My second favorite poem

if up's the word; and a world grows greener
minute by second and most by more ---
if death is the winner and life is the winner
(and beggars are rich but misers are poor)
--- let's touch the sky:
with a to and a fro
(and a here there where) and away we go

in even the laziest creature among us
a wisdom no knowledge can kill is astir ---
now dull eyes are keen and keen eyes are keener
(for young is the year, for young is the year)
--- let's touch the sky:
with a great (and a gay
and a steep) deep rush through amazing day

it's brains without hearts have set saints against sinner;
put gain over gladness and joy under care ---
let's do as an earth which can never do wrong does
(minute by second and most by more)
--- let's touch the sky:
with a strange (and a true)
and a climbing fall into far near blue

if beggars are rich (and a robin will sing his
robin a song) but misers are poor ---
let's love until noone could quite be (and young is
the year, dear) as living as i'm and you're
--- let's touch the sky:
with a you and a me
and an every (who's any who's some) one who's we

look ma no punctuation or capitalization 

Ducky

My favorite poem, at least today, is "Ducks' Ditty" from The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame:

Ducks' Ditty

All along the backwater,
Through the rushes tall,
Ducks are a-dabbling,
Up tails all!

Ducks' tails, drakes' tails,
Yellow feet a-quiver,
Yellow bills all out of sight,
Busy in the river!

Slushy green undergrowth
Where the roach swim --
Here we keep our larder,
Cool and full and dim.

Everyone for what he likes!
WE like to be
Heads down, tails up,
Dabbling free!

High in the blue above
Swifts whirl and call --
WE are down a-dabbling

Up tails all!

I was feeling so down when I started writing this evening, that I knew the only thing for it was to contemplate something like "Ducks' Ditty". Funny, how a simple, rhythmic cadance can drive the blues away, at least temporarily.

The weather turned springlike again today, after shocking the new buds with snow Easter morning. Of course, the snow didn't last long. If you slept in, you missed it, which I did. I only got to see it on the news. Luckily, our yard is acting like it never happened. I will ask Logan to take some pictures of the daffodils, tulips, and roses, before they fade with the heat that is surely on the heels of this glorious weather. I thought I might take myself a nosegay to work tomorrow to cheer me the rest of the week, but I wonder if daffodils, tulips, and roses make a small enough bouquet to be considered a nosegay. Funny word, that.

Well, dinner is ready (chicken pot pie), so I need to go feed everyone. For tomorrow, I may consider the poetry of e e cummings.

Somerset Maugham was right

I don't feel the angst of youth anymore, at least not in regards to love. I accept what is for now, hope for a better relationship in the future, but don't cry over it (at least not very often). What does cause me worry, though, almost all the time like a persistant ditty stuck in my head, is money troubles.

I think I finally convinced Weyland to turn in his homework (which he claims is too easy and boring) and get good grades by explaining that the only way for him to avoid having crappy, clunker cars like his parents is to get good enough grades to be able to go to a good college so he can get a good job. I'm sick to death of all the clutter in my life, and that includes the beaters sitting out in the driveway.

I worry that I've stuck my head in the sand about my taxes for the past three years. I worry that I can't find all the damned receipts to send in to the TexFlex service and that I'll be charged back -- my own money, mind you -- for OTC purchases.

I worry that I can't afford to fix all the cavity riddled teeth my family has. So far, just Brighid and I are having just a fraction the almost $5000 worth of dental work done that the dentist recommends.

I worry that our house is in dire need of repair.

Sometimes the worry about everything coalesces into a mass of doubt and a horrible sense of helplessness.

Few people kill themselves for love (really, the lack thereof). Most do it over the worry caused by poverty. I don't feel suicidal, but I do feel the helpless feeling coming on. How do you stop emotions from barrelling full force into your brain? The dread is overwhelming.

He is risen?

Fairly subdued day, today. The kids hunted Easter eggs in the very wet grass, ate tons of Peeps, Jelly Belly jelly beans, and candy eggs. I didn't really buy any chocolate this year except for the chocolate bunny awarded to Brighid for finding the most eggs. Weyland selected the peanut butter bunny as his reward for finding the prize egg. We didn't have anything special for breakfast, but might cook the ham or the lasagne currently in the freezer for dinner. For lunch, Logan made me a baked potato.

I'm just not in the mood to do much of anything. My ideal Easter breakfast is Eggs Benedict made with shirred eggs rather than poached eggs (The sight of cooked egg white makes me ill.), strawberry shortcake with fresh strawberries and homemade whipped cream, and Lady Grey tea with cream. Dinner should be ham baked with pineapples and maraschino cherries, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with real butter melted on top. Homemade wheat rolls and sweet tea or a nice Riesling or Pinot Grigio, maybe even a Pinot Noir round out the meal.

Since we didn't have a sit down meal (at least not yet, anyway), the typical prayer didn't get said. I've been reflecting on how my mother would always try to make it to the sunrise Easter service, yet her whole life, she was so conflicted about religion. She was a Baptist, converted to Catholicism at the age of 9 on her own (Her parents remained Baptists.), entered a convent as a postulant at the age of 11, came home around 14 or so because, as she always said, she "could do the poverty and the chasity, but not the obedience." Later, she dabbled in Eastern religions such as Buddhism and Hinduism, Hare Krishna-ism (What do they call themselves, Krishnaites? Krishners? I dunno....), and later even Wiccan beliefs. But she ended up back in the Catholic church, which is the first church she consciously attended.

It's days like this that I feel a mournful sort of loss for my mother. In many regards, I looked to her for my spiritual bearings in that I believe one should continue to strive throughout one's life, the way she did, for truth and understanding. I certainly don't believe in the literal translation of the bible, nor do I think the Pope is infallible. But I do believe Jesus was a real person, a teacher, a prophet perhaps, and definitely a person worthy of study.

That Jesus can be an inspiration to many is compelling. Even though the jury is still out, in my estimation, as to whether or not he was truly a miraculous figure, I do find inspiration in some passages of the New Testament. Unschooled that I am in the more scholarly aspects of religion, I still think it's worth the effort to learn what I can about the religion in which I have been raised. I read things like the Book of Thomas the Contender from the Nag Hammadi texts, and have to wonder if perhaps Jesus was married and having troubles with his wife (most likely Mary Magdalene).

But this discussion tires me, and makes me sad, as it makes me think about Mommy. Maybe that's the problem I have with any organized religion, it makes me think of her. I was taught that no matter what, God loves us, and that Christ is the expression of that love. I can only hope it's true.

Happy Bunny Day

God is a mountain, and everyone in the world stands on the mountain - yet no two people can see exactly the same view. Or so my mother taught me. She learned this from Father Hoover, of all the Catholic priests she knew, the man with which she had the fiercest love/hate relationship. I always suspected they had had an affair, yet years after she was killed, I read in the paper that he had been accused of a homosexual relationship with a young adult. Vickie, my mom's best friend, contends that in a past life, Father Hoover was the captain of a ship, my mother was the Chanteyman, and she was on board to witness the captain have the chanteyman keelhauled, not port to starboard, as is the usual manner, but bow to stern.

Logan claims to be an unreconstructed Celt, whatever the hell that means. I'm ambivalent about God, as I've always believed a truly loving god/God would step in and alleviate pain and suffering, rather than allow it to exist. Also, my scientifc mind can find no evidence of life after death. But being the child of two highly spiritual (albeit in highly diverse ways) people, I'm just superstitous enough to recognize some holidays just in case.

We rarely do little more than fix a nice meal, say a prayer, and have an Easter egg hunt for the kids. So should I bother dying eggs tonight and hiding them tomorrow, when:
1. It's almost 7 p.m., and I haven't started yet.
2. It's supposed to be rainy and cold tomorrow, which makes for crappy Easter egg hunts.
3. Logan is sick as a dog and doesn't give a damn if tomorrow even comes.
4. My children suspect I'm the Easter bunny.
5. I'd rather play online spades than make a mess in the kitchen.
6. I'm trying to think up a bunch of excuses rather than go get the damned stuff to dye eggs.

Oh, hell, I guess I'll dye eggs tonight, even though I LOATHE boiled eggs.

After all, aren't the children entitled to their chocolate and marshmallow secularized (if that's even a word) holiday? Our country (Madison Avenue?) seems to be doing the same thing to Easter as what has been done to Christmas. I mean, isn't it really a supplanted pagan holiday anyway? Eggs = fertility, Easter = Eostre, and Easter sunrise services seem to have replaced the Pagan custom of welcoming the sun God at the vernal equinox.

So Happy Bunny Day, everyone!

My new CPAP machine. Isn't it pretty? 

Clearing the Air

Went out with Eric night before last for a mini-pub crawl again. Ducked into the Flying Saucer to learn it really is just a draught bar, so we then went up a block to the 8.0. Eric had three martinis, well dirrrrrty vodka martinis, but anyway, I had three glasses of red merlot, and sampled the fried calamari aka rubber bands that Eric ordered without consulting me to learn I'd just as soon eat fried rubber bands. After we left there, it was back to The Shamrock to see our favorite bartender, Chris, and teach him how to make Box Office Poison (dark chocolate truffle liqueur, vodka, and Grand Marnier) after having two or three (I was getting kind looped at this point.) Bailey's on the rocks and two double mandarin vodka twists (Eric) and another tall clear drink, of which I never learned the name. I had to drive home, so I showed Eric some lovely sites in Near South Side (a neighborhood near downtown Fort Worth) which would be wonderfully suited to being turned into a studio/apartment/office. Eric gushed about the idea. I wonder if he even remembered it the next day.

Nearing home, we detoured to the Whataburger for french fries and a vanilla shake (me) and a hamburger all the way, fries, and a Diet (!) Coke (Eric). We were dancing in the car to 70's funk, which was pretty funny to witness if you were the black guy at the drive-through window. Eric grabbed my shake, took a big sip, then tried to kiss me and in doing so, got shake all over my face, up my nose, on my shirt, etc. I was drunk enough that I thought it was funny. If I had been sober, I might have been mad. Eric was in a surprisingly affectionate mood. He was somewhat self-conscious, though, as he kept asking me if he looked good. I finally told him, "yeah, I'd do you," so he shut up.

I emailed Sara a joke, and she replied back asking how things were, so she and I have been talking a little. I feel sort of in the middle, in that I can sympathize with both her and Eric. I don't like the feeling one little bit. I'd still like to be Sara's friend, but I have to figure out how to do it without incurring Eric's ire. I'm grownup enough that I won't hate someone just because a friend asks me to. I just need to figure out how to tell him that it's really none of his business. I mean, unless she had done something truly harmful to Eric rather than just get pissed off over their living & money arrangements and ask him to leave, then I'd certainly take bad behavior into consideration.

In other news, later today a lady from a "durable medical equipment supplier" will come to work to bring me a CPAP machine and show me how to set it up. I'll report back later as to whether or not I can breath tonight. It's supposed to help my sleep apnea. If I'm able to sleep without waking up over 200 times per night, I might actually feel worth a damn and feel like getting a bit of exercise. Who knows?

The Cat Will Play

I wrote almost nothing last week. I was too busy at work since Jeanine took the week off to have spring break with her kids and I did the job of two people. Also, went to the dentist (I have three million cavities.) and the pulmonary doctor to get set up to have a CPAP machine brought to the house (I'm sure the technician will be scarred for life or at least severely traumatized by the squalor.) sometime in the next two weeks. I had to battle the stupid insurance company in order to be seen.

I swear, life was in many ways easier when we were totally broke and on welfare. Medicaid paid for everything, no co-pay, no battles with insurance. My previous battle with Weyland's dental insurance company really made me feel life was easier being dirt poor and letting Uncle Sam pay everything. Aetna DMO feels Weyland, at 9 years old, is not a child, and so will not approve having a pediatric dentist. So Weyland can't be sedated, which means no dental care whatsoever because the fraidy cat won't sit still for a shot of novacaine. I'm switching carriers in September, that's for sure.

Saturday night, Eric picked me up and we went on a mini-pub crawl - first to the Shamrock, then to JJ's, then to Ol' South Pancake House for breakfast (biscuits & gravy and home fries), then the Oui Lounge for a nightcap. At the Oui Lounge, there was a girl crashed out in a chair. She was so drunk she had to be carried to a cab by her boyfriend. Eric actually took a picture of her, head all flopped over to one side, slumped in her chair. I am so glad that part of my life is over.

Then we had a sleep-over of sorts. He crashed in the bed next to me and slept til around 10 or 11. His cat, Missy, got on the bed and sniffed of him, then took off to be with Logan. How quickly they forget. She thinks she's Logan's cat now. She follows him from room to room. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Missy had to sit on the counter and supervise. When he went back into the front room, she followed him. She didn't do anything except watch him at the sink. Odd cat.

Speaking of odd cats, the whole reason Eric came to get me for the evening is because he and Sara tore the blanket, so to speak, and he needed to vent. I don't know what the catalyst was, but he moved home with his parents. Sara's had some catty remarks on her blog recently, but doesn't come out and say anything specific. I know it is sometimes like a soap opera, being around Eric. There can be high drama. But Sara seems to have some sort of complex. Everyone in her life seems to have it in for her. I told Eric that when everyone you know is crazy and evil, then perhaps it's really you. But then again, maybe some people just attract nuts. I know I do.

What's really sad is that I thought Sara and I were going to be good friends. She's certainly intelligent, which I greatly admire in a person. But I've known Eric much longer, and have a history with him that I can't put aside in order to remain her friend. Eric is fiercely loyal, and demands the same from his friends. Besides, I have a real problem letting down my guard with Sara in regards to the whole money issue. I seriously don't like the kind of people that like to live where they have to join a home owners' association. I would pay NOT to live with their ilk. I've been too poor too long that I'm almost a snob about being white-trash, if that is even possible.

Back at work today, I get a quote from my dentist. $3300 just to fix my rotten teeth. Another $900 for Brighid. Logan hasn't even been to the dentist yet, and Weyland won't let them look at his mouth. I've half a mind to just yank them all and get dentures. It might be cheaper.

And still no decision on a vehicle. Logan wants me to get an electric motorcycle, sort of like a Vespa. It doesn't require registration or insurance, and only goes 18 mph. Not no. HELL no. I'd be dead within a week. The first redneck that saw my fat ass hanging off the seat would have it in for me. The traffic is too heavy on the route to work, even if I go the back way, through the rich neighborhood near Colonial Country Club. You know, the old saw has it that money won't buy you happiness. But I've never heard anyone complain about having too much money. It can certainly buy some terrific substitutes for happiness. If money was no object, I'd go see the dentist who does all the work in one day, buy a new car, and take all the cats to the vet to get their shots rather than have to wait for hours at the low-cost clinic. 7 cats times $4 each = $28.00, more than I have in the bank today.

Should I play the lotto tonight? The jackpot is something like 35 million. That would buy a lot of cat food....

not much worth writing about, eh?

Well, we just thought it was spring. Really, it doesn't start until what, the 20th? 21st? And with tomorrow being St. Patrick's day & all, it's time to plant potatoes. The past weekend threatened rain, but it pretty much held off, with only a few sprinkles on the windshield. We tried to go to the Easter Bash held out at Lockheed RA, but the door lock jammed, and I couldn't get the door closed. I drove the van home hanging on to the door to keep it from flying open. Logan got home shortly after I did, managed to fix the door, and get us out to the picnic just as it was winding up, despite another 2 hours scheduled. The kids didn't even get to enter their Easter bonnets in the contest which was supposed to happen 1 1/2 hours after we had arrived, but had already been held. I was very disappointed and somewhat pissed. We went ahead and left, and made it home in time to round up the dog and take him to the low cost rabies clinic. We had to wait in line over THREE hours, but we managed to get Bashful vaccinated and microchipped for a total of $14.00. The day was redeemed by Weyland having a blast playing on the playground equipment and Brighid meeting a girl who like anime as much as she does. Brighid got the little girl's IM screen name, so that's another anime nut added to her buddy list.

I went to the dentist today to find out that I have three million cavities. The "treatment specialist" was out today, so it will be tomorrow before I find out just how much it's going to cost, getting all my cavities filled as well as a crown and perhaps a root canal. Joy. Joy, joy, joy, joy, joy. It's a good thing I don't fear the dentist. I just resent the fact that the dentist never seems able to do everything in just one or two visits.

Like I said, tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day, and people at work are going to wear green and bring snacks. It's an excuse to have a party. They love parties, my co-workers. I'm going to attempt to make cookies tonight. If they get burnt or end up tasting like crap, I'm going to take cold cuts and cheese. I guess green beer is out of the question.

I'm going to run to Big Lots! to see if they have any shamrock shaped cookie cutters. Also, I need green food color to make green sugar. I may buy a lottery ticket as well. Can't win if you don't play.

Castles in the Air

Haven't felt like writing much the last couple of days. Saturday was busy, shopping for Allison's wedding gift, and Sunday was the wedding shower. I had a pronounced feeling that I didn't fit in with the assembled company. The women were so polished and posh, with manicured finger and toe nails, coifed hair, fashionable clothes, shoes too high and pointy for my taste, and handbags too small to hold anything but a cell phone, a set of keys, and a credit card. Maybe a lipstick too, but nothing more.

I used to love wearing tight shirts, short skirts, stiletto heels, stockings with garters, pushup bras, & etc. I would spend hours getting my eyelashes just right. I spent loads of money on "being seen", going to concerts, clubs, etc., so I could meet guys and get laid in the hopes of meeting "the one". Well, I finally gave all that up and dressed preppy for work when I worked at Bookstop and Herbie got married (and no longer partied with me), and I met Logan. I don't think he's "the one", but he is the one for now. He and I have some things in common, but not as much as I'd like. I want a guy who will lay in bed with me of a Sunday morning, working the New York Times crossword puzzle. I want a guy who will kiss the backs of my knees. I want a guy who actually enjoys cunnilingus rather than once in a blue moon consenting to performing it.

I think my weight has aged me, though. I won't wear heels even if I have to go barefooted. My purse is full of crap I might need "just in case", which includes medicine and a Swiss Army knife Logan gave me as a birthday present one year. Occasionally, I even find things like crayolas and Legos, which have help making their way into my bag. I find that I'm less tolerant of loud noise, what passes for music nowadays, and being shacked up with a guy who doesn't seem to think I'm very smart.

I know my life didn't get where it is overnight. I can make changes. I didn't start off feeling depressed, but this sure sounds down. I really don't mean it that way. I guess I just feel old, and am wondering how to go about making things better.

I need to improve my environment, my health, and my prospects. I'm working on my environment by beginning to get the house de-cluttered and cleaned, planting flowers, hanging curtains, and painting, and at work, I'm putting up pictures, cards, and drawings the kids have done. I'm going to the dentist and the pulmonary doctor next week. I need to get set up to get a CPAP machine so I can feel better and deal with my sleep apnea that keeps me sleepy and exhausted most of the time. Once I'm sleeping better, I hope to have more energy to workout, clean house, and do things like archery and fencing. With more energy, I hope, will come weight loss. With weight loss, I hope to look better. Also, I'm trying to get my bills paid off so I can look for a small apartment close to work.

Eventually, I hope to live on my own, or perhaps with the kids so that I can find "the one." It's not that I don't love Logan -- I do, deeply -- it's just that I think I would be happier being treated better, being appreciated. Of course, all these plans are just that, plans. But I think it helps make things real to get them written down, if not on paper, at least somewhere.

More Fun With Fonts

• Last night, I went to Kroger and bought the store brand of Rose's lime juice, Bluebell vanilla ice cream, fixin's for s'mores, and (because I went through the self service aisle) Boones' farm melon wine. Woo hoo! When I got home, the kids made s'mores in the microwave, and I made a vanilla ice cream and melon (honeydew, not cantaloupe or watermelon) wine smoothie.
• Today, I made a limeade slush.
• Brighid also used the smoothie machine and made chocolate milkshakes.

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I like THIS color best on my blogpage, I think.

What color do you like?

Is orange verdana prettier than pink trebuchet? What about red trebuchet? I like verdana, but I think trebuchet is easier to read.

What about Lucida Grande? Courier is newsprint type. And everyone uses Times Roman, only this is just called Times. The Visigoths must have gotten to it.

This font size is for the nearly blind, but it is not as large as DOOMSDAY, which takes up most of the page when you type

WAR!

Webdings

Webdings

webdings

Funny, that type doesn't look like webdings. Once, when I went to Cisco for a few days, I visited my Uncle Bruce at his print shop. He gave me a dingbat, and said, "here, a dingbat for a dingbat." I still have that little piece of moveable type. I wonder what happened to his old linotype machine. I'd love to learn how to use it. Pappy set hot type for years, running a linotype machine for first The Press and then The Star-Telegram (aka the Startle-Gram).

Well, enough of this for now.

--30--

How do it work??

Just experimenting, nothing to say except I want a limeade slush.

I want a limeade slush.

I want a limeade slush.

I want a limeade slush.

I want a limeade slush.

Which color looks more like limeade? limeade? limeade? limeade?

• I am going to Sonic to get myself a limeade slush.

Does gray look good on this background?

Object Lesson

Note to self: sometimes it's worthwhile to stay awake during an object lesson. (See Galatians 5:22-23.)

I am galled that my insensate, inconsiderate behavior is the source of ire.

The thing which caused the ire is no longer present, but to even broach the topic is to rekindle the ire, which, I'm sure, still has embers glowing at the moment.

I will say but this, then no more: self-censorship may be a good thing at times, yet even still I wonder if it contradicts the purpose and spirit of writing for oneself and allowing others to read one's musings.

--30--

Find the amusing usage....

Gay and lesbian youths have a threefold increased risk of suicide because of increased societal pressures and stigmata (Ref: Step Up for USMLE Step 1, 2nd Edition, p. 208). Come out and learn more about the health needs of LGBT Youth and why there is higher suicide rate among LGBT teens. Thursday, March 3rd at noon in Everett Hall. Lunch will be Chipotle. Included in our discussion will be two out teenagers from our community. Everyone is welcome.

cool, daddy-o

I know, I look older than 40. It's not the years, it's not the miles, it's the bumps in the road.