Roots

For the first time within memory, I got to see the place where my parents lived when I was born. Nifty. 

Set Free

Tonight's earworm: Bird Set Free (Sia).

No, I don't care if I sing off key
I find myself in my melodies
I sing for love, I sing for me
I'll shout it out like a bird set free

I hope you enjoy.

Done

The results of The Task have been released, earlier than I expected.

I was successful.

I am so relieved. And overwhelmed. And relieved. And overwhelmed.

I will write more about it in due time.

I am finally comfortable revealing what The Task was, now that I know it is truly Finished:

Thank you for your support.

Je Me Souviens

Souvenir. (French.) memory, remembrance. 

While contemplating Elderly Three-toothed Dog yesterday evening, my mind wandered to other things and occasions that I miss. It was not a wishing for a return to such times, necessarily; rather, it was nostalgia. Saudade. Hiraeth. Small moments, lost to time.

* School. I loved school: learning new things, and the feeling of success when academics went well. Sometimes, I feel as though school was one of the few things I was truly good at doing.

* That one fuzzy sweater I had in college which, when it was worn, inspired boys to flirt with me.

* The ritual of the liturgy.

* Those Friday evenings in the first few years of marriage, when Beloved Husband would bring me a simple bouquet of flowers that he picked up at one of the subway interchanges during his commute. Though I have never been adept at keeping flowers alive, it was heartwarming to know he thought of me on his way home. 

* The slow, sea-creature-like movement, deep within, of gestating Offspring.

* Family vacations on the road. Beloved Husband would plan the route and the destination, and I would determine the meal plan and carefully pack all of the snacks and toys and entertainment into the trailer.

* Waiting for the next Harry Potter book or movie to be released.

* Tae kwon do. All of it. The physical ability; the sense of camaraderie; the forms and the serenity.

* Companionship while running weekend errands.

* The parts of my former employment that showed me new and fascinating scientific inventions.

* Constitutionals along the walking path.

* Guinea pigs.

All these pieces, come and gone. I should find some new projects and hobbies to fill the voids. What shall I do? We shall see.

Blanket

I have a new blanket.

Cuddleclones.com makes an assortment of custom products, including custom stuffed animals, blankets, slippers, golf club covers, holiday stockings, purses, and more -- really, all kinds of things that you might want to have made to look like your pet. You send them a photo, and a few weeks later, ta-daaaa, you have your item. For reasons hard to explain, I wanted a physical memento of Elderly Three-toothed Dog. A blanket seemed most appropriate, given how fond he was of blankets. It arrived in the mail toay. 

It seems a little silly, to have this blanket. Just a wee bit over the top. Still. 

It's adorable. (And ever so faintly creepy, to be honest, to have those giant doggy eyeballs pointed in one's direction.) The Cuddle Clones people took artistic license and made his fur somewhat darker and fuzzier than it was, but that is OK, because they got his crumpled ear and his tongue just right. 

I was surprised at how verklempt that crumpled ear made me.

I miss his patient, placid soul and his unconditional love. 

Je Te Pardonne

Tonight's earworm: Je Te Pardonne (Maitre Gimes, feat. Sia).

This song brings forth the long-buried French I learned some thirty-something years ago. It is remarkable, what lingers in the depths of the brain.

The sound and the lyrics are haunting. And compelling.

I hope you enjoy.

Waiting

Herself speaks.

It has been nearly three months since I completed The Task. Time has passed simultaneously rather quickly and agonizingly slowly.

Results will be revealed in early November -- likely the 1st or 2nd of the month. So: one week to go.

Almost there.

I confess to currently experiencing a certain amount of... trepidation. It was such an arduous process, with an uncertain result. I am ready to know the outcome, so that I can move forward.

We shall see.

Fingers crossed.

(This image, which reminds me of a portion of The Task, was found here.)

The Worms

A couple of weeks ago, we had a significant downpour for much of one day. It was good. Rain in the desert is always welcome.

Unless you are a worm.

I went out into the yard in the early evening, and lo and behold, there were worms crawling onto patio. The adjacent soil had become saturated, and they were escaping the water by ooching up to the drier terrain of the patio. Ordinary worms. But LOTS of them.

It was strange, and somewhat pathetic, to see so many of these tiny eyeless legless critters seeking safety. We knew that if we left them where they were on the patio, we'd find them all dried out from the sun the next day:  worm jerky, as it were. I conferred with Offspring the Second, and we decided that we should put the worms into an available flowerpot that was full of soil and devoid of plants. And so we began collecting them.

We stopped when we reached 163 worms. So. Many. Worms.

I went inside for a bit, and then went out to check on the worms again. There were more. So many more. It was unsettling. They moved with surprising speed, and agility, too -- some made it several inches up on the stucco of the house and the columns by the patio. I started at one side of the patio, collected the worms there, and moved across to the other side, collecting worms as I went. By the time I'd reached the opposite side, I had to begin all over again, for more and more worms appeared. It was almost like a scene from a third-rate horror movie: worm, after worm, after worm. Worm, worm, worm. Worm.

I stopped when I'd reached a total of 356 worms. I was tired and worn out and just couldn't pick up any more. I put the flowerpot safely on top of a bin, and went inside.

It was disheartening. So many worms. I didn't go outside again because I couldn't bear to see more worms that needed help. I even had Beloved Husband take the Tiny Dog outside to pee before we retired for the night, so I would not have to look at the worms.

The next day, the rain had ceased, and so we ventured back outside. Sadly, a small portion of the worms had tried to escape the flowerpot: there were some dried worm carcasses stuck upon the bin on which the pot stood. Alas. WORMS, I TRIED TO SAVE YOU. I AM SORRY. There were a few other dead worms sprinkled about the patio as well. There were, however, still a great many live worms in the flowerpot. Worm salvation.

I eventually took the pot to the middle of the yard and turned it onto its side, so the worms could make their way back to the soil. After half a day, I dumped out the remaining worms and dirt from the pot. All that is left in the yard now is a bit of soil on top of the grass. The worms have all gone home.

This whole Worm Episode was oddly distressing. The blind unthinking activity of so many worms. The awful knowledge that no matter what I did, a number of small helpless creatures would die. It was tragic. And terrible.

I don't like to think about it.

It is raining again tonight. Fortunately, though, it is a light rain, and right now, there is only one worm on the patio.

Still, I may ask someone else to take Tiny Dog outside, so I do not have to look at any worms again.

Last One Standing

Herself speaks.

As we wander through these middle years of life, sometimes our thoughts turn to the realities of the future. We watch the generation before us grow old, and we think about age and infirmity and what will happen, when they (and eventually, we) come to the end of our pathways?

I have a confession: I would like to be the last among my generation of family and friends to go.

Not because I want to outlive them, no; rather, so that I can make sure that they are not alone when they set sail for the Grey Havens. To wave goodbye when someone leaves -- whether they are departing for a short time or an unknown time, or perhaps, for eternity -- is to remind them that they are loved. And when you carry someone's love with you, it makes your travels easier. Even, perhaps, for a journey into the unknown.

I listen to Lord Huron: The Birds Are Singing At Night, and I wonder how it will all come to pass.

I hope there are many years still before I must walk those roads.

Unimaginable

Your beloved and your friends were once strangers. Somehow at a particular time, they came from the distance toward your life. Their arrival seemed so accidental and contingent. Now your life is unimaginable without them. ― John O'Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

Camping

Herself speaks.

After I completed The Task this summer, my one goal was to go camping -- to be away from Everything, with naught but good company, open sky, and nature.

It took quite a while, but camping finally came to pass this weekend. It did my heart good, to be out in the lava field with the plants and the wildlife. To warm up by a campfire. To listen to the birds and the crickets. To have nothing to do but talk with companions who are close to my heart. To sit, quietly, together.

I wish for more days like these.

Yarn

Tiny Dog helps with the crocheting.

Current Mood

Current mood -- like the Tiny Dog: a wee bit chilly, somewhat cranky, and in need of a vacation.

(And, perhaps, wanting not to be wearing clothes.)

Weather, At Last

Batsense

No Thank You, Questionable Facebook Ad

Things that are Perplexing

Wanderer

...[T]he wind bids me leave you.
Less hasty am I than the wind, yet I must go.
We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us.
Even while the earth sleeps we travel.
We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered.
Brief were my days among you, and briefer still the words I have spoken.
But should my voice fade in your ears, and my love vanish in your memory, then I will come again....

-Kahlil Gibran, "The Farewell", The Prophet

Old Man

One of the things I enjoyed most about Elderly Three-toothed Dog was seeing him relax. He was very fond of making a nest, whether in blankets or on one of the cushy dog beds, and he would take his time to arrange things just right. He invariably chose a spot near where I was working or sitting. To know that he felt safe and comfortable, and that he was sleeping soundly, always warmed my heart.

I miss my furry Old Man.

New Hobby

Trying to learn something new.
How to Crochet for Absolute Beginners.

We shall see how it goes.

Not Nice

With the appointment of Judge Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, I am newly outraged. I do not have the energy or the patience to explain in detail all the reasons why. Suffice it to say, things are very Wrong in this country right now.

Fortunately, the First Amendment is currently still alive and well, and the right to protest remains intact. I have markers and posterboard, sneakers and a willingness to raise my voice. It is the very least I can do.

Elections are coming.

We shall see what transpires in the next few months, years. I am close to despair, yet I still hope that things can be better.

Today's earworm: Not Ready To Make Nice  (Dixie Chicks.)

Vote

After a very discouraging day of Politics, I found this on Facebook. And it is just right.

I FOUND THE LIZARD

Wait

Wait. This was the first lesson I had learned about love. The day drags along, you make thousands of plans, you imagine every possible conversation, you promise to change your behavior in certain ways -- and you feel more and more anxious until your loved one arrives. But by then, you don't know what to say. The hours of waiting have been transformed into tension, the tension has become fear, and the fear makes you embarrassed about showing affection.
― Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

Four O'Clock

But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning. 
― Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Safe Place

Below is one of my favorite internet pictures of all time.

Oh, to be able to tuck myself into such a safe place right now. That would be magnificent.