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Not so silent morning – and an Angel
Sleeps ‘til Christmas = 6
Gifts Purchased = 0
Holiday Spirit = 5 out of 10 thanks to an angel
I awoke this morning and proceeded with my ritual of letting the dog out then making coffee and shuffling about until coffee was ready.
I went outside to check out the moon next to Jupiter – probably would have been amazing if I had a telescope – but was still pretty cool. I wanted to be sure to see it.
Grabbed coffee, gulped some down then into the shower. Back to my bedroom, started to get ready for work and …
BANG!
Something fell in the house, and it didn’t sound like anything familiar.
You know you get keyed into certain household noises … they have their own distinct familiar sounds.
Posters falling off a wall, the sound of an animal skidding across a table, those suction cup shower caddy’s that never stay cupped spilling all of it’s contents onto your shower floor. (Worst part of picking up a shower caddy from your tub by the way – spending time figuring out how to get the blade back on your razor and licking the damn suction cups.)
Anyway – this wasn’t an identifiable noise.
And it was quite loud. I was a tad alarmed.
I was in a towel – and while I’m not afraid to investigate noises or confront burglars or serial killers, I wasn’t doing it naked.
I threw my pajamas back on and opened the bedroom door.
I could see Butters staring towards the kitchen. There is a dividing curtain between the kitchen and Nic’s ‘wing’ of our shoebox. She was staring at it. And looking very uncomfortable.
Then a growl/woof from ‘Butters the brave’.
Seriously – is there anything more disturbing than your dog being disturbed and afraid of a noise whilst staring at something unseen? No. No there is not.
I forgot my knife and my pepper spray – but continued on. Pulled the curtain back and found the source of the thud.
Nic’s air rifle had fallen over in the laundry-room-that-does-no-laundry.
Gawd.
OK, so I probably didn’t need more coffee now that my heart was beating faster, but I got more anyway.
Finished getting ready and came into the living room to sit for a bit and catch some news.
It wasn’t until I was on the couch that I noticed something on our little fake Christmas tree.
My son went to his girlfriends house yesterday for a Christmas Party – I was invited but opted out as I’ve not been feeling well the past few days and certainly didn’t want to spread any Holiday Cheer of a viral kind.
Oh! Before they went, they made this at our house:
I commented on FB
“Damn teenagers these days! Leave my son unattended after playing all those violent video games and look what he did with his girlfriend while I was at work.”
(I really am lucky you know – I am blessed with a very good kid and I know it.)
I also suggested that probably it wasn’t a good idea to leave me unattended with a candied house. I was eyeing the shrubberies with some interest … but, it survived intact.
Anyway!
So – this is what was on the Christmas tree:
I have to admit, the first thought that went through my head was how huge she looked up there. It’s a tiny little tree.
Then the holiday spirit hit.
How thoughtful!
It was either from my sons girlfriend Chelsea, or my son somehow got it.
Either way, she was placed there while I slept and whether it was intended or not – put happy tears in my eyes and a warmth in my heart this morning.
So, Thank You to my secret angel.
(And Butters, that’s strike two – first you try to eat me, then you don’t protect me! Coal is in your future.)
Butters – and how I’m not going to be eaten by cats
I always assumed I’d meet my end dying unnoticed in my house, then being partially eaten by my copious amount of future cats. My body perhaps found by the Laundromat Lady when I didn’t show up on a Sunday to muse?
Turns out Butters is what I have to worry about.
I know this because last night as I was on my belly, inching across the floor – she tried to eat me.
Okay – rewind.
You might like a little back story.
(And funnily enough, that’s what it is.)
I was in my sons room saying ‘goodnight’ and asked ‘Can you crack my back without lifting me?’
Nothing worked, so I lay down on the floor and Nic stepped on me. I was stretched out and pulled myself forward on my elbows to lengthen my spine. It felt good.
So while I was down there – of course, I went into tangent mode.
‘What if I had a broken leg and had to get to the door??’
Only way to find out if I could reach the front door was to try it.
You know, like anyone laying on their childs bedroom floor would think to do. Nothing weird here.
So I’m pulling myself using only upper body strength across his carpet.
A military belly crawl, only, I wasn’t allowing myself to use my legs – they remained dead weight. (Remember, my imaginary broken leg … of course, I wasn’t factoring in the pain I’d have to contend with should I actually have a broken leg, but we work with what we have.)
I encountered tile and was unable to get a grip due to my flannel pajama bottoms and fleece sweatshirt. (*Note to self, break leg in clothing with more traction.)
I should have stopped there – experiment over. I was screwed once I hit a slippery surface.
But Nic’s in the spirit of things now and pulls me across that obstacle.
Next the kitchen.
By now – Butters has noticed me in a vulnerable position on the ground. Does she worry? Look upon me in curiosity? Go for help?
No! She attacks.
I’m scooting across the kitchen rug and intermittently having my head chewed on.
I tried playing dead – but she just kept running off and returning to gnaw on me.
“I’ve got her! Go! Go!”
Nic held her back as I inched into the living room.
Why am I still doing this?!? Because I’d come that far – that’s why.
I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going now, but it was very apparent that if I were home alone and did have to wriggle to a phone or an exit without using my legs, Butters would be the reason I wouldn’t succeed.
Experiment over.
I hadn’t quite forgiven her after I climbed into bed.
I lay there on my stomach, getting comfortable, my head turned to the right when I heard snorting and felt warmth on the back of my head.
*sigh*
Really??
I sleep on a California King sized mattress – there’s enough room for me, Butters and both sets of Charlie Buckets’ grandparents!
Yet, Butters, obviously exhausted from attacking me, was snoring less than 5 inches from the back of my head.
She has a side! This is ‘homeless dog’ that I took in that now has a side of my bed.
She doesn’t like to cuddle, so I decided it was likely she was guarding me like one of her bones.
(Oh gawd, what if my imaginary broken leg is a compound fracture?!?! She’ll try to drag my sticky-out bone off!)
Anyway, she was still tired this morning (good!) so I managed to capture evidence of her close proximity. Then I just pestered her for photos to be annoying.
She’s getting really sick of the camera.
Perhaps I need to remember to break my leg in clothes with traction and a camera around my neck … then I stand a chance.
Butters on the left, my pillow on the right.
Me being happy I was annoying the dog
Finding Grace
Last night as I lay in bed I felt shame.
Shame for allowing myself to be sad and for voicing it when I have so much to be grateful for.
The saying ‘there are others a lot worse off than you’ came to mind.
Then I wondered – who then, is within their rights to express their sadness or fears?
The person who has lost a limb? But there is someone who has lost two – or was born with none.
The person who is undergoing chemotherapy? There is someone who is terminally ill with no resources for any treatment at all.
The person who has lost the love of their life? There are people who have never known love.
These thoughts flooded my head with examples ad infinitum.
My last thought before I found sleep, was the realization that I was looking for excuses for my behavior.
And that was unacceptable to me.
_______________________________________________________
This morning, with a rested body and a more positive attitude, I was able to examine those thoughts without the end game being an argument for my negativity.
Sadness must be felt.
It must be because it is.
As simple as that.
It should never be discounted.
We should not tell people ‘you shouldn’t feel that way.’
Feeling pain or disappointment or fear is okay.
It must be felt.
Embraced – released – and remembered.
Yes.
Remembered.
Not lamented.
Letting go doesn’t mean you’re erasing something – it means you’re acknowledging that you don’t have to stay with it.
But to forget cripples our growth.
How are we to be grateful for good when we have not fully experienced bad?
How to know joy when sadness was hurried away? Brushed off as if it had no right to be on our shoulders?
As long as I can look fear or pain or sadness in the eye and ask the right question ‘What can I do about this?’ I should not be ashamed.
But never should I sit in discontent without voice or action.
Musings from the Laundromat: Two things
I’ve been sad again. And while examining the ‘sad’ I narrowed the root cause down to a need for two things.
Consistency and authenticity.
These are things I need.
To be able to count on someone or something.
To be told the truth, and never left feeling confused and worried due to lies or omission.
I can handle the truth.
I can move on with truth.
I keep getting told how strong I am, so it must be true.
I need truth.
If I’m willing to do the work – whether it be at home, in the workplace or within my relationships with people, I need it to be reciprocated.
I’m loyal to a degree of ridiculousness.
I’m consistent – you can count on me. I’m honest, (sometimes too honest, I know this.)
I need those things in return.
My mom offered me some advice the other day: “They don’t care about you, you need to look out for yourself.”
I won’t say who ‘they’ are, but she had a point.
The problem is, I still care about them. I care about the time and work and heart I’ve put in.
I’m never going to abandon a place or person until I’m sure I’ve tried my very best. Because I have to live with myself after they’re gone.
Ubiquitous
Ubiquitous
I’ve had this word in my head for days.
I have no clue when or how it popped into my subconscious – but it obviously felt too crowded in there and made space in the forefront of my brain.
I didn’t know there was any room left, what with all my other tenants: Tangents, imaginary problems, over thought real issues, and daydreams.
But, there it is.
Ubiquitous.
Moved in and unpacking its belongings – wondering if there’s enough space in the dumpster to dispose of the boxes and newspapers it had its fragile things wrapped in. (Probably then it felt a little guilty for considering just tossing its packing debris and not recycling.)
The wind in the desert has been ubiquitous of late.
It’s an icy wind that slaps you in the face, waters your eyes and has you hugging yourself tightly. (I like the hug part. I haven’t had a hug from another human being in a very long time.)
Every time I walk outside my office – I think of that fable about the wind and the sun. Which one could get the man to remove the jacket. The wind boasted it could – and tried first – of course, the man only drew his coat tighter – the sun shone and the man, too warm, removed his jacket.
Every time!
Then I go off on a tangent in my head about the metaphor and think of similar ones . By the time I’m back in my chair I’m focused on being kind – knowing people respond to kind. (Or maybe it would be easier to just turn the central heat up?)
The thing about this wind: the first time I came to this area to visit my parents, I encountered it and I remember thinking, there’s no way I could EVER live in this area.
I knew the wind would drive me bonkers.
You just get relief from temperatures in the 120’s – then you can’t enjoy being outside because the wind is ready to bite at you and push your patio furniture into the pool. (I don’t have a pool but I’ve seen it happen first hand and thought I’d throw that in there … much like the wind does.)
Anyway, I was NEVER going to move here … Yet here I am.
The other thing is – I might be the only one that remembers that the wind happens every single year, because the complaints about the wind are ubiquitous too.
“It’s windy outside!”
“It’s cold out there!”
“That wind has been blowing for three days straight!”
“Wish that wind would lay down!”
“It would be nice if it weren’t so windy!”
This is from people who have been in the area long enough to know that this happens every fucking year.
(I needed to say that. Sometimes I crave the feeling of a shocking word leaving my mouth.)
Anyway, Stop it.
We know.
It’s windy. It was windy last year, and the year before that.
I’m taking an educated guess that next year, ‘round this time … it’s going to be windy.
Hopefully Ubiquitous will have disposed of its packing material responsibly, or there will be packing peanuts in my imaginary pool and tumbleweed boxes smacking up against my tangents.
Debauchery Soup 