The setting: Last Sunday afternoon. I’m lying in bed, hoping my family will leave so I can watch the Las Vegas season finale I have on tape. (I finally watched the whole thing. My review: Creepy, too weird, not enough hott love scenes.)

My husband: “I’ll fix dinner. You always get home cooking on the weekend.”

Me: “I cook during the week!” (…and I’m thinking, not last week I didn’t — we had Thai, pizza, and Indian take-out, then went out on Friday.)

Wacky Girl, who’s sprawled on the bed: “Bullshit.”

(more…)

“Little Skunk was glad to do that.
But then he saw another little skunk.
She was very pretty.
He gave the kiss to her.
And she gave it back.
And he gave it back.
And then Hen came along.
‘Too much kissing,’ she said.”

from “A Kiss For Little Bear”
— written by Else Holmelund Minarik & illustrated by Maurice Sendak

Everyone in my hometown of Portland, Ore., is all a-twitter because of something the kids are calling “Freak Dancing,” aka “Grinding” or “Freaking.” It supposedly leads to blindness.

(more…)

I don’t know how old these toasts are, but older than I am at the very least…

“When God measures you,
may He put the tape
around your big and
generous heart and not
around your small and
foolish head.”

“May those who love us love
us;
And those that don’t love
us,
May God turn their hearts;
And if He doesn’t turn
their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by
their limping.”

“The Irish heart — quick
and strong in its generous impulses;
firm in its attachments and
sound to the core.”

“I have a terrible memory; I never forget a thing.”
— Edith Konecky, writer

Dear Doctor I Fired Yesterday,
You were a lousy doctor, that’s why I fired you. In case you were wondering. And no, you can’t fire me, or quit, because I fired you first. Nyah-nyah.

(more…)

Oh, Thursday Thirteen, I love you so! You give my crazy week a little bit of shape, meaning and (dare I say?) structure.

Go say hi to Carol and Beth now.

Thirteen Things I’ve Figured Out in the Last Three Weeks:

13. Everything I do makes a difference/nothing I do makes a difference.

12. I’m cool with that.

11. You can apply for jobs out-of-state, pack up your house, and get things rolling in an amazingly short period of time. You can change your whole life around. You can cry while you’re doing this and ten minutes later smile because the daffodils and crocus have sprung and it’s all OK. You can recycle a ton of documents you really do not need and suddenly your load feels much lighter. Then you find an old dog toy buried in the yard and start crying again. And then the sun will come out and for a minute, things will be alright.

10. Remorse and regrets shut me down. I cannot afford to be shut down.

9. Instead of fuming, it’s better to attempt to be straightforward and deal with the problem.

8. My kids drive me nutty-cuckoo every day.

7. My kids save my sanity every day.

6. Even if the breadmaker breaks, you can still bake bread.

5. I am profound, no? (Sorry.)

4. It’s OK to ask for help. You may or may not get any help, but sometimes, it is greater than you can imagine, the love and support that is out there.

3. If I stand by the ocean I realize how tiny I am.

2. If I volunteer in my kid’s class one extra time during the week, I realize how important I am.

1. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, or no matter what you do, people (and critters) just don’t get better. Cycle of life. I’m not saying I like it, but I am saying I need to accept it. Will continue to try.

Yours,

WM

“I would like to have seen Iowa. Carl [Van Vechten] and [William] Cook are from Iowa, you are brilliant and subtle if you come from Iowa and really strange and you live as you live and you are always very well taken care of if you come from Iowa.”

— Gertrude Stein

In an attempt to swap out all the pooch ads over there on Google, I say…

CATS! And/or kittens.

Meow.

Wacky Cat Two, the Stripedy One, is losing his little kitten brain trying to dash outside to play a game my son fondly calls “Catch-Kill Birdy.” Wacky Boy likes playing this game himself. This game, it is not good. And it’s especially tempting to play it on gorgeous, sunny and clear days like today. It must have gotten to sixty degrees earlier — it’s fabulous. Wacky Boy and I gardened and weeded all afternoon, then brought out the wagon and walked over to pick up his sister from school. He fell asleep on the way there and is still asleep, two hours later, nestled in a bed of blankets and coats. Thank you, Radio Flyer.

Wacky Cat Two is a fierce, efficient hunter and has been known to dart outside, kill a critter, leave it on the front porch for our admiration, then dart back in the house for kibbles all within a ten-minute period. We try to keep him in as much as possible — he’s also a street-fighting cat and I can’t afford the vet bills. Or losing another pet. Also, he enjoys sunning himself in the middle of our fairly busy street. Not the best survivor instincts, our guy. But with Wacky Pooch gone, he is more playful than ever.

I thought at least he’d mourn for a little while, maybe look around for his former buddy. But no. He is playful kitten again, our nine-year-old cat, and loves to play chase, grab paper out of the scrap bag and throw it around the room, climb under the covers and tickle feet. He’s giddy. I guess he was tired of the dog trying to rip off his limbs every time he walked through the room. (Me at the time, rationalizing: “The dog sure seems to be nipping at the cat a lot. Wacky Dog, no!”)

No Catch-Kill Birdy today, friend.

Wacky Cat One, the sleek beauty, is coming into her own now, too, at nearly 12 years of age. More playful than ever, will snuggle in on my lap without digging in her claws (this is new) and doesn’t slap Wacky Cat Two nearly as much.

The teenagers led the service today and were as irrepressible as ever.

One of the homilies from a senior girl went like this:

“This has been what I’ve found with my religious education:
1. I don’t know.
2. You don’t know.
3. No one really knows.
4. Let’s go get coffee.”

God bless the Unitarians.

“Can you believe how much I vacuumed today?”
— Hockey God

People, I am telling you. If you want to feel better and stop sobbing your eyes out, either decide to sell your house or at least pretend you’re going to sell your house. It is like Mary flippin’ Poppins around here, in the nursery scene where lickety-split everything gets picked up in ten seconds flat and Michael almost gets smashed flat in the closet door.

We’ve packed away toys, books, videos and clothes. We’ve given away so much stuff that my friend C growled at me the other day, “No. More. TOYS!” a la Joan Crawford “No. Wire. Hangers. EVER!” Then she (to retaliate) brought me a huge bag of hand-me-downs from her son to mine. And then I, in turn, gave her my broken breadmaker (which miraculously works at their house but not ours. Whatever, breadmaker. This is the respect I get? After all the yeast I’ve provided for you?).

Goodwill? Four boxes and four more to drop off this week.

Breast pumps and baby gear? Off to a friend in need.

Family photos, my dad’s old rocking chair (from when he was a wee tot) and his high chair (ditto)? To my sister and mom.

Doghouse? Don’t make me cry. It went to C’s crazeee-kooky shaggy black dog, who reminds me a lot of Wacky Dog.

“Nice, with the moldy sleeping bag inside,” her husband D told me.

“It’s only been in there a few months!” I told him.

Then I packed up half the china cabinet. Recycled half (or more) of our paperwork. Hockey God decided which half of his albums he’s keeping (K-Tel, Grateful Dead and Rush, yes; Pablo Cruise or whoever it was, no.) Our attic is stuffed full; our rugs are vacuumed. Our dishes and laundry are done; we still haven’t found jobs.

But we will.

And then, Iowa City, Iowa, our family, Coralville Lake Reservoir and our friends at The Mill, here we come.

(PS — I believe this makes it five posts in one day. A new record.)

Why post once a day, when you can post four times?

“There is only one true happiness in life: to love and be loved.”

— George Sand