One of the problems with blogging...

...is that it tends to take the place of regular journaling. Of course, you can write anything you want in a journal (unless you have a little sister in the house who will find it no matter where you hide it). You ought not write anything you'd like on your blog.

If you blog a lot, you find that you often "blog while living...." sort of writing posts in your head while doing things throughout the day. Obviously all those real-time creations don't end up in the blog. Probably almost none of them do.

So when I get the urge to post something...unwise. Or something that with ultimately make me look rather...pathetic...in the long run. I just sit down at my computer and look for the music and links that I might use in such a post, and after about a half hour, I'm content.

Then I run off into the sunshine, happy to have "posted" my frustration out, but pleased with my restraint.

and there you go.

Feeling the wind through our ears

I go through these weeks that are sort of foggy. It seems like things are clear. Seems like things are under control. Then one day, BING! Thing will be really clear, and it will be obvious I've been rather out of it for quite awhile.

This evening was one of those sessions of clarity, where I suddenly started cleaning house and only then realized things were cluttered (that morning it had seemed quite spiffy to me), made dinner and realized I had lots of options (whereas before there had been "nothing to eat"), and brewed myself a pot of tea, dusting off the teapot I hadn't used in weeks.

So odd.

Who is the playtoy? Kitten or dog?

There is nothing bouncier than a newly washed dog.

The magic of a towel

Cats are odd. I've had a cat bed kicking around for a number of months that no one much cares to sleep in. Last night the cats were seriously peeved because I had not one but two litters of kittens running around before they went off to foster homes, and there was hissing, growling, and general discontent, so I set up a few alternate sleeping spots. Cricket was going back and forth between two open windows, obviously unhappy, so I put the unused bed on the table near one window.

Her sneer was nearly audible.

I went in the closet and pulled out a cat towel and laid it over the bed. She immediately straightened, looked extremely pleased, and stepped right in.

Glad to make you happy, Cricket.

Non-statement of the month....

Sometimes I wonder who thinks up these things.

The fair had planned to include Jackson in a buttery display celebrating the lunar landing in 1969, but word of their plans prompted complaints to fair officials. They responded by putting the issue to a seven-day online vote.

The result released Friday wasn't close - with more than 100,000 votes, Jackson lost 65 percent to 35 percent.

Voters couldn't comment about the reasons for their stands, but fair spokeswoman Lori Chappell says earlier complaints focused on Jackson's lifestyle.

And, um, maybe the fact that Michael Jackson has absolutely NOTHING to do with celebration of the lunar landing? I'm sorry, but the moonwalk is really not a connection.

This unhappy man is dead, people. Throw "Thriller" on your vintage turntable and let him finally rest in peace, okay?

The lesson of the morning walk

Pre-post declaration for the benefit of family and friends: this is NOT a post of angst. Merely one of reflection.

One of the benefits of having a young dog is being forced to go for hikes. The dog technically can poop in the yard, but without regular exercise, they turn into little bundles of frustration and non-compliance. A happy dog is a tired dog.

Sadie was Mark's dog. When we were in West Danby, we had a fenced yard, and regularly scheduled walks weren't required. When we moved to Spencer, there was no fence, just a long quiet country road. So Mark took Sadie for a walk, every morning.

Now that I am walking Molly, it has been a beautiful revelation to see the seasons unfolding. Every day there is a new flower blooming. Some days it is chilly, some days hot, some days breezy, some days raining. I always return from the walk glad that we took it. While sometimes it's rough to get going, the walk itself is always great. Sometimes I run into neighbors, and we chat. Sometimes our walks coincide. I make Molly sit when cars come by (in anticipation of her one day getting loose and needing this "come-and-sit" obedience), and the local travelers appear to have gotten used to this.

Mark used to ask me to come along on his Sadie walks. Now and then I did, but I'll bet in eight years I can count those times on two hands. While I still don't believe that any change in our past would have turned Mark into a "I'll stand by your side through storm and illness" type of guy, I do think that, had I said yes, and we had walked every day, this might have given us the opportunity to share our frustrations and dreams, and perhaps he might even have opened up and blurted "I'm unhappy."

Maybe yes. Maybe no. I reflect upon it simply so that I can keep it in mind for the next time around, should there ever be one with another person.

There were always reasons for not joining him. When I worked at IC, there were limited hours to get up, get showered, dressed, and take care of the cats. I could have gotten up earlier, but I chose not to. Once I had my "career job" I was leaping on the computer in the morning to catch up.

I assumed there would be times in the future for walks. I was wrong.

After Mark walked out, I used to stand under the stars at night in the road, as I did my late-night cat check, and think "You know, he never was out here to stare at these stars, and hasn't fallen in love with this place like I have."

But now, having gone for these dog walks, I realize that he had a different connection that I never had myself, walking along our road each and every day. He had that connection but gave it up anyway. So I guess I need to give that one up as an answer, and also need to surrender my conceit that I knew our environment better than he did. I didn't. He walked daily, mowed the fields, etc. etc. He knew what he was walking away from probably better than I knew what I was keeping when I stayed.

So, with my lesson learned, I want to pass it onto my friends.

If you are sitting there in your daily life, realizing that you probably haven't spent as much time with your spouse as you ought to but "damn, I'm really busy, and he/she knows this, and there will be time in a few months, and I know he/she would tell me if they were unhappy..." well, don't count on it. If you have any regrets at all that perhaps you aren't being the partner and friend you ought to be, I suggest you reflect on that feeling now, rather than later. There may not be a later. I thought Mark was surely the kind of guy who would say "This is a problem...this needs to change." You may be similarly certain.

You may be right. Or, we both could be wrong. Why put things off the way I did?

Again, I'm not certain that this would have made any difference at all with my past relationship. I expect that at the end it would not have, but maybe, five years ago? Who knows, and it's too late anyway.

FILE: under "Lessons learned."

STATUS: enjoying my newly mown and raked lawn, on a gorgeous sunny Sunday.

I've opened comments

People can now post if they don't have a Blogger account. Sorry! I didn't realize I had that setting checked.

I am a Facebook whore...

...and have abandoned my poor blog readers. There's something nice about being able to post only one sentence a day on Facebook and have people know you are alive. You know...if there is no Facebook post for four days, and someone will come and make sure I'm not decomposing on the floor. But the fact is, a lot of people have been reading my blogs for a very long time and aren't on Facebook, and aren't going to get on Facebook. So there you go.

Blogs are about audience. If you don't write with at least a little bit of concern for your readers, well, you won't have any. Facebook is about connections. Twitter, as far as I'm concerned, is about marketing (personal or business). You have a Twitter account to promote yourself. (I have a Twitter account because for work I sometimes need to follow someone who is Twittering, but I don't post there at all). You have a Facebook account to reach out and be reachable. Once upon a time, both the roles, plus creativity, was what drove blog writing. But blogging takes work.

Facebook doesn't. It's an internet room where you get to see what your friends are up to in just a few clicks and a few minutes a day. Every once in awhile I'll take a quiz for the fun of it, but I don't play the games, swap the plants, etc. etc., mostly because I don't have time. I just want to see how everyone is and stay in touch.

My phone has rung when my "one sentence of the day" has sounded down-and-out to a friend, and I myself have done the same. I've found myself in face-to-face friend time after touching base via Facebook. For some reason when people read my blog, if they wish to contact me, they send an email. On Facebook, people ring my phone. Even from across the country.

But Facebook isn't my blog. Blogging is my first technic love, so I need to find time for it. Besides, on Facebook, photos are just albums. In blogging, they are part of the story.

It's quite catchy, too!

Here's the story.

I don't know why I'm not blogging

It has been an odd spring---now summer. While rainy, the weather has been kind. I don't like 80-90s type temperatures, so this long period of 70s weather has been blissful to me. It means the cats aren't sweltering in the cat facility, and the dog can go with me in the truck on cloudy days.

Life comes and goes. A catbird just stopped on the porch with a beak full of moths to feed her young. I feel no particular sorrow for them--just pleasure at seeing the catbird so closely. But then this particular moth arrives injured, spending his last days on my table, paralyzing me with the decision of whether or not to mercy-kill such a beautiful and large creature. It's not like squashing a fly spinning on the floor. Beauty and sadness together.



I've fallen into a rut of just listening to whatever is on the radio. This weekend I forced myself to choose some music rather than letting the top-40 spoon feed my audio to me. Supertramp is wailing from the other room, and earlier the Indigo Girls helped rouse me from this stupor I seem to be in.

When I'm uncertain about what's going on in my life, I've discovered that moving furniture is rather like having a cup of tea with a quarter-shot of whiskey. It's not really medicine, but it makes you feel better. I moved things around in my bedroom. I also ran across a maple table for $25 at a neighbor's garage table that goes well with my antique chairs. I scratched the hell out of the floor dragging it in the house, but I'm repainting the floor, so no regrets.

The round blonde table can go upstairs. For some reason I just can't do paperwork on a round table. Go figure.



The lawn was very nearly out of control because I was traveling for work last weekend. I managed to hack it into submission this weekend.