Archive for May, 2011

I thought I would skip Thankful Thursday today due to the late hour. It’s after 11pm and I’m beat.

However, I have to print out the week’s NY Times crosswords, so I may as well get down to it.

Grateful that someone picked up my kid this morning to take her to school, so I didn’t have to drive at 8:15.

Grateful for the bright orange poppy that opened in the front perennial bed this morning. I took a bunch of photos of the flowers in my garden this morning, due to the fact of not having to drive my kid to school, walking around like a crazy person in my nightgown with a yellow zippered sweatshirt over top. I don’t think I’m crazy and I don’t think I look crazy, but I know what most people think when someone walks around in broad daylight in pajamas. I grew up in a household where pajamas were an acceptable form of day wear, and I’ve never seen fit to break the pattern.

Grateful for crossword puzzles.

Crossword puzzles put me to sleep. They have for years. They are my nightcap. The only stress they cause is when I am without one for long. I can almost practice complete detachment from crossword puzzles aside from the actual ironic fact that I need to have one in my possession on any given night of the week. Peace, man, peace. Crossword puzzles are like peace in my soul.

I could post a jpeg of a crossword puzzle from google images right here, but I’m not gonna. Or a jpeg of a carpool sign. Don’t think I didn’t look, because I did.

Another thing I love?  Carpools and carpooling. Like crazy, like crazy with a yellow hooded-sweatshirt that zips up the front.

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It was only a matter of time. I am not sure how many days in a row we’ve had rain. I know we’re on at least Day 992 of overcast skies. I used to think that New England was really sunny compared to Northeast Ohio, but that only lasted about 4 years. Since March of 2005, it’s just as cloudy here, I swear.

I am generally thankful for cooler temperatures because my body is happier when it’s below 85 degrees outside; but finally, yesterday, I’d had enough. One crabby pre-teen, one crabby teen, one crabby me. One of the annuals that I bought and planted only 2 weeks ago has drowned by the roots in spite of my water-dumping efforts to save it. My flowers are blooming, but how? Can’t bike. Can’t hike. Can’t walk. Can’t garden. The sodden temperament of my household needs something to kick it out of its current state, only there’s not enough energy to be summoned from anywhere to make the necessary change.

No matter. Life goes on and we’ll soon have record-breaking temps and sunshine the Valley over, sending me indoors yet again.

I love this song, with its trippy ’60s sound and quirky but classic Beatles’ harmony. John on vocals so it’s not completely “moving in the positive;” always an edge to his voice.

The video is punctuated with commentary by George Harrison, which is both odd and funny. The Fab Four are dorky, young, and beautiful, a bit more staid than when performing their usual antics in front of the camera.

P.S. I have a vague awareness of a Broadway show about the Beatles and I know it’s called “Rain,” but that is NOT in any way related to this post, ‘kay?

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Cats are girls, dogs are boys.

All butterflies are female; moths, mostly male, but sometimes a moth with female-coded DNA slips in.

Lesbians do not use cucumbers to masturbate themselves or others. Hetero women? Different story.

Misspell looks misspelled and I think we can all agree that it should look like this: mispell. Are they just fucking with me on this?

If you are gender-confused at the time of the Rapture, you will probably go to Hell. Same goes for those of us you who have ever had sex without trying to procreate. Sorry that this is only suppositional and not factual.

I saw a couple of Greek guys on a video that someone linked to on Facebook and they were playing a piano, a duet actually, with their penises. That must have been hard!

The plural of penis is actually penisii.

How can a woman play a kazoo with her cookie muscles? Is there still time for me to learn?

You know how I said that thing about all butterflies being female? What about a proboscis? Does that confuse you as much as it does me?

Even though the phrase “tongue-in-cheek” sounds vaguely sexual, I don’t think you’d get far using it as dirty talk in the bedroom.

Wait, how about this: oh, baby, please put your tongue in my cheek, on the inside 

I know I have strayed from the fact part of the post, but you have to admit that these are important things to think about.

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Sometimes I have something prepared for this day, sometimes not. I get nervous, even panicked, and think, what if I can’t find something for which I am grateful? I think for a few days. I take notes.

Sometimes nothing occurs to me. I know I have to wake up and muster out the gratitude. And sometimes, a gem falls in my lap, petals descending from the cherry tree.

This is that day.

I have recently re-established contact with the oldest friend I have, someone I have known since we were 4 years old.

I am filled with an incredible sense of connection and ease.

And that is enough for today.

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I can’t quite shake this listening since my recent re-delving into the Stones, especially their Gram Parsons’-influenced era. I can’t find my CD of Exile on Main Street either, though Hubby swears we own it. I am pre-iPod, it’s true, but I am not ashamed, more living in a state of bewilderment. I’m a dinosaur in my own time, a perpetual “woman of the last century.”

Though it may be sacrilege, I tend to like other people’s versions of GP’s work more than his own.

Here’s one. It’s on the slow side, but damn worth the wait. Gillian Welch melts me like butter hitting a hot cast iron pan (okay, that was really bad, but I couldn’t resist).

There’s no video, just the song.

In South Carolina there are many tall pines
I remember the oak tree that we used to climb
But now when I’m lonesome, I always pretend
That I’m getting the feel of hickory wind

I started out younger at most everything
All the riches and pleasures, what else could life bring?
But it makes me feel better each time it begins
Callin’ me home, hickory wind

It’s hard to find out that trouble is real
In a far away city, with a far away feel
But it makes me feel better each time it begins
Callin’ me home, hickory wind

Keeps callin’ me home, hickory wind

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If you must know, The Rolling Stones used to be my favorite band of all time. While I’m not actually ashamed of this, I would say my love for them hit the skids for over a decade.

The other day, in my car, this is the song that brought me back after my long departure from listening to the Stones.

I’m basically gonna keep my mouth shut about everything I could say except that in this recording, Mick’s still pretty (really pretty) and has a voice with which to sing.

If you want to go a bit further, look up “Loving Cup” or “Dead Flowers,” live, from the same era. Sweet indeed!

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