kellementology

life according to me

Category: Peaflock

  • Needing Company in Any Form

    Fuzz Ball Cat When I’m home, Precious (aka Fresh-ness or The Yack Star) is now rarely far from either myself or the RTR. And if neither of us is available, the doggo seems to do. She’s not howling as much as she was a month ago, but still does, and will respond when one of us howls back at her.Fat Cat We have entire conversations with her and have no idea what we’re talking about, so at some point, she becomes disgusted with us, turns her head away, and saunters in the direction of her food bowl.

    Usually, she’s got something to say about having just come in from the patio, or to remind us about food time.

    Cute Cat Food time has expanded from once a day to once in the morning, and then again 12 hours later. But she wants more so she can drown her sorrows over her lost companion of ten years.

    I understand. I’d probably want to do the same thing.

    I’ve thought a little of getting a kitten, but don’t have the energy to make a decision like that right now. Kittens are like babies. They need so much attention, it’s not fair to not be able to provide it, and right now, I can’t provide it.Stretching Fat Cat

    Besides, I don’t think the oldsters would appreciate the intrusion in their lives.

    But maybe soon…Drowsy Cat

    It could help that hitch in the doggo’s giddy-up and mend The Yack Star’s broken heart.

    img_6702.JPG

  • Horoscopes and Fairy Godmothers

    img_6936.JPG When I actually think to read my horror-scope, I like to read it at the end of the day. Somehow, it’s all so much more mysterious when given the day’s events, I’m able to analyze the extent to which the stars have been correct. Or at least that Holiday Mathis, who happens to write the horoscopes our daily paper prints, is correct.

    Today, mine stated, “Neither here nor there is a good place to be. It’s not that you’re undecided or wishy-washy. You’re thinking is flexible, open — just in case a better idea comes along. It will tonight.”

    It’s amazing how that works. I know it’s all about interpretation, but still. “Neither here nor there” has to do with my opinion on whether my mother should move back to California or Virginia. She drove across the country to Virginia seeking adventure last summer. She sold her casita, gave away almost all of her possessions, packed her car and left. Why Virginia? Because my sister and her family recently moved there and it makes sense that when you’re 70 years old and you want to relocate on limited resources, you might feel more confident if you know someone once you arrive. I know I would.

    But things didn’t go quite the way my mother expected and when she couldn’t face the challenges that kind of a move forces on everyone, after a few months, she drove to New York to stay with her sister. There has been no adventure. Zero. I was hoping there might be, because my mother can have quite a spirit, but I was wrong.

    I’ve been wrong before.

    img_6938.JPG

    Mom, you know it’s true. But wouldn’t you have rather had me encourage you than tell you you couldn’t do it? That it wouldn’t work? That you’d never stick it out? That you’re not strong enough, or too old? If I’d believed any of that, I would have told you. I actually believe people can do things they don’t realize they’re capable of. I’ve seen it. I’ve also seen what happens when they’re suffocated by someone who thinks they can’t do anything. Can’t meet expectations. Won’t fit into whatever box has their name on it. It makes me sick.

    I’m a Pollyanna. When I believe in something, I really believe it. I believe it so much that I’m convinced that being positive can influence even the most negative circumstances. I think people struggle with this idea when they really know me, because I’m also very blunt. I haven’t seen a rule that suggests that if I’m an optimist, that I must also be coy. Or “wishy-washy.”

    I suppose some may consider that being wishy-washy is one of my characteristics because I choose not to say exactly what I believe is best at a particular moment in time with five seconds of thought on the situation. Call it the effect of working with and caring for over 1,000 students in my career, each of whom was very different from another. I’d say that being “undecided” about something is more about “flexibility” because the very best decisions are made after time spent measuring and thinking, stewing and talking.

    But that’s difficult for some. Sitting down, making eye contact, and actually talking in a constructive fashion is daunting. I’m supposed to be understanding about this, and I can when I have to, but I’m just not feeling the love right now. What could possibly happen? People might actually understand how one another feels?

    It’s annoying.

    img_6939.JPG

    If I was a calm person, I’d be able to shake it off. People often tell me that. But I’m incapable of shaking anything off. If I was a dog, I’d be a flea bus. Things sit with me, or on me, nudging and poking me to pay attention to them. To argue, to fight, to figure them out…yesterday. Isn’t that ironic? You’d think I wanted to get them over with. But I can’t, because they require time, and what I’ve learned is that with time comes reason.

    Think about all the great aspects of life and living that come with time: babies are born, seeds sprout and blossom, a roast braises, a plot unfolds, wine ferments, love deepens.

    I’ve started this three times and have deleted all that I’ve written. I won’t this time because I’m tired. I shouldn’t be, but I am.

    Going back to the horoscope, as far as a “better idea coming along tonight” is concerned, I’d say yes. I vote for my Fairy Godmother to tap my head with her wand and grant me any wish to come true.

    I’d wish that you were free of worry, Mom. That you could be happy. That you could laugh and enjoy life. That you felt you deserved things…

    …for starters.

    What do you want, Mom? Do you know?

    Have you ever known?

    I can’t imagine.

  • Not much going on.

    Okay. Go ahead and pick yourself off the floor. I know it’s warranted, but the drama doesn’t match your shirt today.

    You looked at your shirt, didn’t you? No? Well if you had, it would have been beyond hilarious, and I do need a good laugh. It would help tone my stomach.

    You’re wondering where I’ve been, or what I’ve been thinking since last Wednesday? I’ve wondered about that myself, and thought this exercise could help me understand that many days can pass and I’m never quite sure where they’ve gone. I’m busy, but if what I’ve accomplished was measured against the endless list of someone who’s driven to accomplish everything three minutes ago, it would not thrill anyone.

    I have been exercising. Since last Monday, I’ve walked about 21 miles — more than half at about 5:30 in the morning. My feet feel like it, too. At least my muscles have stopped screaming obscenities at me. The highlight of the week happened yesterday when we were on the backside of our loop and keeping a decent pace down the boardwalk at Pacific Beach. There’s an alcohol ban on the beach now, so many of the vacation rentals that line the boardwalk were hosting parties. That allows the drunks do things like walk up to passers by and within a few inches of their faces say stuporous things like, “Just get in the house!” while jabbing a finger toward the door and breathing sour beer breath and flinging spittle. “Um, thank you, no?” What a pig.

    I did find something cool to map walking routes and calculate distances, though. Have you seen Google Map Pedometer? Find the red marker, zoom in, and you can see the route we walked yesterday. Spiffy, huh? No more wondering why my tongue’s hanging out toward the end of a good walk. You know, verify the torture while playing with yet another distraction on the web.

    And I’ve been cooking. This is not news, you say? I know, but it does take time. Besides, I bought three new cookbooks and have been enjoying some of the new recipes. Unfortunately, I only got one of these cupcakes because they were made for someone else. The bright side of that is that I had fun, and didn’t end up eating a million calories. No comment on how many fingers I licked in the process.

    Oh, and big news alert!  The downstairs is about as clean as it’s been in a while, the patio has had all the damp leafy remnants of winter raked and green weeds from the rains pulled.

    See what I mean? Not much. No lounging at the computer looking for new sites, or visiting old ones to check in and say hello. I haven’t read the paper, I watch TV when the MoH gets home after eight, and am too tired to read before bed anymore.

    Could I get about six more hours each day, please? That would be good.

    I’d like that.

    I’d also like one of those giant balls to sit on when I am at the computer. Then I might be able to write about how anyone can strengthen their core while they blog and make a zillion bucks. I would be the one making the zillion bucks. Not the blogger. Feh. If I’m going to write anything, it won’t be that.

    No, instead, I’ll write about patience. I’ll write about empathy, and understanding. About regret and remorse. Guilt. And fear. I have quite a bit to say about those emotions and the havoc they wreak on families who aren’t synchronized.

    But I’ve gathered some patience over the years, so that will have to wait, too.

  • Wild Mustard & Spanish Tests

    Ahhh…the delightfulness of a Friday yawning ahead of me with nary a plan in sight. My favorite sort of day.

    I should have known that it might not be so when I forced myself to get up at a minute before eight because at least I could have bragging rights to it. Not that there would be anyone who cared, of course. Most people I know would have lounged in bed after getting up at 5am for the past three mornings to walk a few miles before starting the day. My feet hurt. My ankles hurt. My back hurts in a place I didn’t even know existed. It is so true about what they say about using it or losing it. I’d like to lose it, because at least then it wouldn’t hurt.

    I valiantly edged out from underneath the rising garage door to retrieve the paper, averting my eyes from anyone on the block who might see me in my tacky sleepwear of wrinkly lime green tee and wadded up brown and pink polka dot bottoms. What might they think?

    That I’m a blogger?

    I was determined to straighten up the kitchen, and then relax with my coffee. I’d read the local paper, which hasn’t been removed from its bag in quite some time, building up in the garage after being kicked in each day to collide with the others in a move one might execute in a lawn game involving colorful balls.

    I did get the kitchen cleaned, but I never made it to the paper.

    And somehow it was suddenly 11:40. And then it was 1:55. How does that happen? I knew I had to pick up the my son at school and drive him to spend the weekend with his cousin who is also sort of like an only child. They have quite a bit of fun together laughing about things I can barely understand. It’s fun to watch them and it’s important that they spend time together.

    But my son had a Spanish test today, and I made the grave error of asking him about it after we were involved in the kind of talk we both enjoy while on the way to his cousin’s house. Like smacking each other when we see a Prius and yelling, “LunchBox!”

    I know. But we think it’s hilarious. If we see a red one, it’s worth three. I’ll get around to explaining how it came to be some day when I’m not wallowing yet again in self loathing.

    At some point, after I’ve explained my frustration with his chosen inability to learn enough Spanish vocabulary to understand the questions he’s expected to answer on exams, when he can memorize entire lines of dialogue and recite them ad nauseum, he does direct my attention to the hills that edge the freeway.

    They’re ablaze with wild mustard. You know it’s spring in Paradise when the wild mustard blooms alongside the golden poppies, and it is quite beautiful when you take the time to notice.

    mustard04.jpg

    He is doing more than trying to change the subject.

    He’s trying to make me feel better because he knows I love pleasant distractions. He also knows that I am so tired of anything that has to do with school I can’t see straight. I have spent only four years of my entire life without being involved in school at some level and those years were the first four of my life.

    I’m so fried, I’m crispy around the edges. Done.

    I dropped him off, telling him to apologize for me about not going in to say hello to my sister-in-law. After removing his bag, guitar, and box of models, he shut the car door and bent over to look through the window at me. Smiling.

    Nice kid. Really.

    Too bad his mom’s a pain in the ass. And my state only deteriorated after dealing with Friday traffic in Paradise which isn’t nearly as bad as that of L.A., but bad enough. The trip took nearly three hours. Three.

    And so I’m sitting here sifting through the remnants of this day, looking at a card I found shoved in a drawer I was looking for batteries in earlier today. My mouse finally died, and when I pushed through the clutter, I found the card. It was given to me by two people whom I once knew. The inside message was hand-written and I think it’s apropos:

    I am still determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may be in, for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our misery or happiness depends upon our own disposition and not on our circumstances.

    — Tehmina Qureshi

    So true. So very true.

    Good to think about on a Friday.

  • Lavender and peace of mind

    I’ve been thinking about my mom quite a bit lately. It isn’t that I don’t think of her, because she’s always in my mind at one point or another in a days’ time for any number of reasons.

    When I leave something out of place, I hear her voice telling me to put it away. Or as I complete a task, I remember the times she explained how she would do it instead. I think of her when I cook and when I pull weeds, or when I simply think, because she does quite a bit of it herself.

    Yes, I know everyone thinks. But there are different kinds of thinking. Some are good at avoiding their thoughts. Others think solely to work through the mechanics of a day or a week. Even a lifetime — just so they have something to think about.

    There are those who keep themselves busy so they might avoid their thoughts. Perhaps moving one’s hands works as an eraser might, obliterating memories that replay themselves inhumanely.

    Some people do all of the above simultaneously.

    Relentlessly.

    I can hear her thinking right now.

    The lavender outside my back door is beautiful right now, its deep blue more intense than I’ve seen before. I let it get wild and rarely cut it to bring inside because I enjoy its cascade from the planter encroaching onto the flagstones, the long stems pushing skyward, attracting bees and butterflies. When I brush my hand over the blossoms, sweet fragrance fills the air.

    I couldn’t resist cutting a handful to put in an old vase she gave me a few years ago.

    Lavender for my mom…

    Lavender is soothing, relaxing the mind and the body, and it’s what I always want for her more than anything else.

    So on this Love Thursday, I’m thinking of this first day of spring, and fragrant flowers.

    I’m thinking of my mom.

  • Spring Break, The Fed, & Bracketology

    It’s Spring Break here.

    That means that at least in Paradise, the clear blue sky and brilliant sunshine will coax you outside after you’ve donned your tee-shirt and shorts only to find that the air is less than warm. Chilly, in fact. It’s rude.

    What’s even more rude is having to look at winter legs that need lotion, a good shave, and some color.

    Whatever.

    Spring Break is also a time for the RTR to engage in some serious house potato-ing. Yesterday he saturated himself with shows he DVR’d in preparation for this week. Today, he’s mid-gorge session, loading the second of three Pirates of the Caribbean DVD’s. The blinds are closed and the sensurround is turned up enough to cause the floor to vibrate on the good parts.

    Arg, mateys.

    (more…)

  • Wednesday Wordlessness. Finally.

    My year in Foh-Toz. Five words. Not bad. Okay so now 12.

    And just to confirm that I am so not wired to be wordless, I began this post some time on Wednesday, of course, and here it is Friday morning. And I’m typing. Words.

    Actually, I’ve been going through my foh-toz from the last year and I’m always amazed about what I learn. Fascinating things such as, 1) I still don’t really know how to use my camera which doesn’t bode well since it’s a point and shoot and can’t be much easier; 2) I take a lot of photos of food — an unbelievable quantity — they need to be deleted — do you have any idea how long that will take? Just another thing to put on my list; 3) I’m enjoying life so much and smile lots every day at very simple things; 4) There’s quite a story attached to almost every single one and although another viewer may not know what that story is, I do.

    I can remember thoughts, concerns, larger events, weather, and so many other not so visible aspects of life connected to each shot. And most of the time, that in and of itself is what brings the smile to my face.

  • Choices & Consequences: Dubious at Best

    Looky, Mom! I got an A on my report card!


    Your Vocabulary Score: A-


    Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary!    You must be quite an erudite person.

    How’s Your Vocabulary?

    And the RTR does fairly well in that area also, but suffice it to say the school shenanigans have surfaced again. In other words, periods of time where small things like several homework assignments in a row aren’t done. Or a zero shows up on a quiz for absolutely no reason on this Earth. None.

    That means I have to have one of those conversations with him—those I absolutely can’t stand and really wonder whether they do any good at all.

    “Blarg,” as The RTR would say. Just Blarg.Blarg! is how I feel about all this.

    So the conversation went something like this…

    (more…)

  • Where Do the Years Go?

    Twenty-nine years and about two hours ago, I gave birth to my oldest after nine hours of labor with absolutely no meds. I was 22 years old.  What did I know?

    But this isn’t about me.

    It’s about him.  Happy Birthday to You!

    Although I emailed him first thing this morning hoping he’d see it, and tried the cell number I know no longer works, I still don’t have the sense that he knows I’m thinking of him and how very fast time gets away from us all. Yes, I just saw him last Sunday, and sure, he came over and put his arm over my shoulders when I stopped in Whole Foods where he works, but still.

    When I was 29, he was already six and his brother not quite two years behind. I had big hair.

    Not about me. Not about me. Not about me.

    But it has to be about me to some extent, doesn’t it? I’m thinking about how things come to pass. How some decisions are made in life with purpose, and others like confetti has been tossed into the wind. Sometimes, I think life feels somewhat like a house with several rooms — each containing aspects of who we once were and how we lived our lives, kept separate from each of those that follow. When I walk past the photographs that line the wall of our staircase and see the differences in the faces within the frames, it seems those people — we — are not the same people. The events in our lives have changed us.

    As I think of him today, I unlock each of those rooms and enter, letting the memories wash over me, smiling at many, regretting some, and feeling wistful at most. There is so little I don’t remember. I hang on to it all like it was a gift.

    Craig & Me I could write forever about this man whom I swear wanted to live in the Fifties, and what has made him so unique, but I can’t. Not right now. Not today.

    Twenty-nine things will give a glimmer of an idea instead…

    You picked up a pencil to draw when you were two and never stopped.

    You loved Lucy and watched every episode over and over until we thought we’d go nuts.

    You love cats. Love. Them. Even though you can’t breathe around them.

    You never, ever fought with your brother — well physically, anyway. You did call him some interesting things like “gristle, fat, and lard,” which we now laugh about, including him.

    You loved music that we loved so saved us from having to listen to music we were ready to tolerate at best.

    You’ve only really asked for one thing, ever. One.

    I don’t think you wanted to poke out my eyeballs too badly when I encouraged you to go to the prom with that girl.

    Twinkle Eyes Your eyes twinkle when you smile even though they’re so brown I can’t see your pupils.

    You have a completely disgusting sense of humor.

    You love all things retro and used to wish they were still that way.

    You love Corvairs.

    You were in that Corvair club with all those old farts, and didn’t you have to bring a casserole or something once? Bwhahahaha!

    You tolerated the piano lessons until I stopped them, and then told me years later that you wish you’d stuck it out.

    You wear clothes you find that belong to others and it doesn’t matter to you.

    You tolerated a job that nearly sucked the life out of you, keeping you from doing what you really wanted to do. I think.

    You went to the vet when it was time to let Holis go and helped bury him because I couldn’t.

    You cut the molding for the stairs after the MoH and I couldn’t and it took you about three minutes.

    You used to disappear for a couple of days and when you got back, tell us you felt like driving to Arizona.

    You’re better than you used to be about visiting when you said you would instead of not showing up.

    You have always been respectful of me. Well, except the time you didn’t show up for your birthday dinner after you asked me to make it.

    You love your gramster.

    You burn the candle at both ends and don’t know I know it. I know everything. Really.

    You tolerate people and things you wish you didn’t have to — including me.

    Great Brother…well, sort of… You’re still nice to your brother.

    You’ve always been lovely to the RTR.

    You’ve never liked math and ended up studying something that depends on it.  Funny how life works.

    You told me long ago that someday you wanted to buy old houses, fix them, and then let people who couldn’t afford houses live in them. I think you were about 11 or 12. And no, I don’t know where you got that idea.

    You survived how many schools that I subjected you to? Goodness. A kid shouldn’t be as resilient.

    You’ve been friends to people who have taken advantage of you and then you pay for it. Literally. And you just deal with it.

    Is that 29?  Did I count correctly?

    Sigh.

    Dude… This is your Birthday Song. It isn’t very long.

    I love you and look forward to seeing you this weekend when I bake my very first gluten-free chocolate birthday cake.

    Goodness.

  • Poignant homecoming

    I know I said I wouldn’t be here for a bit, but one of the main reasons I keep this little place in the giant scheme of things is to mark the passing of time and the aspects of life that punctuate it. You know — highs, lows, hilarity, and things that pierce the heart… IMG_5789.JPG

    Blackitty came home today. And as much as I can say that I am relieved, my emotions are a bit raw again, as I knew they would be.
    IMG_5787.JPG
    As they should be.

    I had no idea there was so much support out there for people who have lost a dear pet.
    IMG_5788.JPG

    I’m amazed. So I’m passing it along.

    The Association for Pet Loss and Bereavement

    Pet Loss Support Page

    Furry Angel

    UC Davis Pet Loss Support

    Grief Healing

    Delta Society

    American Veterinary Medical Association