Today I battled my (mostly self-inflicted) stress with a walk around The Compound. Even though much of it looks like Oklahoma in the 1930s, there’s always something beautiful other than the men and dogs.
see images
Tag: random
Tim and I share an Aha! moment
When you decide to make a trip to Walgreen’s at 4:30 a.m., sometimes you have flashes of insight that are either brilliant or too obscure for anyone else to appreciate. While discussing a certain 100% heterosexual celebrity, Tim and I were struck by the odd similarities between his life and Tony Polar’s.
How many people get that reference? Anyone? Anyone?
Best. Superbowl. Ever.
Today I woke up to the mind-numbing sight that I’ve been ignoring for two months too long. My roots. “Prematurely” gray, and I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer.
Continue reading “Best. Superbowl. Ever.”
No regrets: number one
It’s a good thing I never had a kid, because I probably would have named it “Jackal.”
(image from nigeldennis.com)
Blah!
Mommie Dearest would not be happy with me. After all my grand plans for putting my house in order, life got in the way. Now I’ve fallen behind on my writing schedule, my tax crap has been tossed into a huge pile less organized than before–and I don’t much care at the moment. I did get my bank statements reconciled and those birthday cards and some thank-yous sent out before things went to hell. And Tim sent off a very important envelope (yay, Tim!).
One good thing about gray today is that my eyes don’t hurt as much, and I hope Tim’s are better, too. Another good thing is a repeat from last week. Tom was able to take a couple of vacation days from work last week and again this week to help build Habitat for Humanity houses. He’s a good guy, that Tom.
No more wire hangers!
In all actuality, I wish I could be more like Joan Crawford. (“Who doesn’t beat their kids?”–Evie Harris) At least as she was portrayed by Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest. Because then I’d have a clean house.
There was a time in my life–a very unhappy time–when I kept an immaculate house. Now I just have a lived-in house. VERY lived in. Now I do what I can do when I can do it. When I’m writing, things go untended. Which is bad, because if they go too untended, I can’t write. I can ignore the layer of dust on top of the refrigerator, since I can’t see it, but if things get cluttered and I can see the clutter, I start getting edgy.
Since I’ve hit another writing block (not writer’s block, which I don’t believe in, but just a point when I have to mull things over for a while), I figure it’s time to deal with some of those jobs left undone. Bank statements. Filing away last year’s paperwork. Sending out those cards for January birthdays that have passed. (Sorry.) Finishing my fourth quarter tax stuff in preparation for turning over one of life’s messiest jobs to the accountant. Trying to figure out where the hell that iTunes gift card is. (Do those things expire?)
I’m giving myself three hours to get my house in order.
I love animals…
…but oh, that Yellow Cat Next Door.
He lies in the middle of my driveway or the middle of our street like a poet having a bad day.
He uses our flowerbeds as his litterbox. Which might not be a big deal if dogs weren’t inclined to say, “Ooooooo. Chocolate protein snack bars!”
He sleeps on my front porch so my dogs can see him through the door and hurl themselves into paroxysms of cat-loathing rage. When I’m on the phone. Or sleeping.
He’s a sounder sleeper than I and can nap on top of the fence in the back yard while dogs try to climb the tree to get to him.
Saturday morning, he did a victory dance through his yard, our yard, and the yards of three other neighbors with a bird in his mouth.
That’s right: I’m living next door to murder in a fur coat.
Home improvements without fumes
She Whose Advice Must Be Heeded (as my buddy at State Farm, John, would say: “I have a name for that. Mother.”) was at The Compound last night and told me that the sleighbells needed more color. Better?
It’s 71 degrees here, but…
We’ve been having thunderstorms for hours (no tornadoes that I know of, though). Margot hates thunder, so she crawled back into the bed this morning while I was making it. Thunder just makes Guinness want to eat, but if Guinness is breathing, she wants to eat.
I have all these packages to mail. I took a shower, dressed, etc., made my grocery list, posted on LJ, while waiting for the rain to slack off. When it did, as quietly as possible, I slipped into Tim’s apartment (I think the rain is extending his and River’s ability to sleep in, which is good, because he was up late writing) and got my luggage caddy and one of Tom’s gifts that I need to exchange (and now I’ll have to do that and wrap it before he reads my LJ, or he’ll know where his presents are stashed).
After I loaded up the packages and was trying to maneuver out the door with them, it began pouring again. I’m not dealing with the post office and grocery store in this mess. See? Even without snow and ice, Houston’s winter weather has its challenges. (I suspect I will get NO sympathy on this one.)
In anticipation of World AIDS Day
Every December 1, for 14 years, I have sent out a newsletter with information about World AIDS Day. If you want a copy of this year’s newsletter, please e-mail me at becky@beckycochrane.com. Please specify if you want the newsletter attached as a Word file, or if you would prefer to read the information in the body of my e-mail.
Thanks–and please wear a red ribbon on December 1 in memory of all those lost to HIV/AIDS and to recognize all those living with HIV/AIDS.