Gratuitous Cuteness VI

I don't know the source for this one; it came in a recent email and just touched me.

Butt Out!

Gotta remember to do that more often. I've had a chronic case of foot-in-mouth for God-only-knows-how-long. When I most need to keep my feet on the ground, one inevitably and impulsively swings right up and into my mouth, jarring the few brain cells that still work. I actually slept on my latest plan for TWO whole nights. I drafted and re-drafted until I thought I had it right. An elder advised against going through with it, but did I listen -- OF COURSE NOT!! I thought I was doing a good thing. Anyway, now I have to ask myself if I will ever learn. The answer is a firm it's possible. However, history suggests otherwise. My most memorable episode of F.I.M. was at a groovin' 1969 Halloween party in Glover Park (at the time an artsy neighborhood in DC). I was nervous about fitting in with a group of architects and engineers who were, for the most part, older and more sophisticated than 20 year old me. I was also working hard at overcoming lifelong, nearly debilitating shyness. Having spent the previous two years in an Iowa college, I went as the farmer's daughter -- not the buxom beauty -- the hayseed one with a missing tooth and braids. My gallant host soon cleaned the black from my tooth, saying I was too pretty to do that -- a hint I might do OK with this bunch. Before I'd finished a beer, I was introduced to a late arrival. Trying my best to be a good partier I asked him a question. He looked stunned and then those who'd heard started laughing and cheering. I had no clue about what I'd done and was mortified! He soon slipped out the door. To my chagrin and relief, I found out that he was not well-liked and I'd made a premium put-down. To this day, I don't know what I said, but it was the beginning of an unfortunate trend for me and my feet.

Sunsets this time of year blow me away. In the middle of fixing supper the other night, I noticed some great colors on the living room wall and caught this view from the balcony.

Why Get Married?!

I read the blog of a young D.C. woman who gave her boyfriend of 7 months an ultimatum to either marry her or get lost. He has until February 1st (that's with a one month extension) to make up his mind. Now I have to admit I don't personally know this couple and odds are I'll never meet them but I'd like to offer my perspective. I was engaged to three guys before I met and married my husband. The first was a college fling and ended painfully for both of us when he graduated before me. The second was a man who took good care of me following my college break-up. He was generous with his money and attention and, basically, I took advantage of him for 7 years. Then he finally figured out I wasn't going to marry him and broke it off. The third was a goofy, brief, long-distance thing with a world-class karate champ from the other side of the world. At that point, I decided a breather was in order. For about five years of casual dating and, more importantly, time to do what I wanted, when and how I wanted, I started to enjoy my own company. Then . . . KABOOM!!! Totally out of the blue, a man walked into my office and sparks flew. It scared the heck out of me and surprised him, too. After three dates he moved in with me. For 5 years, I'd been very content with my own, little apartment and my own stuff. Thankfully he didn't bring much with him, but sharing a tiny studio apartment with another adult nearly drove me up the wall. He was ready to commit but I didn't want to give up my freedom. At the same time, I was soooo attracted to him. Lust nearly did me in, but I resisted marriage for a year and a half. Then, the INS forced the issue. All of a sudden I was in danger of losing him -- permanently -- because he lacked paper work! That sealed the deal. We endured a court hearing, embarrassing and infuriating INS interviews and have been evolving as a married couple ever since. Now I'll answer the question I asked at the beginning. Being married is perhaps the most exhilarating, exasperating, boring, exciting, maddening and lovely thing two humans can experience together. Speaking from experience, living together and being married are NOT the same. Love is a small though crucial element in the chemistry of a good relationship. Marriage means you're committed to your spouse through bouts of projectile vomiting, rashes, enemas, arguments and jealousy and so many other obstacles to making it easy. Yet if you've entered into it with the right partner, it just keeps getting better and stronger from year to year. I've learned patience, tolerance, and that I'm not actually perfect. In return I receive unconditional love! We got a late start, but I pray that we will enjoy each other for another 25 years -- at least!

A Scary Incident

We went to a well known, nice, big box store yesterday. At one point I heard the charming laughter of a young child, so I turned to find the source. He looked about two years old and was hanging off the back of a shopping cart being pushed by a man. An older boy, maybe four years old was hanging off the side, also laughing. As I visualized the likely outcome, it happened -- the cart toppled over on top of the older boy pinning him to the floor. He immediately started crying. The man either didn't care, or had other ideas about helping the little boy as I pulled the cart off of him. Just as I tried to comfort him and find out if he was OK, an angry looking woman grabbed him by both arms and tossed him into the cart. Still holding his arms and with a scary expression, she warned him to STOP. I tried to explain that the cart came down hard on him and. . . but the look she gave me shut my mouth. She ordered the man to get moving which he did sluggishly. I made brief eye contact with the child and gently touched his head. His tear-streaked cheeks and pained eyes haunt me. If anyone knows how I might have handled this better, I'd sure like to hear it. He was a boy being a boy and the adults in his life seemed intolerant of emotional displays. I can't help worrying about what kind of man he'll grow into. I also hope his heavy winter clothes protected him from injury.

I've Got a Secret!

When my feet and hands get so dry they hurt, I don't reach for an expensive salve, lotion, cream or oil. I reach for grease! (Hmm - this is beginning to sound like a commercial. No, I don't work for any manufacturers nor do I hold stock in any.)

Applying a layer of vegetable shortening works wonders on parched hands and feet and it's fragrance-free. Of course, you want to do it at night and wear gloves and socks so you don't slide out of bed or grease-up your bed linens. Uh, it's also better to do it when neither you nor your partner is in the mood.

If you already have shortening on hand, put some in a separate container designated just for your hands and feet. I wear those cheap, brown cotton gardening gloves and fluffy bed socks. It may look a little goofy, but to have hands and feet as soft as a baby's butt, it's worth it! If you try it, let me know what you think. Thanks!

Spam: My Kinda Soul Food

No, not the internet kind -- the hog-snout-and-tail kind. I grew up eating Spam and crave it every now and again. Since it keeps almost forever, I had a can in my pantry. Spam is brick-shaped, so the can is the same. I was not pleased when I inadvertently broke off the pull-tab to open it. It is no easier now than it was decades ago to open a Spam can with a standard can opener. Perseverance and an old knife got the job done. Don't know if it's the saltiness or softness that makes Spam so satisfying -- probably a combination of the two. I'm a purist when it comes to a Spam sandwich; bread and butter, maybe a slice of good ole American cheese and two slices of Spam and I'm in hog heaven! I know a couple who used to roast it like a tiny, cubic ham, covering it with brown sugar and mustard. That's overkill in my book. Hot or cold, I like my Spam unadorned. Bon appetite!

Update on the Snow

I tweaked this photo of a flag pole and snow-covered trees. Sorta looks like ice covering everything. Hope it's not prophetic. . .

Though I refuse to tune-in either a radio or TV, I can tell that people are going home early because traffic has picked-up. May not be such a bad idea since the snow has become freezing rain. Steep hills around here get treacherous when they ice-up.

Now is the time to drive calmly, politely and to make no sudden moves.

It's Snowing -- Time to Panic

Yes, it is snowing in the Nation's Capital.


-- soon stores will run out of milk, bread and toilet paper;

-- schools will cancel classes and evening activities;

-- TV and radio stations will go into weather mode trying desperately to make news out of weather;

-- workers/commuters will anxiously watch accumulations;

-- I will revel in the beauty, silence and inevitability of life going on.

Thunk

After an unusually happy day I went to bed, still smiling. I decided to skip the OTC sleeping pills because I didn't think I'd need them and I was concerned about becoming dependent. I let my eyelids relax and close. Ah, sweet sleep would soon overtake me -- NOT. Out of nowhere -- thunk -- I realized that I would never see my Dad again. All these weeks I'd thought I was dealing well with my loss. Then I remembered what Mom said a couple of days ago; the shock has worn off and reality is starting to sink in. Seems like I'd convinced myself that he was simply on a long trip and would be back any day. Tears just started leaking out of my eyes -- no boo-hooing -- just warm tears flowing from the corners of my eyes, down the side of my face and into my ears triggering tormenting tickling. Not gonna get to sleep with that goin' on. So now I sit in our dark living room in front of a bright computer screen, trying to play Solitaire to numb my mind, but it's not working. Instead of the tears pooling in my ears, they're gathering in my cleavage . . .*sigh*

More Phun with Photos

This would make a cool quilt.

Late to bed and late to rise. . .

. . . makes it impossible to get a shower. In recent days, we'd noticed a pretty substantial trickle of water flowing from underground at the corner and down our street. By this morning, it was gushing under parked cars. I pictured them locked in by frozen water around their tires. Located where we are, the city took swift action. Of course this meant that rising from bed at 8:30 a.m., I could not brush my teeth, shower away wild, bed-head hair or even wash my hands. Self-pity disappeared when I checked the weather. Those guys are working with very cold water in a 19 degree windchill! I'm not entirely unselfish, though. I hope they hurry and fix it so that I can flush the toilet!!

Frags # 8

Tragedy to the 5th Power

The photos show four cute girls, ages 5 to 17. Each is described in terms apropos to any beloved child and each had her life snuffed out by the woman who gave them life. The horrific details make for a lurid tail of psychosis and unthinkable violence. Family, friends and neighbors seem unable to comprehend how this tragedy could have unfolded without their knowledge. Oh, they suspected that the young mother was not herself after the death of her partner. He had provided not only food, shelter and clothing, but stability for a very fragile woman and her children. Her semblance of a functioning life ended when he died of cancer last year. At that moment, her mind shut down and she lost her tenuous grip on reality. Rather than mourning her loss and trying to move on, she sank into the deep recesses of her frail mind. This seems to be the only way to understand how she was able to live in a house with the decomposing bodies of her children for 8 months. We may never know what triggered her actions but the outcome is unforgettable. Meetings and hearings will try to determine where the system failed. There will be plenty of finger-pointing and head-shaking, but, in the end, the girls are gone and a community questions how it could have happened. Why didn't family and friends know what was going on? How did neighbors not notice that the girls were there one day and not the next? What did people think when the woman moved all her furniture into the back yard and left an expensive toy in the front yard for anyone who wanted to take it? Have we become a society of people who just don't want to or are afraid to get involved? Thanks to some human rights groups, persons with mental diseases were de-institutionalized years ago because it was their right to live as they wished. How humane is it to allow people to live on heating grates or park benches, wandering the streets, suffering from delusions that medications used to mitigate? We Americans have become so isolated and insulated from our fellow humans for fear of intruding on their rights or having to get personally involved. We park our children in day care, our elders in senior communities, and our mentally and physically challenged folk in special programs. It's a type of segregation that is as harmful to our society as racial segregation. I hope that this tragedy will stimulate thought on what it means to be a community member, not just a resident. Our population is diverse and somewhat transient. Perhaps those factors could be catalysts to make D.C. a different kind of community: one that embraces newcomers and takes care of its own.