Frenzied Daddy

You’d think I’d celebrate the solstice more. The return of the longer days has more meaning directly to me than the “first birth” of a “holy man.” But, “here I am”, in the words of Jubal Early. The presents are, for the most part, ready and under the Christmas Tree.

Christmas isn’t a religious holiday to me, but is more of a familial holiday; like Thanksgiving, it’s a good time to reflect and be with your loved ones.

The Solstice means more to me because the long nights of winter play into my depression and the link to seasonal affective disorder, and the days getting longer will help my depression ( hopefully ) recede a bit. It also means more to me because it, along with its sister in the summer and cousins in the spring and fall, remind me of the cyclical nature of life.

So light a candle for the solstice and look forward to longer days of sunlight. Err, rain and snow, because the solstice is the “first day of winter,” thanks to the tilt of the earth, and the cold winter is still to come.

The last few weeks of driving Ms B to work only to turn around and drive Miss B to school an hour later have been rough on all of us. Fortunately this is coming to an end.

Ms B’s folks found an elderly ford explorer, kept up well by its owners, in her home town. And her bio-mom sent us most of the money to purchase it. It’s apparently very clean, has a tow package, has a luggage rack, is blue and grey, and is in great condition for its age. It’ll be great for tooling around town and getting the kid to school, and it’ll have room for the four of us and the dogs ( which is always a problem when we go out of town ).

Suggestions for naming the car are welcome. I’m particular to ‘percival.’

I got a good laugh out of this; thanks, RJHoughton

There are just some things that a father shouldn’t teach his daughter, and at times like that, his sisters in law step in.

Do you remember, about twenty years ago, in college (thanks Alli && you’re welcome, Young Raven), when you could open up a Henry’s Ale, put it to your lips, turn it over and burble it down your throat? Alternating with some air, so you didn’t drown, but the whole bottle would wind up in your belly and you’d put the “dead soldier” up on the windowsill to catch flies? Yeah, me either. But I think Miss B has learned this trick too. She didn’t do this before she went to Klamath Falls and visited with her aunts T, K and M.

I put away the groceries, including a fresh can of “whip cream” for the strawberry shortcake and left the kitchen long enough to “shake the morning dew from the water lily” and wash my hands. As I return, wiping my hands on the back of my shirt, I startled a certain ten year old who was placing an empty can of whipping cream into the fridge and wiping a satisfied grin off her face with the back of her hand.

I swear that kid’s going on seventeen.

Twenty years ago, I was graduating from high school. Bon Jovi (Wanted Dead or Alive) and Debbie Gibson (Shake your Love) were on the radio. And I was suffering from teenage angst. I was darn good angst; I could have starred on MySpace, if that sort of thing had been around.

Check out this poem, kept for 20 years in Jabberwocky, our literary magazine…

I’m on the verge of losing the best thing
that’s happened to me.
I feel torn inside, and the only stitchery
is your handiwork.
I’m on the verge of becoming alone again
And I cannot stand the thought
of shouldering the world’s needs
(my needs)
by myself, without someone
to understand and help me.
I’m on the verge of being crushed by emotions
none mine, yet all mine
confusion, sorrow, others.
I don’t know which is worse;
losing you or giving up.
Either way, I hurt inside.

Yeah, I know. We all lived through our angsty period. This poem is a good example of what I would classify now as “raw materials” handed to me by the Muse, who expected me to do something more than … blapp it down on a piece of paper

Tongue & Cheek

Originally uploaded by Sara May.

Hmm, I may have to play with some spot color. This is a neat photo.

I try not to just link to goofy blog things, but I drew an ugly pig and thought I’d share it. You may have to jump through the ‘pig drawing’ hoops to view it though; they dress the pig drawing up as a personality test.

We had our oldest cat pass away night before last. She was older than Malkin, but it was still sad. I don’t have any pictures of her- I just spent the last 30 minutes going through my digital photos and there are none of our tan and white shorthair kitty, so you’ll have to use your imagination.

We got her at the Humane Society in Eugene. For most of her life, she was our “fat kitty;” she weighed about fifteen or so pounds. Most of that was hair; she’d shed at the drop of a hat. She loved everyone, but she hated the outdoors. Once, when we lived in an apartment, we had to evacuate both cats for a flea bombing. Sienna spent those six hours hiding under a chair on the porch, crying.

Over the last year or so, she’s taken to sleeping in Miss B’s room, hiding from the other animals and from Miss K. She’s gotten very thin and frail, and we knew she was aging quickly. She liked being warm. When I came upstairs yesterday, she was laying in the living room gasping for air. I took her to Dove Lewis, and found out she was having congestive heart failure and that she had a lot of fluid in her abdomen. She’s sleeping easy now.

One of the lessons I’ve taken away from something I read, regarding my relationship with Ms B, is “when guys talk about problems, they’re looking for solutions, whereas when women talk about problems, they’re looking for community.”

Talk about your vast generalizations.

However, I can tell you that this generalization is frequently true in my discussions with Ms B, though; when she complains that she doesn’t like the food I’ve made for dinner, she’s not really asking me to go to Dairy Queen and get her chicken strips (well, not always), but she’s asking for reassurance that she’s not crazy; worchestershire sauce makes tuna casserole taste funny.

So then I read this…Programmers Don’t Like To Code (short summary: programmers like to solve problems, not to code). Combining these two generalizations … is this why the stereotypical computer programmer is male?

Yes, yes I know they’re all total generalizations. But are they linked?