2 things:
- Spring - you can feel it and smell it in the air. What is better than Spring following winter? Absolutely nothing.
- Manau CD - my new favorite French Celtic Rap. Should be here soon, I hope. Come listen with me sometime.
07 March 2005
05 March 2005
Relaxing at Home
I don't come home very often, but when I do, I relish in the atmosphere - both of the natural beauty of the woods and lake surrounding my house and also in the home-ness that pervades every inch of this old house. Included in my favorite aspects of home are, of course, my 3 cats: Jeffery, Jackson, and Blackie. They are beautiful cats. Jeffery turns 19 on Monday, which just happens to be my Dad's 54th birthday. Very convenient for remembering birthdays in March.
Jeff is your typical grey-striped tabby cat, but he is very unique in 2 aspects. 1) He is missing one fang (they have 2), he lost it in a battle either against another cat (which he was eager to fight in his young days) or against some small critter that he was eating (probably lost it crunching on that critter's bones). 2) He has had an amazing life. Given to us by our old piano teacher, he broke his leg jumping off of the hood of my dad's station wagon in his first year and had to wear a splint for a month or so. Everytime we came home from school we'd hear the clicking of the metal part of the splint on the concrete of our driveway. The second amazing adventure Jeff had was when my parents decided to get rid of him, along with our other cat at the time, Missy (who kept having babies - she had 4 litters while with us). So I found a friend at school who lived on a farm to take them in. I'd ask her how they were getting along and Angie would tell me they were just fine, enjoying farm life. Then, a month or so after they went to her farm, my aunt Connie had 2 strange cats show up at her farm. One of them fit the description of Jeffery, the other Missy. The odd thing was that Connie's farm was over 7 miles away from Angie's, so the probability of it being our cats was slim to none. We went over to Connie's and saw one of them, and sure enough, it was Jeffery. They had been coming home - Connie's was 7 miles closer to our house from Ang's. So we brought Jeffery home - obviously he was meant to stay with us. And he's been here ever since. He's got arthritis in all of his joints and cataracts in his eyes now, and he drools all over through the hole where his lost fang used to be, but he's so great. And soon he'll be 19.
We found Jackson, when I was in middle school, hiding under Evan's car (that's my brother) in the driveway. He was smaller than the size of my hand, at the time, and his starving, but bloated little tummy was all you could hold on to - and touching it felt like you'd break every single rib, which you could feel through his paper thin skin. His fur, black and white in no specific pattern, was longish and his little blue eyes were piercing. He ate that day as if he'd never seen food, nor ever would again. This is a trait he never lost. Jack is now one of the fattest cats we've had (and we've had lots of cats over the years). He eats food like it's going out of business. He's fiesty and has been hateful for years. Except recently, he's been warming up, as if maturing, post mid-life crisis. When he was tiny still, he used to run up your leg to sit in your lap - whether or not you were wearing long pants. His claws were like razors. We had him declawed during a brief stint when he was an indoor cat, but he proved too adventurous and wild, so we let him loose. Sad, if you think about it, we took away his only means of defense. Or so we thought. Turns out, Jackson can still climb trees, somehow. I've seen it many a time, and I am a witness to his lack of claws. Must be a miracle. He became best friends with our Golden Retriever, Dusty, during the final years of Dusty's life. They slept together in Dusty's pen in our sideyard, and Jack always smelled like dog. When Dusty died, though, Jackson went through a time when he would walk around the pen, looking for his playmate - and he was very subdued for a few weeks - as if missing something. It was heart-breaking.
Blackie (this will be short, I promise) is a stray that my dad has tamed since I came to college. She started living under our shed a few winters ago, and Dad felt sorry for her at the same time that he was intrigued by her color - black. She came from a nasty line of strays that live in a woods about 1/4 mile from our house. These gross cats are fed by our neighbors, who claim to have no cats, so the population is out of control. At first she only allowed Dad to touch her, but now, if I'm lucky, I can pick her up and sit her on my lap for 2 minutes to pet her. She is sweet though.
My parents sometimes forget to look at the cats, I think, when I'm not here. Jeffery always has new problems (he is old) and this time Jackson has some nasty eye fungus or infection and he coughing and sneezing and they won't take him to the vet. I'm trying to get him taken care of, but when I only come home once in a great while, it's pretty tough.
Jeff is your typical grey-striped tabby cat, but he is very unique in 2 aspects. 1) He is missing one fang (they have 2), he lost it in a battle either against another cat (which he was eager to fight in his young days) or against some small critter that he was eating (probably lost it crunching on that critter's bones). 2) He has had an amazing life. Given to us by our old piano teacher, he broke his leg jumping off of the hood of my dad's station wagon in his first year and had to wear a splint for a month or so. Everytime we came home from school we'd hear the clicking of the metal part of the splint on the concrete of our driveway. The second amazing adventure Jeff had was when my parents decided to get rid of him, along with our other cat at the time, Missy (who kept having babies - she had 4 litters while with us). So I found a friend at school who lived on a farm to take them in. I'd ask her how they were getting along and Angie would tell me they were just fine, enjoying farm life. Then, a month or so after they went to her farm, my aunt Connie had 2 strange cats show up at her farm. One of them fit the description of Jeffery, the other Missy. The odd thing was that Connie's farm was over 7 miles away from Angie's, so the probability of it being our cats was slim to none. We went over to Connie's and saw one of them, and sure enough, it was Jeffery. They had been coming home - Connie's was 7 miles closer to our house from Ang's. So we brought Jeffery home - obviously he was meant to stay with us. And he's been here ever since. He's got arthritis in all of his joints and cataracts in his eyes now, and he drools all over through the hole where his lost fang used to be, but he's so great. And soon he'll be 19.
We found Jackson, when I was in middle school, hiding under Evan's car (that's my brother) in the driveway. He was smaller than the size of my hand, at the time, and his starving, but bloated little tummy was all you could hold on to - and touching it felt like you'd break every single rib, which you could feel through his paper thin skin. His fur, black and white in no specific pattern, was longish and his little blue eyes were piercing. He ate that day as if he'd never seen food, nor ever would again. This is a trait he never lost. Jack is now one of the fattest cats we've had (and we've had lots of cats over the years). He eats food like it's going out of business. He's fiesty and has been hateful for years. Except recently, he's been warming up, as if maturing, post mid-life crisis. When he was tiny still, he used to run up your leg to sit in your lap - whether or not you were wearing long pants. His claws were like razors. We had him declawed during a brief stint when he was an indoor cat, but he proved too adventurous and wild, so we let him loose. Sad, if you think about it, we took away his only means of defense. Or so we thought. Turns out, Jackson can still climb trees, somehow. I've seen it many a time, and I am a witness to his lack of claws. Must be a miracle. He became best friends with our Golden Retriever, Dusty, during the final years of Dusty's life. They slept together in Dusty's pen in our sideyard, and Jack always smelled like dog. When Dusty died, though, Jackson went through a time when he would walk around the pen, looking for his playmate - and he was very subdued for a few weeks - as if missing something. It was heart-breaking.
Blackie (this will be short, I promise) is a stray that my dad has tamed since I came to college. She started living under our shed a few winters ago, and Dad felt sorry for her at the same time that he was intrigued by her color - black. She came from a nasty line of strays that live in a woods about 1/4 mile from our house. These gross cats are fed by our neighbors, who claim to have no cats, so the population is out of control. At first she only allowed Dad to touch her, but now, if I'm lucky, I can pick her up and sit her on my lap for 2 minutes to pet her. She is sweet though.
My parents sometimes forget to look at the cats, I think, when I'm not here. Jeffery always has new problems (he is old) and this time Jackson has some nasty eye fungus or infection and he coughing and sneezing and they won't take him to the vet. I'm trying to get him taken care of, but when I only come home once in a great while, it's pretty tough.
04 March 2005
Known for Mistakes
My hometown newspaper is notorious for making horrible mistakes, whether it's typos or putting the wrong name with the wrong person (and here everybody knows who everybody else is) or mistitling articles. For instance, a title on the front page of one of last week's editions said 'Trooper Killed.' The inside article title was "Cop dies from shooting in Vincennes." The actual article, however, stated that no police officer died, in fact, no officer was shot. Instead, the officers had shot someone who was committing a crime. Right - so the people writing the titles didn't bother to actually read the article before publishing. Unbelievable.
Here's another excerpt from the Rochester Sentinel: "Public television is akin to the body politic's appendix: It is vestigial, purposeless, and occasionally troublesome."
Amen, and Amen.
Here's another excerpt from the Rochester Sentinel: "Public television is akin to the body politic's appendix: It is vestigial, purposeless, and occasionally troublesome."
Amen, and Amen.
03 March 2005
Wrong Side of the Bed
Today was awful. Despite the sunny, blue skies that lasted until after 7 pm. Every minute of today has been a burden.
I tried to figure out why. Perhaps it was the realistic conversation I had with Simon on marriage and relationships and the uselessness of it all. Perhaps it was talking to Emily and Maddie for an hour and longing for Arizona more than I can even express. Perhaps it is the fact that I've not been able to run for 2 1/2 weeks because of this awful cold I've had. Or it could be the retarded class I was forced to be in today, and every Thursday, for that matter.
Three things made today livable. First, Garien stopped by and talked to me while I was working the reference desk for an hour. It was wonderful. Second, while working, I was able to help 2 people find the resources they desparately needed. And the last thing was a spontaneous trip to Marsh with Elaine. Thank you so much, dear. I needed that right then.
God bless those people.
I tried to figure out why. Perhaps it was the realistic conversation I had with Simon on marriage and relationships and the uselessness of it all. Perhaps it was talking to Emily and Maddie for an hour and longing for Arizona more than I can even express. Perhaps it is the fact that I've not been able to run for 2 1/2 weeks because of this awful cold I've had. Or it could be the retarded class I was forced to be in today, and every Thursday, for that matter.
Three things made today livable. First, Garien stopped by and talked to me while I was working the reference desk for an hour. It was wonderful. Second, while working, I was able to help 2 people find the resources they desparately needed. And the last thing was a spontaneous trip to Marsh with Elaine. Thank you so much, dear. I needed that right then.
God bless those people.
Precious
What does a cross mean?
"Jesus will take me to heaven."
Who is in heaven?
"God."
What are the streets in heaven made out of?
"Jewelry."
What do you want to get Papa for his birthday?
"A purple Care Bear."
What kind of cake does Grandma want for her birthday?
"Uuumm...chocolate. Gramma loves chocolate cake."
Are you excited for Uncle Evan, Aunt Leslie, and Emily and Aunt Lana to come visit you?
"Evan, Leslie and Lana are coming in March."
Yes, we are. Very good.
"They're coming in March."
"I miss you, Lana. Bye bye, I love you."
Is there anything more precious than a 2 and 1/2 year old saying all of these things to you? I forget that she isn't 6 or 12 even. I've never met a more amazing person. How sweet and innocent is this little girl! If only you could all meet her, then life would be okay.
"Jesus will take me to heaven."
Who is in heaven?
"God."
What are the streets in heaven made out of?
"Jewelry."
What do you want to get Papa for his birthday?
"A purple Care Bear."
What kind of cake does Grandma want for her birthday?
"Uuumm...chocolate. Gramma loves chocolate cake."
Are you excited for Uncle Evan, Aunt Leslie, and Emily and Aunt Lana to come visit you?
"Evan, Leslie and Lana are coming in March."
Yes, we are. Very good.
"They're coming in March."
"I miss you, Lana. Bye bye, I love you."
Is there anything more precious than a 2 and 1/2 year old saying all of these things to you? I forget that she isn't 6 or 12 even. I've never met a more amazing person. How sweet and innocent is this little girl! If only you could all meet her, then life would be okay.
02 March 2005
How to Make Me Happy
Send me a Bible, the exact one I want, as a gift and leave it at the Reference desk in the library, so I can find it when I'm bored at work.
Send me an email that says you miss me and can't wait for me to come to Arizona so you can see me.
Clean the dishes and the sink and the counter when you're finished cooking.
Vacuum the floor at least once a week.
Make a list.
Send me an email that says you miss me and can't wait for me to come to Arizona so you can see me.
Clean the dishes and the sink and the counter when you're finished cooking.
Vacuum the floor at least once a week.
Make a list.
01 March 2005
Tuesday Blues
I don't know why this is, but every time I encounter the women at the Grille, I feel like a prisoner at Auschwitz, like I don't deserve to be eating food and that I've also offended them with my existence. Why is this? Perhaps it is because the most prominent Grille employee stares you down as if you are in fact stealing from her personal store of food. Or maybe it is in the way she unsmilingly says, "Have a nice day" and you know she really means, "I'm watching you." She terrifies me.
Why on earth must I sit through a class that is not relevant to my life, while pretending that it is my life? My freelance class is a joke. I have not been taught a single thing by my instructor. The assignments we receive have no direction; they are completely vague like "Write a nonfiction article" and "Write a book review for a specific publication of your choice." Ok. I did. How are you grading me on this? Yet we receive grades and she takes off points for not including the graphics of the original piece - but that's because the publisher provided those graphics. Every day that I sit through that hour and fifteen minutes of utter confusion, I question my major and its relevance to life. I don't even need this class to graduate. Dear Lord, give me patience.
Not to be crabby or depressing today, but it is snowing alot and it's as cold as it was in January, what with the wind and icy sidewalks and slushy roads. I'm sure glad it's March 1st!
Why on earth must I sit through a class that is not relevant to my life, while pretending that it is my life? My freelance class is a joke. I have not been taught a single thing by my instructor. The assignments we receive have no direction; they are completely vague like "Write a nonfiction article" and "Write a book review for a specific publication of your choice." Ok. I did. How are you grading me on this? Yet we receive grades and she takes off points for not including the graphics of the original piece - but that's because the publisher provided those graphics. Every day that I sit through that hour and fifteen minutes of utter confusion, I question my major and its relevance to life. I don't even need this class to graduate. Dear Lord, give me patience.
Not to be crabby or depressing today, but it is snowing alot and it's as cold as it was in January, what with the wind and icy sidewalks and slushy roads. I'm sure glad it's March 1st!
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