Fly Away

One evening last week, I took the small dogs out to the back yard as usual after work. New Old Dog wandered about in the grass, and Tiny Dog checked the crevices near the house for lizards (her favorite pastime). She began barking, and I went to find her right away -- she doesn't bark at the lizards, merely stalks them. Could it be a giant cockroach? (She barks at those.)  She was behind the grill. I took a look, and there on the ground, was a small green bird. It was dead.

The bird did not have any obvious injuries, nor was it decomposed; for an unknown reason, it was just deceased. It had muted green feathers ruffled by the slight breeze, and delicate feet. Alas, bird.

Tiny Dog was clearly perturbed by the bird. I couldn't bring myself to throw the bird's body into the trash; that seemed so wrong for such a delicate remnant of a fleeting life. I gently swept it up, took it out into the yard, and buried it under the same tree where I buried Ruth the fish. It was the least I could do.

Godspeed, small green bird.

Costume

At the pet store: a sumo wrestler for one's dog.

This seems... questionable. Is it culturally insensitive? Or just silly?

No, I didn't buy it. I purchased a bow tie for New Old Dog instead.

Last Move Wins

Every now and then, I ask Beloved Husband to play a game. This time, a classic:  Connect Four.

Down to the wire -- last move wins. 

Fishing

Herself speaks.

Beloved Husband is very fond of fishing. He has his carefully-arranged tackle, rods, and accoutrements, and his kayaks. He will easily spend seven hours on a weekend day, out fishing.  He's also working on learning fly fishing; there is much watching of educational YouTube videos, and practicing of casting in the backyard, and such.

I'm glad he has a hobby he enjoys. He might like if I went with him, but fishing does not remotely appeal to me -- the hot sun, the sticky/wiggly bait, the poor desperate fish trying to escape the hook. No, thank you.

The only time I have ever been fishing, was when I was tiny. I would gleefully dip the end of my plastic rod, with the plastic fish already attached, into the water and swish it about. And in truth, that would be the only way I would enjoy fishing now: with a plastic fish. And in the shade.

I'll need to find some other hobbies for myself.

Things I Secretly Like

Things I secretly really like: the costumes in Lady Marmalade (Christina Aguilera, Lil' Kim, Mya and Pink).

I hope you enjoy.

Questionable Games

Sweet Fanciful Moses, why is this ad appearing in the games I play on my smartphone? Surely games that involve caring for electronic pets, or arranging furniture for interior design, attract different kinds of demographics? And what, exactly, is Dad Dating? How does it differ from regular dating? Is it really single-parent dating? I doubt that, somehow. 

So many issues. Daddy issues. Yikes.

Shirts and Skins

Herself speaks about old Body Things. 

A thousand years ago when I was young, I became aware of a certain injustice in the world: when my family and I were at the humble summer farmhouse in Maine, or visiting one of the nearby lakes (ponds, really) for a swim, my brother was allowed run around without a shirt, but I was not.

I did not ask why; I knew it had something to do with gender. I was annoyed, though, because I remembered that when I was very small, I was in fact allowed occasionally to go shirtless. At some point, I had mysteriously crossed an invisible line. There was no physical change that have triggered the rule; puberty did not arrive until much later. Perhaps it was age. I didn't know.

I was miffed. Yet I obeyed unquestioningly, because it was One Of Those Things.

All the same, I felt it was one of the many stupid and meaningless categorizations that existed, along with things like: boys can pretend to shave like Daddy but girls cannot; boys can mow the lawn but girls cannot. Boys could be louder than girls. Boys could climb trees, but girls who did so were criticized (whether by adults or, much more often, by peers). It was all dumb. Why did any of it matter?

My liberal parents were quite good at reinforcing the notion that career-wise, girls could do anything boys could do. They espoused Girl Power and other female empowerment concepts. This, while excellent, made the prohibition against shirtlessness seem somehow even more ridiculous to me.

Eventually, puberty and modesty blossomed, and I made sure I was conventionally covered. Nevertheless, I will always remember that ancient feeling of unfairness. It was my first introduction to gender difference -- and, in retrospect, to the need to ask questions.

Before the line was crossed. So long ago. 

Iridescent

Behold this lovely bee with its iridescent wings, sunning itself in the early hours during my morning constitutional.

Rut

Herself speaks.

You may have noticed an abundance of pet photos of late. Though I've had a few solid topics about which I felt compelled to write, I've otherwise been struggling with identifying motivational subject matter. In some ways, I still feel tired from the Summer of Many Travels and Other Draining Things. I have not had sufficient contemplative time, but have had an abundance of migraines. Alas.

I shall try harder. I am contemplating employing a Weekly Theme; that might help narrow my focus sufficiently to find an interesting writing tidbit. Or perhaps I shall have a Daily Topic for each day of the week. Or a combination thereof. I've hand-written a short list of potential themes/ideas. We shall see.

I appreciate your patience, my stalwart Readers. Thank you for bearing with me. Together, we shall get to a better writing place.

I found this photo in my phone. I don't know what it is. 

It sums up the contents of my brain at the moment, though. 

Sip

I was drinking that, Tiny Dog.

Cigar

Herself speaks.

This morning while the small dogs and I were out for a walk, I caught a whiff of cigar smoke on the air. There was a gentleman perhaps my age or a few years older, a cigar clamped in his teeth, who was tidying his front yard. He flung a hose to one side and issued a polite "good morning" as I passed by. I returned his greeting, and thought about how hardly anyone seems to smoke cigars anymore.

And I thought of my paternal grandfather and his kindly face. His starched shirts and tie clips. He was a formal man -- as my parents joked, his idea of "dressing down" was to wear an old tie. He would give me and my siblings his cigar bands, and we would put them on our fingers like rings. He would smile at me, call me his shaina maideleh, and my awkward homely self would feel love glowing warmly around him, shining down and all around.

Those were magical moments.

-----
I wonder: what if we saw ourselves as those who love us do?

What if I could see the shaina maideleh that he saw, but that I cannot? Would I feel differently about myself?

And what if the shaina maideleh he saw was not on the outside, but on the inside?

Can I carry that shaina maideleh with me like a candle within, and learn to glow as he did?

I can try.

A very blurry photo from Days of Yore.
I am holding my sister's stuffed sheep, and a leaf, I believe.
I have always been fond of leaves, in all shapes and colors. 

Sit

New Old Dog Naptime

It's a rough life for New Old Dog. 

Eastern Seaboard

Ah, the sea coast. Soothing to the soul.

Picture copyright 2019, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Translucent

When it rains in the desert, all the unexpected creatures make an appearance -- including nearly see-through snails. 

Ghosts That We Knew

Today's earworm: Ghosts That We Knew (Mumford & Sons).

Listen to the harmonies here. Lovely.

I hope you enjoy.

Good Places To Be

Humm

If you look closely, you can see the hummingbird in the upper right hand corner, waiting for me to move away from the feeder behind me. The hummingbirds are always surprisingly loud. HUMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmm. 

We Remember

Today, we gather to be reassured that God hears the lamenting and bitter weeping of Mother America because so many of her children are no more. Let us now seek that assurance in prayer for the healing of our grief stricken hearts, for the souls and sacred memory of those who have been lost. Let us also pray for divine wisdom as our leaders consider the necessary actions for national security, wisdom of the grace of God that as we act, we not become the evil we deplore. - Reverend Nathan Baxter, Dean of Washington National Cathedral, September 14, 2001

The Body

Herself speaks.
Serious topic today, including brief general discussion of abuse and sexual assault survivors. Skip over today if you are not feeling strong. 

One of my Facebook acquaintances posted a meme yesterday that had me grinding my teeth.  I won't share it, because so much wrong. It was a photograph with a small wiry man of indeterminate race, wearing scrubs, and the word "doctor" before his name; it had text that read "Dr. [XX] says, no one must die of cancer except out of carelessness", and provided three "simple steps" to conquer cancer. The steps included stopping all sugar intake; drinking a glass of hot lemon juice first thing in the morning; and having three spoonfuls of organic coconut oil morning and night. These three steps will apparently cause cancer to disappear.

No. Just no. What is wrong with people, that they believe these things?

Not to mention: hello, victim blaming. If you still have cancer? You must have been 'careless' in following this regimen.

No.

Cancer is a multivaried, unpredictable disease, wrought by changes at the microbiological level. While yes, diet and habits (e.g., smoking) may have an impact on the development of cancer, it is foolish in the extreme to believe that a deliberately simple intake (or lack thereof) of common household ingredients would change the course of the disease.

The body does what it does. We are merely passengers in the body; we tend to the body as best we can, but it still invariably does unusual or unpleasant things from time to time.

Think of the breast lumps I have -- did I do something to cause them? Or not do something, that thereby resulted in their development? Can I do something now to make those clumps of (mercifully benign) cells disappear? Unlikely. They are just the way things are.

Think of Offspring the Third's ingrown toenail that necessitated mechanical intervention -- did he do something to cause it to grow in a peculiar fashion? No. That is just the way it was.

Or think of Offspring the First, who required surgery at age five to correct a congenital issue with one of her internal organs. Congenital. Present at birth. No amount of change in my antenatal diet, or in her postnatal diet, could change the way she was formed.

We are amazing conglomerates of cells. It's fascinating and mysterious that cells should work together so well to form a cohesive organism. It's not at all surprising, given the complexity, that things should malfunction from time to time.

Let's step back from the cellular level and look at the larger picture: we will still find that the body does what it does, regardless of what we think, say or do.

The first time Offspring the Third had his ingrown toenail addressed, I sat in the room with him to bring him comfort and support. It was fine; I focused on him and talked him through it. All went well. But when everything was over, all of sudden I felt hot and queasy and as though I might faint. Such a thing had never happened before -- my body reacted quite differently from what my otherwise unremarkable emotional state led me to believe it would do.

It happened again several months later, when I was in the emergency room with an aged relative; even though all was well and there was nothing unusual happening, my body reacted poorly. I excused myself to the restroom and put my head between my knees for a few minutes until equilibrium was reestablished. I was mystified as to why my body reacted the way it did -- yet, that's what happened. It was not within my mental control. So I did what I had to do to tend to the body in the moment.

Let's broaden further. Think about survivors of abuse and assault  -- how does the body react? Survivors talk about disassociating from the body, shutting down, freezing; but also, of reacting in an unexpected physical way. The body (and the primitive reptilian brain that pilots it) may behave in a way completely contrary to what the higher brain thinks should happen. What the physical body finds tolerable, even pleasurable, may be far beyond what the mind finds remotely acceptable.

This is no doubt why male sexual assault survivors are so hesitant to come forward or to even acknowledge that what happened to them was assault, with society telling them: if you had an erection or an orgasm, you must have wanted it. Can you imagine the confusion and despair of your body reacting physiologically to something that you psychologically do not want to happen? It happens to women too. Didn't you enjoy it? You must have secretly wanted it. Blaming the victim, once more. What a terrible thing to do.

Never has the division between body and mind been clearer:
The body does what it does. We are merely passengers.

It can be quite the unexpected ride.

Under My Chair

A nice safe spot for viewing the yard. 

Words I Dislike

In contrast to the Good Words of yesterday, there are some words that I do not particularly like. I am a word aficionado, so it's unusual to find a word to be unappealing. Nevertheless, it does happen on occasion.

Two words that I will never purposefully use are:
Snuggle.
Cuddle.

It's not that I have any aversion to the actions contemplated by those words. Context is everything: these words have juvenile connotations that are uncomfortable and inappropriate when discussing adult relationships and interactions. When I see/hear an adult exclaiming, "I love snuggling with my sweetie!" or something similar, I cringe. Snuggling and cuddling are for small woodland creatures and very young children. Not for grownups.

Perhaps I am too rigid in my definitions, but this is how I see these words. Is there an applicable word for such an activity between adults? I have yet to determine what that might be.

I would like both the appropriate word, and perhaps even a little bit of the activity embodied therein.

This might be as close to snuggling with one another as the small dogs ever get.

Good Words

Herself speaks.

This past week, I had the six-month post-biopsy follow-up testing done to check on the stealthy breast lumps I carry with me. The phone didn't ring in the days after the ultrasound, which I hoped would be a good sign (they do tend to call right away when something is amiss). I could not rest easy, though, until I read the report for myself. It was available this morning.

I have never been so delighted to see the words "stable" and "benign-appearing".

Amen, hallelujah. 

Overseer

New Old Dog runs out of gas on our morning walks, and opts to be carried while he supervises Tiny Dog. Bless him. 

Crescent

It is hard to tell from the photo, but the moon is a lovely crescent in the cool of the evening.

Nice.

No.

Side-by-side with Halloween decorations. TOO EARLY, STORE. 

Old

New Old Dog has been exceptionally clingy lately. I am not quite sure why: is he not feeling well? Has he developed separation anxiety after the many (albeit relatively short) trips over this summer? Is he just getting Old Old?

I am not sure. I hope we can figure out what, if anything, is bothering him, and help him to feel better.

Good boy, Old Man. 

Camping Burrito