT ALL, DAMNIT!".

In conclusion, and in the interest of brevity:
If you can't laff at that, you seriously need some kind of intervention.
A "Funny-Bone-Type-Intervention", if you will. A sort of internal check, for that elusive "what's really important, anyway?" gene.

Laff and the world laffs with you. Grumble and complain, and you do it alone.

April 10, 2010

51 years young...

...and STILL a Work in Progress.

It recently occurred to me to have a chat with my son.

Concerning the importance of being a Giver, not always a Taker. Now mind you, I don't mean a Giver of "things", or a Taker of "things". I was speaking of the giving of emotions, feelings, hugs, kisses, and kind words. In short, being a Giver of small pieces of yourself.

Uh-oh. Suddenly, I was re-thinking that particular chat.

You see, I was raised by a man who built a wall around himself, constructed bit by bit over many years. Built by the blood, sweat and tears of failed dreams and broken hearts. His was a story so complicated, it would make a therapist run screaming into the night.

The kicker? I AM my father's daughter. The wall I myself built has yet to be completely dismantled. Thanks to the love of a wonderful (and very patient) man, I slowly realized that something had to be done. About that wall. I'm working on it. Why, just this morning, I gave him a hug. For no reason at all.

I understand the need to impart this particular bit of wisdom to my children. But maybe I need to fix myself first. In the meantime, I'll be sure and hug them every time I see them.

And, about my father. The last time I saw him, we were alone together. I was giving my mother a break from caring for him in his last days on this earth. As I was just about to finish up giving him a sponge bath, I impulsively reached for his hand. I looked him in the eye and told him I loved him. I was scared, so scared. You see, he had never told me he loved me.

He squeezed my hand, looked at me, and repeated my words back to me. He then let go of my hand, and loudly announced that he was "hungry, damnit!". I made him some lunch, served it to him, neither one of us able to look each other in the eye. As uncomfortable as it was, it was so worth it. AND it was my last chance. I never saw him alive again.

As I said. I'm a work in progress. Aren't we all, really?

April 6, 2010

Not important. But possibly of interest.

For all you wine conno-sewers, or just plain winos:

How to Properly Taste Wine

1. Give the wine in your glass one of three names: "Gary," "Darryl," or "Garryl."

2. Bring the wine glass to your right eye and stare deeply into it for at least 30 minutes, until you can no longer tell where the wine ends and you begin.

3. Starting with your left pinky and moving right, fully submerge each of your fingers into the wine glass until all fingers are in the glass.

4. Take a sip and slosh it around. When someone gives you some surprising news, spit it out.

5. Put all of the wine from your glass into your mouth, but don't swallow. When all the wine is in there, open your mouth and say, "Keys. Once angry keeping flagrant." Enjoy the wine that is left in your mouth.