I am a creature of habit. I brush my teeth for two minutes exactly. I wash my hands for 20 slow-counted seconds, apply deodorant for 20 seconds each side, rinse every particle off a dish before putting it in the dishwasher. I play a trivia game first thing in the morning and at 3pm every day. I'm sure you get the picture.
I like order, rules, structure. No surprises. If I get a surprise, I still handle it as if it's all right ... no need to get shaken up or upset because I believe in the constancy of things.
Lately I've actually been breaking away from the ordinary. I have been trying new things. I've been getting out more, talking to new people, I even joined a website to get the health part of my life in order. Sometimes I don't even :::gasp::: count while doing daily tasks.
Little things, big things, but change none the less. And I can say most assuredly, change is good! It can be scary in its newness, but it also means I'm caring enough about myself to do better and different activities.
My son graduated from 6th grade last night. 6th grade saw a lot of changes for this little one. He lost his best friend of 3 years after he moved away to Arizona. He lost most of his baby teeth, but still has a few to go. He grew out his hair, cut it off, grew it out, cut it ... and is now growing it out again. He still loves rock 'n roll, video games, hot dogs ... and he's still my favorite little guy in the whole world. His big sis isn't half bad either. =)
My daughter and son, enjoying the after-graduation treats:
My daughter and son, straightening up after the first goofy pic:
Proud? You bet!
My daughter didn't have a graduation for 7th grade, but the kid had all A's, medals for the track team, and a mouth full of metal removed. She's definitely a source of pride, love, and laughter in my life:
One of my new obsessions is hummingbirds. After I had one coming to my glass door in the morning and looking in at me a couple days in a row, I knew it was a sign ... so off I went to Lowe's. There, my daughter and I picked out a feeder and granular nectar.
Suddenly, I had countless hummingbirds coming to the feeder on the glass door morning, noon, and night. Small, tiny, orange-throated, all green, you name it. Then, the last day or so, nothing.
I must say, even though changing the feeder is a pain, I'd rather be changing it than not have my frequent visitors. Sounds rather senile of me, but I find joy in small things. I don't wish for things down the road. I'd rather live in the here and now ... on things that last.
And the hummingbirds, well, they truly add to my joy and then poof. Only two visitors yesterday and none so far this morning. Are they mating now? Are they relying more on blooms instead of feeders? Has someone put in a bigger, better, more tasty feeder somewhere? Hopefully these and questions like them will be answered -- sooner than later!
Once in a while I like to do these short questionnaires to get to know the bloggers more personally. This is what I came up with today:
What is your favorite ...
1.) Spot to hang out in your home? (including where you sit)
2.) Homemade meal someone makes for you?
3.) Drink on a hot day?
4.) Drink on a cold day?
5.) Fast food?
6.) Breed of dog? (even if you're not a dog lover)
7.) Holiday and why?
8.) Vehicle make and model?
9.) Films (see below)- Action? Horror? Drama? Chick flick? Biography? Children's? Sci-fi?
11.) Position to sleep?
12.) Time of day and why?
13.) Relative and why?
14.) Fast food joint?
15.) Thing to collect?
16.) Gift to receive?
17.) Time of year and why?
18.) President and why?
19.) Actor and actress (either living or dead)?
Thanks for playing along.
Added my own answers:
1.) Spot to hang out in your home? (including where you sit) TV room ... left-hand side of sofa.
2.) Homemade meal someone makes for you? My mother's roast beef with all the trimmings.
3.) Drink on a hot day? Sugar-free iced tea or Newcastle ale.
4.) Drink on a cold day? Homemade cocoa.
5.) Fast food? Cheeseburgers.
6.) Breed of dog? (even if you're not a dog lover) Pug. I owned them as a child before they were "cool" or well-known and still do.
7.) Holiday and why? Christmas. Family time.
8.) Vehicle make and model? Ford Mustang convertible, early models
9.) Films (see below)- Action? The Matrix Horror? The Shining Drama? The Color Purple Chick flick? Steel Magnolias Biography? Walk the Line Children's? Harry Potter flicks Sci-fi? Serenity
10.) Book? David Copperfield by Charles Dickens and A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving.
11.) Position to sleep? On my left side.
12.) Time of day and why? After dinner so I can relax and spend time with my family.
13.) Relative and why? My mother even though our relationship is usually strained.
14.) Fast food joint? Arby's. I don't live near one, but love those Beef 'n Cheddars.
15.) Thing to collect? Outdoor plantings.
16.) Gift to receive? Little things that require thought. When my son was just a little boy, he bought me a statue of a shark because he thought I'd love it. I'm deathly afraid of sharks so it's my favorite gift so far.
17.) Time of year and why? Used to be the Fall, but now it's the Spring. I love the break from winter and when you're first able to plant/landscape again.
18.) President and why? George Washington. In his private journals he wrote about how upset he was by his wife owning slaves (they came with her when they married). He said he wanted it to be known that the slaves were to go free if she were to pass on or if they passed on together. It just spoke to my heart.
19.) Actor and actress (either living or dead)? Tom Hanks and Bette Davis.
I'm a gardener, obviously. I'm a perfectionist as well, but in the gardens I've created, I've grown a bit oblivious to pests and weeds. Sure, I pluck off a few caterpillars here and there. I whack a stick at a few slugs and yeah, I've pulled my share of weeds, but not diligently.
Over the weekend, while harvesting some of my butter leaf lettuce, my husband made the comment, "Boy, would my father hate the way you weed." My husband's father was a true perfectionist. Lawns neatly trimmed, ALL weeds pulled by hand, and no clutter in the yard. His secret: he forced all his children to do the work. Since he had thirteen of them, they could make short work of it all. I mentioned this to my husband while also stating, "Hey, since your dad trained you so well, I don't mind if you get right in here and start pulling the weeds up." He couldn't run away fast enough.
My property is mostly forests. I've cleared out a backyard, planted grass seed and maintained the lawn, built a rock wall, shrub borders, and a shrub arrangement on a slope. I made an ordinary huge stump into a hollowed out planter. I have a big vegetable garden, my newly planted English gardens and pear trees in the front, all with rock borders and carefully mixed soil (little sand, lot of potting soil, some manure, Perlite, etc.). It's a lot of work, especially when you have to do things on the cheap.
I also feed birds, including hummingbirds. More upkeep. More seed refilling and nectar replacement.
Maybe I'm just tired. I would love to be perfect, but I want my legs and back to not be crippled when I go to bed at night as well.
So, why did I mention bats? I decided to read about them and learned they do not spread rabies, they do not get in your hair, they won't bite you, they can see, and most importantly, they are paramount to controlling the insect population. I have a lot of bats on my property, but a lot more insects. I have decided to make friends with them. I won't be shaking any wings any time soon, but I will refrain from hunkering down to the ground and screaming bloody murder as they fly overhead.
As for slugs, I just plain hate them. They do nothing for the environment except leave a slime trail. They eat your plants at night and hide in the soil during the day. Once they lay eggs in your soil, they'll be back every year. I don't use pesticides, but I do use red pepper. They hate it, yet with all the rain, the red pepper just washes away leaving the slippery slugs behind.
I guess gardening is like exercising. Either you enjoy it or you don't. No one is going to force you to do it or care if it gets done ... except you. Most gardeners garden because of how they feel and how it looks when they're done. This is what I need to concentrate on more ... the end product ... instead of all the backbreaking labor.
As a teen, I was damaged; mentally not physically. I drank, did drugs, had sex. I was good at numbing myself and really wasn't "present" in my own life.
In my 20's, I was married, I had children, and I definitely no longer involved myself in anymore vices -- not even sex. (much to husband's chagrin) It was a time of serious reflection -- who am I? Where do I belong? What do I want to be? Did I marry the right guy? Should I cut my long hair off?
The 20's, much like the 1980's, is the Me Decade of a woman's life. It's all about who you are, what you want, how to get it, or how you're not getting it. You may say you care about how others feel, but really you're caring more about how they make YOU feel.
Solidly in my 30's, I am so glad to be past all of that junk. Now I ponder how to make my failing rose bushes thrive or if my daughter is as happy as she looks. If my son will really push himself to become a trooper. If my husband will ever start his own business instead of working for "the man."
I enjoy the time I have with myself. I'm not a social person and I prefer that status, but it doesn't mean I don't miss female companionship. My husband is a great guy, but he answers questions in this fashion -- "how to get from point A to point B most logically without any emotion and using the least amount of words." This does not always work for me. Sometimes I like the bread surrounding the meat.
Being that I am a recluse, I've started a hunt for the perfect friend. Not a face-to-face friend, but a confidante to share thoughts with, to discuss life with, and to just "be" with in the "not going to meet and have coffee" kind of a way. Yes, it's different, but hey, it just might work ... especially since I'm looking for another recluse. Aha! Brilliant, no? It's a big step for me, it might seem a bit insane, but I'm doing it. So for all you bloggers out there, any advice? =)
Sheri, Days of Deerledge blogger who helped me create a blog meant just for me. I'm tweaking the header a bit more, but I just love it.
Also, I'd like to make a public announcement, due to a series of unfortunate events recently, I've become rather down about life and my role in it. I've now decided to stop taking things so seriously and start enjoying life again. I'm re-adopting my old nonchalant attitude and no longer being a muck wallower.
Once again, thanks, Sheri. I appreciate your hard work more than you know!
If you are married peacefully and would enjoy some good old-fashioned brawling, I'll will give you two surefire ways of accomplishing that goal, which do not involve anything unethical:
- landscape together - renovate together
This past weekend, hubby and I worked on the front ... er, I'd like to say lawn, but as there isn't any grass I'll have to say lot. I came up with a design using triangles and rectangles, rocks, limbs from trees, raised beds ... a gay man's paradise. (Remember, I'm not a bigot, I was raised by two gay men, therefore know of what I speak)
Husband was extremely accommodating even though this is heavy physical labor. He said it would be my true Mother's Day present. The dirt in front of our home is "bony" gravel, which I imagine is the only soil in Hell -- heavy sand with hundreds of rocks mixed into it of all sizes. Husband had to pick axe down along where my bed supports would be for hours ... and hours ... and hours. Then shovel it all out for hours more after that making sure to separate sand from rock. (Yes, I helped, but not enough to brag about it.)
This is when I make one of my stellar off-handed comments, "Did you make sure the line was straight before you starting digging over there? This is why I use stakes and yarn when I do my lines ... to get them perfectly straight." Husband now raises his voice, not really yelling, nor screaming, but an exasperated, "If you think you can do any better, come over here and do it yourself." Now it's time for that special treatment ... the absolute MOST special treatment of all ... the SILENT treatment, which I cannot stand. Shoot me, stab me, sock me in the nose, but don't ignore me.
After a few minutes pass, I shout in an overly-excited and positively giddy voice while kneeling over my own section of rubble, "Oh my gosh, look what I found in the dirt!" Ever-the-sucker-hubby glances over ... and there it is, peeking through the mound of sand like a sentinel on high ... the ever faithful middle finger, also known as "the bird". Hubby smirks disgustedly, begins digging again, and I laugh my fool head off. Oh, I'm so witty. I kill me. Ha ha ha. You can see it, I'm sure.
15 minutes later, hubby hands me the shovel. I go to take it, he pulls back, I look at his hand, and there it is ... protruding over the handle to exact final retribution ... his own middle finger. Now it's hubby's turn to laugh, but at least at this point, we're laughing together and no longer at war.
Once upon a time, a doctor told me I had a tumor in my uterus. She told me I would need to go for many tests to find out the nature/size of the tumor, but not to worry. I scheduled the first test and waited. While waiting, I became strangely attached to my phantom tumor, which I named Tito. I thought, "Oh joy, FINALLY there's a reason for all these years of painful periods and wretching!"
After being told to "chug" 8 glasses of water within a 15 minute window, I showed up for the test (a basic ultrasound). Walking into the room, I feared coughing, sneezing, farting ... any slight movement because, as I'm a big kid now, I don't wear Pull-Ups. Then the downward thrust of the greased up thingamabob connected to the sonogram machine right on my bulging bladder ... only to find out it didn't work. The ultrasoundist (do they have a real clinical name?) graciously told me, "Run to the bathroom. I don't know why they wanted you to drink all that water, but your bladder is huge (push, push) ... it doesn't work for this. When you come back, we'll do the internal ultrasound."
I was already halfway to bathroom when it registered, "INTERNAL ultrasound." Internal as in INSIDE the vagina? Let's just say, I was riding the cotton horse at the time. I went to the bathroom, let the floodgates open, and walked back almost weak-kneed with the satisfaction of finally being free, yet scared of the oncoming incoming. I told the ultrasoundtologist (that sounds nice) my dilemma who in turn told me, "Won't make a difference."
After all the pain, the embarrassment, and near wetting myself, I find out the truth -- there is no tumor. None. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I must say, instead of relieved I felt, well, sad. Tito was a part of me and then he wasn't. Just like that.
There was some good news, if you can call it that -- I was diagnosed with a tilted uterus whom I like to call Tilt-A-Whirl Cassidy. This has been my problem, the reason I almost die every time I get my periods ... the tilt makes the contractions uneven, sporadic, and therefore gut-bustingly painful.
I paid over $500 to find out I do not have a tumor. I would not pay $500 to find out my clinician was wrong. I wouldn't even bet $500 in Vegas, nor would I give a psychic $20 to tell me what color my aura might be.
Yet, here I sit. Menstruating again. In pain again. Still paying off phantom Tito's bill and hating everything. To think I used to be such a jolly woman with a period. I would look at PMS sufferers and think, "Oh, grow up! Your period is no excuse for bad behavior." Glib, Beth, very glib.
My blogger template is not working. It was written by someone else and therefore, should be working fine. As it is not working fine, I decided to do something constructive and write about it.
(rapped to the tune "Fresh Prince of Bel Air")
Here's a true story of html hell My blog was changed and looked real swell. And I'd like to really fix it but don't know how So my blog now looks like it was made in the hoosegow.
In upstate NY, raised and bred Climbing trees and playing in ponds, spring fed Running around, jumping, skipping, and stuff Playing with my brothers till they got too rough.
A couple of decades later found me married with two kids Not quite wealthy, but not on the skids I was a little bit lonely and my husband got sad He said, "You're ordering a computer from that television ad."
The UPS guy came in about a week or two And I said, "Hello, sir, hubby will know what to do." Looked at my computer, who would ever be able tell ... That nine years later, I'd be in html hell?
OK, I'm no rapper ... but seriously, anyone know how to make your own blogger template when you have the computer IQ of say -- 47 or 48? =/
I don't care about fancy, but not looking like my mentally-challenged pug did it would be nice.
P.S. Template just changed again on its own, deleting all my links. So, if you stop by, could you leave your blog address as well? Ugh!!