Yesterday we had a lovely visit with a young couple, Andrew and Carrie, and their cutie-boy Caden. I can count the number of cutie-boys there have been in my life on one hand and Caden is definitely one of them. This evening I have the luxury of sitting here and letting my mind wander and it naturally wanders back to the first and foremost of my cutie-boys, Tommy. I call this a luxury because I remember those long-ago evenings when falling into bed by this time of night and not being awakened till morning was HEAVEN.
Now it's only fair to mention my cutie-girl, Denise, since she was the firstborn and is still my Sunshine. We used to call her "Buddy" and she was all that. On the motorcycle, on the boat, in the Corvette, Denise was the largest part of our extended childhood. Bicycles, bumps and bruises. And yet she survived.
Back in the day some of us didn't give much thought to having a child. It kind of just happened to us pretty much without a plan. I realize now that I gave more thought to getting our dog last year than I did to having babies back then. It was just the thing you did when you graduated; only the rarest women went on to be professionals and make lives for themselves. The rest of us coveted marriage and children, a life like the Cleaver's.
It is amazing the miracle that is a child and I'm happy to see young mothers who are way more in touch with that fact than I and my peers were. Nowdays these women actually study ahead of time instead of running to the Dr. Spock book when something out of the ordinary happens. It's great that they're informed, I guess, but then I remember the "two sides of the coin" theory. In the stone age we never heard of ADHD, autism or acid reflux. Baby aspirin for a fever, penicillin for strep throat, Desitin for diaper rash -- that's as complicated as it ever got for most of us. We did so much seemingly wrong, although generally with the best of intentions, and yet the children, mine included, survived.
Holding little Caden last night, laughing with him and getting his big wet "kisses" was wonderful and yet somewhat bittersweet. Raising a child involves so much more these days and seems a more frightening venture than I could participate in at this time (big thanks to the universe for menopause!). More diseases, more dangers and life is moving at the speed of light. So much more for the little ones to learn so much earlier. Homework in first grade -- the pressure! Yet at the same time it is all so simple: a young couple on the brink of life creating yet another life, putting all their hopes and dreams on the line, trying very hard to do the right things. I am in awe of so many of them and very greatful that they share their beautiful babies with us.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Oh, no, I'm an empty nester . . .
. . . once again! How fast these little guys grew up! I can't believe they're already out of the nest and less than two weeks old! I'm going to miss the little guys. Maybe some day they'll return to the nest and have families of their own.
But just like us humans Dad keeps a watchful eye on them.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Yes, by golly, I do believe . . .
. . . in reincarnation. Life after life (good book, BTW). That the essence of our being, some call it soul, our energy, goes on and on. Isn't it the "Law of Entropy" that says energy can neither be created or destroyed? Most of us are pretty sure we have some energy in us somewhere, so where does it go when we die? Does it join the throngs of disposed energy as smog? Personally, I don't think so.
We just returned from the morning walk on the local bike path. During the walk I was listening to Enya and thinking about the vehicular huge turtle homicide I witnessed two days ago. My niece and I have been trying to comfort me with thoughts of "a better place" and "a new life." I got to pondering what I understand is the Buddhist belief that our energy continues to be recycled into new life for better or worse depending on our behavior in the most recent lifetime. In other words, we keep on comin' back until we learn the lessons.
To take my understanding one step deeper, I think the rule is that we come back as a lesser or greater life form depending on how well we learned the lessons last time. This brings me a logical (for me) question: Just what constitutes "lesser" or "greater?" Whoa, this is way too massive to answer here. For simplicity's sake, lets assume one is of the opinion that those particular adjectives roughly coincide with one's position on the food chain. For example, you do bad things in this life as a human and maybe next time you're a snail. Now before anyone goes ballistic, the reason for this post isn't to get into whether humans are better than snails. I think I already established that.
So back to the turtle. I'm hoping he or she was a good little turtle and learned all his or her little turtle lessons well. But, I'm thinking, the poor thing will undoubtedly have to go through possibly HUNDREDS of evolutions to arrive on earth as one of us smart humans. As soon as this thought leaves some portal in my brain and leaps into my consciousness, my very next thought is of a recent event held in Tampa that once again proves just how intelligent human life is. It's called "Flugtag." Check it out:
http://www.redbullflugtagusa.com/
I'm sorry to say that I think some of us are going to have to come back as turtles until we can learn to properly cross the road.
We just returned from the morning walk on the local bike path. During the walk I was listening to Enya and thinking about the vehicular huge turtle homicide I witnessed two days ago. My niece and I have been trying to comfort me with thoughts of "a better place" and "a new life." I got to pondering what I understand is the Buddhist belief that our energy continues to be recycled into new life for better or worse depending on our behavior in the most recent lifetime. In other words, we keep on comin' back until we learn the lessons.
To take my understanding one step deeper, I think the rule is that we come back as a lesser or greater life form depending on how well we learned the lessons last time. This brings me a logical (for me) question: Just what constitutes "lesser" or "greater?" Whoa, this is way too massive to answer here. For simplicity's sake, lets assume one is of the opinion that those particular adjectives roughly coincide with one's position on the food chain. For example, you do bad things in this life as a human and maybe next time you're a snail. Now before anyone goes ballistic, the reason for this post isn't to get into whether humans are better than snails. I think I already established that.
So back to the turtle. I'm hoping he or she was a good little turtle and learned all his or her little turtle lessons well. But, I'm thinking, the poor thing will undoubtedly have to go through possibly HUNDREDS of evolutions to arrive on earth as one of us smart humans. As soon as this thought leaves some portal in my brain and leaps into my consciousness, my very next thought is of a recent event held in Tampa that once again proves just how intelligent human life is. It's called "Flugtag." Check it out:
http://www.redbullflugtagusa.com/
I'm sorry to say that I think some of us are going to have to come back as turtles until we can learn to properly cross the road.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
And speaking of flying . . .
. . . part 2:
One day recently as I passed by the bedroom door I heard an unusual noise. What, another frog in the house? I tracked the chirp through the bedroom, into the master bath and to the window, where I had to climb into the bath tub to identify the mystery caller. We have a large bouganvillea plant/shrub/tree on a trellis outside the master bath window. Looking for the source of the wildlife chatter I immediately saw a grey squirrel looking back at me. It's hard to say who was more startled; he took off up the trellis and onto the roof where I heard him scamper away. Then I saw it -- he had been about to trespass on a bird's nest. Getting my footing on the back of the tub, no easy task for my balance-challenged self, I was able to jam my head up under the blinds far enough to see eggs in the nest. I couldn't see far enough into the nest to count them but knew there were at least two.
Putting two and two together, I came up with four. No, not really. I recalled that we had recently welcomed a new cardinal couple to our feeder and quickly deduced that this would be their nest. Not that I recognized the eggs without looking them up on the web, but since the only birds we've had around here in the over four years we've lived in Florida are NEVER smaller than a terradactyl, I didn't have to use my rocket-scientist side of the brain.
So excited I was/am by having what I consider a "regular midwestern bird" visiting that I immediately adopted the nest as my project. Finally finding a use for that roll of quarter inch hardware cloth I'd been hoarding, I located my tool-wielding spouse and directed his installation of various squirrel obstacles. Next began the daily observations.
One day recently as I passed by the bedroom door I heard an unusual noise. What, another frog in the house? I tracked the chirp through the bedroom, into the master bath and to the window, where I had to climb into the bath tub to identify the mystery caller. We have a large bouganvillea plant/shrub/tree on a trellis outside the master bath window. Looking for the source of the wildlife chatter I immediately saw a grey squirrel looking back at me. It's hard to say who was more startled; he took off up the trellis and onto the roof where I heard him scamper away. Then I saw it -- he had been about to trespass on a bird's nest. Getting my footing on the back of the tub, no easy task for my balance-challenged self, I was able to jam my head up under the blinds far enough to see eggs in the nest. I couldn't see far enough into the nest to count them but knew there were at least two.
Putting two and two together, I came up with four. No, not really. I recalled that we had recently welcomed a new cardinal couple to our feeder and quickly deduced that this would be their nest. Not that I recognized the eggs without looking them up on the web, but since the only birds we've had around here in the over four years we've lived in Florida are NEVER smaller than a terradactyl, I didn't have to use my rocket-scientist side of the brain.
So excited I was/am by having what I consider a "regular midwestern bird" visiting that I immediately adopted the nest as my project. Finally finding a use for that roll of quarter inch hardware cloth I'd been hoarding, I located my tool-wielding spouse and directed his installation of various squirrel obstacles. Next began the daily observations.
Mind you, observing Momma on the nest was no easy task since she was hypervigilant and would take off at the slightest provocation. Photographing her was even more difficult so I'm really happy to have gotten that photo. It made me wonder about the egg-laying process itself: is it like human labor? Eeesh! I don't want to think about it.
After several days I was overjoyed to find the eggs had been replaced by tiny creatures from outer space:
I know the photos could be better, but what can one expect from a small digital camera? In the past couple of days we've also seen Dad visiting the little ones but haven't been able to catch him in a photo.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
I am frightened.
This is the second night in a row that the flomar is not in the bed. For those of you who don't know, "flomar" is Martian for "warm, furry friend." Our own flomar has slept in our bed, under the blankets, since day one of her residence here on our planet. Last night, or actually earlier this morning when I dragged myself to bed, I noticed she wasn't there. I found this of enough importance to wake the Spousal Unit to ask of her whereabouts. His prompt reply: she's probably in the chair. Why? WHY???Why, all of a sudden, is she in the chair? Is she withdrawing? Why?
Tonight, pretty much the same scenario only a little bit earlier, I make my way to my side of the bed mostly by braille. I immediately sense that there is one less lump than there should be. In the darkness I reach into the guts of the chair, the papasan piled with many pillows and the heavy quilt that would be inappropriate for this time in this climate. Immediately my hands connect with the flomar. I pull her out of the cave and clutch her to my chest like the long-lost precious pearl and crawl into bed with her. I don't understand what's going on and it frightens me.
Tonight, pretty much the same scenario only a little bit earlier, I make my way to my side of the bed mostly by braille. I immediately sense that there is one less lump than there should be. In the darkness I reach into the guts of the chair, the papasan piled with many pillows and the heavy quilt that would be inappropriate for this time in this climate. Immediately my hands connect with the flomar. I pull her out of the cave and clutch her to my chest like the long-lost precious pearl and crawl into bed with her. I don't understand what's going on and it frightens me.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Bored yet?
Okay, I changed up the playlist slightly. I figured most of my posts wouldn't get you past Amy Winehouse. Seriously, I love my playlist. Come back here when you're done conducting business (yeah, right) on your computer and turn up the volume, instant entertainment or at least further insight into my mental state. You're plugged in and powered up anyway, might as well be using it for something besides a desk anchor.
And P.S., I'm going to be adding another section to my Etsy shop. I was going to call it "From the Dark Side" but decided "The Time Capsule" was a little less frightening. Watch for it!
And P.S., I'm going to be adding another section to my Etsy shop. I was going to call it "From the Dark Side" but decided "The Time Capsule" was a little less frightening. Watch for it!
Snakes alive!
Okay, I’m done with living in the Wild Kingdom. We just came back from Home Depot and Jim drove up to the garage and stopped before entering to let me out. I sat there screaming (more or less). It goes something like this:
Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!
Jim: (He jumps.) What?
Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!
Jim: (Becoming irritated.) What?
Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!
Jim: What? (Concerned; he’s wondering if I’m having a heartie tack)
Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!
Jim: WHAT!!! (I think he’s getting ready to give me one of those Cher/Nicholas Cage “snap out of it” slaps.)
So I point to the little sidewalk that leads up to our front door and the three foot long black racer sitting there. It has its head up in air a few inches, hungrily eyeing the three fat lizards who are on the stucco and are never coming down. Jim gives me the “Are you for real?” look and says “It’s a baby.”
(Expletive deleted) that baby!
So I realize I’m going to have to get out of the car eventually and at least outside the garage there is more room to run (because I know there can be more of them in the garage; been there, done that). I open the garage door and it slithers into the tiny hedge of Indian hawthorns between the front door slab (lovingly referred to as "the front porch") and little sidewalk and Jim now says “There. It’s gone.”
Like that is (expletive deleted) GONE? Like it isn’t there hiding in the place where I regularly pull weeds just waiting to grab my unsuspecting hand with it’s nasty, aggressive sharp teeth and then fly up my arm and latch on to my jugular? GONE? WHAT IS HE, (EXPLETIVE DELETED) NUTS?
I am never leaving the house again and I’m even done picking up the mail because I have been surprised by lizards and frogs in the mailbox before and I can only guess what will be living in the mailbox sometime soon. That's probably where the flatty on the street came from, the mailman knocked him out of there and ran over him. Yeccccchhhhhhhhhhh.
Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!
Jim: (He jumps.) What?
Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!
Jim: (Becoming irritated.) What?
Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!
Jim: What? (Concerned; he’s wondering if I’m having a heartie tack)
Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!
Jim: WHAT!!! (I think he’s getting ready to give me one of those Cher/Nicholas Cage “snap out of it” slaps.)
So I point to the little sidewalk that leads up to our front door and the three foot long black racer sitting there. It has its head up in air a few inches, hungrily eyeing the three fat lizards who are on the stucco and are never coming down. Jim gives me the “Are you for real?” look and says “It’s a baby.”
(Expletive deleted) that baby!
So I realize I’m going to have to get out of the car eventually and at least outside the garage there is more room to run (because I know there can be more of them in the garage; been there, done that). I open the garage door and it slithers into the tiny hedge of Indian hawthorns between the front door slab (lovingly referred to as "the front porch") and little sidewalk and Jim now says “There. It’s gone.”
Like that is (expletive deleted) GONE? Like it isn’t there hiding in the place where I regularly pull weeds just waiting to grab my unsuspecting hand with it’s nasty, aggressive sharp teeth and then fly up my arm and latch on to my jugular? GONE? WHAT IS HE, (EXPLETIVE DELETED) NUTS?
I am never leaving the house again and I’m even done picking up the mail because I have been surprised by lizards and frogs in the mailbox before and I can only guess what will be living in the mailbox sometime soon. That's probably where the flatty on the street came from, the mailman knocked him out of there and ran over him. Yeccccchhhhhhhhhhh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
