Koala

Herself speaks.

My parents sent me a koala in the mail. In the card that came with the koala, they wrote that the koala had its heart set on traveling to my corner of the desert. And I thought back to a family trip we took some forty-plus years ago, when I was still a grade schooler: we were going to visit my grandparents who lived a plane ride away, and I explained to my parents that I needed to bring my (somewhat larger) stuffed koala because "koala has his heart set on going." Bless their hearts, they let me bring that koala on the plane.

I miss being a child, sometimes.

And I am glad to have a new koala.

Description

Herself speaks.

I had the opportunity to serve as a personal reference for someone yesterday. (I may have been listed before, but this is the first time I'd ever been called to verify the reference.) It was an interesting experience. The questions were fairly standard: where did you meet and in what context, how long have you known one another, does the person use drugs, or drink to excess, has the person been arrested? Nothing unusual there.

There were a few more open-ended questions, too -- along the lines of "what is this person like?" And as I contemplated the answer, I was reminded of a short article I'd seen on Facebook. It talked about how people sometimes describe themselves in terms of others: e.g., "I'm helpful". And the point was made that we are more than merely the sum of "things we can do for others". That is: even with no one else present, we still have merit as human beings -- our worth and value comes from our intrinsic characteristics.

And so, in describing the person for whom I was providing a reference, I  focused on the qualities of their character -- intelligence, for starters -- rather than anything in relation to others. It was a different way of looking at someone; yet, I think, a more objective and accurate one.

How do you describe yourself? Not in relation to others, but purely as you exist?

Think about it. It's harder than you might think to do.

Rawr

Vicious beast survived a trip to the vet. Good girl. 

4,018

Herself speaks.

Yesterday, while Beloved Husband was out with his friends practicing riding their motorcycles, I went out to White Sands National Monument, and met up with Cherished Friend there. It was a lovely day: the weather was neither too hot nor too cold; there was no wind; the sun was not too bakingly baking; and there were people, but not too many, which was nice.

There were footprints -- mostly of previous human visitors, but occasionally of other creatures.

When you looked closely, you could see how the wind would whip the blades of the grasses around, causing circular indentations in the sand.

There was a large raven hanging about the picnic area.

The mountains looked lovely across the dunes.

I had brought sleds with me, because here in the desert southwest, it is far easier to sled at White Sands than it is to find snow for the same activity. The gift shop even sells sleds for just that purpose. We found a good dune; although Cherished Friend declined to participate, I took half a dozen trips down on the sled. Wheeeeee!

It was fun, and a little scary, and very silly for a rather round 52-year-old woman to go careening down the dunes. At the same time, it was a rare moment of freedom.
------

This morning, Facebook reminded me that I became Facebook friends with Cherished Friend exactly eleven years ago. That's 4,018 days. 20.9% of my life. And I thought about the trip to White Sands, and about how grateful I am to know that I can be myself in front of Cherished Friend: I can be silly, I can be nerdy; I can struggle with internal feelings or external annoyances -- yet through it all, he does not make me feel stupid or overly sensitive. He accepts me as I am and generously forgives my human failings, and never asks more of me than I can deliver.

A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one's heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away. - George Eliot

He a good soul. I wish for his happiness, always.

White Sands

Current Mood

Copyright 2019, 2020 Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Arrow

Today's earworm: Follow your Arrow (Kacey Musgraves).

Such a sweet affirmation of choosing your own path. Thank you, Ms. Musgraves.

Motorcycle

Herself speaks.

Beloved Husband has bought a motorcycle.

Sigh.

I know he's done all his research, and that he will wear appropriate protective gear. He's already passed the motorcycle riding course at the local community college, and has planned out where and when he will practice to become more comfortable on the motorcycle. So all is well, in theory.

Of all the various interests Beloved Husband has acquired over the years, though, this one makes me particularly uneasy. There's just too high a risk of Bad Things Happening. I know he'll be careful. But being careful isn't always enough.
----

When the Offspring were very small, one of my low-grade-yet-constant worries was the possibility of Beloved Husband's untimely demise. I'm not entirely sure what the root was (other than the hormonal terrors of young motherhood), for he has always been a cautious individual and never had a particularly dangerous job or difficult commute. Still, it was a Big Fear.

The Offspring are all essentially grown now, and so the spectre of "widowed young mother" is past. Thank goodness. Nevertheless, should anything happen to him, the impact would be far-reaching, moving in ever-widening circles, through the immediate family, the extended family, his work sphere, and the community organizations for which he volunteers. I don't like to think about it and have not often done so -- until now.

It's not my role to tell him "no". Rather, I am here as a partner (both at home and at work), as co-parent, and most of all, as helpmeet. I have expressed my concerns, but know that he lives his own life and must make his own choices.

He's a smart man, and a careful man. It will probably all be fine. Still, I would much prefer that he go fishing.

Sweet Polly Purebred

Herself speaks.

A few evenings ago, Beloved Husband looked at me and said that my recent haircut reminds him of Sweet Polly Purebred. I do love the description of Polly from the Heroes Wiki: she "is a female anthropomorphic dog TV news reporter who is Underdog's love interest." I have indeed been always fond of individuals who are considered the underdog in various situations, so it seems somewhat appropriate. The similarity may end there, though -- Polly is oftentimes the "damsel in distress" who is rescued by Underdog, and I... am far more Underdog than damsel.

In truth, I am not yet used to the new haircut. On the one hand, it occasionally looks nice. On the other hand, I cannot shake the feeling that it is a Middle Aged Woman's haircut, and I am still a tiny bit in denial that I am such a woman. (Denial - not just a river in Egypt.) Also, sometimes I look in the mirror and see my mother. While that is not necessarily in and of itself a bad thing, it does remind me that I am no longer Young.

Every now and then, I look at my reflection, and despair. (I am so often reminded of Inside Amy Schumer: Last F*ckable Day. So funny. And yet, so on point.) But what does it matter, anyway? I wonder why humans are so hardwired to care whether other people find them attractive. I definitely need to let it go, for those days are past.

On the other hand, Sweet Polly Purebred is charming in her own way. Perhaps that is the best I can hope for.

Flashback

Flashback to Elderly Three-toothed Dog and his tongue. Such a Good Boy he was.

This photo captures exactly how I feel today.

Tangled

The thoughts in my brain feel like the limbs of this plant. Need some mental housekeeping, stat.

Serpensortia

Space Explorer

Agave

Herself speaks.

I was planning to do some hiking today (part of a New Year's resolution to do more hiking), but was laid low for the morning by a migraine/sinus Thing, and so opted to go stroll about in the desert garden of a regional museum in the afternoon instead. The weather was pleasant -- just a bit chilly -- and the plants were all very nicely labeled.

Growing up in New England, I likely took plant life for granted. Trees were tall and numerous and diverse; shrubbery was everywhere; grass grew even without purposeful watering. I do recall that I was especially fond of the chestnut trees that grew one street over, because the chestnuts were so very beautiful. I never gave thought to the survival needs of plants, though.

Here in the desert, everything is different. The plants are pointy and spiky and leaves are of a different character entirely. They work to find purchase in gritty dry soil. And yet they flourish, everywhere, and you can see their astonishing adaptability and strength once you know how to look.

The most remarkable feature of so many desert plants is the symmetry. So lovely.

Definitely need to plant a desert garden. Soon.

All Night

A classic, from way back when: Prove It All Night (Bruce Springsteen).

Lovely.

Everybody's got a hunger, a hunger they can't resist
There's so much that you want, you deserve much more than this
But if dreams came true, oh, wouldn't that be nice

I hope you enjoy.

Mudita

Wikipedia says:

Muditā (Pāli and Sanskrit: मुदिता) means joy; especially sympathetic or vicarious joy.
Also: the pleasure that comes from delighting in other people's well-being.

Mudita is:

Someone having a dozen peaceful deer visible from their window.

Copyright 2020 Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

One Tin Soldier

As I sit, afraid of the Breaking News announcements, researching at their behest what it means for the Offspring if the draft is reinstated, wondering what will happen to American troops and contractors in the Middle East, I am well aware that do not understand the full situation. There is no way for me to do so -- it is Too Big for one human mind. All I can see is anger and fear, and the shadow of death and destruction over all. It is hard not to despair. 

I am reminded of a song I first learned eons ago in summer camp: One Tin Soldier.  While I do not know its significance during the time when it was first written, I can fully see its meaning now. 

Now the valley cried with anger
Mount your horses, draw your swords
And they killed the mountain people
So they won their just reward

Now they stood beside the treasure
On the mountain darkened red
Turned the stone and looked beneath it --
Peace on Earth, was all it said.

Flashback

Flashback to nearly a year ago - a visit to the botanical garden, with an extremely satisfyingly round cactus. So lovely and pleasing to the eye.

Perhaps I will start a cactus garden in the back yard.

Habit

Herself speaks.

Over the past several years, I've become accustomed to exchanging texts with Cherished Friend on a regular basis. We have had snatches of conversation here and there, and exchanged photographs of interest from our separate locations, as well as memes that have been particularly applicable at the moment.  And nearly every evening, I have wished him goodnight in a customary manner. It is like a benediction: a wish for all to be well for him.

He is currently -- and for an indeterminate amount of time -- in a location where sending and receiving texts may not be easily feasible. There is a possibility, too, that he may relatively soon relocate even further, and the inability to text may continue. I'm at a loss. It's quite a dent in my force of habit.

The good part is, e-mail still exists. It doesn't have the immediacy of text, to be sure, but at least the channels of communication are still open. Ultimately, that's what is important.

Onward, we go.

Nothing makes the earth seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the latitudes and longitudes. -- Henry David Thoreau

Copyright 2019, 2020 Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Quiet

When the news is too much to bear, a little soothing music: Lori Anne by John Danley.

I hope you enjoy. 

I Am Afraid of the News

I have been so distressed by the wildfires in Australia. Horrible beyond imagining. And yet this evening, I am distracted from that terrible situation, by news regarding the death of an Iranian official that was allegedly ordered by Trump. Is he trying to start a third world war? Mother of God.

Help.

Save the animals, the people, the planet. Save us from ourselves.

New Year's Day Hike

Starting the year off right, out in the desert.