Nice to see someone with a (once) similar view of that fur beast known as the cat. ♦
Just now happened across this meme while searching for something entirely different, my usual mode for finding things. Memes like these are unsightly- the text is crawling off the right side and is all unduly outlined and blocky. Even so, made me laugh. I read it and thought, “What hairy arm?” followed immediately by “How’d that cat get a box seat?” Only then did I see the arm. To my credit (ish), I first viewed it in tiny Google image search mode.
Flipped on the tv for the first time in ages as well (I’ve been in a world of movies and binged programs), and it looks like Freddy vs. Jason is concluding. Rather timely, as I’ve watched Never Sleep Again: The Elm Street Legacy recently, and felt like a whole chunk of teendom (or maybe “teendumb”?) came forth from the depths of a memory in need of a good jolt from time to time. ♦
This spotless lady landed on me and remained for the longest time. A bright moment, thankfully, among many, in the frustration of late.
A current need, not want- people that fill their hearts and minds with a balance of all things good. Introspection and then self improvement, rather than a diet of what passes for news and the inactivity it breeds. Please. Most don’t need to be informed of every new audacity- that’s for those taking action against it, of which repetitive posting and commenting (oh, the commenting), the likes of which cause a harpy to seem kind, are not a part.
I’m too lazy and comfortable currently, I long for that magnetic force once found in others that helps drive me to better myself consistently. Iron sharpening iron, a light to spark the dark. Encouragement.
To encounter those hungering for Godly spiritual depth, for wisdom brought through humility, not surface knowledge gleaned for the ego, those feeding their minds rather than just filling them.
Those holding themselves accountable to a moral standard, rather than standing in condemning judgment of others, when the wrong in their own behavior glares just as harshly.
Those sharing about their lives and experiences, their memories, troubles, hopes and dreams. Things relatable and intriguing and compelling. The risk of vulnerability and the ability to talk of emotion is courageous and irresistible.
Humans. I used to know some. ♦
When you have such delicious dreams that you wake up incredibly, hungry.
Took a trip down to Portland this past weekend where this sign dared greet me as I parked the car.
In adding to the partial glimpse of daily life that I maintain here over the years, I’ve released a bunch of recentish posts originally shared over on that drab creature called Facebook. Scrolling down or clicking on the corresponding category to the left should do the trick in viewing each and every. ♦
Off to stare straight up the nose of that infamous third place Upper Class Twit of the Year, John Cleese, this eve. He’s indubitably as excited about it as we are.
Nearly stepped on this clover found glued to the pavement. May it wear well with time, and enjoy itself tremendously today!
When I happened across this shot of Arthur from the tv show of the same name, a certain viral BBC correspondence video from last week featuring cutie pie kids and a yellow-sweatered little girl in glasses with a sprightly walk, sprang to mind. ♦
Got my snow! The kind that sticks around a while. Though not the kind that sticks to the road long enough to freeze over and crunch in the night as cars attempt to drive along- that’s my favorite. No, this kind slushed in the night. In recent weeks, weird smatterings of snow have occurred where in one city, an accumulation of several inches happens while just down the road nuttin’. My snow affinity has people feeling it’s their duty to report any in the general area so that I can dream on in expectation.
Met up for Italian tonight, a belated birthday dinner pour moi avec friends. Denise grabs a menu and apologizes for forgetting her reading glasses as she moves the menu further out in front of her towards me. Moments later she says, “You’re so beautiful.” I promptly lean aways back in my chair and ask her, “Are you sure? Better look again.”
I was out and about the weekend before last with Bean and Shane in Seattle to see Billy Crystal at the Paramount. It happened to be Emerald City Comicon weekend, so the streets were filled with costumes of all kinds and lots of extra energy, kinda like a bonus show.
Once settled in at the theatre, the lights soon went down and out walked Bonnie Hunt. Turns out she and Billy are touring together, brought together in friendship while each serving on a committee having to do with Robin Williams, the actual details of which are fuzzy in memory. What’s not fuzzy is the collective “aw” that filled the place at the mention of Robin’s name. The evening was filled with stand up and sit down- two comfy chairs on stage where the pair sat while Bonnie asked questions of Billy- how’s he doing, what’s he think of such ’n’ such, does he remember this or that, what about so ’n’ so, etc. Each night, things might be a bit different with room for spontaneity. I learned all sorts of stuff! He was most certainly more than marvelous.
Shane chose the outing as the last gift I opened on my birthday. It was between Billy Crystal and Patton Oswalt, which Bean thought was hilarious since I’ve been scheming to take Shane to Oswalt for the past three years, each time encountering schedule conflicts. Shane aspired to be a firefighter and/or a comedian growing up, so I keep an eye out for experiences involving comics. He absolutely made the right choice given all the amazing history and talk of movies involved spanning decades. On the way out, Bean snagged a lobby card as a little memento. And on the flip side? ♦
I like when I’m driving home in the dark and music comes on that makes it feel like it’s a noir flick. Like tonight. Sadly, the effect was short-lived- were I only granted special privilege to issue tickets to those that stop dead at roundabouts. On the noir note, watched The Third Man this past week, and was quite captivated by the marvelous and atypical zither score. Effectively eerie at times.
Got a nifty workbench for use with tools of the heftier variety (took a 3D design class years ago that took place in a shop filled with power tools and promptly fell for the jigsaw) that I intend to put together shortly.
Cranwinkle. Collecting Ediths, it’s a thing.
Roald Dahl has been on my radar as of late- the debut of a marvelous clothing collection inspired by his books and characters, the BFG movie we all had to watch because of Shane’s British childhood, and a viewing of The Witches last month (yay, Atkinson). Dahl had such fun with words- telly-telly bunkum box, radio squeaker, and hippodumplings, for three. I was busy Googling a comprehensive list of all the ones he’s ever mashly-mished, when wonderment happened: can I pop other seeds just like popcorn? Yes, apparently, but I’ll be sticking with the corn it looks like.
We understand with time and hindsight I’m always told, but that’s not applied to anything I’ve experienced in life really. I’ve been asking where did I go wrong- a quantity of one, a mere one, to choose and value me over any other, to be my family. All these years, gone, with no memories, nothing built, a clean heart in wait of another clean heart. ♦