Category Archives: Journal

A Monday Night Moment

“Armed

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. ♦

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Those

“Out

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. ♦

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In Dreams

When you have such delicious dreams that you wake up incredibly, hungry.

“Ben”

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. ♦

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The Curk- to Have a Good and/or Fun Time

Irish slang!

“Snort”

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.

“Lucky”

Nearly stepped on this clover found glued to the pavement. May it wear well with time, and enjoy itself tremendously today!

“More

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. ♦

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Tags As Title: Snow, Italian, Theatre

“No

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.

“Focus”

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.

“This”

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? ♦

“That”

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Scope

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.

“Well,
Dutch-angled

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.

“Bob's

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. ♦

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About That Jaunty Poo …

Edie.

Funny, I don’t like the name Aunt nor Auntie, but being one has been life’s biggest highlight in recent years. Cutiepiemuffinhead. Hey, Beau-fo. Funny Bunny. Snugglepuff. CUDDLE PUFF. I don’t know how these silly word pairings occur, but they do. Little Bobby-Do, floofy bum-bum, bit of sugar candy love! Nonsensical fluff that must try-try-try to capture a love words could never express, love that wants to leap outta me for her. Just throwing out words till the love is apparent and covers everything in smiles and warmth and future. So much love that fear dareth try to rise up and steal it away. An open heart shared fully risks the deepest wound. Good. That’s what gives it value. I love having another person around to pour love into.

I’m reminded of Bean when we were little and slept in our parents’ bed with our mom (our dad slept on the floor downstairs in the rec room for a variety of reasons). We each had a bedroom, but preferred to be piled in with the mom. Bean’s sweet baby hair was soft and dark and smelled so sweet. Edie’s little coconut head (as my dad calls it) is perfectly reminiscent of Bean’s and I’m reliving it in a sense, a delicious déjà vu.

She’s my best little buddy, laughter and squeals upon my arrival often times, and always, always continuous smiles, her bright eyes following me until she’s sure I’m sticking around for a while. Maybe she senses the sheer love and delight I have for her and she responds to it, reciprocal mirrors. Thrills me to have someone be so happy I’m around. The soul is healed by being with children said Fyodor Dostoevsky.

“Aunty

Wonderstruck, we’d just finished dancing cheek to cheek back in September-Octoberish. Just before she became an active smiler like Auntie. Aside: those teeth are the product of braces. “How can that be?” I asked my dentist last year. Without diligent efforts to maintain their new position via a retainer, they more often than not move back to their former position. Clearly, I no longer have the retainer, but I do have the mold taken of my mouth pre-orthodontics, and they’re an eerie match now. Wish the doc had applied a permanent brace to the back of my top teeth like he did the bottom. I very much like them in person, but frozen in photos, they sometimes taunt me.

Foam. For those first few months, there were constant inquiries by Bean and my Dad about why I hadn’t been pooped on by the baby yet. They’d been pooped on (albeit through a diaper), and had a go at cleaning up the resulting mess. I kept hearing talk of foam, and how when you heard the foam, you knew there’d been a deposit, and best get up and begin a withdrawal. Foam, not a sound I’d ever encountered in many hours of babysitting and nannying in years past. Figured my sister had simply pegged the act with the wrong descriptor despite knowing that it’s one of the excrement types listed on those fascinating poop-a-day type calendars found in the likes of Spencer’s stores. I was holding Edie on the couch, when she did a subtle little shimmy-shake, and with a jaunty little nod of her tiny head, FOAM rang out as though a microphone were in the room. I’d been foamed! Verb of the day! The poo had happened! This made my dad and sister unusually joyous, as I was a marked woman, and delight they did. And wipe, did I.

“Closed

A portion of the lovely capitol up in Victoria, BC. Shan and I missed that particular tour.

Heading down to Olympia on Sunday with Shannon for a tour of the capitol as it’s been a while. That is, if the inevitable attendance of anarchists at tomorrow’s Women’s March manage to leave it intact. But not before I get in a few weekend workouts. I’ve given myself sixish months to get back in better shape.

I gained tons of weight in my earlyish twenties when I got tired of being ogled and manhandled on the daily bus commute and pushily asked for dates after repeatedly stating I was engaged. I found peace in the safety brought by an outer cushion of fat, and because a thing can begin for one reason, and continue for another, the fat stayed from bad food habits and squelched metabolism. My sister’s been so good to keep a catalog of horrendous photos she’s captured of me over the years. I’m so ashamed of them (and this is no place for shame) that it makes me laugh. Up and down, down and up in the numbers, lots of up. The problem’s always the ease and proximity of people found in eating out and about (where calories live)- not having to face the never-ending cycle of meal prep alone at home, despite loving to cook.

Life has passed along for so long now with just a good baseline, no motivation to be more, but I need to play my part if I ever want a melody on top. ♦

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