A message from the sky

Today, a crow flew by my windshield. He was carrying a cheeto in his beak.

What could it mean?

Is it the end of days? Or perhaps someone spilled a snack? Or maybe the crow is looking to clog his arteries? Is orange the new black?

Hard to tell with omens.

Without regard to the message, it was a striking image, from a color point of view. Close your eyes, just for two seconds, and visualize it.

Footloss

My right foot hurts, so I went to visit a podiatrist. I made the mistake of wearing a new pair of black cotton socks that day, so when he asked to see my feet, they were covered in black sock fuzz that looked like mildew. Nice.

After i scraped off the black fuzz, he told me that I have what is called a Z -shaped foot, and because of this I have developed arthritis between my metatarsal bones.

The first line of attack is arch support. Way to make me feel decrepit. Now I am wearing the kind of shoes normally reserved for ancient waitresses named Flo who call you 'honey.'

I have small breasts, so they are staying up. I have big feet, so they are sagging. I can't see my butt without making an effort (an effort I have no desire to make) so I can't speak for it, butt I have my suspicions as to which direction it's heading.

By this logic my nose should be safe.


(The above is an example of self-deprecating body humor for which female bloggers are well known. It's not clever, but it is fun.)

The beginning of a beautful relationship

It's been awhile huh? How is everyone?

Today i'm going to tell you a story.

Scene: My parent's living room, in the winter of 1981.

Cast: My parents, The Mister's parents, The Mister and me.

Background information: The Mister and i had been living in the deepest of sin for about two years when we decided we would get married. Since we were both graduating from college and The Mister had accepted a job in San Jose, it was either marry, or break up. I say that because my mother had drilled it into my head that i should never "place myself in a position of dependence on a man without being married." There's all kinds of wrong with that statement, but i was much younger then and believed it.

After announcing that we were to be joined in wedded bliss, my mother waited in vain for an invitation from The Mister's parents for an occasion to meet. (According to my mother, who knows these sorts of rules, it's the job of the groom's parents to initiate the first meeting.)

Such invitation was not forthcoming, so my mother decided to (gasp) ignore convention and invite The Mister's parents over for dinner.

Character development: The Mister's dad was a health food nut back before it was popular. He used to make these loaves of bread that we really, really good......for you. They could also substitute for bricks in a pinch. So dinner at their house was accompanied by a discussion of why we were eating skinless chicken and organic kale salad dressed with apple cider vinegar. After dinner he would prepare what i called The Bowel Bomb, a concoction of plain homemade yogurt, wheat bran and lecithin. (Have you ever seen lecithin? It's the consistency of honey, but tastes like motor oil.)

My family is all very tall, and The Mister's family are all very short. The Mister comments that hanging out with my family is The Land of the Giants. I believe i may have mentioned hobbits when visiting with his parents.

During the day that preceded this dinner, The Mister and i had taken our beloved cat Al to the vets as he was very ill. We found out about 30 minutes before dinner that Al had kitty leukemia and would not live very long.

Action: The Mister and i arrived at my parent's house with red eyes, still sniffling over poor Al. (We love our kitties!)

The Mister's parents were late, beyond fashionably.

My mother had prepared her special guest dinner of standing rib roast, mashed potatoes with gravy, salad with blue cheese, french bread with butter, and cheesecake for dessert. Oh, and coffee. I thought The Mister's dad was going to have a coronary right there.

So he picked over his salad, ignoring the rest of the meal. The rest of us, including The Mister's mother, drank steadily.

So picture this, The future Mister and i are huddled miserably in a corner, lightly weeping, The Mister's dad is looking like he smells something bad, my parent's are trying to make polite conversation, and The Mister's mother is getting blasted.

Good times. The evening ended rather early.

Epilogue: My mother waited, again in vain, for a thank you note. She thought that as a military wife The Mister's mother should know that this is required. A few years later, The Mister's mother told me that she had written one, but it had never been mailed as it had gotten lost in her car.

Yeah, i didn't believe her either.

visit

stream of consciousness
(james joyce would be snorting milk out his nose)

my dad has turned into one of those old men who has his pants belted just under his nipples
he is skinny, even skinnier than i am, even though he used to be taller and is no longer
he wore a long sleeved shirt, even though it was 80 degrees (Fahrenheit)
his hands are covered with purple welts from the coumadin

i can't see his arms, which is the purpose of the long sleeved shirt
he no longer has the grace of movement he possessed as a younger man
he has a scratch across his nose from banging into something with his glasses on
my mother mutters things quietly, even though she knows he is almost deaf

my daughter is one hell of a good sport and sticks around the table even though we are boring as hell
i have told her beforehand that she needs to be here as they are here to say goodbye to her
they drink like fish
i feel like drinking like a fish
they leave early because of a show they need to watch on PBS

i watch them drive up the driveway and wonder how long they will still be able to drive here
that they can drive here makes it easier for me

i wonder how long it will be easy
it's easier for me if it's easy
i know it will be hard when it's not easy

ugh

Em writes a thank you note for the present