Monthly Archives: July 2010

My Littlest Neighbor

Little Miss Megan of the house next door,

Talking, talking, rarely stopping, loving being four.

Sitting on her doorstep, laughing with her dolls;

Pretending she can’t  hear her when her mother calls and calls.

Running in the sunshine, splashing in the rain,

Affixing many many things to pony’s rainbow mane.

Busy, busy, busy girl, full of spunk and sass,

Chalking up the sidewalk, turning cartwheels on the grass.

Such pretty princess finery for dressing up in style!

Little Miss Megan of the million dollar smile.

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A Ride In The Park

  Kale, Omayja, Madison (behind Jen directing traffic), Corey, Kenzie.  Our own little bike parade.

Madison and Omayja

Kenzie

Kale and Madison

Corey, although bringing up the rear, has no problem pausing to pose.

The girls at the park.

The boys had time to dig a big hole but that’s about it.  The bugs were horrible – time to hit the road.

Madison, Omayja and Corey, left behind by the bigger kids who found their own way home.

Madison and Corey

Corey and Omayja, on the home stretch.

Was it a Dream?

My dreams are often so ridiculous that if they ‘came true’ I’d think I was still dreaming. Like the one where I see a child climb up on a railing and start to fall and I race down several flights of stairs to catch him before he hits the ground.

I have had some prophetic moments, though.

Our family was eating dinner once when the phone rang, and out of the blue I dropped my fork and exclaimed “O my God. Somebody died.” Mom came back from taking the call and delivered the news looking sad and confused and directly at me. “Uncle Colin had a massive heart attack and passed away in the hospital this afternoon.” He hadn’t been sick, he wasn’t old, it was completely unexpected. After that I tried to keep my sudden premonitions inside my head, so as to appear slightly less weird at the end of the day. Although it was always a toss-up – do I blurt this out before the fact, or wait until afterwards and say I knew that was going to happen? Either way, the sceptical expressions are about the same.

When my grandma died (she was 99) I didn’t go to her funeral for a number of selfish reasons. We were a thousand miles away, my kids were small, I didn’t want to take time off work, and I really hate funerals. The guilt after the fact about that, and remembering how many times grandma had wanted to sit and talk with me and I just hadn’t made the effort or taken the time, made me heartsick, remorseful, and unbearably sad.

One night, about a month after she died, I dreamed that she was standing at the foot of my bed, patting my feet, the way a mom pats a baby’s back, and softly murmuring. Grandma always said ‘there there” when we were little and upset about something and her gentle soft pats always made the hurt go away. “There, there. There, there. Don’t you worry. I know that you loved me.”

In the morning I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and the gloom and regrets were gone. And every time I thought about her doing that for me a beautiful sensation of ease and calm and love for her would flow through me.

Was it just a dream invented by my subconscious mind to help me leave the depression behind? Or can the spirits of the departed really come back to comfort the living? I shared my “dream” experience with my sister and she had that same expression on her face that I remember from the dinner table scene so many years ago.

That’s okay though. I know she loves me anyway.

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No-Fail Ways to Make Me Roll My Eyes

Speaking of eyes…..some day at work I fear my eyes are going to roll back into my head and disappear forever. I’m an optician and contact lens fitter and I look at eyes all day. I give advice and instructions and try to be a helpful problem solver. The job is not without its challenges and serious eye rolling moments.

There’s the guy who puts his new glasses on his face and immediately declares that he can’t see a damned thing. (Wow. Glasses that cause instant blindness.)

There’s the contact lens patient who wears her 2 week disposable contact lenses for 6 months and then complains that they’re dry and scratchy and making her eyes all red and irritated. Doh.

There’s the mother who insists her child get a pair of glasses that are much too big for him, because he will “grow into them”.

There are the customers (mostly women, but not always) who try on 300 pairs of glasses and insist that you and everyone else in the store state an opinion on each one. But they don’t actually listen to anything you say.

(I don’t like the green one on you. The color is all wrong. No, that green does nothing for you. I really hate what green does to your skin tone. Stop picking up that damned green frame please. IF YOU PUT THAT STUPID GREEN FRAME ON YOUR FACE ONE MORE TIME AND ASK ME WHAT I THINK I WILL HAVE TO KILL YOU.) Okay, well maybe that one went a little beyond the eye rolling stage.

Then there’s the people who are not happy with their own natural beautiful eye color and would like to be perceived as having two shiny blue glass marbles stuck in their heads where their eyeballs should be. (Ask me how great my colored contact lens sales are – the answer will make your eyes roll.)

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My Favorite Comfort Food

Love Coffee

It’s rude to pick favorites, and I just can’t do it. The best I can manage is a short list with sincere apologies to anyone I’ve forgotten.

– cold potato salad on a hot summer day

– chocolate ice cream in a waffle cone

– yogurt covered raisins

– scones, hot from the oven with butter and honey

– turkey stuffing when it’s not even Christmas

– hot Starbucks coffee with a splash of hazelnut cream

– movie popcorn with extra butter

– veggies and dip, even though you wouldn’t expect them to be on this list because they’re actually good for you but the comfort part is in being able to eat a whole bucket full and not feel any remorse or guilt when you’re finally so stuffed you can’t move

– and honorable mention goes to toast for its versatility.

Don’t know how to answer the ‘why’ part either, because there are different foods for different moods and days of the week and seasons. A spread sheet might be helpful, and I’d make one up for you now if I had the time, but there’s some rye toast with peanut butter calling my name and I gotta go.

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What Keeps Me Up at Night?

 

Sleeping
Sleeping (Photo credit: soylentgreen23)

Sometimes a book I can’t put down, or a computer or DS game I’m playing, or a painting or some other project that’s just this close to being finished. And now of course this Plinky site with all its damned compelling questions!Other than that, nothing really, I’m happy to say. I can sleep through thunder storms and ringing phones and sirens that wail. Barking dogs, midnight snacking husbands, wild parties on our street, or maybe even in our house, for all I know. I am little Miss Oblivious with a head full of nothing.

When I had babies one after the other (they were eighteen months apart in age) there was a long stretch of years where eight hours of uninterrupted sleep was a rare luxury. Then when they hit their teens I don’t know how they could have survived without such a sleep deprived worry wart for a mother.

So now maybe I’m making up for those lost nights when slumberland eluded me. I experience a wildly superior quality state of dormancy, where nothing short of the house catching fire can disturb me.

Or I’m going deaf. That’s also a possibility.

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Death Penalty

Crime Scene

There’s no simple agree or disagree about this for me. But who wants to play God? Even when a soul is so lost, and has committed such abhorrent crimes, that he no longer deserves to live? Who can make that judgement?

Not to make light of it, but have you ever had to put a pet down? Even if you know it’s miserable, and you are distressed by its horrible habits and distraught about its poor health and you know in your heart it’s the kindest thing to do; on the way home from the vet’s office do you have any idea how wretched and despondent you will feel, and how incredibly heartsick with guilt?

Is the death penalty a punishment, or merely a release from hell on earth? I don’t know. Maybe it’s worse to be locked up somewhere for the rest of your life and have to live with yourself and the despicable things you’ve done.

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