. . . lest you knock the raindrops from the petals.
We’ve hit a rough patch around here, but things could be worse.
As the inimitable Steven Wright once pointed out:
When everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane!
Wildebeest moved out almost exactly one year ago, but for the past week we’ve spent lots of time together. In the ER two nights and then the hospital after his appendix was removed. And back here at home after one post-op night in his apartment during which time he realized he needed more help due to the painkillers and nasty antibiotics.
Today he finally feels like himself again and he’s headed back to his apartment and beloved cat, Bernice. But first, he asked if I’d cut his hair. Even during his tumultuous teens we declared cease-fires over many a (bad) haircut, and today as I cut off his ponytail I said, “Thank you so much for doing this with me. Zebu won’t let me touch a hair on his head.”
Wildebeest said it was how he liked getting haircuts. I shook my head in amazement and fired up the clippers. We shared conversation and laughter while I did my amateur shearing and then I made the inevitable mistake: a divot above his right ear. I yelped in panic, but Wildebeest only laughed and said, “This is how it goes. There’s always a mess-up.” As I fussed and apologized, he said, “Don’t you remember, Mom? You always get like this by the end of a haircut. The panic is payback for the Susie Derkins cut you gave me in grade school.”
Ah, yes. The day I chopped his bangs waaaay too high on his forehead and he just laughed.
Wildebeest and I have had more than our share of clashes, but to his credit, he’s never, ever given me grief for any hair errors. He’s got a big heart, that boy.
Today I am thankful for easy access to wide open space where I can clear my mind and soothe my soul. I am thankful for the sixty minutes I had all to myself, with no one else around except some magpies and a coyote. I am thankful for the snow- and ice-crusted splendor (such as these images provided to morgueFile.com by people who had the foresight to bring along a camera):
I am thankful for the delight of seemingly random patterns in the snow (although I figured out the ones I saw were made by small clods of earth coming loose from the hillside and rolling down the slope to stop in dark blobs at the end of their dainty trails, an image I REALLY wished I could document with a camera):
It’s been a tough week in a whole lot of ways, and so when I saw a cluster of mullein stalks standing ramrod straight in the snow, something about the weak shadows they cast made me teary; it was like some lonely roll-call. Lonely yet courageous. In any case, today I am thankful for Nature’s refuge that I found via my snowshoes.
Thoughtful and slightly wary. Ready to take flight should the need arise.
Even though I saw it coming, Obama’s recent budget proposal to cut Social Security benefits via a Chained CPI makes me want to puke.
Cutting benefits for society’s most vulnerable is a callous act. It’s cruel and unnecessary, and I’m deeply ashamed I voted for Obama in November. I knew this was coming and yet I caved at the final hour and cast my vote for someone who is clearly not a Democrat because of my disgust for the Republicans’ voter suppression campaign.
I wish there was a time machine that would give me a redo so that I could cast my vote for someone who doesn’t help the rich get richer at the poor’s expense. Alas, no such device exists and I must live with my vote. And if I’m ever again tempted to vote for someone who clearly doesn’t care about the powerless, I need only remember this sick feeling in my gut. In the meanwhile, I’m making sure my “representatives” know where I stand on a Chained CPI.
I used to hoop a lot and then I guess I lost enthusiasm because I never found my flow which made me feel clompy and uncoordinated and less-than-awesome in comparison with the many other people who seem to float as they hoop. BUT, today I’m feeling the urge to do more than spin the hoop around my waist while watching college basketball or whatever other television program I’d rather not view while sitting on my butt, and I want to learn to float and dance and do lots of graceful, cool tricks. I want to be the hooper of my imagination.
You heard it here first, people: I am going to cast off those clompy-Frankenstein-feelings and try to reclaim my joy in the spin. I am going to resume my pursuit of FLOW!
Today I’m feeling a bit like this squirrel sipping at a less-than-pristine pool: my YA revision process has suddenly turned murky. However, it’s what I’ve got to work with so I need to suck it up. (And maybe sometime soon, some kind being will clean and replenish my brain pan!)