Thursday, September 24, 2009
“Holy Moly,” I reply (I’m trying to cut down on the 25 cent words) “I’m only half way through my [projected] life.” Okay, just over half, but who is counting? As I say often, don’t minimize.
When my father died, I didn’t count my days, I counted the days and the quality of those days we had together. My BABY sister just turned the big FIVE OH! I celebrated with her, not mourned the fact that I’m three and a half years older than her (but, who’s counting?) I look ahead to the days, joys, and events we will spend together. I bemoan the fact she’s already in Vegas and I won’t get there until Saturday. When my daughter had a baby boy (eight years ago) I didn’t bemoan the fact that I suddenly was a grand mother, oh no, I embraced it. Once upon a time a “Lady” didn’t tell her age. Well honey I am wont to say, “I worked damn hard for each one of those years and I’m owning them.”
Am I who I expected I’d become? I’m fairly certain I’m not accomplished nor renowned. I am neither a dancer, a singer nor a marine biologist and I’m not a candlestick maker if you’re wondering. But I love my family, I love my life, I love my garden, I love my job, and I love myself. Oh and my dog loves me. I mean really, with that and some stale peeps what more could you want out of life?
Am I what my parents had hoped? Hmmm, well I did graduate from high school, married (several times – but who’s counting?) raised a delightfully headstrong intelligent daughter, I am responsible (at least in their eyes,) I own my own home, hold down a job, and have some earned respect. They seem to like me just fine.
The thing is what I once set as the benchmarks of my life changed, evolved, became based upon my reality not gossamer dreams. For the first half of my life - I thinking I’m doing pretty good. I could have mastered a few more basics, lent my hand a few more times, but I am still learning, still growing, and I still have a lot more of myself to give.
This weekend I’m going to Las Vegas for a reunion. I am going to go see people I grew up with, whom I’ve not seen in close to forty years. I am joyously giddy. My nephew, my sister and I are hoping to mark the occasion with tattoos (Arnie suggested stars, maybe a swirl of stars behind my ear?) Ducky and Pinecone’s hubby (who I’ve just come to realize I’ve no nick name for – bummer dude) are almost on board too. Pictures to come. Many of the “kids” I grew up with became successful and accomplished in their own rights and fields. But in the long run they are just like me, a kid who grew up in a house just down the street, a part of a combined history, and nothing more.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Pinecone and I are as different as day and night
As a baby she was cute, adorable and cuddly – think koala bear
I’ve never been “cute and cuddly” – think mouthy Ocotillo Cactus with attitude
She is joyously bubbly
I am loud and irreverent
She turned into a tomboy
I turned in to a girlie slut (hey it was fun)
She was a slob when we roomed together
I was neat – now she is a better housekeeper than I
She was always smart in school
I flunked child development (okay I got a D but really folks, Child Development?)
She is incredibly artsy – her stained glass is amazing
I burn out on any hobby I take up.
My sister can keep a secret forever
Despite all those differences she is so much what I admire, and in some ways very much like me while being very different. That’s the tale of siblings, right? We both adore our children and strive to give them and their offspring the best of ourselves. We both love music, art, family, and Duck Football… we are both…
no joke. She is actually worse than I am, but she doesn’t see it.
My sister sings, it’s one of her things, you are welcomed to come sing with her, sit on the floor of her living room, flip through her CD’s and enjoy a glass of wine while harmonizing. I so very much love doing this with her…and her friends, it’s a joyous crowd.
My sister gardens. Someday visit her oasis on the out skirts of Springfield, it is a beautiful, serene haven. She’s so good she had to drive all the way to Florence just to give me the correct placement for my solar fountain. You think I’m exaggerate, not, I was going to put it smack in the middle of the cutting garden, she off set it, and now it is perfectly in place.
She is beautiful strength. A bright glowing soul, who gathers people near her and nurtures their spirits and souls. She stand by her convictions and silently allows you to have yours.
The apple of my father’s eye (now this is a two things post) she gave my mother strength in the final hours of my father’s life, held his hand as he breathed his last breath, then helped our mother through that first tough day. She is grace under fire.
On top of all that she is more than my sister, she is my friend. She is the friend of my heart, my soul, and the person I would choose to be my sister.
Happy Birthday Pinecone,
I love you,
Thursday, September 17, 2009
1) Your consciousness of your own identity
Noun: deprivation `de-pru'vey-shun
1) A state of extreme poverty- privation, want, neediness
2) The disadvantage that results from losing something
"losing him is no great deprivation" - loss
3) Act of depriving someone of food or money or rights
"deprivation of civil rights"
WTFarve is that? There is really no part of this that pertains to me. And honey, I never want the words Cele and Needy to be used in the same sentence, paragraph, or conversation.
"Oh, crap honey, you dont' know anything, that Cele is one needy bitch, she wears me out." Whoa, sorry I was channeling my second ex there for a second.
Well, for a few years, a few decades ago (okay that was a depressing thought) when I was a single parent I might have vaguely opted to forego something so that my daughter could have the vaguely important things of childhood, like say food on the table, shoes on the feet, and clothes on the back. But by far that isn’t self-deprivation. That is gladly being a responsible parent.
I can’t say that I’ve ever deprived myself of anything and regretted it, because in truth isn’t that what self-deprivation is? Regretting what you didn’t allow yourself to have when you could?
Today, I may put off buying something for myself, hmmm say some new tulips for my garden, but take my word for it I will buy those tulips. I’m mean really! they are Ducky’s Springtime fav.
Self-deprivation? Not me, it’s more a case of self-indulgent.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Glorious flowering dreams filled my head based on this from last year...
In late fall last year I put in my tulip beds, with the help Burp and all the little kids in the neighborhood.
July is when the Lilies should be in full bloom and amazing. This year's season was short lived and thin. But there was a beauty or two...
Building the entire cutting garden has been slow going, hit or miss, as a few choices have died immediately.
Now it is the end of the season. My solar fountain works great as long as it gets full sun on the panel (silly me didn't ask for a night pack for my birthday along with the fountain.)
This year the petunias will get pulled up in October. All new tulips will be planted.
Oh, and the dead thing to the left of the new garden bench is an oriental poppy that completely rocks, and then dies deader than a door nail until it's next season.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
And from 2006 Safeco Field from the freeway.
I would have loved sharing the London skyline taken from the catwalk at St. Paul's taken in 2002, but I can't find that disc.
Friday, September 04, 2009
Okay it also means stubborn, as in blindly stubborn to change. I am blindly, faithful Oregon Duck fan. I lover me Ducks. But when I heard Casey Martin had chosen white helmets for the opening game I knew I’d be seeing a lot of Bronco Blue. When Le Garrett Blount hit a Boise State player I saw red.
Let me back up a day or three. Oregon has become the Fashion Maven of College Football, yes I capitalize that like a title. Sick. The Ducks never, let me repeat that, NEVER, announce their uniform selection three days in advance. They announce they have a fashion plate of 43 uniform combinations, but not which ensemble they will don come Game Day (who I am sure will not be visiting the Cas Center this football season.) Enter Casey Martin, yes folks the pro-golfer Casey Martin, who has apparently become stylist mediocre to the once Dapper Ducks (not to be confused with the very Dapper Dyke.) Someone please tell Casey the Ducks should never, let me repeat that…again. NEVER! wear their white helmets, they are the grid iron kiss of Duck death.
Secondly, players followed their beloved coach Bellotti in to the dark depths of football hell and came out tested, but remained adaptable, ready to change players at a drop of a flag, and move on. Now Bellotti has stepped down for the AD post and selected Chip Kelly as his successor. But he didn’t tell Kelly about the Quarterback swap option, freshmen back up offense, defense, or to use the sticky field gloves on receivers – I keep sending them that memo, but I think it’s been round filed.
And thirdly, Le Garrett Blount’s behavior is abysmal – bench that puppy. I love college football, but the players usually don’t act childishly like over pampered pros. Football is violent enough without throwing punches, getting into it with opposing fans, or over all acting like a spoilt bully – whether it be in the locker room or on national TV. I think missing half a season would do him some good, but then he would blindly justify his actions feeling mistreated, misunderstood, and misused.
Of course during that down time, Blount will get plenty of work on his right upper cut. Boxing promotor Jack Arum has made public his interest in getting Le Garrett on the card in LA, during his down time. Arum, in this morning's LA Times, likened Blount's knockout of (pronounced blunt) to Sugar Ray's left hook and Foreman's right upper cut. He also noted that Blount's element of surprise would be gone knowing that in the ring Blount's potential opponents would be expecting the punch.
So my beloved Ducks are oh and one week into the 2009 football season and I know it will get better. It will, but darn it’s going to hurt getting there.