My cat is trying to tell me something. Just wish I could figure out what the heck he’s trying to say. I know he thinks he’s had the last word, but this is getting ridiculous.
This morning I wandered into the kitchen in my typical just woken up peaceful state of mind and proceeded to start the coffee-making process. I had a few technical difficulties so I was in the kitchen longer than usual. I put the ground coffee in the place where the filter goes without putting the filter in first. Woopsie.
As I was putting things to rights to get the coffee going I noticed a weird stench. I sniffed the dish rag, nope. The garbage disposal passed the sniff test also. I checked under the sink, nothing going under there.
Then I noticed some sort of bizarre ectoplasm on the stove top. It looked like a pot had boiled over, but there were 2 things wrong with that theory. It was around the back right burner which neither I or Hubman ever use for some reason. Also the house keeper cleaned the living daylights out of the stove on Thursday. (She even puts the burner racks in the dishwasher, so I have to reassemble the stove the next day.) Furthermore we were out to dinner on Friday so no cooking happened.
Then I sniffed it and viola the source of the stench was revealed. I leaned in to check out the stove hood to see if something was dripping from up there. I half expected to see some alien pod attached to it. What can I say, I watch a lot of sci-fi?
Finally I daubed a paper towel in the substance and to get an up close olfactory diagnosis. The mystery became obvious. Our G* D@#m cat PEED ON THE STOVE!!!!!????!!!! I’ve heard of cats weeing in your luggage when you are packing for a trip, or on the bath mat, or even on the bed if they are really ticked off about something. But the stove, what the hell is up with that? How do I figure this one out? Does he want us to cook for him? Or was he mad because we went out to dinner? Bleh, who knows?
At first I wondered if the storms upset him, but the tornadoes happened on Wednesday night. The urinary infraction occurred sometime in the Friday night – early Saturday morning time frame.
Was this just mischief? Does he have a legitimate beef of some sort that he is trying to convey? I swear I briefly considered the possibility of finding him a new home. But, I love the little critter even though he is frequently a royal pain in rear.
I’m seriously stumped here. Maybe it’s time to hire a cat whisperer?
Our Chick Trip 2013 turned out to be even more wonderful than I had hoped for. There only just 3 women this time. (last year were 5 of us) It turned out to be a magic number and a good personality mix. Every day we slept late, snacked around until the noonish hour and then hit the beach.
One gal made her fabulous signature peach Jello shots and we hauled those down to the beach with us. I also brought along a small personal cooler for my stash of elixir of life, also know as beer. We parked our chairs right at the water’s edge so we could cool our feet in the ocean.
We gossiped, baked in the sun, and sad awful catty things about the people who wandered by. The usual parade of ginormous bellies and banana hammocks were on display, of course. It really reminded me of the obesity epidemic in America. I am old enough to remember when large persons where the exception at the beach, rather than the rule. But everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, so it’s all good.
The variety of tattoos we viewed was rather amazing. And not all of them were even remotely attractive. We spent the better part of an hour at the pool one day going back and forth between Jello shots and speculating as to what the large tattoo was on the calf of one woman. We couldn’t decide if it was supposed to be Jerry Garcia or Charles Manson. We didn’t have the nerve to ask.
Last year we all brought one piece bathing suits because we did not want to inflict our middle-aged bodies on fellow sun worshipers. It only took one afternoon of staring at beached whales to make us decide if that if they could get away with it then so could we. We went shopping, bought 2 pieces and flopped in the sand in all our glory. At the tender age of 58 I have a bit of cellulite here and there. So what? I tanned it anyway!
In the evening we sat out on the balcony and watched the beautiful sunset over the water. It’s so peaceful, you forget that there was ever anything to be stressed about.
This morning I found myself taking a journey to the NPR website via a blog I follow culturemonk.com.
The article was entitled Why Not Apologizing Makes You Feel Better, Shankar Vedantam on April 1, 2013
At first I was convinced that it was that the article was a joke because it was published on April Fool’s day. But as I read it I realized that it was intended to be a serious article.
“We do find that apologies do make apologizers feel better, but the interesting thing is that refusals to apologize also make people feel better and, in fact, in some cases it makes them feel better than an apology would have,” Okimoto said in an interview.
Excuse me, but since when did an apology turn into merely a vehicle for making the apologizer “feel better?” Was I standing behind the door the day they handed out this nonsense? How did the recipient of the apology suddenly fall off the map? Silly me, I always thought an apology was an expression of regret or remorse for insult or harm done to another person. The harm may not be intentional, but does that give us leave to climb up on our high horse and announce “I’m not going to apologize for stepping on your toe because I didn’t do it intentionally! And furthermore, I will feel better, and have more self-worth if I don’t apologize.”
Oh God, this is beyond self-centered and into a whole new territory of the worship of self. Where is the value of a “self-worth” if it is built on the backs of those deliberately or accidentally harmed? How does refusing to apologize make one a better person? I’m sorry (oops, there I go apologizing) but I just can’t wrap my head around this.
This is not an issue of self-worth – it is self-aggrandizement wrapped up in a pretty package. It is the point of view that any harm done on the way to elevating one’s self in one’s own mind is fair game.
There used to be a word for this. Wait a minute…it’s on the tip of my tongue…Oh yea, I remember, it’s called rationalizing. Used for the sole purpose of making yourself believe that the harm you have done was somehow necessary or not really that hurtful, therefore you really haven’t done anything wrong and have no reparations to make.
The author went on to say “When you refuse to apologize, it actually make you feel more empowered…That power and control translate into greater feelings of self-worth.” Are you kidding me??? My question is empowered to what purpose? Empowered to say or do anything you want to do regardless of the price to others. No self-examination needed here. Everything single thing we do is A-OK.
Further on in the article a thinly disguised disclaimer read “…the researchers are not suggesting that refusing to apologize is a useful life strategy.” OK, then what exactly are you implying, because I’m not seeing the upside here?
“Okimoto believes that the research, in fact, may provide a clue on how best to get people to apologize. Our conventional approach, especially with kids, is to force people to apologize. But if people are reluctant to apologize because apologies make them feel threatened, coercion is unlikely to help.”
So now what? Instead of coercion we use manipulation? How is that different or helpful? We are now supposed to lead our children to a touchy feely explanation for an apology to allow them to avoid any unpleasant feelings of remorse for harmful actions?
I get it, I really do. A forced apology is rarely sincere, but is the solution to proclaim that apologies are “not good” for the apologizer? Even 2-year-old toddlers do things they need to apologize for. “No Johnny, it’s not OK to hit Janey over the head with your tonka truck, please apologize to her.” The whole premise of an apology is not for the person who needs to apologize to “feel better.” The intention is to express remorse and make reparation for harm done. In the long run it does make both parties “feel better.” I guess you could call it a win-win scenario.
Well anyway, I apologize for climbing once more onto my soap box. Heights make me dizzy, that’s my excuse anyway. Have a great day!
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts,
William Shakespeare – from As You Like It 2/7
I had a rather disconcerting dream a few nights ago. I was living my life (I thought) only to discover that I was on a movie set. I tried exiting but every time I walked through another door I discovered that I was only on a much larger movie set. It was like being a player in a movie, about people making a movie, about people making a movie. There seemed to be no end to the rabbit hole.
Every encounter I had with a friend, loved one, acquaintance or stranger turned out to be part of this huge movie undertaking. It was really weird, like waking up in the middle of a reality show and you can’t find the door to get off the stage.
As dreams go this was a long one. It seemed to go on for days. At some point I gave up trying to find a way out and just went along for the ride as an observer. I pondered everything that anyone said to me, no matter how trivial it seemed thinking, “I wonder why they are saying this. Is it part of a script or is this improvisation?” Do they really think that or believe what they are saying? Or are they just going along with the script.”
As time rolled on in the dream I began to realize that of many of the statements people were making they did, in fact, think they believed what they were saying. But in “reality” they were subconsciously following a script. They were simply parroting what they heard on the news or talk radio, or a discussion they had with like-minded friends. They were caught up in a mutual admiration society of people who held views similar to their own. As a result no one challenged anything they said or did. There was no “reality check.” Everyone was comfortable in their role and held no desire to alter it in any way.
I began to wonder. “Do they realize what is going on here? Do they know that we are filming a movie? Do they think that this is reality?” And then, Oh my God, “Do I know what is going on here? Is the joke on me? That was a distressing thought.
Eventually I woke up. I’ve been wandering around the last few days thinking about it. I began to wonder how much of the time I spend on auto-pilot. I do what I do out of sheer habit. I think what I think because I already thunk it before. It is way easier than thinking or doing anything differently.
I think part of what is happening here is that my “reality” meter got reset last week in the emergency room. There’s nothing like writhing around in agony, alternating between fear that you are dying and hoping that you were dying to escape the pain, to make you look at things a bit differently.
Mr. Husband who does love me dearly in his own way, for some odd reason, chose this point in time to lecture me about the “evils of Obama-care.” I remember thinking “Dude, are you serious? I’m laying here on a bench in an ER, clutching a metal mixing bowl in case I puke again on the next wave and you pick this moment, right now to attempt to ram your political views home. My political views are directly opposite of his. He’s a republican, I’m sort of a mixture of democrat/libertarian – take it from there. We pretty much disagree on everything political.
So there I lay wishing I had enough strength to beat him over the head with my bowl, but barely enough strength to lift my arm. I’m glad that I was too weak because I don’t think assaulting my spouse in the ER would be good for our relationship.
Anyway, I’m left thinking: How much of what we think we believe even remotely resembles the truth? Maybe it’s not that much. How much of the time do we let other people do our thinking for us? We listen to some opinion broker in the media and think “Oh, that’s sounds reasonable, I think I will believe that for a while” until something else comes along that sounds more believable. I wonder…..
I got dressed today. WeeeEEeEEE. I feel giddy with accomplishment! In the ongoing effort to be me, I’m working on celebrating whatever I can find excuse to celebrate. There is no Nobel Prize for literature heading my way (yet), nor even a round of applause from the local Lion’s Club. So I’m simply happy that today I can do something that I could not do unaided yesterday.
Been wearing pajamas since last Thursday (not the same ones-gross). Didn’t bother to change out of them to go the emergency room either. At that point I didn’t give a shi*t what I looked like. If there is any such thing as the Fashion Police in an ER they should be unceremoniously ejected. Today the wooziness has relented and so I’m making the most of it. I even have shoes on. Hallelujah!
On another note altogether, I had a really cool dream last night – a vast improvement from fevered nightmares. I dreamt that I was at some gathering somewhere and met some of my fellow bloggers in the flesh. It’s a bit frustrating that I can’t recall where I was or who I met but it was profoundly satisfying.
Usually I either dream about what I want or what I’m afraid of so I’m going to have to follow up on this one. I want or need to go to some sort of writer’s conference, shindig, workshop or whatever they’re called.
Does anyone out there in the Continental U.S. know of any good ones coming up? Or can anyone point me in the direction of a list of options? I would love to know. I feel a deep need to crawl out of my shell and meet other writers and bloggers in person.