Primal response

McBeth.

Some days it didn't quite feel worth the effort to her to do much but stare back at the shapeless masses on the other side of the glass.

Today's advice:

McBeth.

Always begin with dessert.

If you still have room after the good stuff is in, then try the veggies.

My reject crayon

You are

What Rejected Crayon Are You?

I had the horrifying realization this morning that I have no photographs of my son with his great-grandmother from her 90th birthday party this past weekend.

Grandma has been a life-long reader. She used to read daily devotions every day (EVERY day) at the breakfast table with Grandpa. As a child I was mystified how she must have trained my grumbly Irish grandfather to listen to religious dictates according to the Lutheran church; eventually I settled on the idea that breakfast was probably a good time to get him to set still and he'd probably listen to anything so long as he had a strong cup of coffee, toast, and some thick stick-to-his-ribs oatmeal; if it didn't hold his attention it would at least hold him to his chair. When we would visit them in their yellow house next to the woods we would also sit through the daily devotions, followed by hand holding and a prayer at the end. The process made me want to giggle when I was little; it touches me now.

Sunday I flagged J. down in the dayroom to come kneel next to me, next to Grandma. I (re)introduced Grandma to her first great-grandchild, reminding her of his name and age. I told her about how he's such a good fella and how well he's doing in school. His cheeks pinked up and he laughed nervously as she looked him up and down and back up again wordlessly.

Her eyes settled back down on the shirt he was wearing. "Slacker", she said.

I glanced over at J. and laughed. He was wearing one of my favorite t-shirts which reads "How to be a slacker:" with three squares of stick images across the chest.

1. Don't get a job.
2. Borrow $ from your parents.
3. Join a garage band.

"Yep, that's what it says ... slacker", I chuckled, "do you know what a slacker is?"

"Well", she said and then paused. "I think I do, but I might be wrong about that".

I explained that a slacker is another term for a lazy person, then reassured her that the t-shirt is especially funny to me because J. really isn't one.

"Slacker", she repeated, "It says slacker".

Later that day I was driving J. to his friend's house. We were talking about his great-grandmother and he made noises about having been dressed inappropriately for her party. I couldn't imagine a 15-year old kid thinking a t-shirt and khakis being 'inappropriate' so asked for clarification. He didn't understand her dementia and her in/outness and he'd misunderstood her focus on his t-shirt as though she really did think HE was a slacker. He felt bad about it in that way that he couldn't say it exactly, but I totally understood as soon as I recognized his noises.

I touched his leg, reassuring him that he looked great and that his great-grandma has the same very curious sense of humor that most of the folks in our family have. I promised him that she wasn't the least bit offended and that she loved seeing him - seeing all of us - even if she doesn't remember it for more than a few minutes.

I think I will squirrel his t-shirt away once he's outgrown it so it doesn't accidentally get freecycled or tossed. I love that shirt. And the kid. And I could just kick myself for not having the presence of mind to have snapped a shot of J. and his great-grandmother this weekend.

A bottle of red

McBeth.

I never understood a single word he said but I helped him drink his wine... and he always had some mighty fine wine.

-3 Dog Night

Tiny fall

McBeth.

Digital bleariness suggests pre-dawn
In another room the cat scratches her neck,
distant jingling of tags

No sirens out the window,
no street talk at this hour,
Only her breathing now,
suspended in a sighing loop

from where my left hand snakes
from her soft breast
to the goosebumped flesh of her thigh

How did I get this permission?
Where are my qualifications?
Am I authorized?

She allows me in easily
Unencumbered.
Breathless, delicious, wet,
like a deep green forest
She welcomes me home.

She holds tightly to me,
trusting me with her tenderest pieces
while I guide us to the edge
for early morning freefall.

Grandma's fingers

McBeth.

One of Grandma's things now is to tuck food and small items into neatly-folded tissues, tuck the folded tissues inside her waistband, and surprise the staff later with all sorts of goodies when it's time to put pjs on. Currently an earpiece is missing for one of her hearing aids which likely went the way of the waistband or is tucked away somewhere for safekeeping, hidden so well no one will see it again.

There was a certain amount of controlled yelling one had to do to communicate well to be heard, but on a very intimate level I reminded Grandma today at her 90th birthday party celebration that I always loved the shape of her fingernails and how, as a child, I always hoped I'd have pretty fingernails like hers. And that I hated my next-younger sister for some time because SHE got those lovely fingernail genes and I was, instead, given stumpy sausage fingers with tiny nailbeds.

Grandma laughed.

It helped wash away a small portion of the guilt I've been carrying for a long time, when it became too hard to visit her regularly. When she didn't just confuse my dad's name for my deceased grandfather's name, but when she really just didn't recognize anyone anymore.

The staff at The Carrington will have to hustle to keep up with her tonight: with visitors brings confusion, and that means the door alarms will be shocking them all awake, looking for which way Dorothy went this time. There's a part of her mind that I believe is absolutely clear; a smooth undemented piece of tranquility within her that knows she was married for 60 years, she did own a home with Les and raised four children together. She did drive a car, dammit, and she does deserve to take a long walk out in the fresh air whenever she pleases.

Sufi Wisdom

McBeth.

Tie two birds together.

They will not be able to fly, even though they now have four wings.

this is your brain on sunlight.

You've been warned.

Locus of change (or: Da crane, da crane)

McBeth.

This morning I sat outside on the front steps of my house, trying to carefully yank the crusted muck from the inside corners of my eyes while navigating some complicated early-morning emotions which followed an earlier-morning phone call from one of my sisters.

After my 227th game of PDA Solitaire I slowly contemplated moving indoors... maybe to the bathtub, maybe to a dusty window with a towel and a bottle of Windex, maybe back to the coffee pot for a refill, maybe to a long slow stare down with the broom and dustpan (no, two against one. They'd most definitely win). Maybe I should grab a pen and a notebook to extrapolate the wordless frustration, or find something to physically break -ruin- to help shake loose my tension.

It was while trying to unravel this 'which way do I go?' conundrum when I heard a soft chuffling sound indirectly above me. Not cooing exactly; not squawking, but more of a high baritone or perhaps a very low tenor's throat clearing.

Grus canadensis

Sand Hill Cranes

Likely immature, given the brown color of their bodies (though I have read that even the mature birds, which are blue-gray can also be a brownish-red color due to the waters which they hang out in). The two distinct 'V' formations flew over my head, one containing four birds and the other, six. Marvelous huge creatures these birds are, putting the local geese and ducks to weight (at roughly ten pounds) and height (at five foot stature) shame.

They were too far away (and the two flocks located too close together) to designate who was calling out which way, but I could clearly make out both their 'unison call'', which they vocalize as male/female pairs to reinforce their bond and to threaten other cranes or predators (and which, incidentally, sounds very much to me like nature's own little wind chimes) and their 'guard call', which they vocalize to either warn cranes of danger or to warn away other cranes. Such beautiful noise, those guttural ku-rluuuu-uuing.

This time of year reveals the return of life to the seemingly lifeless rolling hills of end-of-winter Wisconsin. I am no closer to understanding how to settle my heart around a satisfactory solution WRT family issues that aren't mine to solve, but the ka-ro-o-oooing of the migrating cranes placed me slightly closer to center. That helps. It opens me to gratitude. It reminds me that I am in control of very little, that I could consider making more of a concerted effort in letting the world flow over and past me, because the world does that anyway, regardless.

Tantrum

McBeth.

They watched her storm out, trailing her swirling vortex behind her.

seedy, and slightly hollow in the middle

McBeth.

I used to think I had ambition ... but now I'm not so sure. It may have been only discontent. They're easily confused.

-Rachel Field

Tenderly Fierce

McBeth.

Roller derby girls are quite something to watch (and jeer, and cheer, and and and).

There are five season tickets that exist. When the season began KD and I stopped in to buy the just-available season tickets from the roller rink. After some confusion with the owner who said there were no season tickets to buy, KD spoke with Crackerjack (a sexy and sassy MadRollinDoll), who got us the five season tickets we were seeking.

We're still not sure why no other season tickets were sold after ours but we cling to ours like the manna from heaven they are. And we do so love the Dolls.

Chocolicious

I am Chocolate Flavoured. I am sweet and a little bit naughty. I am one of the few clinically proven aphrodisiacs. Sometimes I can seem a little hard, but show warmth and I soon melt. What Flavour Are You?

(thanks to Snowball for the quizlink)

God must've spent a little extra time on you

McBeth.

Photo Friday Challenge: Obsession

McBeth.

BURP.

Which are you?

made by Jen



Thanks, Snowball. I've been feeling quizzically quizless ~ refreshed now, and back to your regular programming.

Okay. One more question. Is this some kind of Rorschach test image or am I really looking at a pair of cross-country skis? That's not really a picture of sushi (is it?). They're snowshoes awaiting a long cold trek somewhere too brightly lit and so cold the piss will free mid-flow. Yeah... thought so. Alrighty then.

Overheard

McBeth.

Surrounding water droplets found her oilier than thou attitude slightly off-putting.

I AM: a meme in 22 parts

McBeth.

I AM: easily distracted, easily distractible
I WANT: the most expensive thing, even if I don't see the price tag first
I HAVE: such a lovely life, despite gripes and groans
I WISH: my mother would say 'I'm sorry', and that I'd have an open forgiving heart to hear it
I HATE: extremism
I MISS: the magic of early childhood, when I really could be a doctor, or a princess, or both
I FEAR: people's expectations of me
I HEAR: my kid's chuckling rising up from somewhere downstairs
I SEARCH: for meaning in snippets. And for the meeting minutes I lost a month ago.
I WONDER: if the day will come when I no longer concern myself over matching socks with outfits
I REGRET: not making peace with Mark before he killed himself
I LOVE: catching the perfect snapshot
I ACHE: to be loved the way I most need it and to give love the way she most needs it, and to clearly understand/respect the differences
I AM NOT: patient with people who tell me what to do
I DANCE: when the spirit moves me
I SING: Christmas songs and commercial jingles in elevators, then leave, knowing others will be humming them shortly
I CRY: at commercials and nearly anything else when I'm *ahem* hormonal
I AM NOT ALWAYS: on time
I WRITE: to keep my synapses firing and my fingers busy
I CONFUSE: people's names. It's likely I confuse people as well
I TASTE: delicious
I NEED: a lot more sleep than I ever imagined. And ungodly amounts of time to myself

Thanks to 'ShutupDude' for the meme idea.

About Marbles

McBeth.

If you ever feel as though you've lost your marbles, check your bedside table before you choose to get overexcited.

You might have forgotten that you put them in a jar last night to soak.