The Folks on the Corner

When I began writing this blog, I made a conscious decision not to write about politics, religion, or anything that might cause serious philosophical arguments between myself and my reader-friends. But something has been festering inside me, something rotten and biting, and I just can’t hold it in any longer.

This spring, I avoided paying my taxes until the last possible moment. It wasn’t for the usual reason–my desire to keep my money away from the wasteful “people’s” government for as long as possible–but because I simply did not have the money.

Why I Never Intend to Marry

More than one man in this world thinks I’m crazy. Most of the time, I would have to agree. But lately, clarity rules in ways that are mystifying…and terrifying.

Strangely, pregnancy seems to both magnify and subdue my usual rants and tantrums. The words are more bitter, the reactions quicker and more fierce. At the same time, my blood pressure remains neutral, and a shocking lack of physical symptoms accompanies my outbursts. It is as though my emotions are reserved only for this tiny life inside me, and only my thoughts and words carry venom.

The Heaviest of Kittens

Today I journeyed into the rain with two of the sweetest friends I’ve ever had. I carried them in a plastic box, balanced to my side awkwardly like a five gallon bucket of slop in danger of spilling. When we reached our destination, I learned why it was such a struggle to walk with them in tow: Willie is a fattie.

….In my eyes, Little Willie will always be my baby, just as Biscuit will always be a puppy (though I never knew him as one) and Carter will live forever. I love him just the same after today, but the rose-colored glasses have been wrenched from my eyes by a stone-faced doctor who sees only the objective reality in front of him. I am now forced to view Willie as he is: a big cat, and getting bigger in an unhealthy manner. In a way, it is good that I see him today as a big boy. It is time for a new baby to take his place.

My Perfect Love and Pain

Carter became mysteriously ill. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought him close to death–and unfortunately, it would not be the last–but it was the first time I was dealing with it completely alone. The new vet was far away, and night had set in, as had his lethargy and vomiting. I didn’t sleep at all that night, watching and waiting for a sign that he might snap out of it.

Catsup, or Catsoup?

I find myself playing a game of catch-up in the story that is my life. This would be a mundane task for a Saturday night, had my life not advanced several years in the past week!

Progress, and Regress

It was lately pointed out to me that, for a woman of action, I spend an awful lot of time pondering what might be, instead of actually doing anything to bring it about. (The boxes in the hall bear witness with their not yet installed ceiling fans and pedestal sinks.) In many ways, my life is not so much a life, but a series of theories.

When it comes to Graples (or any job, really) I am somewhat efficient, tidy, and proactive. My reputation has been one of a woman who can “get shit done.” As an Operations Manager, I’ve mastered the art of problem-solving by anticipating and heading off concerns. I direct my worries into pre-emptive strikes aimed at making my own life and experience easier. I hate surprises. I do whatever I have to do to avoid them, and am rarely caught off guard.

The Long Way Around

As I walked the Terrible Twosome around the village of Hoosick Falls today, I was struck by how the simplest things can bring back waves of long-buried emotions, releasing cobwebs from the heart and replacing them with billowing dustclouds of painful nostalgia. Today it was the slightest crispness in the air–not our usual coat weather, but the first hintings of spring that signal a real change in season. While I know it was only a tease, a pre-cursor to tonight’s snow, it poked at my aching heart just a little.

Manifesting Destiny

My luck has been greatly decreased by my habit of rushing into relationships with my bleeding heart held firmly out in front of me, chasing emotionally unavailable men who cannot escape quickly enough. Somehow, the fact that their backs are turned as they move away quickly in the other direction has escaped my notice, each and every time. I’ve begun to question my grip on reality, especially after seeing the smiling photos of one recent non-boyfriend with his MUCH older ladyfriend, with whom he re-entered into a relationship while I was still under the impression we were dating. He seems truly happy–if he is indeed capable of a positive emotion–and that really pisses me off.

Saint Patrick

I’ve met plenty of people who have managed not only civil, but friendly relationships with their ex-spouses. Perfect strangers have told me their stories, including one woman who let her ex live with her for years after he lost everything in a fire; and a man just the other day who has become “roommates” with his ex-wife–his best friend–for the financial benefits of couplehood. Unfortunately, these stories are not the norm. We speak in hushed tones, eyes wide, amazed to have found kindred spirits.

E-Z Rockin’

The E-Z Rockin’ Ranch was miles from town, and surrounded by other small farms and ranches. The goldenrod house had sprung from the earth as just a few rooms, and had been added onto over the years, centering around the dining room. That dining room contained a big, old wooden table that had more leaves in it than exist in any other farm table in creation. Even when it was just the two of them, Grandma kept a couple leaves in place. It made the room feel cozy, and mealtimes feel big.

Walking on Empty–Wait, Have I Done This One Before??

The most consistent presence in my life these days has to be Ina Hall’s Queen Bitch. Miss Katie goes to bed the same way every night, and wakes the same way every morning: cuddly. Whenever I enter the Hall, she wiggles and squirms. When I sit on the couch, she double-pumps to hop on the couch and sit with me. Whenever a cat walks by, her ears perk up. When a bus or truck drives by, she lunges. And whenever I cry, she just looks at me. Looks at me, square in the face, and stares.

Special Message for a New “Friend”

Here’s a tip:  when it’s bugging you that a total stranger is writing about “you” on her public blog, don’t let her know it directly.  In most cases, it’s a sure bet that the total stranger enjoys that you’re bugged.  And now she may have found a new hobby.  Hey, thanks for that!