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?
North Texas had an unusually mild spring this year so far. Mother Nature noticed the oversight and decided to make up for lost time last night.
6 of us went out to a fawncy restaurant to celebrate my Mother-in-law’s 80th birthday. During the meal I could see a reflection of trees whipping around in a mirror across the room. The trees were not just blowing in one direction; they were whipping around like they were in a washing machine. That is never a good sign.
I started to get antsy but kept telling myself that it was just because I was with the in-laws. I even ordered a second gin & tonic which is unusual for me when dining with them. A little after 8:00 pm we stood outside saying our goodbyes. The wind came up and we were all standing there with our hair peaking up on top of our head like we were in a wind tunnel.
For the ride home we watched an impressive light show to the south, all kinds of spectacular but unusual strikes. Some that branched out horizontally across the sky. Others hit the ground and the rays were so wide it looked fake. Someone was photo shopping Mother Nature.
At home I was in a semi undressed state and Mr. Husband was without apparel when he came running out of the bedroom yelling “the sirens are going off.” I was in a sort of stupor and asked “what sirens?” He answered “the tornado sirens,” for once not rolling his eyes and giving me that “Well duh” look he excels in. I don’t know how he always hears them and I don’t. Must have been that 20 years of working in bars with music loud enough to rattle the fillings out of your teeth.
Of course a sort controlled pandemonium ensued. Where are the pets? Are they inside? Mr. Husband put some clothes on. He tends to respond to panic by dressing. I don’t blame him. If a tornado hits I don’t want to end up getting fished out of the rubble in my birthday suit. I grabbed my 2 most valuable possessions – my purse and laptop and put them in a handy place in case I had to grab them and take shelter.
Fortunately for us, but not so fortunate for those in the path of the tornado, it touched down south of Dallas in the Granbury area. Storm spotters said the tornado became huge with a mile wide funnel on the ground at one point, a real wrath of God type scenario. Some people reported hail the size of grapefruits. A chunk of ice that big could come crashing right through your roof and land on your coffee table.
This morning the news is reporting 12 dead and hundreds injured. The response of people rushing to help those who have lost everything but the clothes on their back is heartwarming.
This kind of disaster always reminds me that life is short. Grab it where you can and don’t waste time sitting around bemoaning your lot in life because it could get a hell of a lot worse in the blink of an eye.
On my journey back to mental wellness I’ve started to notice a few things. I’m not the only one who channels Snow White’s seven housemates. You know them surely; sleepy, grumpy, sneezy, dopey, et al. I’m also noticing that I’m not the only one who does not appreciate having their every minor decision questioned.
I find that the best response a friend or family member who is channeling one of these dorks is, “Pfffftttt” or “I see” and a good shrug of the shoulders, followed by an immediate evacuation of the scene. Further pursuance of the question at hand will only result in a blowout. So it seems that I have to remember how much I hate getting dragged over the coals of sixty-four thousand questions when asking questions.
Well damn! Living in the real world can be a pain in the kazoo. I think verbal manipulations should be registered as an Olympic sport. Yes indeed folks. I’ve come across people who actually manage to take an innocent question you ask such as, “how are you?” and twist around to imply that you are a selfish mental microbe who doesn’t care about anyone or anything.
The following hypothetical dialogue (based on an actual conversation) illustrates my take on this scenario:
Me: Hey how are you?
Person X: Well I’m fine, but I’m just tired.
Me: (falling into the trap) Oh, why are you tired?
Person X: Well I was up all night worrying about the national debt. Unlike some people I know (read you) I care about what happens to our country. Also I kept smashing my big toe with a hammer.
Me: (taken aback) OOOkkkk, Uh, why were you smashing your toe with a hammer?
Person X: Well someone (not me obviously) has to take steps to protect our economy. If my toe hurts then I won’t go out shopping and buy wasteful things while other people are suffering.
Me: (feeling a vague unnamed guilt) Uh, I don’t understand how not sleeping and injuring yourself is helping anyone.
Person X: Well of course you don’t see it! And therefore YOU are part of the problem.
Me: See ya later pal, I think I left something on the stove.
I always end up with a mild headache and wondering how I managed to blunder into such a conversation. However, with some people this seems to be the norm. I never did quite comprehend how worrying about something to the point of harming myself helps anything or anyone.
It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me. Ellen Glasgow
I tend to wax nostalgic on my birthday. I’ve been on this earth for 58 years now. Most of the time spent in awe and wonder, interspersed with occasional times of inevitable sadness.
My son’s father sent me a picture that drew my mind back into the past. In the picture I’m standing on the beach in Macau with my 2 children, looking across the bay at mainland china.
This moment in time happened about 35 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. The feel of the sand on my toes, the warm sea air caressing my skin, my son’s sweaty little sumo wrestler body clinging to me like a baby monkey, my daughter asking a thousand questions, delighting in every sea shell – every grain of sand. It was a peaceful day that’s been lingering in the back of my brain for decades.
I think living a long wonderful life takes a bit of mental effort. If you let your brain sit back and randomly spew memories, you don’t know what you’re gonna get. A deliberate choice to remember happy times takes some mental gyrations, but the rewards are plentiful.
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…..