Tuesday, July 31, 2012

While I remember

I am addicted to roasted almonds. The nut's profile reads like a who's who of nutrition. If that were not reason enough, the flavor and crispness make them a good substitute for chips.

My addictions do not end with almonds. I could gorge on Rainier cherries, red grapes and fresh salmon.

Just like a smart child, Pogo knows where I hid the treats. Now, every time I walk into the kitchen Pogo breaks his neck trying to beat me to the cabinet. And just like a child, if I do not bring out the treat bag, he cries and all but throws himself on the floor in a fit. Like many parents I give in so I can have peace. Call me Pavlov.

The drought drove a bumper crop of insects into the cooler homes. I charted water bugs, roaches, sugar ants and some funky bug that reminds me of Dale Earnhardt Jr. The war wages on. I made a deal with the spiders: I will not squash you flat if you will not bite me. So far the accord holds.

My rescue rose hangs on by its thorns. Of course a week without water did nothing to help its health.

Yesterday I pulled weeds, the day before I cruised the aisles of Wallyworld. Today I do not want to do anything and most likely will not.

Laters, Dude.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

I had a dream

House gremlins did their dirty work while I slept. The party in the kitchen spilled over into the living room and bathroom. Looks like my boys did nothing to stop the fun and actually participated themselves. Now they sleep and I face a day's worth of chores.

Morpheus' gift clung to me after I woke. Former colleagues, the newspaper and the Tea Room, and some guilt. A former boss looks for evidence of a chicken in our purses. Much anxiety as the boss presses for "the truth." I pass the test but lose my purse. C comes to the rescue.

I feel the presence of someone or something as it tries to convey a message. Even Momo, his eyes as big as saucers, notices and keeps staring at the living room from a perch in the bedroom. Like smoke rising in front of a fan, the feeling dissipates. 

Strength, love and peace, Dude.


Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Tools of the trade

Denial: what a useful tool of the mind. Like rose-colored glasses, I slap denial on to shield myself from the harsh glare of reality.

Doc tells me my body fights two major enemies, either of which will win in the end. I am responsible for the COPD.  I do not know the cause of the pulmonary hypertension.

Denial: I could do such and such if not for the heavy air, the heat, wind (choose appropriate word for the day).

Wanna come to my pity party? All of us use this tool at times despite its despised reputation.

I am familiar with what if as well. I paint over the worst of the scars with suppositions. What if I had not blah blah blahed? You get the picture.

Tools serve their purpose as long as I do not use them as a permanent crutch.

Later Dude.

Monday, July 23, 2012

On my mind

Our country offers opportunity and freedom. Applied by a sane loving person, everyone benefits. This freedom, which many of us take for granted, covers all. Even those for whatever reason decide to kill as many fellow humans as possible. Arming ourselves to the teeth will not prevent innocent people from dying anymore than taking away the guns. The lid has been off that Pandora's box for too long.

We instead need to change our collective mindset. We control our immediate environment, so we need  awareness, then action.

I wish the media would resist labeling their coverage of such events with catch phrases which cheapen the lives of the dead. Yes, learning about the killer and the hows and whys fit right in with our gossipy society. We care more about the details of a movie star's divorce than the children "in that other part of town" who grow up alone and starving.

Are our lives so miserable and mundane that murder no longer makes a dent in our collective psyche? Nowadays only the "massacres" grab the media's attention. What about the woman who died at the hands of her spouse? Why don't we care about her? What about the families that have to grieve their mother, sister, cousin? Even victims of "massacres" fall by the wayside with the next horrific occurrence.

At first, the losses sear our hearts with grief and a determination to change. Then we build memorials so we will not forget. We drag out the dead to mourn on anniversaries. The years pass and those who remember the events firsthand start to die. The younger ones remember the carnage as they do the past, with hazy pictures.

The cycle continues.

Later Dude.

Saturday, July 21, 2012


Everyone who wants to eat, raise your paw.
A former radio/record player cabinet.

Later, Dude.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Etc., etc.

After almost two full days of sleep, I am ready to clean something -- anything. Crumbs and cat food litter the kitchen floor. In the bathroom, litter litters. The trash threatens to morph into a science project and the sheets  ... well, you get the idea. I am afraid the rescue rose may slip into the irretrievable zone.

If I let myself, I could use writing as an excuse for avoiding the work. Then food followed by a nap will take the reins. The longer I put off the chores, the harder I make cleaning.

I managed cleaning the kitchen and bathroom and gathered the trash. I stripped the bed, so now I need to put fresh linens on before I can nap. That will happen soon. The old body moans and creaks like a haunted house.

Laters Dude.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Yes, it is all about me

I see situations from the inside out. How I feel about myself plays a major role in my actions and reactions. I have a hard time living. So much so that I spent hours sleeping rather than facing my day-to-day existence. I  virtually isolated myself.

I visited chat recently for the first time in a long time. I reached out to those whom I thought would understand my situation better than anyone. The one who reached out was timid and lonely.

After the initial hellos, the conversation continued. I contributed, but what I said was incorrect and I was corrected. A lull in the conversation ensued. I took the silence personally. From inside out, the lack of conversation told me I was intruding and not wanted.  I said as much and left.

One of the chatters immediately castigated me in a FB PM. The chatter told me I had been rude and many, many things were not about me.

I agree, I was rude. I guess I had expected something different from the group that had been such a part of my life at one time. I expected them to be mind readers: since I was there for the first time in a long time, I needed attention.

I do not like me. Why should anyone else?

Later, Dude.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Take notice

Have you ever noticed that a newscast video never seems to last as long as the reader's script? Why cannot the one shooting video for a story get several minutes extra so the editor will not have to show the same little girl walking into the school three times? I would rather see the reader reading rather than repeating video.

Have you ever noticed when you are stuck in neutral no one wants to give you a push?

Later Dude.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Hide & sleep

I know dealing with a depressed person can be a downer. Many do not know what to do, so they stay away and do nothing. Others believe a depressed person can "get over it" if they try hard enough.

Depression combines guilt with low self-esteem. Depressed people have lost the ability to see the picture clearly.

Depressed people often think if they hide and sleep the pain will go away. You find yourself sliding into a hole and you cannot see daylight any longer. You need a hand to get out, but you believe no one wants to help. Your pain grows.

Depressed people can act right up there with Meryl Streep. See them at the store smiling and teasing. Happy! Happy! And a big lie.

Many depressed people quit seeking help. Why bother? No one understands. People who are happy are much easier to like.

A sense of frustration dogs depressed people. Why do they feel this way and no one else does? Why do others not recognize a depressed person needs some help, not abandonment? One tiny gesture might make a difference.

Laters, Dude.