Don't Make Me Sarah Connor You!

Stuck in traffic on a beautiful day. Light was red and I had been cruising, listening to One Republic, windows down just grooving or so I thought. I hear that loping sound a healthy older mustang can make so I looked over and who did I see? Granny and another Granny riding shotgun, windows are down and they are listening to Patsy Cline go walking after midnight. Their cool factor was off the charts! That is who I want to be when I grow up.

         

Here I am living all relaxed in my new flat not a giant cuckaraoacha in sight for months until today.

               
                                              Because no one really wants to see a cuckaroacha....

 I opened the cabinet under the sink in the guest bath and something black goes running scarring me to death. I go get the Termination spray. I go all Sarah Connor on the thing.


             
 There is no way it could have survived. I wait for the cupboard to dry from the poison saturation. I decide to clean my office and as I finish and am turning around guess what is crawling across the wall behind my desk. Yep. I am once again freaked and still not recovered from the last freak out in bathroom. I am about to think it is a different one when I realize this one is walking rather wonky. “Please GOD, let it be the same one.”

          
                                                   Wouldn't you rather see a cute kitten?

I was going to take a bath tonight but now…I am not so interested in a relaxing bath. I have had one of those bastards swimming in the tub with me before when I was 11 and it was extremely traumatic and I am still not recovered from it. So I grab the spray again and go after it soaking it in a hailstorm of poison. I captured it under a heavy glass jar and notified my son-in-law. He just left with the body in a bag. Now I am as jumpy as a cat………rocking chair……… you know.
               
             Baby goats really are sweet!

Last night was so long and I was constantly having the heebie-jeebies. My peaceful home is once again a haven for terror. It was a blissful 6 weeks and I almost had taken down my defenses. I apologize to all of you who must look upon me and my body’s coping method. I used to be beautiful. Back when my only terror was an abusive husband.

             
                                                       Baby Penguins are so peaceful.....

I have fought epic battles in many wars and I look it.  Did you know I have also been attacked in the shower by one of those bastards? Don’t ask about the day I was ambushed by a scorpion in my eye. My life is not for the weak or faint of heart.

Now where did I put that bottle of Ortho?  

You Harlot or The Story of The Idle Rogue

I woke up this morning fussed up about something a male creature said to a boyfriend of several years ago. It bothers me because I want to rant at him, thank him, and what he said was wrong and a matter of him attempting to tarnish my integrity, honor and innocence.

This is for sword vendor creature. I shall call him sven. You made a comment in passing or on purpose to my then boyfriend while he was in the company of a married female friend of his. You said, “this one is much better that the harlot you were here with last year.”

He was with me that last year you refer to.

I do not even know your name and you do not know mine. We have never been together. I have no idea where you make port or call home. You know nothing of me. Where I live, where I have been, who I am or what I do. You know nothing of my morals or my beliefs. You do not know my fears, prayers, hopes, or dreams. You do not know my eye color or hair color or height. You have never met anyone I have ever had a relationship with except for that boyfriend.

I challenge you. Bring me one, just one man from any fair or from any game I have been at that has had me in such a way that you can justify calling me a harlot. Bring me one man I have had sex with from your world.

You can’t.

The dictionary says a harlot is a prostitute, a whore and promiscuous woman (none if which I am). But the origin of the word comes from a word meaning male vagabond, an idle rogue, the word latter used to refer to jesters 

        

                         "Touchstone the Jester"  - John William Waterhouse.

and latter to actors (is that what you were referring me to, an actor?), It has vague roots in Germanic with the word hari meaning army and it morphed into camp follower. Let me clear that up for you also. I was not a camp follower I was a member of the camp. I was also an actor with that camp.

In the Bible the word harlot is used to describe a woman consecrated to prostitution with the worship of Asherah. 

          

Let me clear you up on this. I am not Syrian and I do not worship Asherah. I am not consecrated to her nor do I go to her temple.

I am not a harlot. Calling me one is a lie. Therefore, you are a liar. You lack integrity and honor. Your goal with that comment may have been to slander me, it may have been to compliment the woman he was with but the reality ended up being you were a tool used by GOD to start an ending to a relationship that was not good, or healthy for me.  Thank you for your cooperation in HIS endeavor to move me from the clutches of that boyfriend. Your seed, that you planted took deep root and it thrived on the poison of his own sick mind. He nourished that thought and fed it and showed it to others so they could also help to feed it. Because when he was playing and feeding and nurturing something or someone else he was not tormenting them.

I do not wish you ill. I wish you would apologize but then you were just performing a part that was meant to help me.

And now, I need to eat some Lucky Charms because they are magically delicious! 

Tech Ending

I awoke yesterday with a knot the size of a monkey fist needed for the Titanic on my lower hip/back. 

It would not dissolve or unravel or relax. I have confirmed I internalize all the bad/fearful/worrisome bits that occur and have occurred to me and there are many. Some border on epic and even Indiana Jones would fail to save me. Some are so terrifying that I still blanch at the memory and some are so tragic even Nicholas Sparks would falter at a resolve. I failed to be brave yesterday and it is humiliating. Yes, I admit that.

Here is part of what contributed to this….

My internet was spotty and everything buffered and I would have to restart devices. I called to see what was going on and they scheduled me a tech visit but not until I had to go through an automated system which I absolutely despise. I finally am connected to tech support only to have the connection be so bad she sounded like she was being filtered through a cheese grater, sand and sieve. I am now very frustrated. I ask for a different tech hoping that will help. I am back on hold. Another tech answers and the same thing happens. She can tell I am about to lose it so she offers to call me back. Yes! The first thing she does is apologize for the out of country call center. I stop her as that was not the problem. It was the connection because now I can hear her just fine. They send out a tech guy. He shows up fiddles about, makes adjustments and leaves. Now my Roku is not working. It is not connected and after many tries to reconnect I believe he has changed the password.  I call the tech who said to call if I have a problem. He does not answer nor does he return the call. I wait an hour and a half and call him again leaving messages both times. It is 2 Days later at this point and he still has not returned my phone calls. I went from calm to full blown rage right after the second phone call got me no return call. I have zero tolerance for incompetent disrespectful male creatures and this mouth breather has become the poster creature for this. Again I ask this question in the context of a male creature; does he treat his mom, grandmother, and daughter with such disregard and callousness. Would he tolerate others treating them this way?

I call the main customer support number and again the despised automated system feeds my rage like gas on a fire. 

             
I get a tech with a bad connection in a distant land who agrees to call me back but after 10 minutes of me waiting never does. Now we have added dry bark and brittle twigs to what is consuming me. I call again. I am sent through the automated system my anger is so intense I can feel heat rolling from me. I am finally given a tech and then switched to another tech who is shocked to find I am beyond reason. As she realizes the connection is bad she calls me back. She is soft spoken and listens. She goes off script and realizes I am asking if the incompetent knuckle-dragging imbecilic creature who “fixed” everything changed the password. She checks and sure enough he had. She gives me the password and hangs on the phone with me to be sure it all connects and works. I quickly clam down and thank her and apologize. She is gracious and pleased she could help.

However, I am still waiting for the callback from it. Should I call his supervisor and demand an apology? Would that smooth out this raging desire to end him? 

                

In the middle of all this internet drama is a shirtless, young, hard-bodied male on the basketball court outside my window. I just want to stand in the shadow of my window and watch him. By the time I am off the phone the first time he is gone. Bloody Hell!!!

                                                         

Some of the trauma that got me to that situation was resolved and today is a blank canvas.

Let the painting of my day begin.

Gaming and Highlands

I thought I would play a game on line last night for an hour or so and the next thing I know 3 hours had slipped by. I will confess it was not a battle game so I was not on a mission. It was a match game and there were absolutely no rewards just match 3 and advance or run out of time and start over. I do not even like time limits on games. Too confining and stressful. I just want to do-de-do through it. I had to laugh at myself as I realized that the game was a reflection of my life journey. Win a few levels loose a few levels, repeat a few levels as time passes on.

There is something wonky going on in my flat. I showered on Friday. I never put the tub mat on the side of the tub. I turn it over so it can drain in the tub. I did not shower Saturday because I knew I was going to the Highland Games and would get smokey and dirty and I would shower after I got home. Well that is when a wonky moment happened. I came home prepared to shower and my shower/tub mat was folded neatly in half and draped over the side of the tub with the towel I use as a temporary rug folded on top of it, I keep the drain down and it was up. As a matter of fact the entire bathroom looked to have been tidied up and I had not done it this week as I had received some distressful news and had just not had the fortitude to conquer the bathroom after cleaning the rest of my flat. This is not the only incident, there have been others but this was the first time I could actually put my finger on something happening. When I first moved in it seemed like a child was here…. male and about 9 then nothing. For weeks I have felt there was a ghost dog here but dogs can’t fold things.

                                          

I have added some purple low lights to my hair. 

Why? Because I have wanted to for a few years and the time seemed right. I am very pleased and wish she had done a few more. I do not feel prettier just bolder, wilder more whimsical and free.  Now to buy some fabulous Spring clothes 

       

and pray GOD gives me two more clients. Pray with me, I need them.

I mentioned Highland Games. I have been to many many GREAT Games in my life and this one always feels like a small country fair to me.  Not that this is a bad thing. It is just more intimate, very casual and laid back.  I believe because there is no Clan Campbell staking out a patch of turf in the clan area it is subdued and fairly quiet. 

The games feel more like a backyard BBQ 

with some guys tossing things about. 

There were 17 of us watching the sheep herding trials. 

I only saw one school of Irish Dancers with their head full of curls 

 and one pipe band. 

The worst part of the whole thing was because the state of Texas now has possession of the Alamo there were no Tartan Day services and wreath laying at the Alamo this year which is a huge part of the Games.

I did have fun except for the cranky vendor who complained about only getting 3 hours of sleep the past two days.  My favorite thing I saw all day was the tractor 

that was being used as a paper weight and the constant music from bagpipes.

I have cranberry scones waiting for me!

Breakfast Letters: Cat Lady Despair

Breakfast Letters: Cat Lady Despair: As I was pulling up to the “single person” fruit cup display a very gorgeous man pulls up, I move over and he says “oh no, you are fine ma’...

Cat Lady Despair

As I was pulling up to the “single person” fruit cup display a very gorgeous man pulls up, I move over and he says “oh no, you are fine ma’am” grabs his “single person” fruit cups and moves on. He said it like I was his Mother. Oh, yes, how respectful and sweet….   He was my age!!!

But wait there is more… You have all heard and seen the crazy cat lady jokes and memes and laughed. Me too. However, it is not funny when you are standing in line at the grocery store and you look down and you have a small salad, small bag of flour, sugar, 1 chicken breast, 3 small scallops, a bottle of wine, chips and a bag of cat food and, there is a HOT guy in front of you and one behind you looking at your grocery choices. 

                                   

It is obvious I am single and have at least one cat. Were they giving me the “Hot Damn it’s a Cougar/Jaguar” look? NO, no they were not.  I wanted to cry but I was too busy laughing at this and not laughing as in funny laughing more like hysterical …… this is not my life.

I am going to get my hair dyed grey with silver highlights tomorrow. I am buying all grey cloths and maybe I can disappear or at least be invisible.

                                       

On the brighter side….

I was waiting for the elevator at the retirement facility where Mother lives when a handsome elderly man came around the corner and did a double take. “Well, hello! You don’t live here do you? No, you are much too young.” XXXX those are for you dear man.

In case any of you were wondering about the horse that I said lives above me. Is it a man or woman, it is a Percheron that used to be in the circus? 

                         

                                            Wesley Dennis - Illustrator

My granddaughter was spooked by the noise on her first night here so I told her it was a horse…she got excited and wanted to know what color, could we go see it and how did it get up there. Large, no we could not and it climbed the stairs. She went right on to sleep with visions of horses prancing about.  I am a good Grandmother.

I am having a bowl of strawberries and cream 

with an eclair 

                                    

for breakfast because that is what we “cat Ladies” do.

Enjoy yours!

She Sewed a Book

When I recently moved I donated about 90% of my books. It was difficult, I love books. I would have hundreds if I could. I miss seeing them, touching them but this has enticed me back to the Library. Guess what is in there? Books, hundreds of books and I do not need to store them they are cleverly kept on shelves just for me. I enter and to me it is like walking into a sacred place, the Sistine Chapel, or The Art Institute of Chicago or Warwick Castle. 

It is filled with memories, information, history, and carefully woven tales. The Library contains secrets that beg to be discovered. It was one of my favorite places to go as a child. I knew that there inside I would encounter knowledge and that knowledge would give me power, ideas, dreams, and offer an escape.

Over the years I have developed this ritual. I wonder until I feel compelled to stop. I touch the shelves directly in front of me, stopping at one and then I pick up each book reading the jacket to see if I am enticed to explore further. Yesterday I walked right up to a shelf and there winking at me from a top shelf was a large thick book by my favorite author. I came home and read for hours.

The books I kept were several devotional books. A few cook books (I love to read cook books), Pirate books (they are actually part of my decor, Vampire books (those are decor for my kitchen, you would have to see it) and a few old books that belonged to my grandfather’s mother. One of which is signed with a very mysterious message.

While wistfully flipping through a cookbook 

that belonged to my grandmother a hand written recipe fell out. I stared at it for several moments when the thought occurred that her candy recipes may be secreted inside. The book was well worn and stained not just from age but also from use.  My Grandmother made the most delicious peanut butter candy, caramel candy and chocolate candy. Not fudge candy. Smooth, creamy candy like a Hershey bar.

My grandmother did not have a stapler as I discovered. Recipes were hand written 

onto pages that were designed for that at the end of each chapter and when there was no room she wrote them around the outside edges of another page. There are recipes pinned to pages with straight pins,

 there are recipes that are attached with safety pins

 and there are even a few that are sewn to pages. 

Yes, she actually took thread and needle and sewed recipes to pages. 

I went through the book carefully looking at each recipe she had added and even the ones written on the pages of Sweets. No candy recipe did I find. The experience left me feeling bereft, sad and oddly alone. But as I put the book back on the shelf and saw my hands on the cover I remembered my Grandmother’s hands had touched this book many many times while she planned and created meals for her family.

It was a lovely adventure I took because of that book.

Muffins and my current book adventure now await me.

Enjoy your Breakfast.