Oh dead dead tomato

how withered you

you never got red

you never got far

Oh dead dead tomato

forgive me

On a more cheerful note, I'm off to Malta on Saturday, to indulge at the Fortina Spa .  I am feeling very hedonistic.  I'll post snaps!

New playlist for Halloween people, all the tunes are well worth a listen.  I started the list off with MoonLight Shadow because it is an easily recognizable tune, one of those "what the heck is it about that song that snags me" tunes.  Please do listen to the fist 20 seconds or more of each song, they all reminded me of the atmospheric "what Halloween is all about" vibe, and I Hope you enjoy them all as much as I do :D

Hugs

Fishy

Grow "indoor tomatoes all year long" my ass, I only planted one of the three varieties of seeds that came with my little tomato windowsill kit, and this turned out to be a good decision.

My babies

Off to a robust start! These little cuties grew like weeds, tall and healthy, and I was assuming they would get no taller.  Little was I to know.  Just because they are cherry tomatoes doesn't mean the "plant" will be smaller than a regular tomato plant.  At this point, I was pretty obvious that the tomatoes were root bound, and require transplantation.   You can't see it really well because of the sunlight here, but this sucker is "WAY" up there.

Er, it no longer fits on the windowsill, and cannot be taken indoors... but the good news is, it is flowering, and there is a remote possibility that it might bear fruit before the frost flies.  Mind you, I'm not holding my breath.  I am terrible proud that I haven't killed it yet, operative word being yet.  If I'm lucky, I'll get enough tomatoes to have a salad !

Okies, I have added one of those annoying music players to the site,

feedback is welcome.  My intention is to change the playlist weekly, and offer a smattering of various tunes you may wish to explore by purchasing the albums!  If you need assistance locating the albums, let me know~

Welcome to the cherry tomatoes from hell.

OMG CHERRY TOMATOES FROM HELL~!!!!!!!

Sorry, I had to, it sounds like a really bad B flick.

I have the world's blackest thumb/fin for the most part, but every once in a blue moon I get the urge to do something earthy and gardening like, usually to my chagrin.  This summer has me planning a major landscaping project, with aggregate concrete drive, stairs, iron railings, the whole shebang, to which I decided to add an integrated aggregate planter.  Oh, sez I, I must add some colour and foliage to the grounds.  So, remembering fondly the old lilac bush we had chez fishy et al when growing up, I purchased 4 dwarf Korean lilac bushes.  I also saw and was intrigued  by dwarf burning bushes.  Feeling somewhat impressed with myself, I also picked up some herb seed packets and a 3 part window sill planter, to grow my own fresh herbs.  Oh, sez I, I will be flitting about the kitchen added fresh herbs to my culinary masterpieces.  Going totally over the top I picked up a window sill cherry tomato planter kit, containing seeds for 3 heirloom cherry tomato varieties with soil and all needed to grow "indoor tomatoes all year long."

I won't regale you with how I managed to get all of this home, along with several bags of mulch, soil, peat and a box of bone meal, which the salesperson assured me would work magic in my garden.

Off I go with a spade (also purchased newly) to dig up the ground.  Bit rocky it was.  Never could get enough chubbed up to plant one of the 8 shrubs....  being myself, I simply went out, bought new LARGER planters, and replanted the pot bound buggers.  There, says I, I'll simply put it off until much later in the fall.  We also won't mention the hilarious afternoon I spend with my dremel cutting holes in the new planters LOLOLOL.  Best part of the whole deal ~

I have a funny feeling this will not work out well.

The herbs, the herbs !!!  I have a vision of tattoo pointing at my window sill and saying, "now that's REALLY a fantasy~~~~~"  Apparently any idiot can grow basil, and I am looking very idiotic at the moment.... though my rosemary and chives are woebegone.  The basil appears to be chuckling at them.  Going through the local supermarket this week, I noticed bunches of fresh herbs for pennies a piece.  What on EARTH was I thinking?

This thread originally started off with tomatoes.......

I'm afraid to tell you about the tomatoes......

Perhaps another time....

Could this game be any more complicated?

You can play with 2, 3 or 4 players

 Two decks, including jokers are used....

and their point values differ...

jokers 50

aces and deuces 20

k,q,j,10,9 and 8 10

all others 5

you can choose to play as having to pick 1 card, or playing with picking 2 cards off the top of the deck, with having to be able to make a "meld" or not with a pack pick, with having to have 1 or 2 canastas to go "out".... canastas can have natural cards only, or a combination of natural and wild cards, different scores require you to have a minimum point value to lay down before you can lay down any, and don't TALK to me about the threes...........ARGH......

I haven't torn my hair out yet, but the variations and combinations are so dammed persnickety it drives me nuts.  WHY DO I PLAY THIS GAME?

STOMPS ON DECKS OF CARDS!~~~~

OMG this is hilarious,

Otters holding hands - The Remix

Here's a prime example of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus"
offered by an English professor: The professor told his class one day: "Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to me.
"The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on,
back-and-forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in
order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking
outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in
the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been
reached."
The following was actually turned in by two of his English students,
Rebecca and Gary. 

THE STORY:

(First paragraph by Rebecca)

At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question. 

(Second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron
now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about
than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with
whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. " A.S. Harris to
Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar
orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could
sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a
hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him
flying out of his seat and across the cockpit. 

(Third paragraph by Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt
one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who
had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its
pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4.
"Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,"
Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously
excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her
youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no
newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of
innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one
lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
(Fourth paragraph by Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands
of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of
its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed
the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the congress had
left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were
determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage
of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying
enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop
them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion
missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his
top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the
coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized
poor, stupid Laurie. 

(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My
writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent. 

(Gary)
Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose
attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I
have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F_KING TEA??? Oh
no, what am I to do? I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many
Danielle Steele novels!" 

(Rebecca)
Asshole. 

(Gary)
Bitch 

(Rebecca)
F**K YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL! 

(Gary)
Go drink some tea - whore. 

(TEACHER) A+ I really liked this one.

So, I headed over to the

My Heritage  website.  I was turned onto it in the

Homeground - Kate Bush News & Info forum

I uploaded my hosting photo

and the matches I got were interesting.

Celine Dion - 80% match

Viven Leigh - 74% match

Faith Hill - 72% match

and a lot of others whose names I don't recognize.

I'll have to take a photo on a bad hair day next, and see what the matches are, stay tuned !

Make your own superhero - You gotta love this

Hero Machine - Make your own superhero!

Originally published on BlogSpot 7/22/05

Vegas is fond of cheese, and I always have cheese in my kitchen.

 Cheddar of course, provolone, parmesan, mozzarella and a very nice sliced vegetable medley havarti that is particularly fine on sandwiches.

 Vegas is a Boxer with a particularly sweet disposition and a charming lack of loyalty to her owners when it comes to food. Just yesterday she tried to break into my house again and her reign of cute must end! I jest, I am openly thrilled that she follows me around and refuses to heed her owners' call when I am hiding cheese in my pockets. There are bylaws in our fair city that restrict her movements, confining her to her own property with fines if her owners don't respect the force field of invisibility that is erected around all properties.

I don't disagree with this, on the contrary, it is necessary to protect the citizens. We also have two Rottweilers in the area who roam freely, one of whom attacked and killed a Bichon on an unsupervised evening romp. Let's compare the two situations: Vegas making a beeline for cheese, with her embarrassed owner attempting to lure her back, and a roaming attack dog wandering around an area where many children live with no owner in sight. Again, I support the city bylaws restricting the movement of pets. It's their method that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. There are things that should be done - Sensible regulation, mandatory spaying and neutering for pets if they are not registered for breeding or show purposes, a ban on stores selling animals from unregistered breeders, more money to the animal control office for training, resources to protect animals from neglect and abuse, a program to spay or neuter feral cats, etc etc.

Unfortunately none of these provisions is mentioned in the new bylaw.

The new bylaw restricts the movement of cats.

Well, Damn people, it's about time the city did something about these nasty little kitties, If they don't we'll all be ruined! We've had it with all the nuisances in the city, like those noisy birds chirping me awake in the morning or those infuriatingly furry cats that help control mice in the neighbourhood or those god awful goofy dogs! Sure! Confine all those cats to their houses and while you're at it, can you do something about the birds that keep pooping on my lawn? Yes, telling people that can't have more than 3 pets is great, we NEED more cats and dogs clogging up the shelters! Can't feed the ducks or swans anymore, and thank goodness they have prohibited certain animals unless they're owned for the "purpose of entertaining the public". Brilliant, you can't feed the ducks in the Public Gardens, but it's all right to make a bear pedal a tricycle for your profit! Makes sense. Obviously, these animals dream only of world domination! GEEZ People - take a chill pill, until they develop opposable thumbs, I think we are pretty safe.

Check out the latest photo album, logging in Newfoundland.  This is a tame moose of course, or at least as tame as a moose can be, considering they are extremely stupid creatures.  Majestic, but stupid.

You can't go on a road trip on the island without a suitably fussy maiden aunt beseeching you to "drive carefully and watch for moose!"  It's second nature to keep your eyes peeled, particularly at dawn and dusk, for a telltale shadow scaling the raised roadbed side.  Altercations with moose usually end terribly for the vehicle.  Bull moose stand about 6 feet at the shoulder.  (Add their head and 20 Kg. of antlers.)  Hitting a moose dead on normally results in the body of the moose crashing through the windshield.  They number over 150,000 on the Rock.

I have often wondered about their incredible stupidity, and in my research I found that every moose in Newfoundland is descended from the four who were introduced from New Brunswick in 1904.  Genetic inbreeding!  Two moose were imported in the late 1800's, but apparently they didn't take, not surprising considering the numbers of bear and wolves in residence at the time.

"Whistles, reflectors, and odour repellents to frighten big game from passing vehicles or keep them from roadsides have been tested in North America and Europe; so far none have proven to be effective or economically feasible."

So why are they attracted to highways?  Several reasons.

Highways are windswept from fast traveling vehicles, and moose do like to get away from the flies.

They like crossing roads in winter as a respite from deep snow.

They feed on roadside vegetation, and lick salt from the roads.

It's likely they are inured to the traffic and simply have no fear of cars.

They have very poor eyesight.

Luckily, Newfies like their moose meat.  If you're not handy enough to shoot your own moose, try this online game.

Water Bomb your Moose!

Alright, I lied.  Originally, this was going to be a post about how to draw a decorative medieval shield in Photoshop.

Problem is,

I didn't use the handy dandy note feature while I was embroiled in creating the thing, so now I actually have no idea how

 I did it.

If you figure it out, let me know !

Originally published on BlogSpot 6/17/05

Okay, this particular website has the most stunning visual and aural integration I've seen in a long time - The Birthday Massacre - is a band from Toronto, you can hear clips of their albums if you'd like, and play around with their marvelous flash site.  They are kind of Pop Goth, which is not my kind of thing by any stretch of the imagination, but I actually gave them a listen and will return to the website. If they come down east, I may go to see them in hopes they will provide a treat for the eyes (if not the ears).

A wealthy old lady decides to go on a photo safari in Africa, taking her faithful but aged poodle Cuddles for company. One day the poodle starts chasing butterflies and before long, discovers that he's lost. Wandering about, he notices a leopard heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of having lunch. The old poodle thinks, "Oh, oh! I'm in deep **** now!"
Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching cat. Just as the leopard is about to leap the old poodle exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I wonder if there are any more around here?"
Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees.
"Whew!" says the leopard, "That was close! That old poodle nearly had me!"
Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the old poodle sees him heading after the leopard with great speed, and figures that something must be up. The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the leopard.
The young leopard is furious at being made a fool of and says," Here, monkey, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!"
Now, the old poodle sees the leopard coming with the monkey on his back and thinks, "What am I going to do now?", but instead of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old poodle says: "Where's that damn monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another leopard!"
Moral of this story... Don't mess with old farts...age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill! Bullshit and brilliance only come with age and experience!

Are you a two finger typer?  Or worse, do you know someone who is?

Isn't it painful to watch someone slowly type something while you watch?  You just want to grab the back of their shirt and manhandle them off the chair so you can type whateveritis in more quickly.

Most teach yourself to type programs STINK, because, no matter how you look at it, it's still a teaching tool.  The majority of these programs painstakingly go about teaching the user which fingers are to be used on which keys, and people quickly become frustrated and bored.  However, if you look at it a different way, that is from "my" point of view, I could care less if the slowpoke on the computer is typing correctly, as long as he or she is typing "quickly".  Therefore, I am pleased to recommend the game

"QWERTY WARRIORS"

There are several levels of difficulty, and the game could care less if you are two finger or two fin typer, you have to force the lousy typers in your life to play this game.

Well, having been a tea-totaler for the first of my forty years, I am no authourity on any sort of libation, though I will swear on a stack of bibles that the only beer worthy of imbibement is "Harp Lager" , a production by Guinness.

However, as it is difficult to find this particular refreshment outside of Ireland on a regular basis, and as it is only drinkable on a hot day after massive expenditure of personal calories, I have searched for cocktails or drinks that are well masked of their taste of liquor.  One of the most refreshing discoveries I've found on my search has been "Orange Flavoured vodka".  I tend to purchase whatever happens to be handy, as it all tastes the same to me.  (I did mention that I am no authourity on any sort of libation)

So, here are many sorts of things you can do with orange vodka...

I find that Orange vodka and Tropicana orange juice with ice nicely masks the alcoholic taste, and I intend to experiment with the following, as it looks nice and citrusy!  At least I will get my vitamin C requirement.

Bakunin recipe

1 1/2 oz Stoli® Ohranj vodka
1 oz Grand Marnier® orange liqueur
2 oz fresh orange juice
1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
1 dash grenadine syrup

Combine ingredients in a shaker, and shake well. Pour into a small highball glass over crushed ice, and serve.  18% (36 proof)

 Originally published 6/10/05 in Blogspot

So I like Kate Bush - hence I tend to accumulate and eventually listen to Kate related stuff, and was rereading the cover notes of her Sensual World  album which credit Alan Stivell who participated in it's recording. She sang on his album "Again", a track called Kimiad. This guy is intriguing, singing in Breton, Gaelic & French and I had largely forgotten about him; I do recall I quite liked the song "Tri Matolod" (three sailors - trois marins) which I heard originally around 25 years ago. I dug it out and gave it another listen today, and I am inspired to take a course at one of the local Universities here, in gaelic. Mind you, it might be years before I do so.

Tri martolod yaouank (tra la la, la la la la) .. it's quite stirring

6/10/05

Living with a disability or chronic illness is not an easy thing.

Last week I stepped on a an unpopped kernel of corn.

Then I screamed.

I would call this acute pain, though as the old joke goes, there is nothing cute about it.  It's the kind of sharp, stabbing, searing knife-strike that makes you curse, pick up the offending nodule, deposit it with great care in the mortar, and grind it miniscule bits while muttering

"you little stinker, I'm pulverizing you to bits you little snot!"

This short story tells it all:

The Spoon Theory

My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.
As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?

I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn't seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.

As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.

At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.

I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.

Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.

She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?

I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of "spoons". But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn't even started yet. I’ve wanted more "spoons" for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.

I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said " No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can't take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too." I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her a spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.

I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s "spoons", but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less "spoons". I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on "spoons", because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.

We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.

When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.

I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared”

Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day's plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count "spoons".

After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can't go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”

Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my "spoons".

© 2003 by Christine Miserandino Butyoudontlooksick.com

But you don't look sick??

In one of the forums I participate in, there is a recent thread about favourite paintings.  The first that came to mind when considering it was an impressionistic watercolour by Charles Demuth , (hailed as a precionist painter).  I have the print of  "Trees and Barns - Bermuda" in my dining room. It brings back fond memories of Bermuda, which I visited several times.  In particular, I would happily return annually to see the "Crystal Caverns".  There are fascinating caves in Bermuda.

I did look into the possibility of purchasing another print by Charles Demuth, and there are some lovely landscapes.  His most famous work was The Figure 5 in Gold which does very little for me, though it is striking. 

I think his watercolour works are the best.

Originally published 7/4/05 on Blogspot

So, I have new living room furniture, which of course means I MUST

paint the walls,
and get a new scarlet rug,
and rearrange the art,
and maybe colour-block the art,
and get new end tables,
and lamps and stuff.
Maybe even some chachkas and thingies!

I was thrilled when the new love seats and chair arrived, but quite upset when I realized the current paint colours matched them just fine, thank you very much. Being female, I did not find this terribly helpful. Obviously I cannot appeal to my cadre of worker bees with a suitably helpless expression, saying "oh, this is horrid, look, nothing matches!~ Can you help me paint" So what to do?

Then it occurs to me that I have once again forgotten the fundamental difference between men and women. Women coordinate, and men procreate. Forgive me for being simplistic, and allow me to elaborate.

Basically, in my varied roamings of this Great World, I have come to realize that women over think just about everything, for example, we are never, and I mean never direct, so if you are a gentleman, please learn the language, we don't intend to change. It's an estrogen thing. We also ascribe convoluted motives to the simplest statements men make - for example, if a gent says:

"Do you mind if I change the channel"

He may *hear* - "no, by all means go ahead". What is more likely meant is: "Sure, go ahead; drive me bonkers with 3 second snippets of 30 stations while you assert your male dominance with your phallically symbolic remote control - and buddy, I ain't TOUCHING your remote control later!"

Which brings me back to my original conundrum. Today I will borrow a page from the "man's dictionary", and simply say, I want this room painted. I want it painted by Thursday please, and I'll provide the beer.

But I don't intend to change, and you can't make me !

7/4/05

Originally Published 7/22/05 on Blogspot

Vegas is fond of cheese, and I always have cheese in my kitchen. Cheddar of course, provolone, parmesan, mozzarella and a very nice sliced vegetable medley Havarti that is particularly fine on sandwiches.

Vegas is a Boxer with a particularly sweet disposition and a charming lack of loyalty to her owners when it comes to food. Just yesterday she tried to break into my house again and her reign of cute must end! I jest, I am openly thrilled that she follows me around and refuses to heed her owners' call when I am hiding cheese in my pockets. There are bylaws in our fair city that restrict her movements, confining her to her own property with fines if her owners don't respect the force field of invisibility that is erected around all properties. I don't disagree with this, on the contrary, it is necessary to protect the citizens. We also have two Rottweilers in the area who roam freely, one of whom attacked and killed a Bichon on an unsupervised evening romp. Let's compare the two situations: Vegas making a beeline for cheese, with her embarrassed owner attempting to lure her back, and a roaming attack dog wandering around an area where many children live with no owner in sight. Again, I support the city bylaws restricting the movement of pets. It's their method that leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

There are things that should be done - Sensible regulation, mandatory spaying and neutering for pets if they are not registered for breeding or show purposes, a ban on stores selling animals from unregistered breeders, more money to the animal control office for training, resources to protect animals from neglect and abuse, a program to spay or neuter feral cats, etc etc. Unfortunately none of these provisions is mentioned in the new bylaw.

The new bylaw restricts the movement of cats.

Well, Damn people, it's about time the city did something about these nasty little kitties, If they don't we'll all be ruined! We've had it with all the nuisances in the city, like those noisy birds chirping me awake in the morning or those infuriatingly furry cats that help control mice in the neighbourhood or those god awful goofy dogs! Sure! Confine all those cats to their houses and while you're at it, can you do something about the birds that keep pooping on my lawn? Yes, telling people that can't have more than 3 pets is great, we NEED more cats and dogs clogging up the shelters! Can't feed the ducks or swans anymore, and thank goodness they have prohibited certain animals unless they're owned for the "purpose of entertaining the public". Brilliant, you can't feed the ducks in the Public Gardens, but it's all right to make a bear pedal a tricycle for your profit! Makes sense. Obviously, these animals dream only of world domination! GEEZ People - take a chill pill, until they develop opposable thumbs, I think we are pretty safe.

7/22/05

Reynolds you mythic container of truth, come share a glass of Spanish sherry at my graveside and recount the four missing days.

I was first introduced to Poe's writing as a teenager, in school, where 40 odd pre teens were given the questionable task of reading and discussing The Tell-Tale Heart".  I have read his complete works, and I appreciate the thematic simplicity of his short stories, and his exquisite attention to detail and narrative in conjuring sepulchral images.  Who else could write the opening line

"Roderick Usher and his sister Madeline invite you as their visitor to enter their decrepit mansion near that lurid tarn..."

It's magic.

Poe started his literary career as a poet, and it is to his poetry that I find myself returning time and again.  From a practical point of view, his poems are generally short and very engaging.  His delicate turn of phrase never ceases to tickle my fancy.  For your enjoyment, I include here

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Edgar Allan Poe