"One-way streets and square one, The answers don't come from any one direction"
I live in Chicago with my boyfriend T and our mini-menagerie of 3 cats and 2 dogs. I have very little of world-changing importance to contribute but I like to see my words in print so I blog.
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This is Ernie. Or Ernbot. He is Maggie's brother. It has been suggested by some people that I tend to play favorites and that Maggie gets all of the blogspace around here. So, today is Ernie's day.
A couple of stories that illustrate Ernie's personality.
Ernie loves to play fetch with a ball or even with a stuffed squeaky toy. He gets excited if he even sees an object that might be thrown in your hand. He runs like crazy to get it. Then he runs back and takes the toy or ball somewhere that he can play with it. It is a very one-sided form of fetch. Occasionally he brings the toy back to the general vicinity of the thrower. He gets a lot of praise for bringing it anywhere within 5 feet or so. He still can't quite figure out the traditional rules of fetch. He does bring a lot of enthusiasm to the game though. Every one gets a medal in Ernie's game.
Yesterday I was taking the puppies for a walk. Rather than make the loop around the block I decided to take them to the nearby park. There was a ball game going on and they like the running and the people. I was walking them without the leashes but they are pretty well-behaved so I figured it was okay. As we rounded the corner to the entrance a woman came walking up on the other side of the street with a largish dog on a leash. They were headed in the same direction as we were but there was plenty of space between us. Ernie looked up from his sniffing, caught sight of the other dog, turned around and started running for home. It took me several minutes and a treat to convince him to come back and go to the park. Ernie is a lover not a fighter.
I work in a small, fairly quiet office. My boss is a loud talker but he mostly stays in his own little office and out of my face. I spend the bulk of my day playing online games and reading blogs or the news or the psuedo-news while swilling Diet Pepsi and sighing heavily.
Currently we are hiring for production workers. Unskilled factory-type work. Mostly we take a lot of applications and then try to determine which applicant could pass a drug test or is likely to show up for work on a regular basis. The criteria for an acceptable applicant are not overly stringent. A pulse, some work history and no discernable mental illness. Usually we can find someone.
Today an applicant rolled up to the door on a skateboard. He was wearing a ripped up t-shirt and shorts and had on mismatched sneakers. He filled out the application in the bathroom.
On the part of the application where one would list personal references he offered:
Big Ernie
and
Junk Yard Billy
No last names and no phone numbers.
I wish I was making this up.
This weekend I dragged T around the Botanic Gardens. It is similiar - but not quite - to taking a toddler shopping. Not all of the grabbing and negotiating but more the suspicion that he feels very much like flinging himself on the ground and throwing a tantrum. For his patience he was rewarded with dinner at P.F. Chang's.
I took a lot of pictures and, of course, you can view them by clicking on the photo below:
So, um yeah. Not dead. Not incapacitated. Not crippled. Just apathetic, lethargic and uninspired. The Summertime Doldrums have set in early this year.
What I want, more than anything is to read books and eat lots of ice cream and maybe watch a little television. But only on Tivo. Because I am really too weary to be troubled with waiting through commercials. Is is wrong to want a Peanut Buster Parfait for dinner every night? If it is I don't want to be right.
Speaking of Tivo, my dearest most beloved Tivo, it has recently sensed my emotional downswing and has risen to the challenge of finding me joy in the form of easily digested television programs. You may remember that last year my Tivo looked deep into my heart and found that which I had not realized I needed: Beavis and Butthead episodes. I rejoiced and I fell just a little bit more in love with my comfy sofa and the soft glow of the television screen. This year I may have to consider taking my relationship with the Tivo to the next level. Because my Tivo knows me. He really, really gets me. Yesterday I came home and watched the cooking shows that I record every day (If you are not actually cooking but you watch shows about cooking and think that it seems like a pretty cool idea, that counts for something. Right?) After my shows were over I scrolled down to the Tivo suggestions menu with scorn in my heart. I knew it would just be some more awful movies and maybe a creepy painting show (why are all of the painting instructors on tv so overy permed and mellow?) but I was mistaken. Gravely mistaken. I had underestimated the Tivo once again. For there on my Tivo menu was an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. The only post-Shatner Trek worth watching. And a small tear rolled down my cheek as I watched manly Picard and pubescent Wesley and dreamy-eyed Riker and the unparalled comedic stylings of Data. My heart is full. God bless you Tivo.
Look at this face:
Cute, right? Sweet. All 8-1/2 pounds of her.
But underneath that adorable face beats a heart filled with murderous rage.
Yesterday she tried to eat a kitten.
Our next door neighbours foster abandoned kittens. They bring home tiny little balls of fur and nurse them until they are able to be sent for adoption. Of course they always let me hold the babies. Teeny handfuls of fur and cuteness. Paws the size of the end of your finger with needle claws. It is enough to make me want another one or two or three.
Yesterday I exited the house with the pups just as my neighbour was pulling into the driveway. She called me over to see the newest baby. Of course I went. The latest wee one is a two week old orange tiger who weighs a whopping 6 ounces. He arrived with a sister but she did not make it. I held him and told him what a big strong boy he is and other such things.
Maggie (see above) began whining and running around and acting cuckoo. Jumping up into the car where the empty carrier was, sniffing around, jumping back out of the car to whine some more. I thought she was jealous or curious so I bent down to show her the kitten. She tried to take a bite out of him as though he was a snausage. Fortunately I did not let her get close enough to do any damage. But I did decide that it was time that we got going on our walk.
Maggie had other plans. The whole way up to and around the corner she kept sitting down and trying to convince me that we needed to go back the other way. Once we rounded the corner she began straining forward on the leash and proceeded to pull me the rest of the way. She is small but strong and determined. Eventually we got around the block and headed down the last stretch to our house. The point at which I generally let the pups off of the leash, which I did. They promptly took off running. Ernie turned in at our yard but Maggie ran back to where the kitten had been. Clearly she was hell bent on killing that kitten.
Where did I go wrong?
There are a couple of things rattling around in my head waiting to come out to play here on this blog thing. They are kinda sad and lonely because, frankly, they don't have a lot of company up there in my dusty little head. I have been a-thinkin'. 'Bout things.
Every afternoon when I leave work I drive through the local fast food restaurant so that I may purchase that which is the elixir of my life: plain iced tea with lemon. It is the thing that marks the beginning of the evening for me. Yesterday, as I sat in the drive-thru line I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. It appeared to be a man riding a small tractor from the adjacent parking lot. I looked a little more closely and discovered that it was indeed a man on a riding mower. He pulled around into a handicapped spot, parked and dismounted. On the seat of the riding mower there was a full-sized bed pillow for a cushion. I guess the ride on one of those things must not be so very smooth. While I continued to wait in line he entered and exited the building, returned to his mower and opened a pack of cigarettes and lit up a smoke. As though it was the most natural thing in the world to drive a riding lawn mower to the local gas station for a pack of cigarettes.
It made me think of that old story about George Jones. Supposedly his wife got tired of him drinking and so she took away the keys to his car and hid them from him so that he could not get to town to buy any booze. But he had the last laugh. He started up the riding mower and drove it into town for a drink.
There is not much difference between small town crazy and city crazy. Mostly it's just that you actually know the names of the crazies in your small town. You might refer to them as eccentric rather than crazy. You may have gone to school with their sister or brother or cousin or aunt or uncle. You know the story of how they got so eccentric. You know where they come from.
I keep opening this browser window to write something and making a start at the writing of something only to close the window after several minutes of writing. There are just too many words and most of them are words about which I do not wish to think.
Fear not. I am past the panic of last week about financial things. They really don't seem to have turned out quite as badly as all of my screaming about the sky falling would have indicated. It is what it is. Lots of cash that I was not planning on spending will be spent and the world will continue to rotate on its axis and continue in its path around the sun. The good news is that I believe I will be able to continue at school. I think that was the biggest source of crazy making for me. I really love school and I love being a little bit more sane because I go to school and that makes everybody happy. Everybody. So, I believe that I will be going to school in the Fall as planned and I will continue to be as broke as I have become accustomed to being for the last four years for at least four more years.
Pheww. You see? That takes a lot out of me.
Then there is the matter of Cancer. As in the often fatal disease. Yeah. That one again. Yesterday my mother had a surgery to remove cancerous cells from her breast. They are hopeful that it was caught early enough and that they got all of the bad cells. They will be doing some tests and we will know where she stands in about ten days. But I am frustrated. My Mom is in Florida and she is 66 years old (don't tell her I told you that). I wish I could be there to help. But I cannot. You see. Frustrating.
Equally frustrating is talking to my whacked out sister. Who is mad at me for some perceived wrong. I don't know what my crime was or is but she is mad. And drugged. Not a good combination. I just want to stop all of the shit and have everything be normal but you can never approach anything directly with my family. I am mostly a direct kind of person. I tend to rock the boat. I am trying not to do so.
Okay, okay, okay, it's not the end of the world. I awake on this bright, sunshine-y morning and, despite the dip in temperature, I am okay with the world. A little tired and a little stressed, but okay.
When I find that my largest complaint is that, "it's just not fair, damn it!" which I shriek while stomping my foot and weeping, I have usually lost my perspective. Perspective. That's what is needed here. It will not change the situation but it just might calm me down.
The rather vague explanation of yesterday's crisis is that it has to do with money and financial commitments and a rather substantial cash outlay. There are three of my triggers right there. All wrapped up around one little issue. I hate dealing with money matters. I hate being broke. I hate trying to juggle my budget around to accomodate all of life's little neccessities. But I suppose that this is what we grown-ups do. Grown ups do not pitch a fit and shriek about the fairness of it all.
Grown ups defer dreams and make do.
You know, the universe is a perversely cruel place sometimes. And that kharma is just waiting around the corner to smack you in the head for even thinking that you may have begun to understand a couple of things. Maybe just a few little things that might help you shed a few less tears and pull out fewer handfuls of hair in exasperation. That's what happens when you start to feel like you have any say so in the way your world works. Or you may have begun to believe that things might get easier.The thing is that, although the news sucks and you would be inclined to have a little lie down in the path of oncoming traffic, you do, in fact, have just enough insight and just enough awareness to refrain from doing anything drastic. Because you know that what happens happens and all that happy horseshit. Today was a very bad day. Today things did not go even close to my way. Today sucked, to use the simplest of terms. Fortunately, today is almost over. The situation will not have changed tomorrow. It is what it is. But it will be a little more familiar and I will be a little more used to it.
1. Last night I attended an introductory meeting for the Honor Society for my school. I was the only student there without an accompanying parent.
2. Last night I had a dream about Carey Hart. (Not Corey Hart.) I cannot think of any reason he would be turning up in my dreams. I know he has a reality show about his tattoo shop on A&E and I may have watched one episode. This does not begin to explain the details of my dream.
3. Today I have Friends In Low Places by Garth Brooks stuck in my head. I am thinking about jamming something in my ear to make it stop.
I decided to do a little photo essay of my daily walk with the pups. Click on the photo to view the rest of the pictures.
I have said it before and I will continue to repeat myself: I love the warm weather. The sunshine, the blooming flowers, the sense of well-being that accompanies regular exposure to sun and light. It is my favorite time of year.
I have decided to make the most of this Summer season. I have spent every afternoon outside in the garden weeding and pruning and dead heading and plotting and planning. Scanning my flower beds to find that extra space for one more plant. I have also taken to walking the pups after work. Not that I never walk them any other time but I am not prone to do so in the colder weather. It is rather a nice time for me and for them as well. They get to sniff all of the doggy news spots and eat random crap off the sidewalk and stretch their little legs. I get to peek at all of the neighbour's gardens and stretch my little legs.
We live in a good-sized suburb of Chicago but our neighbourhood is fairly quiet and tucked away from all of the noise and traffic. We regularly see bunnies and squirrels and other small wildlife scampering around the area. It makes it seem as though we are even farther removed from the town. The other day, after the pup's walk, I was sitting on the front steps giving them a biscuit and enjoying the afternoon sun when a bug zoomed by my head and headed for the flower planter beside the porch. I thought to myself that it was rather a large bug so I looked a bit closer. It turned out to be a tiny hummingbird. Really tiny. It was the size of a really large bumblebee. I sat there watching it flit from flower to flower. Hovering and dipping. It was really quite interesting. I wanted to photograph it but I figured if I moved to get my camera it would be gone.
T has spotted some indigenous seasonal wildlife as well. You may recall that we have a neighbour who is known to retrieve his morning paper dressed only in his tighty-whities. He has made his first appearance of the season. T noted that he was wearing a t-shirt in addition to the undies this time. Perhaps it is a bit too cold to go without. One must admire his pluck and determination. I have consulted the local wildlife preserve and they have informed me that we are the lucky neighbours of one North American Rednecked Flasher. If we leave a case of Old Style on our porch he might be drawn close enough to photograph.
This weekend was lovely and sun-filled and far too short. I got absolutely nothing done. I puttered in the garden cutting back and dead-heading and staking tomato plants. I went shopping and bought new flip-flop type shoes for the season. I searched in vain for shorts that are not so short and so low-rise that they look ridiculous or so high-waisted and long that they look even more ridiculous. I am at a difficult age.
It does not help that I have had a headache for the past three days. A persistent, steady throbbing over my right eye. I have taken every medication that I can find to make it go and yet it stays. Last night I began to refer to it as my "tu-mah" (spoken in the best Swarzenegger accent I can muster) and informing T that he should tell the doctors about it when my head finally explodes. The head, she aches, a bunch.
Once again the local representative for the Republican Party came a knocking on my door. I managed to maintain a full measure of civility as I gently informed her that she had already visited and she had already been informed that we do not vote Republican. Here's the thing: T's name is one that is more commonly given to women. We regularly receive mail addressed to Ms. or get telemarketing calls asking for Ms. Anyway, the Republican lady seemed mighty flustered when I told her I was not T but that I did live in the house. I think she is frightened that we may not only be non-Republicans but also lesbians. She scurried away from the door making furious notations on her clipboard. She may have been designing a crocodile filled moat to protect herself from the horror of the liberal lesbians.
Speaking of T, his mother has been in the hospital for the last week. I am happy to say that all is well and there seems to be no permanent damage. Every day that she has been hospitalized T and his brothers and sister have been taking turns visiting. Every hour of the available visiting hours one of them has been with her. I think it is lovely. The caring and the love. Last night over dinner T started to relate the details of the medical condition of the elderly woman who is sharing the room with his mom. I think he is secretly a 78-year old woman named Ida who plays Canasta and crochets covers for the spare toilet paper rolls of all of the grandkids.
Today the Poppies finally bloomed. I love the Poppies!
The David Austin Roses that my Mom got for me. Dainty.
Mock Orange 
Peonies
Sweet William 
Giant Allium
Dianthus
and Painted Daisies
