Discarded

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Ah Butters … here she is a little while ago snoozing.  I shot the pic from the kitchen between the plant that divides the rooms.  What ensues is a collection of her discarded toys in the yard – I found something interesting/beautiful about them.

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Musings from the laundromat: Puzzled

It’s hot in here today – they’ve turned the A/C off and left the fans to stir the fabric softened air.  And it’s busy.  I almost didn’t come, then found $3 worth of quarters and decided to.

There’s a small child humming ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ (or maybe it’s the alphabet song?  Why DO they both have the same tune?   Who got away with that?  If Coldplay put a song out with that same tune, they’d be called out on it immediately.)

She’s skipping and spinning her arms around like a windmill.  It’s adorable in an ‘Okay, it was cute to hear the first five times, but please now teach the child to hum in tune’ sort of way.

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There is a man in a wheel chair who everyone is feeling good about being nice to.

Bras hanging shamelessly from a distant laundry cart.

Husbands and wives helping each other fold.

Chatter and the swishing sound of water and …. (It’s SO hot – regurgitated air now – it’s lost its fabric softener charm).

I love to watch people.  Such an assortment today.

Even with such a varied group, I still feel out-of-place.

Like I came from a mismatched  puzzle box – never had a chance at being a complete picture, just endless edges and corners.

Years of different clumsy thumbs (my own included) trying to press parts of me into other parts and places with no success.

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I’m the girl at the table typing away – observing.

The girl who eviscerates herself before you all – hoping to purge some of the septic thoughts I have.  Hoping to share some of the beautiful ones.

And meanwhile, there’s an old man in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat standing chewing gum in front of me.

Does he feel like a mismatched puzzle?

I think that if I knew I wasn’t the only one …

I can’t be.  But everyone else seems to be able to just get on with ‘normal’ life, whatever that is.  And when I broach the topic of this never easing darker side – I’m almost always told to look at  the lighter side.

As if I don’t.

I see a kaleidoscope of colors.  So vividly.  The darkest of dark and the most pure and bright of light.

Taking the garbage out this morning I smiled at a small rabbit in a bush nearby the dumpster.  Watched it hop away to the vacant lot when Butters announced with a bark that she had spotted it too.

Daily barrages of good and optimism and evil and pessimism fill me.  I see it.  All.

Still –

I find myself thinking more and more about just being done – dying – whoa!  It’s ok.  Those thoughts are countered by a morbid fear of dying so – no worries there.

But this is truly how I feel lately.

Like, there’s nothing more in store.  That hamster wheel mode again.  Groundhog Day.

I’m mediocre at the things I love to do.  And that’s okay I suppose.  I at least try the things I love.

Like this – this blog.  It’s been Chicken Debauchery Soup for Soul.  For me anyway.

Clearly it’s not enough though.

I don’t know how to fill the increasingly dark empty spot inside me.  I don’t know if there is enough light to capture and place there.

I’ve looked.  Under religious rocks and in spiritual crevices … philosophers, therapy, steps and meditation.  Serving others – serving humanity – having hope – trying ‘one more time’ to offer my heart.

Haven’t found it.

I have to find it though.

When I said I almost didn’t come today, it wasn’t just due to money.  I had to literally tell myself out loud to shower.  “Come on!  Shower.  Let’s do this!”

I just wanted to stay in my room.

Away from the barking dogs and crazy neighbors.  Away from the passing cars, drive by glances and endless dirt.

Just to be in my nest and … be.

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I’m becoming increasingly agoraphobic.  No joke.

This is why I share so much – maybe a part of me is afraid if I don’t get these thoughts out – I’ll be emotionally agoraphobic too.  Something needs to feel comfortable leaving the safety of my walls.  So let it be my thoughts.

Little humming child just walked by with a stuffed bunny almost bigger than her.  Both of them in pink.  Wheelchair man is reading – he is a handsome, older man. I’d love to know his story.

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The bras have been removed from the metal bar of the folding cart – the chatter has subsided  I have 13 minutes left on my dryer and then I can go home.

Lock the door and tidy up before curling up with Butters in my nest.

When I’m there – doing that – I fit.

Gone to the dogs

I told you she could write – here’s my mum with her post. 🙂 Enjoy.

By Penny Hoskins

My sunrise friends and I are 0’dark 30 people. We’re up and out with our pups while most of you more sane (?) folk are still snoring away and dreaming of running free. Come On People! Get up, there are butts to sniff.

We’re a motley crew and just about all the pups have “issues”. Insanity, twisted humor and sarcasm runs rampant at this early hour. Nothing like laughter to start your day though. Mostly there’s a lot of pointing of fingers and laughing. Thin skinned people need not apply.

And the pups ~ We’ll start with Minnie. Minnie is a little Terrier (terror) mix who runs maniacally up and down the run barking threateningly at anyone who happens to walk, run or jog by. You should see her run up the fence, and I mean literally run UP the fence. Is she bigger than a bread box? Not much but this is the image that her potential victims see from their side of the fence.

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If she likes you she’s a genuine sweetheart, but if she doesn’t well…..

Buffy is Minnie’s housemate. There’s really not a lot one can say about Buffy, she’s the geriatric of the pack. Doesn’t move much, Poke, poke, oh good she was just sleeping. If she so much as stands up her person will say “Careful Buff, pace yourself.” She does like to eat though, perks right up if there are treats around.

Katy, ahh Katy Love, a beautiful little Sheltie who has panic attacks every time someone sneezes. You feel that sneeze coming on, oh no, not now Katy’s here. So you try to hold it in, but somewhere from deep in the recess of your memory that thought that someone planted suddenly pops up, the one about holding in a sneeze creates pressure that backs up and you collapse and die from an aneurysm. Sorry Katy Love, can’t risk that so here it comes, and there she goes, twisting in tight little circles and barking fanatically. Apparently a microwave beeping has exactly the same effect.

Then there’s Roxy, “Psycho Dog”. A really, really weird dog who must have been dropped on her head when just a tiny pup. Roxy is a Lab/Pit/Screwball mix who is obsessed with water bowls. She collects them and brings one with here everyday in her human’s “slobbermobile”. Ignoring everyone and everything she immediately starts to play nose hockey with it. She’d do this all day if she could. She’ll put it in the paddling pool to wash it and chase it around then come out and wipe her dirty wet face on Minnie and Buffy’s person’s pants. Good dog Roxy. We thought about getting the other dogs to play this game so we could have our own Puppy Hockey Bowl (pun intended) but the others didn’t want to know, Minnie couldn’t decide, she’s still on the fence. Besides Roxy doesn’t like to share her bowl with anyone.

Ever met an Italian Shih Tzu? Meet Pecos, of Chinese ancestry, a Mexican name and an Italian personality. Pecos can’t speak without waving his little hands around. Well, I guess in his case it’s little paws. He has a lot to say as well, he joins in any conversation and with each bark his front end comes off the ground, his paws lift up as if to give emphasis to what he is saying. Need to get a word in? Just hold his little feet and he can’t speak, let go and off he goes again. Hold feet, quiet, let go, speak, hold, let go, hold let go, it’s really quite funny. He can also fly, oh yes he can, I heard you doubt that. Just ask that pigeon, oh I forgot, you can’t ask the pigeon because Pecos ate it, well a bit of it. Pigeon was taking flight when Pecos leaped up and grabbed that pigeon right out of the air. He’s a multi-talented dog.

Then there’s Meesha. Meesha is a Cocker Spaniel/Australian Shepherd, a cocky aussie. She’s a very discriminating dog, she discriminates freely against all newcomers. Sniff my butt, I’ll bite your face off. She’s a rabbit chaser, chief lizard hunter, and the only dog I know who will choke up a hairball because she’s constantly washing her kitty siblings. At the dog run when she’s not lying on the bench with legs dangling, or trying for round two with her arch enemy, a small pug who is also itching for round two, she will grab hold of her leash drop to the ground, tuck her front legs under her, stretch her rear legs out and insist on being dragged across the grass. A sled dog gone wrong. She also spends a lot of time with her head stuck up a drainage pipe. Butt in the air, she’ll whine and growl into it, which then echoes back at her, convincing her even more that there is something in there. One of the sunrise people put a stuffed toy in the pipe as a joke. Meesha grabbed it, ran off and buried her “kill”. she’s madly in love with Pecos’s human, who tells her everyday how pretty she is. Good grief, now we have a preening alpha.

We’re looking for a canine psychiatrist who might be willing to give us a bulk deal. They could all lie on the couch, which they’re all good at, and talk about their puppy-hoods.

Well, there you have it, you have now met just a very few of the early morning canine characters and some of their amazing quirky personalities. Normal? Maybe not. But who wants normal. Loyal, loving, entertaining definitely. Weird they all are, but weird and happy, very happy.

Mr. Waddles

pigeon

 

Saw a pigeon earlier in the week with a broken wing. Then yesterday morning, at work, another (same??) pigeon waddled by the office window with the same wing!

I decided I must feed it.

 

Apparently there is no pigeon food around the office – actually, there’s not much of any food around the office right now.

I sent an urgent message to my boss – went a little something like this:

 

Subject – ‘Pigeon with a bum wing’. 

can you bring a slice of bread? 🙂
 
I have named it Mr. Waddles.

 

I found a trail mix bar and scurried out the door.

Couldn’t find pigeon.

Then ended up walking right past him as he nestled in an alcove behind spider webs.

He came out of his little wind breaker area and waddled off away from me.

Here I am stalking the poor thing saying “Hey! Hey … I have food”

He didn’t care.

 

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I’m tossing bits of trail mix at him and trying to remember if that thing about pigeons remembering faces is true or not.

Evidently it is true http://www.livescience.com/14895-pigeons-recognize-human-faces.html

Maybe if the person the face is attached to is tossing food directly at your rear while frantically pursuing you, the pigeon does not consider this a good thing??

I’m nice to the pigeons (much to everyone’s chagrin) but obviously I haven’t made enough eye contact with them since they keep flying (or quickly walking) off when I come near.

(OH! They’ve rebuilt the nest by the way. Muah ha ha!!!! And it is magnificent. I’m so proud.)

 

I must remember to bring a bag of bread crumbs and stare at them until they memorize my face!!

Maybe put a photo up by the nest?

Would have to put one down in the alcove too … for Mr. Waddles.

 

 

Quieter

 

 

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Said goodbye to my son this morning and actually did a typing motion with both of my thumbs as I said “check in!”  This is what it’s come to.

I miss him lately.

This weekend he’s off to judge a speech and debate event in Phoenix. Then house sitting – then working – then I might see him Monday.

Ok, I miss him a lot lately.

I often think about those posts I wrote when he was still in school (High School) and I was lamenting how fast time was flying by even back then!

I didn’t even have to miss him then.

It’s hard for every parent I’m sure – but when you’re a single parent and nearly two decades have revolved (happily) around one person and suddenly they don’t need you – and their exit date is looming well … it’s disconcerting to say the least.

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It’s hard to talk about it with anyone – because I usually get the ‘Yeah well, kids grow up, that’s how it works!’ speech. Or, ‘Find a hobby!’

I KNOW this is how it works.

I want him to thrive and explore, stumble a little – learn from his mistakes, brush himself off and thrive again.

I want him to spread those amazing wings!!

This is me remember?!  The one who made it a priority to get him a passport! The one who sent him off to England to see more than our backyard.

I was even prepared for him to not want to return from that trip.

So my point here is – there are no apron strings tying him to me. The umbilical cord is cut.

 

But oh how I love him.

For all this time, he’s been the constant in my life.

We’ve had ups and downs but always had each other.

 

 

I don’t laugh as much anymore – because he’s not around much anymore. I feel his absence in ways I can’t even explain.

 

No, he is not responsible for my happiness.  No, it is not his fault that I feel this way.

I am simply sharing these raw facts honestly with you.

Because if I am being completely honest – I have been changing, and it’s not for the better.

Things I used to love to do, I’m not doing anymore. I feel unmotivated – a little lost.

I’ve wondered, is it because I’m alone with myself and really not sure who I am without the ‘mom’ tag on?

Then I realize that probably it’s a culmination of many years and many things that I’ve been able to sweep aside to some degree, because I had something more important to focus on.

My boy.

 

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We all go through this at some point. ‘Finding ourselves’ – and while that phrase is often mocked – it is a relevant phase.

 

But I thought I had found myself.

Now it feels like I lost her – our hands slipped apart in my crowded head.

 

 

I’m the first to admit my writing has gone downhill.

The first to agree ‘I don’t have a life’ when people joke about me never wanting to go anywhere.

I still say things at work or in groups that aren’t understood and end up feeling like an alien.

I don’t fit in.

I’ll mention thoughts that pop into my head and others look at me like I’m crazy. “You’ve never thought that?” I’ll ask. “Um, no.” is the usual response.

 

So I get quieter.

 

I thought the answer was to put more of myself ‘out there’. Be braver. Share more. Embrace the part of me that is clearly different from most. But then I was told I thought too much – shared too much.

 

So I’m getting even quieter.

 

Sometimes I feel so locked inside myself that I could scream.

 

I go through the motions of ‘fitting in’ knowing I’m not pulling it off.

Then every once in a while – the couch across from me is filled by this person who gets me.

Who makes me laugh.

Who has similar thoughts and similar humor … and I am happy.

And I fit in.

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“What are you going to do when I leave?” he once asked.

I didn’t really answer. I sarcastically brushed him off with a ‘I have always taken care of myself’ – but what I was really doing was taking care of him.  And that’s all I wanted to do.

What will I do when he leaves?

I don’t know.

I don’t know that answer.

I haven’t got to that chapter yet – and I don’t read ahead.

But I will miss him. That much I know.

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