Author Archives: Kami

A Moment, and Everything After

Posted on November 4, 2012 by Kami

Heartbreak and Loss seldom give warning. Suddenly, they are at the door, unwelcome visitors, suitcases in hand, prepared to stay for an unrelenting visit.

At times it feels as if they’ve moved in, become part of the hum of the household, except the household no longer hums.  It jolts, and bumps, and bangs and hurts in unimaginable ways.

Fortunately, blessedly, thankfully, other visitors appear with food for the body when the soul has lost its appetite for life.

Others bring gifts of artistic wonder, of remembering, of photographs, of hugs and tears and attempts at understanding. There are those who bring laughter, some who bring laps for holding the smallest confused hearts. Some bring letters, which serve as a bulwark to support weak knees and helpless hands.

Gifts come in the form of laundered clothes, folded clean towels, floors swept, dishes done, garbage emptied, yard work finished.

Come on down and see us at the Old 193...

(Photo credit: sidehike)

Remembrances appear hanging from beautiful chains around the necks of those whose loss is unspeakable.  A photo, a talisman hanging beside the broken heart, a silver healing balm when healing seems impossible.

Music wraps itself around the injured, broken souls as a liniment, an ointment, a salve, first oil pressed from olives. The warmth of the song soothes and succors, lifts and lightens, cushions and comforts.

Love also appears at the door, and takes up residence. Love is attached to every gift, entwined in every condolence.  Love is woven in every hug. Love is wrapped among every sigh, and is the salt in every shared tear.

Love is the only real gift.

Because Love is the only solace.

Categories: Death, Love | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Twenty Years From Now: A Letter to Myself

Posted on November 3, 2012 by Kami

Dear Me,

I’m writing this letter to you today to let you know how far you have come in the past twenty years.  I know at this point in your life you’ll be looking back and flailing yourself with all your perceived shortcomings, missed opportunities, poor choices and heartaches.

Knowing this about you, I’m writing to remind you that you made two decisions that impacted your life and have made you the person you are. I’m certain you haven’t forgotten those decisions, because they shaped you in ways no other choices could have done.  To clarify and to help you feel better about where you’re at right now, I’m writing to remind you that these were your conscious choices.  You knew, at least to a small degree, what direction choosing such things would require.

The sacrifices have been worth it.  Whatever fell to the sidelines, whatever was left undone was as it needed to be.  It was part of the design you set for yourself when you put your feet on this path you now find yourself on.

The first decision you made was to choose people over things.

One of my favorite people!

Do you remember when you made that decision?  Probably not, it was a process, not a one-time thing.  You had found, through helping a few people along the way, in spite of how busy you were as a young mom, as a mom with teens, as a working mom, that reaching out and helping someone, even at the cost of something you wanted, was always the better choice.  The relief on another’s face was a balm in your own wounds.  The joy in a child’s eyes reflected back into your eyes.  The time sacrificed, again and again, always felt like the best expenditure of that time.

You were honest with yourself about the sacrifices that decision required.  Sometimes they hurt.  Sometimes giving was the last thing you wanted to do, but it had become who you were.  The tricky part, do you remember, was finding that tipping point when it was time to regroup, fill your bucket, shore up your own reserves, care for your tender worn spots, so that you could once again care for others.

That balance was not an easy thing to maintain.  The pendulum often swung wide to either side, excessive  giving to others, or a kind of self-indulgent, inward cocooning.  But you have worked at achieving a rhythm to your giving, your sharing, your service, and your self-care.  Now you can look back on your life of generosity and selflessness.  You should feel a sense of, not pride, no, not that, but of integrity.  You stuck to your decision to choose people first.

The other life decision you made seemed almost contradictory to the first one.  But, by time you read this letter, you will have made the two into proper companions, a perfect marriage of ideals. This decision, too, required sacrifices.  You set aside a sense of security and safety for a life of openness and sharing and of uncertainty.

the written word

the written word (Photo credit: paloetic)

You chose words.

That was a very deliberate decision on a very specific day.  You decided to honor that spark of creativity, intelligence and joy that burned so bright from your early childhood.

You chose to be the writer you wanted to be.  You chose words as your paint, words as your clay, words as your film, words as your musical notes.  Words gave life to all you saw, thought, felt, and experienced. Then you shared those precious words in as many ways as you could think of.

The people you loved will have known to their very bones, that you loved them.  You will have shown it, you will have said it.

Actions and words showed the world and yourself who you are and were.  Feel secure and sure in the way you have used your life.  It was well spent.

Regrets?  You probably have many.  But not about these two decisions.

People.

Words.

The best choices you ever made.

All my love,

Me

Categories: Relationships, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Living Out Loud

Posted on November 2, 2012 by Kami

I’ve often wondered what would happen if I just said what was really on my mind. Probably some major natural disaster, a combination hurricane/flood/earthquake/fire named Kami.  Okay, maybe I’m being a little dramatic.  Just a little though.

I know people who do speak their mind, with very little filter, in some instances with no filter at all, ever.  People are either afraid of them, avoid them, or talk poorly about them behind their back.  I’d prefer none of the above.

Not saying what’s on your mind, not being direct can have some serious consequences.  Beating around the bush is great if you’re a hunter looking for that lost quarry, but it’s not such a great thing if you’re trying to communicate with someone.

Is it possible to say, “THIS is what I want,” or “THIS is how I feel” without the listener misunderstanding or being offended by the directness?

Blackboards

Somewhere along the way I learned, or chose, to say things in a roundabout way.  The classic, “where do you want to go to dinner?” question is always answered with a “I don’t know, where do you want to go to dinner?”  That happens even if I know exactly what I want to eat and where I can find that meal.  That happens with every little thing that comes up.  Why would anyone do that? Overly concerned about how the other person feels?  Poor self-esteem?  Group dynamics?  A warped sense of self?  I don’t know.

I thought by now I’d have some of that sorted out.

Writing

Writing.

Maybe that’s where the writing thing in me comes from.  Writing is the way I say all those unspoken things.  My best writing, in my opinion, is when I simply let my hands do the work.  There’s no filter, no external voices saying, “you can’t say that!” or “what will people say?”  It’s just me and the pen and paper.  Simply me and the computer screen.

It’s just me.

Maybe that’s it.  When I’m writing, I’m really only trying to communicate with myself.

That’s how it started out when I was young.  My head was swirling with emotion and input from the weird world of teenage horrors.  Writing it down felt like the only way to make sense of everything.

I could pour out all these thoughts on to the paper like so much sand and dirt and grit caught in my shoes from walking.  Then later, I could look at the evidence, investigate the different kinds of detritus that made walking hurt, or uncomfortable or awkward.  A chunk of rock would explain a blister; sand caught in my toes would explain the itchy dryness.

Likewise, having my guts spilled out in ink or pencil on the page let me think in a slow methodical way, about what it all meant and how I would act or react to it all.

Sometimes my only conclusion was relief to not have all that stuff in my shoes, all that stuff in my head.

Have you ever felt like there was so much stuff in your head it might seep out, or ooze, or explode or leak?  That you might, actually, truly, be going crazy?  I did.  Sometimes, I still do.

I think some people cry and that takes care of that pent-up emotion.  Some people vent by running or being angry out loud. Some saturate themselves with sports, or television or volunteer work, or any of a thousand things.  Some simply say what’s on their mind, out loud and unfettered.  What an amazing thing to be able to do!

Typewriter

Me?  I simply write.

I write it all down.  And sometimes, I let someone read it.

Will they think I’m crazy?  Will they avoid me in the grocery store? Will they whisper behind my back?

Apparently, that doesn’t matter to me anymore, because here it is, my writing, being presented on a daily basis to the world, or to the twenty to forty people who “hit” my blog.

I can’t think too much about who reads my words and by extension, reads my soul, reads my mind.

It’s a frightening, thrilling ride.

This living out loud thing might be changing who I am.

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Categories: Writing | Tags: , , , , , | 7 Comments

Top Ten Reasons November is the Best Month Ever

Posted on November 1, 2012 by Kami

A Dust Bowl storm approaches Stratford, Texas ...

10. Snowbirds convene for the longest flashmob ever staged.  What?  You didn’t know they  were the original inventors of the flashmob?  Wait for it…wait for it…wait for it….keep waiting.  Gotta love those retirees!  They have such perspective, incredible wisdom and lots of cash that flows into our local economy.  There are many reasons they are known as the greatest generation.

9. Perfect weather.  Well, it is here in Phoenix.  Not too hot, not too cold.  No apocalyptic dust storms, no skies opening up with a year’s worth of rain in one hour, no searing I-can’t-touch-the-steering-wheel heat. Mmmmm.  Ahhhhhh. I am in heaven!

8. NaNoWriMo  National Novel Writing Month.  It’s fun to watch and read about various writers’ efforts to write an entire novel in one month.  Oh, the obsession, the angst, the insanity, the desperation! Sounds so fun!  Maybe someday I’ll try it.  Or not. For now, my novel’s characters are all in a drug-induced stupor until the holidays are done and over with in January.  Believe me, it’s for the best.

7. Water returns to the local Riparian Preserve, bird sightings increase.  I start bringing my binoculars on walks so I can get a better view of all those incredible birds. Where do you think all those northern species hang out while winter cold rages elsewhere?

6. My favorite cousin is coming for a visit and a 10K race.  You should be excited too!  She’s awesome, cool, smart, a killer Scrabble player, very funny, athletic, a book reader, a water engineer, a biker, hiker, runner and she’s single. Just saying.

Arizona Sunrise

Sun rises at it’s scheduled time, once again.

5. Daylight savings time ends for six months, give or take an hour. I don’t have to do complex math calculations before I make a phone call out-of-state.  Arizona doesn’t participate in this odd hoax on time manipulation.  We’re waiting for actual time warp machines to be available at Walmart.

4. AnClOuGaSoMo. Not familiar with this one? Annual Clean Out the Garage Sometime Month. Also known in the Tilby house as Pack Rat Rearrangment Day or I-wish-I-lived-anywhere-but-in-this-household day. Once we’ve survived the self punishment of organizing all our junk it’s a nice feeling to be able to find things we didn’t know we owned but might want some day.

3. Gratitude, thankful status posts and happy lists abound.  Nothing wrong with a little optimism, some paying attention to the positive in our lives. Some people set a goal to post something they’re grateful for as a Facebook status every day of the month.  We are a very blessed group of people and ought to acknowledge that a little more often.

2. The Presidential Election will be over with – for a couple of months anyway. Hopefully, (cross your fingers) there are no hanging chads or other such anomalies.

1. Pie.  ‘Nuff said.

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Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Simplify. Are you kidding me?

Posted on October 31, 2012 by Kami

“Pick a random word and do Google image search on it. Check out the eleventh picture it brings up. Write about whatever that image brings to mind.”

Simplify? Who me?

My jaw hangs open. I am astounded.

Do you ever wonder how things happen that seem so serendipitous?  So random, and yet, so planned.  Like a happy accident.

That’s how I felt when I counted to eleven on my Google image search.

It’s my Destiny

Obviously I am destined to read this book. Whether is will help me solve my current dilemma or simply add to it, I don’t know yet.

Like any good reader/writer, there is a bit of chaos, semi-controlled, here and there about my home.  Sometimes the chaos is winning, sometimes I am.  Freshly dusted flat places become receptacles for a few papers, a magazine, a DVD, and a mountain begins to grow.  Okay, maybe only a small hill.  But piles erupt spontaneously as if to taunt me.  I try to stay on top of it, but work, family stuff, errands, writing, reading, eating, volunteer stuff, laundry, cooking, sleeping, all seem to get in the way of the housekeeping.

book pile

book pile (Photo credit: luiginter)

I usually have a few, (okay, many) books around the house in different stages of “readingness.”  Bookmarked, dog-eared,  left open cover up, left open cover down, an empty mug holding the page, another book holding the page open.  It gets a little silly. But, let’s be clear; books are not clutter.  No way!

Here’s a bit of irony for you.

One day one of those hill-like piles had a book on the topic of decluttering perched precariously at its peak.  It was Clutter’s Last Stand if I remember correctly. Although, it could have been half a dozen other books on the subject of dejunking, organizing, winning the lottery merely to hire a full-time maid, simplifying, streamlining, or decluttering. I own a few books on those topics.

My husband thought that particular dusty book, resting on a pile of  stuff and clutter was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

I was not amused.

The clutter and the chaos drives me crazy!

I attempt solutions:

  • Trying to tackle it all myself with what little energy I have left after work and on weekends. Not so much a solution, more a self-inflicted bad mood.
  • Enlisting the help of family members met with more success when the children were much younger, didn’t hold down jobs or go to school or date.
  • MSH is a bit perfectionistic and takes a really long time, but he builds a pretty nifty set of shelves.
  • I buy books on the subject of decluttering.  I read books on the subject of clutter and how to manage it, reduce it, or live with it.
  • I actually declutter a little.
  • I dream about implementing all the amazing ideas in the books.
  • We move to a bigger house.
  • We move to a smaller house.
  • I secretly hope for a small disaster that wipes the slate clean.

I feel the weight of the nonsense surrounding me.  The already full sink of dishes when I’d just spent half an hour washing them up taunts me. The overflowing laundry basket snickers at me.  The opened box of Halloween decorations I have yet to put up cackles. The unswept floor sends shivers up my spine. The bathrooms rival any haunted house. The garage is the stuff of nightmares.

Unfettered Revelry

Seriously, there aren’t that many people living here.  We’re gone half the time working, and asleep  the other half. The stuff all out-of-place makes me wonder if it all gets up and wanders around at night or while I’m gone to work and flings itself about in wild, unfettered revelry.

No wonder I conjured the word “simplify” when I sat down at the computer.

I Sigh.

I consider staying up all night to make a dent in the piles.

MSH made the bed the bed this morning, and it looks inviting, calls to me, sings comforting, happy songs to lull me over to it. The pillow joins in with harmony. The alarm stares in a hypnotizing blink.

It’s much, much too late to attempt tackling any of the chaos and nonsense.

For now, I think I’ll take the Scarlett O’hara approach,  “I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow!”

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Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , | 8 Comments

Gratituesday Thoughts From a Dreamer of Words

Posted on October 30, 2012 by Kami

It’s Gratituesday!

Today I am thankful for those who have encouraged me in the pursuit of one of my dreams.

Surely to most people I am just that, a dreamer.  I appear to be one of those individuals that imagine a utopia but have little means to bring it to pass, or a daydreamer whose thoughts find little substance, or an idealist with no real grasp of the limitations of this life. Some see my pursuit as a nice hobby, like knitting or needlepoint, but this pursuit is much more than that.

Writing Apparatus

Writing Apparatus (Photo credit: Kazarelth)

Luckily for me, there are those who believe in my dreams, who share my idyllic views, who see potential in imagination and creativity.  You see, I belong to a writer’s group.  To the uninitiated, that is akin to saying I belong to a coven of witches or a to a society convinced the world is flat.  But no, I’ve found this group of generous, well-grounded women more stalwart than any paid advocate could ever be.

They have emboldened me, told me they won’t give up on me, expressed concern that I might give up on myself, have listened with kindness, been patient with my varying schedule and shared their own carefully crafted works of art and heart.  Together we’ve found beauty amidst ashes and hope and immense joy in our medium of words.

There are many others who have encouraged me in my writing. Several professors saw potential and kindly shared their positive critiques.  MSH has been like a cheerleader in spite of the time my obsession has commandeered.  Friends and family express interest, ask about progress, share praise.  I feel lucky in that supportive framework in more ways than I can count.  I know that not everyone who pursues a dream has such encouragement.

I am a writer. As I find words to match thoughts and search for meaning among chaos, I feel blessed and buoyed by many. For that, today and everyday, I am grateful.

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Categories: Gratituesday, Writing | Tags: , , , , | 5 Comments

Hey, Batter Batter Swing! Tigers, Giants, Donkeys and Elephants

Posted on October 29, 2012 by Kami

English: Line art drawing of a baseball field....

A baseball game. Four bases, nine players per team, an umpire and people watching on the sidelines.

  • The game that the pitcher sees is seen from the center of the four bases, facing toward home plate.
  • The game that the catcher sees is from behind home plate facing the pitcher.
  • The batter sees the game from beside home plate, at least while at bat. If he hits the ball his perspective will change rapidly, from base to base to base to home.
  • What the left fielder sees is not the same thing that the right fielder sees.
  • Short stop sees an angle similar to, but not exactly the same as the left fielder. And each base player has an angle unique to their position on the field.

And, sometimes, it seems, that the umpire is seeing an entirely different game altogether than everyone else.

And we’d be right to think so.

Because, he’s seeing the game from behind home plate, hunched over the catcher, with a batter on one side just ahead of him.  No one else in the stadium has that exact same view.

There’s also those observers of the game.  The game experience can be vastly different each time I attend. Sitting in front of a group of people who’ve had a few extra beers before ever arriving at the game, and then have steadily added to that amount as they’ve watched, will color my experience because I’ll get their unfiltered, fairly loud comments as a sort of spice to the game.  My team may lose, but I might walk away having had a hilariously entertaining time.  Or I could leave angry and agitated by the drunken fans.

And then there’s the kind of game.  A little league game is going to have a different feel and look than a small hometown high school rivalry game.  And the major league experience I have watching the Diamondbacks play in downtown Phoenix with the Chase Field roof closed, is going to vary significantly from watching the Colorado Rockies team playing at Coors Field during a rainstorm.

It’s all just baseball.  Isn’t it?

We’re talking innings, strikes, balls, outs, fly balls, runs, errors, home runs, mitts, bats, stealing, sliding, catching, throwing.  Basic baseball.

So many points of view.

And it’s just a game.

Here’s my question.  Okay, questions.  Who’s having the real baseball experience?  Which point of view is correct?  Is there a correct point of view? Can everyone be right?  Can every experience be valid? Is the pee wee game where everyone’s a winner just as “baseballesque” as the World Series?  Or is something in-between the two extremes the “real” baseball experience?

Am I just talking baseball here?

It feels bigger than that, but I haven’t figured it out yet. I don’t follow baseball.  I had to Google “world series” to see who was playing.  I think it’s more than baseball though. It feels like a political metaphor.  But I don’t talk politics.  I steer clear of controversy of all flavors. Any insight you have about why baseball is on my mind would be helpful.

I want all the answers, but I don’t think I can have them all.  I think I’m just one player in the game with most of my time spent on the bench, spitting out sunflower husks, making a mess of things.

I feel a little antsy hoping, worrying, watching.  There’s only so much I can do from my perspective out in the field or on the bench, or in the stands, or behind the plate.

Does it matter?

Sure it does.  To me.

And to everyone else.

What’s your perspective?

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Categories: Politics?, Sports | Tags: , , , , | 2 Comments

Gardening for Arizona Summer Survivors and Other Interested Persons

Posted on October 28, 2012 by Kami

African Daisies from my front yard last February

It’s gardening time in Arizona.  Hard to believe but true. Most of the northern hemisphere has already experienced an early taste of winter, a dash of snow, some frost, some dang is it really that time of year again driving.

Here in this odd pocket of strangeness that is the desert southwest, (no I’m not going to capitalize it) we are finally coming into our own, emerging from our air-conditioned caves, cars and hovels, to the bright new season that is sanity.

There is a good reason the town is named Phoenix.  A mythical bird that rises from the ashes.  That would be us, the desert rats, I mean, dwellers, the real survivors.  We don’t sneak away during the heat and come back later when it cools down like the snowbirds have the luxury of doing.  But that’s just me being bitter.  Sorry.

We come out in droves once the temperatures begin to stay below 90 degrees and the night-time temperature dip into the 70’s.  This morning it is a brisk and chilly 50 degrees if I step outside, which I’m not going to do since I’m still in my jammies. Yes, I said, chilly.  It’s a sixty degree difference from the 110’s we, ahem, enjoy, during the summer onslaught.  So yes, 50 feel chilly.

With such reasonable and lovely temperatures outdoors we Arizonans begin to think life is once again livable and endurable and we head outdoors to do all sorts of things we can brag about to our northern neighbors.  We post photos on Facebook of ourselves in the pool on New Years Day even though the water truly is too cold for swimming.  We throw some steaks on the grill in January and call a sibling to incite more rivalry, which we miss dearly.  We plant a garden and text or online chat about the tomatoes we just ate fresh off the vine in February.

And then we wonder why we get so many visitors in the winter.  Go figure.

I digress.

It’s gardening season.

In honor of that, I’m sharing a batch of information and websites from a recent very amature class I taught about Arizona gardening.

It’s handy stuff if you’re interested in growing anything here in the desert, from a solitary pot of flowers, to an all out miniature farm in your backyard (which MSH would love, but I won’t allow.)

For those of you in the wintry states, it’s a bit of interesting reading if you like gardening.

A California poppy, from amidst the rocks of my front yard.

I might make a quick mention that if you want wildflowers to bloom amidst your rocks or elsewhere you have another week or two to scatter those African Daisy seeds or California Poppy seeds.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have not planted my garden yet this year.  I’m a slacker, yes.  At least this year I am.  I could give you all my lame excuses but that would be boring.  I’m happy to try to answer any gardening questions you might have if I can, but honestly, all the websites below are where I learned ninety percent of what I know about gardening here.  So check them out and learn.  Then grow!

Phoenix Area Gardening Basics

Sun – 6 hours minimum is needed for a healthy garden.  Protection from afternoon sun is ideal but not absolutely necessary

Soil – lots of compost/organic matter and gypsum added to your soil (6 inches deep) or buy several good potting soil mixes to spade in together

Season – consult the planting guide for what to plant when (cool season or warm season)

Seeds – buy seeds that indicate early crop.  Store for up to 3 years if kept in a dry, cool spot, like inside your house. Dollar store kinds are fine. Our growing season is short, very short, hence the need for early crop varieties.

Water – a timer hooked up to a sprinkler or drip system is easiest.  Deep watering on a regular schedule will promote a strong root system and a healthy plant.

The early stages of one of my square-foot garden beds, sadly, not this year.

Square foot gardens You will only need 20 percent of the ground you would use for the row-and-furrow method. Lay out your garden in 4-foot-square boxes (or multiples like  3 x 4, 4 x 4, 4 x 8) so you can reach in from either side. If you have a box along a wall or fence, then make it only 2 feet wide (or multiples like 2 by 4, 2 by 8, 2 by 12) because you can only work the garden from one side and you won’t have to walk on the soil.

Use Miracle-Gro garden soil (or any other high quality gardening soil) – about four bags of 2 cubic feet each per box. If you have more than three 4 by 4 boxes, call Pioneer Materials and order sandy loam soil. It costs only $45 (at least a couple years ago it did ) for delivery of 1 cubic yard or more. Tell them how many square foot you will need, times 6 inches deep to figure volume. (http://www.melbartholomew.com/  (This blog is by the original guy who invented square-foot gardening!)

Containers – Many plants do well in pots, especially herbs, tomatoes, peppers.  Just keep a closer eye on watering needs

Gardening Websites

*Timely Tips – what to do each month, problems you might encounter, and how to solve them.  Includes lawn care and some tree info. http://cals.arizona.edu/maricopa/garden/html/t-tips/t-tips.htm

*Herbs – azherb.org  This site has great tips for soil preparation and discussions about herbs specifically and gardening generally

*Maricopa County Cooperative Extension – Anything you could possibly want to know or ask about gardening in Maricopa county.  http://cals.arizona.edu/maricopa/garden/html/general/hort.htm

*Flower planting guide – What to plant during which months, and bloom  times.  http://cals.arizona.edu/pubs/garden/az1100.pdf

*Square Foot Gardening  http://www.melbartholomew.com/

Categories: Gardening, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Good, The Bad, The Not So Pretty of Parenting Moments

Posted on October 27, 2012 by Kami

The statute of limitations has expired on this one, so I think I can safely share this story with you.  Why I am sharing a moment of weakness is beyond me.  I must be tired this morning.

At the time this story occurred, time, repetition and lack of forward motion worked against me.  Keep those three points in mind. Also, please note that I am normally a calm, well behaved citizen.

Also, it had probably been a more stressful morning than usual.  What could have caused additional stress at our house at that point in time could have been one of hundreds of things. It was probably several dozen of a hundred that put me in a dither that morning.

Why do I feel like I’m presenting testimony in a court hearing? Enough!  On with the story.

My daughter  who shall remain nameless, was needing a ride to school.  Fine.  We’d done that countless times.  This particular day she or I, let’s just say we to simplify things, were running a bit late.  But, if we didn’t have to stop for too many long red lights she’d still make it to class on time.

Arriving on the school property I slowed to the requisite 8 mph.  A sigh of exasperation crossed my lips as I saw them.  The dreaded orange cones.

It was encouraging 0603100930

I hated the stupid orange cones.  We called them the orange cones of death.  Why?  The cones were school security’s way of directing traffic the way THEY thought it should flow.  I’m sure if you have hundreds, nay, thousands, of parents driving whichever direction they wanted whilst dropping off their beloved offspring for a day of molding and shaping their ever eager minds, it could become a traffic jam of epic proportions.  I understand that.  I really do.  So I would dutifully follow the path of least resistance that occurred by following the orange cones.

The flow of traffic, however, made little sense to the sleep deprived parental mind when there remained only 2 minutes until the tardy bell rang.  Looping all the way around the parking lot, over countless speed bumps designed to destroy what little alignment remained in the car was a waste of precious time and sanity. What made the traffic flow even more ridiculous was that the drop off point was a mere twenty feet away  from where the orange cones of death began their path.  A simple, quick left turn would allow a nearly immediate drop off with minutes to spare.  That would free up time for the child to amble off to class, helping little old ladies across the hallway, shaking hands respectfully with the principal and offering to carry a heavy box for a teacher, if she so desired.

A quick left hand turn would ease the stress of certain parents, would improve the morning race to get everyone out the door, and would, in fact, lend itself to beginnings of world peace.  A quick left hand turn would be logical and there was little logic in this traffic pattern which required a circuitous route.

I might add here that there were very few cars driving this gauntlet of ridiculousness with only a couple of minutes until classes started.  The parking lot was nearly void of moving cars, there were virtually no students in the area, and the security golf cart guys were off having their morning laugh together.

Normally I would simply resign myself to the fate of another bumpy slog over the river and through the woods of the parking lot to drop of said child at the doors to the halls of learning.

That would be a normal reaction.

This particular day was not normal.  (Reference the above one hundred or more reasons for stress.)

This one morning of many something in me snapped.

“Stupid! Orange! Cones!” I yelled.  “Not today!”

I raced my engine up to 12 mph and turned the wheels sharply to the left and simply drove over the stupid orange cones.

Yes, this was in full sight of the front office.

I didn’t care.

I felt triumphant.

I felt victorious.

I had stuck it to the man.

I felt a little embarrassed.

“There ya’ go, my love,” I said as we pulled neatly up to the curb.

My daughter was laughing hysterically.

I stifled my own laugh.

“Have a nice day!” I chirped.

“I love you mom!” she said through her laughter. “Get a nap today, I think you need it!”

I watched her amble in through the doors of the school and drove off into the sunrise.

*****     *****     *****     *****      *****

For the most hilarious read you’ll have in months, I can assure you laughter with tears if you follow this link, written by a brilliant blogger from South Africa. Parenting for Dummies by 23 thorns.  Enjoy!!

Categories: Humor, Traffic | Tags: , , , , | 7 Comments

A Scratch and Sniff Post; Thoughts from the Dogless Side of Life

Posted on October 26, 2012 by Kami

You know that famous painting of the dogs playing poker?  I know a dog that could do that.  He is a player, a faker, a bluffer.  He uses every situation to his advantage.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression, he’s not a mean dog. Farthest thing from it.  He’s the sweetest thing on four legs I’ve ever met.

You see, he’s actually a drama queen kind of dog.  Yes, it’s true.  A dog drama queen.

Let me introduce you to Murphy.  First of all, he is not my dog.  I do not own dogs, I don’t have any desire to own dogs.  I have children, and a husband. Just enough of each.  A dog is just another human being in disguise.  I have no need for another household member to care for, worry about, feed, cajole, mollify, or cater to.  (Now I sound like a bad guy, whatever.)

Drama Queen Extraordinaire, Murphy

Murphy is the proud owner of a family that I am friends with.  I’m at their home almost every day.  And every time I show up at the door, there is Murphy behaving as if I abandoned him and he thought he’d never see me again.  He gets this whiny, shaking, I’m so traumatized I could cry thing going on that makes you want to pick him up and snuggle him like a baby.  Just like he wants you to do.  I used to buy into this act. He’s not really all that traumatized.  But it gets him some stellar attention. I’ve seen him act that way with other visitors to the house, and frankly I get a little jealous.  Which of course plays into Murphy’s scheming.

Once a rescue puppy, he has scraggly black fur, a lopsided ear and a nub of a tail. Murphy can look for all the world like a newborn puppy when his fur grows too long.  He becomes a roly-poly looking furball with no eyes.  When he’s been to the groomers and gotten a nice cut, he’s the skinniest ratlike creature I’ve ever seen. Clean shaven or fluffy he uses his good looks to his own personal benefit. He’s going to cute his way into your heart, no matter how determined you may be to keep him at a distance.

I’ve spent a little too much time at Murphy’s house.  I know this because I’ve learned all the nuances of his barking.  There’s the typical territorial barking at the window if the mailman dares drive by or the neighborhood’s little old man shuffles past.  His pitch, speed and excitement increase a notch if someone approaches the door.

If someone he doesn’t like comes to the door, Murphy becomes a Doberman.  Attack dog on the loose, watch out.  It’s really something to see a tiny fuzzball transform into the mental equivalent of a guard dog.  Fierce in a hilarious sort of way. He’s got your back and he lets you know it. Being so tiny he might not being able to do much to save your back, but he’s there, nonetheless.

Some visitors to the house are welcomed with a song by Murphy.  Literally, he starts a high-pitched singing thing, as if he can’t control the excitement and joy in his voice.  It’s a doggy version of angelic choirs breaking forth. Drama. Queen.

I must be delicious because my legs get a regular going over with his tongue. He especially likes the taste of knees.  If your hands are idle he will commandeer them for his personal pleasure.  Human hands were created for nothing more than caressing Murphy behind the ears or feeding him.  A lap is useless if Murphy can’t utilize it.

Suggest to Murphy that he might go out for a walk and he spins in circles at the thought.  He grabs his leash once it’s attached as if he’s going to walk himself.  Ask him if he wants a car ride and he becomes a bouncing ball, leaping four feet into the air in answer, working himself into a frenzy of anticipation.

Murphy spends an inordinate amount of time sleeping, and he does so anywhere he wants to; in one of the kids beds, in the middle of the hallway, at your feet, on the arm of the couch. His favorite place for repose is molded around the curves of someone’s body, tummy exposed, all four legs splayed out, completely trusting.

When no one is looking, Murphy likes to clear the kitchen table of any leftovers, but don’t tell his family that.  He’s a great vacuum, too, as most dogs are. And, he likes to eat carrots, which I think is kind of quirky. He pretends he’s starving if you have food.  He gets his whine on in the most overplayed, melodramatic, sad puppy dog eyed way I have ever witnessed.

All Murphy needs is a little crown and his life would be complete.  He is royalty and silliness, take and give, all rolled into one bundle. And what a package!

Categories: Humor, Relationships | Tags: , , | 3 Comments

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