NOT a human baby mind you but a baby of some sort. I saw a photo on Facebook of a darling 1 1/2 year old girl dog who just lost her home and family and the craving hit. She's in a shelter in West Virginia and is on hold until 5:30 this evening. If she isn't adopted by then, I want her. Husband and son are agreeable. Husband even suggested that we get a puppy instead but with what Charlie went through with his bacterial infection and losing Patty to Parvo, I figure an older dog will be much better. Beside I doubt a puppy could keep up with Charlie and Kali.
The West Virgina shelter only needs to see our driver's license to adopt. Howard County (where I live) wants a pint of blood and your first born. The do a house inspection and even refused the best enighbors in the world a dog simply because said neighbors have a goat... a pygmy.. B Boy... he and I have a bleating conversation every morning. The neighbors already have a dog that the goat doesn't bother so who knows what they were thinking? I know it's supposed to be the best for the animals but really now. And the local rescue groups want and average of $300 when you adopt. So to West Virginia we may go. If I don't get this girl it means another family did and that's what's important. As long as she gets a home.
I was also considering a rescued pot belly pig till I read up on them and then decided a pig is not the way to go. They get bored and destroy things, they can get their feelings hurt and destroy things, they are always on the lookout for food and can destroy things. They can also live 20 years and since I"m already in my sixties... well.. a pig is out of the question.
I don't want a car or kitten because I am sick to death of the remaining cat we have using whatever for a litter box (yes her box is clean) including the laundry bag with the laundry in it. I am quite sick of the smell of cat pee and the crunch of litter underfoot. I need something that will give me affection and not only 'allow' me to give it affection.
So.. that's the story morning glory. Maybe with a new baby in the house I won't be so awfully grumpy all the time. Fingers crozzed.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Thoughtz
Why is it that I love the look of messy collages and art journals on people's sites and yet mine are so constrained that they almost have chains around them. Tho, chains about them would be a rather fanciful idea to do but I'm wandering.
So I look at these creations with splats of color and doodles drawn on top and some clever saying and would give my eye teeth to do something like that.... but I can't. I can't let go. I wonder why not. Why can't I just say the hell with it and get messy. The craft room is messy, the table is in a deplorable state and yet... there the art journals or glue books or whatever you call them are so very prim and proper. It was the same with decorating the rebuilt house. I fussed and fretted and fretted and fussed for months to find just the right thing.
This morning the husband said that he agreed with me that the bathroom needed something and that something in his opinion was a Christmas scene decal that stretched along the length of the wall. WHA?????
There is a decal along that same wall, down near the baseboard where I have gold fish swimming beneath a stretch of bumpy waves complete with drips and spurts. It's a whimsical looking thing that always makes me laugh. The decal is above but as i said, mine is on the wall.
So now we're supposed to put a Christmas scene above that? I wanted to scream "NONONONONO" but instead I just walked away. Trust me... there will be NO Christmas scene..
Before the fire... I know, there I go again.... I could have slapped any old thing up on any old spot and been happy with it. Now I'm all matchy matchy and it makes me feel as if I am wearing wool underwear all itchy and scratchy. I don't like matchy matchy and if I really do think about it, I think I now want my house done in a way and ADULT would do it instead of the little kid that has lurked inside of me.
I don't know what to do about it. Or if I should do anything at all. I don't know which is the real me, the one who touches up splotches on the wall with the paint the contractors left or the me who would have ignored it or just slapped something over it. I don't know which of the me I want to be either.
I've had a sudden flash of insight. Maybe I am now so matchy matchy because it would be tantamount to a SIN to spoil those lovely bright walls or to clutter those lovely counters or ding a bit of woodwork. It would be as if I didn't appreciate the beauty around me now after all those years with paneling on the wall, scarce sunlight and things falling slowly apart. Cabinet drawers that were always crooked no matter how many times I tried to fix the thing they ride along, the thing that always went cockeyed again within a week. Some kind of odd stucco like something that was peeling away from the kitchen light fixture that I had no idea how to repair. Shower doors that no longer rolled, windows that rattled, floors that creaked, wall to wall carpet that was pulled up from someone else house and put down in mine instead of taken to the land fill. Furniture that didn't match and was on its last legs. SO now I should APPRECIATE what I have and keep it perfectly. But I suspect it isn't the real me and maybe until I can reconcile myself to the fact that this is home with all its color and light and I can do things that aren't so perfect, I really won't be at ease. I'll keep expecting someone to show up for an inspection and find me lacking.
Lacking when I am expected to be perfect. Something that will never happen. No matter what.
So I look at these creations with splats of color and doodles drawn on top and some clever saying and would give my eye teeth to do something like that.... but I can't. I can't let go. I wonder why not. Why can't I just say the hell with it and get messy. The craft room is messy, the table is in a deplorable state and yet... there the art journals or glue books or whatever you call them are so very prim and proper. It was the same with decorating the rebuilt house. I fussed and fretted and fretted and fussed for months to find just the right thing.
This morning the husband said that he agreed with me that the bathroom needed something and that something in his opinion was a Christmas scene decal that stretched along the length of the wall. WHA?????
So now we're supposed to put a Christmas scene above that? I wanted to scream "NONONONONO" but instead I just walked away. Trust me... there will be NO Christmas scene..
Before the fire... I know, there I go again.... I could have slapped any old thing up on any old spot and been happy with it. Now I'm all matchy matchy and it makes me feel as if I am wearing wool underwear all itchy and scratchy. I don't like matchy matchy and if I really do think about it, I think I now want my house done in a way and ADULT would do it instead of the little kid that has lurked inside of me.
I don't know what to do about it. Or if I should do anything at all. I don't know which is the real me, the one who touches up splotches on the wall with the paint the contractors left or the me who would have ignored it or just slapped something over it. I don't know which of the me I want to be either.
I've had a sudden flash of insight. Maybe I am now so matchy matchy because it would be tantamount to a SIN to spoil those lovely bright walls or to clutter those lovely counters or ding a bit of woodwork. It would be as if I didn't appreciate the beauty around me now after all those years with paneling on the wall, scarce sunlight and things falling slowly apart. Cabinet drawers that were always crooked no matter how many times I tried to fix the thing they ride along, the thing that always went cockeyed again within a week. Some kind of odd stucco like something that was peeling away from the kitchen light fixture that I had no idea how to repair. Shower doors that no longer rolled, windows that rattled, floors that creaked, wall to wall carpet that was pulled up from someone else house and put down in mine instead of taken to the land fill. Furniture that didn't match and was on its last legs. SO now I should APPRECIATE what I have and keep it perfectly. But I suspect it isn't the real me and maybe until I can reconcile myself to the fact that this is home with all its color and light and I can do things that aren't so perfect, I really won't be at ease. I'll keep expecting someone to show up for an inspection and find me lacking.
Lacking when I am expected to be perfect. Something that will never happen. No matter what.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Obzezzed
I have become obsessed in covering glassware with clay canes. I post a pic of them a couple of blogs back and since then they are steadily growing in number. I don't know why I keep making them, other than the fact that I like making them but I have been without craft inspiration for so long, I'm thinking of following this to the bitter end. It may mean that I will have to go to a craft show to sell them or foist them off on friends as birthday gifts. That is if I can bear to part with them.
I think this lack of inspiration stems from the fire. Yes, I will blame everything on the fire. I wonder if it is that my brain won't give me ideas because what's the use? I'll make something only to lose it again. So I'm taking advantage of this spurt to clay and clay until my fingers fall off.
It's been a little more than a year since the fire. I have had only one dream about it and it wasn't even the fire itself. I had adream that I had Isabella (the missing cat) in my arms and I said something like "She's not hurt at all only dirty." I know now I won't see her again and it's hard, especially since the cat we have left had decided that anything on the floor of my bed room can be peed on. sigh.
Maybe I woudl get over this all the faster if Michael didn't keep asking me if I wanted to go back to the hotel to live or if he would stop threatening to drive past the rental home. Neither place ever made me feel really comfortable and, tot tell, the truth, home still doesn't feel like home. It still feel impermanent as if I am just visiting and waiting to go home. I love the house now with its colors and sunlight but it still isn't quite home. Maybe come summer when I'm on the deck or visiting with the animals who have made the trip over the rainbow bridge, I will begin to feel settled. I hope it happens soon. I am weary of bursting into tears at the drop of a hat. Like now. Maybe I should just stop dropping hats.
I think this lack of inspiration stems from the fire. Yes, I will blame everything on the fire. I wonder if it is that my brain won't give me ideas because what's the use? I'll make something only to lose it again. So I'm taking advantage of this spurt to clay and clay until my fingers fall off.
It's been a little more than a year since the fire. I have had only one dream about it and it wasn't even the fire itself. I had adream that I had Isabella (the missing cat) in my arms and I said something like "She's not hurt at all only dirty." I know now I won't see her again and it's hard, especially since the cat we have left had decided that anything on the floor of my bed room can be peed on. sigh.
Maybe I woudl get over this all the faster if Michael didn't keep asking me if I wanted to go back to the hotel to live or if he would stop threatening to drive past the rental home. Neither place ever made me feel really comfortable and, tot tell, the truth, home still doesn't feel like home. It still feel impermanent as if I am just visiting and waiting to go home. I love the house now with its colors and sunlight but it still isn't quite home. Maybe come summer when I'm on the deck or visiting with the animals who have made the trip over the rainbow bridge, I will begin to feel settled. I hope it happens soon. I am weary of bursting into tears at the drop of a hat. Like now. Maybe I should just stop dropping hats.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Almozt a year
It's been nearly a year since the fire and I'm wondering when I'm going to stop getting upset over what I lost. I don't think it's just the fire that gets to me but losses over the past number of years. It seemed to have started when I lost my Rocco and then my precious Ollie. Just when I decided I wanted to be a dog mother again and got Charlie, he nearly died and there I was in crises mode. Charlie recovered but it felt like I had missed his puppyhood. I guess it's hard to be a bouncing ridiculous puppy when you've faced death. So once he was strong we got another puppy, Patty who was dead within days. More vet visits, Parvo this time, and a puppy dying alone in the bedroom.
I feel that I let Patty down so. We had to keep her quarantined so that the parvo wouldn't spread to Charlie and only after she was gone that it dawned on me that maybe she should have had a heating pad. Charlie had Frankie our ancient cat to curl up against when he was ill and maybe it was the warmth of her body or just her touch that helped. Patty had none of that. I couldn't even cuddle her as I would have liked for fear of carrying the infection out of the bedroom and onto Charlie. I feel as if I let that poor baby down. We wanted to adopt again, up and down with here's a pup and there's a pup and , eventually we got Kali. Old cat Frankie died, a cousin died and only then did I find out I had lost more relatives that my sister neglected to inform me about. It had always been in our family that one person in each family group is called to spread the word to the others. Since my sister had decided to disown me, she couldn't be bothered to tell the rest of the famiily about that and so, I am sure, certain cousins looked at me as some kind of heartless shit.
Then came the fire and the cat the disappeared. My dear little Isabella the timidest cat in the world. Who knows what happened to her once she got out of the house. Then there was living in a hotel and then the rental, sandwiched in between two households that weren't reluctant to show their dislike of us and added to that, the breakdown in my relationship with my son.. Well, you know how it goes, I have written of this before.
And all through that, I was NOT allowed to cry. Everytime I broke down there was a lecture. Crying over Rocco and Ollie were ridiculous, they were only dogs. Crying over Patty, the same, and why did her death make me so unhappy, I hardly knew her. Why cry over the house, everyone got out fine, it's only things, look at how beautiful it is once rebuilt. Only it still doesn't feel like home. It doesn't feel permanent. It doesn't feel right and still I should not cry because it was a blessing.
So now I find myself breaking down over inconsequential things. A photo of a strangled pup on Facebook that sent me into hysterics, a stray thought, a memory. As if to make matters worse, I was found crying one day only to to be told that they reason I was crying now is that the stress was over and I allowed myself to cry.
WHAT?
Perhaps that is why I had a breakdown at the elderly neighbor's funeral. One where I had to hide myself away so that my tears could not be seen.
So what is all of this about? I don't know. I suppose I still feel so lost and broken and fragile that I am reaching out for any life line. Even if it is putting down all of these losses and this pain down into the written word will help to ease them out of my head. To make me whole again.
Will it work. I don't know but I do wish I could find my laughter again.
I think that was a victim of the fire as well.
I feel that I let Patty down so. We had to keep her quarantined so that the parvo wouldn't spread to Charlie and only after she was gone that it dawned on me that maybe she should have had a heating pad. Charlie had Frankie our ancient cat to curl up against when he was ill and maybe it was the warmth of her body or just her touch that helped. Patty had none of that. I couldn't even cuddle her as I would have liked for fear of carrying the infection out of the bedroom and onto Charlie. I feel as if I let that poor baby down. We wanted to adopt again, up and down with here's a pup and there's a pup and , eventually we got Kali. Old cat Frankie died, a cousin died and only then did I find out I had lost more relatives that my sister neglected to inform me about. It had always been in our family that one person in each family group is called to spread the word to the others. Since my sister had decided to disown me, she couldn't be bothered to tell the rest of the famiily about that and so, I am sure, certain cousins looked at me as some kind of heartless shit.
Then came the fire and the cat the disappeared. My dear little Isabella the timidest cat in the world. Who knows what happened to her once she got out of the house. Then there was living in a hotel and then the rental, sandwiched in between two households that weren't reluctant to show their dislike of us and added to that, the breakdown in my relationship with my son.. Well, you know how it goes, I have written of this before.
And all through that, I was NOT allowed to cry. Everytime I broke down there was a lecture. Crying over Rocco and Ollie were ridiculous, they were only dogs. Crying over Patty, the same, and why did her death make me so unhappy, I hardly knew her. Why cry over the house, everyone got out fine, it's only things, look at how beautiful it is once rebuilt. Only it still doesn't feel like home. It doesn't feel permanent. It doesn't feel right and still I should not cry because it was a blessing.
So now I find myself breaking down over inconsequential things. A photo of a strangled pup on Facebook that sent me into hysterics, a stray thought, a memory. As if to make matters worse, I was found crying one day only to to be told that they reason I was crying now is that the stress was over and I allowed myself to cry.
WHAT?
Perhaps that is why I had a breakdown at the elderly neighbor's funeral. One where I had to hide myself away so that my tears could not be seen.
So what is all of this about? I don't know. I suppose I still feel so lost and broken and fragile that I am reaching out for any life line. Even if it is putting down all of these losses and this pain down into the written word will help to ease them out of my head. To make me whole again.
Will it work. I don't know but I do wish I could find my laughter again.
I think that was a victim of the fire as well.
Monday, February 4, 2013
So the Ravenz won
which is great because I was about to vomit purple.
It seems my head bands were a hit and others have taken up the feathers, for which I'm grateful. For now I'm putting the feathers and ribbons etc away and won't crak it out till next year.
I am not a football person but Josh and the best neighbors in the world were all excited about the Superbowl so I am glad their team won. After the win I could hear Josh hootn' all the way down the street as he went out to find other hootners and, perhaps, the people setting off fireworks.
I wish I could get that excited about something. I used to get excited about stamp conventions but then got saddled with a person who, frankly I wouldn't be the friend of normally, and it all ended badly. You see, I felt sorry for this person because she had no one to hang with and felt self conscious on her own so I offered to go to ONE just ONE convention with her. Oh my. She complained about this and she complained about that and she really didn't like me in the rubber pit at Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers, yet refused to go off on her own. Why did I go with her the next year? Because her husband drove her and he and Michael would go get something to eat or go to the movies and once to a strip club where they stayed for a beer and left because according to Michael it certainly wasn't what people believe a strip club to be. He found it kinda sad, actually. Now this person lives in Florida.... life coaching away... supposedly and I suppose I could go again on my own but the convention has moved to Allentown PA which is much further then Pennsauken.
So now I need to find some sort of excitement in my life. But what? Any suggestions?
And when I say excitement I do NOT mean fending off an enraged sow, chasing after bank robbers and/or burning my house down. Something where my life is NOT in danger would be great.
Sometimes I take the oddz bodkinz part of my life a bit too far.
It seems my head bands were a hit and others have taken up the feathers, for which I'm grateful. For now I'm putting the feathers and ribbons etc away and won't crak it out till next year.
I am not a football person but Josh and the best neighbors in the world were all excited about the Superbowl so I am glad their team won. After the win I could hear Josh hootn' all the way down the street as he went out to find other hootners and, perhaps, the people setting off fireworks.
I wish I could get that excited about something. I used to get excited about stamp conventions but then got saddled with a person who, frankly I wouldn't be the friend of normally, and it all ended badly. You see, I felt sorry for this person because she had no one to hang with and felt self conscious on her own so I offered to go to ONE just ONE convention with her. Oh my. She complained about this and she complained about that and she really didn't like me in the rubber pit at Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers, yet refused to go off on her own. Why did I go with her the next year? Because her husband drove her and he and Michael would go get something to eat or go to the movies and once to a strip club where they stayed for a beer and left because according to Michael it certainly wasn't what people believe a strip club to be. He found it kinda sad, actually. Now this person lives in Florida.... life coaching away... supposedly and I suppose I could go again on my own but the convention has moved to Allentown PA which is much further then Pennsauken.
So now I need to find some sort of excitement in my life. But what? Any suggestions?
And when I say excitement I do NOT mean fending off an enraged sow, chasing after bank robbers and/or burning my house down. Something where my life is NOT in danger would be great.
Sometimes I take the oddz bodkinz part of my life a bit too far.
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