Nuptial Hands

Herself speaks.

My lovely daughter married a lovely man today. I wish them tremendous happiness, always.

Ruckus

For the past few weeks, there has been a tremendous ruckus issuing from one particular tree along the route of my morning walk with the small dogs. I don't know what the flock of birds is doing in there, nor even what type of birds they are. The noise is quite remarkable, though. 

Sliver

Herself speaks.

New Old Dog got up rather early one morning this past weekend. It was close enough to regular get-up-time that I decided just to crawl out of bed and take him and his compatriot Tiny Dog for their regular morning constitutional. When we went, there was a lovely sliver of moon hanging low in the sky. (The feeble photograph I took with my cell phone camera did not do it justice in the least.)  

I so love the moon: flowing through her waxing and her waning, presiding over the passage of time, observing both the seasons of the earth and the seasons of the heart. She has heard our cries of sorrow and joy and of love and hate through the ages. She does not shun us for our failures, but has provided us her disinterested acceptance. We are soothed by her cool and dispassionate face. 

Our lifespans elapse in a blink of her eye. And yet, we can find commonality under her gaze: for she has seen all of humanity, from its inception, to the moment we set foot upon her surface, and beyond. She is miraculous and eternal, and comforts my soul. Moon. 

A Little Late

Herself speaks.

According to the hard-wired smoke detector, it should have been replaced a decade ago. Eeek. I took care of it today. It was a bit of an onerous task, involving accessing the circuit breaker box; removing the old face plates and installing new ones; identifying and utilizing the correct adaptors; and installing the new detectors. I am secretly pleased that I accomplished it because this task was very far out of my wheelhouse and my comfort zone. Go me!

And now I feel safer, knowing we are better protected.

Clover

A small section of the front yard is growing clover. This fills me with delight far more than ordinary grass does. Such an optimistic plant.

Hu

Earlier this week, Beloved Husband, Offspring the Second, and I went to see The Hu in concert.  The event was held in a local dive bar (and in my opinion, a VERY "dive bar" dive bar), packed to the gills with people. I could barely see over the people in front of me to where the band was, in a pit below. Standing room only. Not an event where one would normally find a nondescript portly middle-aged woman such as myself; yet there I was.

Looking down on the pit. Offspring the Second is to the right somewhere.

The Hu is, according to their website, a Mongolian rock band with traditional Mongolian instrumentation, which blends heavy metal and Mongolian throat singing.

They were great.

I'm not into metal music (you would have to talk with Offspring the Second to get substantive information on the genres and musicians that are considered 'metal'). The relatively slow beat, coupled with the slow, deep voices, though, was right up my alley. Excellent.

Here are a couple of samples of their videos: first, The Great Chinggis Khaan.

Also,  Yuve Yuve Yu.

And: Wolf Totem.

You can find more in YouTube at their channel. I hope you enjoy.

Transitions

Herself speaks.

The winds of change are blowing.

Transitions are on the horizon. They are not, in fact, my transitions, but rather are those of people close to me. One transition is more certain, and another remains somewhat nebulous (though it appears to be coalescing). I wait, and watch, and do my best to provide what they may need in this time of change. Change can be very good, and change can be tricky, and change can be filled with unknown elements. Sometimes, it can be all that, and more. I must wait and see how these transitions unfold.

Right now I do not have room in my thoughts for worry about the future. There is only space to hold these people close in my heart, as they move forward on their own paths.

Hips

Rose hips, that is. I have never seen them before. Nifty!

Where

Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. - Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.

Picture copyright 2019, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Go Miley

Miley Cyrus: part of me thinks, she should just reel it all back in a little. But another, louder, part of me, thinks good for you. She is unapologetically herself. She makes people uncomfortable -- myself included, sometimes. But that makes us think:  why are we uncomfortable? And we look at ourselves a little bit more closely.

You do you, Miley. And we'll watch Mother's Daughter.

Lionel

Herself speaks.

This afternoon, the Pandora station cycled through some classics from the 1980s, including Lionel Richie, Hello. Ah, that takes me so far back.

It reminds me of various camp/school dances from Way Back When: it is exactly the type of sentimental, slow song that we adolescents yearned for, to provide an excuse to hold our crushes-of-the-moment and sway. Remember that moment of panic when a fast song would end, the music would slow down, and we had to decide: say 'thank you' and walk away, or take a chance on a slow dance? Take that chance!

For us girls, there was always the quandary of where exactly to put our hands. There were two options: around his neck, or around his waist. The safest place was around his waist, ideally on the inside when his arms were around our waist; having arms on the inside ensured that we could better fend off wandering hands. (Because yes, the boys would sometimes slowly creep their hands toward our fronts, somehow imagining they could cop a feel of our breasts right there on the dance floor. Some judicious elbow-work could prevent that.) To put arms around his neck was a far more vulnerable position and required a level of trust of -- or perhaps, of desire for -- the boy.

Those innocent days, when standing close enough to lightly touch someone was sufficient to make us blush and our hearts beat wildly. I miss those days. And slow dancing, too.

A Good Place

What a lovely place for a walk. Wish I were there, right now. 

Picture copyright 2019, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Hello There

Where did you come from? And why are you suddenly there on my arm?

Outside you go!

Waiting

Tiny Dog waits amongst the Halloween decorations for Beloved Husband to come home. 

Tidy

This weekend while everyone was out of the house, I took the opportunity to Tidy All The Things. I moved Offspring the Third's miscellany, that has lingered in the family room since he went off to school, up to his room. I emptied out and rearranged several closets, and found new homes for piles of Stuff such as those that have been occupying the corner of the study forever (the crates of papers from preparation for The Task, and the binders from other tasks). I organized some drawers. I neatly stored in a single location, the memorabilia that had been accumulating in various places. Then I steam-cleaned carpets, wiped down the plantation shutters, and dusted the ceiling fans. 

It is a level of organization that I have long sought but have not had time to put into place. While some people may wonder why I spent quality time to myself on this endeavor, I am quite happy with the results. I find clutter to be exhausting. Now my spaces are tidied, and my brain is tidied. It is good. 

Fuzzy Duckling

1969? 1970?  A long time ago, before the picket fence was put up and more plants were installed in the yard. I always did enjoy the sandbox.  

Pelt

Herself speaks.

Ever since the second MOHS surgery for basal cell carcinoma, I've kept an (even tighter) eye on my skin. It is temperamental and eternally prone to Misbehavior. Two different doctors are involved in the care of my skin issues -- specialists for particular medical concerns -- and I see each individually at least twice a year. It pains me. Sometimes literally, sometimes merely metaphorically.

I am suspicious of a spot near the second MOHS scar. It is not behaving as regular skin should. The first time it acted up, I thought (wishfully), perhaps it is just a fluke. When it settled down, I breathed a sigh of relief, yet was well aware that it could resurface. And it did. With this recurrence in the same location, I am deeply suspicious. F*ck.

I called to see whether I could move my scheduled November appointment earlier, but there were no openings at the moment. So I wait. Fortunately basal cell carcinoma is slow-moving and very unlikely to metastasize, so my health is not in particular danger. It's hard, though, not to think about the possibility of a third MOHS, especially given the location on my face. If another MOHS is necessary, will a skin graft be a part of it? Will everything go well? How painful will it be? How horrified will the people around me be when they see my face while I heal?

Ultimately, the scars do not bother me. Waiting to take action does bother me very much, though. Every view in a mirror reminds me of the problem and the unpleasant possibilities.

Can I avoid looking in a mirror for a month until my appointment?
How will I know whether I have spinach stuck in my teeth, then?

Sometimes people banter about the questions: if you could change one thing about your body, what would it be?

The answer, for me, is simple: I would have healthy skin.

Perhaps in my next life.

Friday Night Fun

I do enjoy those ridiculous Facebook questions and quizzes, and their purported answers. 

Pet Me

Snail, Redux

New Old Dog is curious: what could this be on the path? Well, it's a mighty large gastropod for the desert. There will be no escargot today, though. 

Exercise

Herself speaks.

I am doing my best to go to the gym regularly. I use the elliptical most often; I need to work on incorporating the weights class as well. Variety is the spice of life, as the saying goes -- or perhaps it is just what is needed to keep exercise boredom at bay.

The scale is still not my friend; the number has hardly budged. I'm going to have to resort to counting calories, I think. (And I should eat fewer Feelings. That might be my biggest challenge.) At least I may be improving my cardiac health and my stamina for future hiking adventures, even when there isn't weight loss.

I don't really hate exercising. However, I desperately miss my 20-year-old body that required so little effort. Alas.

Carry on, body. We'll do what we can.

After The Storm

What a lovely ballad: After the Storm Blows Through by Maddie & Tae.

I'll face that wind by your side
Even take on that rain, I don't mind,
Or give you space or give you time,
If you need me to,
But I'll be here for you
After the storm blows through
And your skies are blue again
And you're back to you again, my friend

I hope you enjoy.

Facebook Is Concerned

When I catch up on Facebook, I usually do so on my smartphone. The mobile version of Facebook is positively replete with advertisements. So. Many. Ads. It's ludicrous. I regularly hide 99% of all the ads that appear, marking them "irrelevant" or "repetitive". The ad content has slowly mutated over time -- when I hid enough ads for socks and makeup, those were replaced with things like (more egregious) ads marketing participation in class-action lawsuits relating to harm caused by medical devices. There is also an abundance of ads for prescription medications and cosmetic procedures (must be the post-50-clinging-to-youth demographic).

There is a common thread right now running through the current ads:

Facebook seems to be very concerned with what I am doing with my vagina. (And possibly the rest of my body.)

Let's take a look at these ads, shall we?

First: skin care for intimate areas. Good heavens. I didn't know this was a thing.

 

Perhaps, suggests Facebook, I should look into more than mere skincare? How about a prescription to enhance a flagging libido? I didn't know this was a thing either. 

Or is it just that I need more soft-core reading material to jump-start my imagination? 

Perhaps a Romance Queen book?

Or do I need anime romance? (That seems more millennial, somehow.)

Maybe I stink?

Or perhaps it's just that my body is no longer attractive. A tummy tuck might fix that?

(Kudos at least to that ad, for showing actual stretch marks.)

Is it a demographic quirk that yields these ads? I have never actually run a Google search for, or otherwise researched, any of these particular products/services. I rely on my OB/GYN for advice on skin care for my nethers and medication that might affect my ladybits; I am not horrified by a little sweat at the gym; I actively avoid romance novels; and though in truth a tummy tuck might improve the appearance of my abdomen a tad, I am not remotely interested in elective surgery. This body has been through enough. No, thank you. 

I am mystified WHATEVER, Facebook. I suppose I should be glad that you don't consider my demographic to be so ancient so as to be no longer interested in, or interesting for, sex. Please consider broadening your horizons, though. Thanks very much. 

Shania

Hard to believe this song and video are ten years old now. Shania Twain, Man! I Feel Like a Woman.

Her costuming, styling, and attitude are all fabulous. And the men are merely background -- vacuous, cliché, indistinguishable. What a refreshing change from the typical music video with vacuous, cliché, and indistinguishable young women.

I hope you enjoy.

Stop and Smell The Flowers

One of My Biggest Pet Peeves

Herself speaks.

One recent afternoon, as I waited in line at the pet store to purchase food for the small dogs, I overheard a man with his tiny young daughter behind me. They had a Betta fish, a fishbowl and assorted fishy accoutrements with them. Their conversation went something like this:

Dad: What do you say to Daddy?
Child: [confused silence]
Dad: I'm getting you a fish, what do you say? You say, Thank you!
Child [promptly]: Thank you!
Dad: Now give me a hug.
Child: [reluctant]
Dad: I want a hug! I'm getting you a fish!
Child: [apparently hugs Daddy]
Dad: That's right. That is how you say thank you.

Oh, dear. So much no.

By all means, remind her that people appreciate the words "thank you" when they do something kind for you. But let's not teach our tiny daughter that the proper way to thank someone is by physical contact, especially when she is disinclined to participate in that physical contact. Is that what you would want for her in ten (or fewer) years when she is dating?

I think not.

We don't ever owe anyone physical contact. Even when they do something nice for us, like get us a pet, or buy us dinner, or take us to do something mutually enjoyable. Even if we are related to them.

Just no.

WALLABY

I got to briefly hold a wallaby. (It's a long story.) It was VERY EXCITING INDEED.