are never as important as a horse. and i've gotten into this awful(?) habit of asking myself the following question: is this really worth putting off having a horse for?
and the answer is always no.
so i'm not sure if i'll replace my camera.
and now.... i think i'd rather just eat grains and things in my cabinet than buy food. the spending season is over... it's time to rake in money and squirrel it away for the spring.
i think when i buy my horse, I'm going to have to invite my boss' and their most adorable son to meet the fruit of their actions, because without them moving my to local 44, i'm not sure i would be able to get a horse.
PONIES!
12.28.2009
12.25.2009
its that cheery time of year
when everyone is grumpy cause they didn't get the things they wanted and wish the weather was batter.
HOWEVER! i'm pretty sure i have the greatest family and we had so much fun. I brought my other (younger) brother and my other (older) brother and his wife and kids (one's in the belly) stopped by.... generally, it was a great time. we all gave my dad money. perfect. we all gave my mom jewelry...and an outdoor thermometer, my sister pre-chose all her gifts, and i got horsey things galore. we've been figured out, the tree was the usual conglomeration of memories.
I now am sitting at my house, with only the kittens cuddling with me for company and a bottle of christmas stout. What could be better?
(the only downfall is that mysteriously my shitty ass camera broke last night and now i am going to be forced to get a better one. aka anything but a nikon. so really, a pretty decent present in disguise)
hooray for the time of light returning!
HOWEVER! i'm pretty sure i have the greatest family and we had so much fun. I brought my other (younger) brother and my other (older) brother and his wife and kids (one's in the belly) stopped by.... generally, it was a great time. we all gave my dad money. perfect. we all gave my mom jewelry...and an outdoor thermometer, my sister pre-chose all her gifts, and i got horsey things galore. we've been figured out, the tree was the usual conglomeration of memories.
I now am sitting at my house, with only the kittens cuddling with me for company and a bottle of christmas stout. What could be better?(the only downfall is that mysteriously my shitty ass camera broke last night and now i am going to be forced to get a better one. aka anything but a nikon. so really, a pretty decent present in disguise)
hooray for the time of light returning!
12.21.2009
tis the season
... to think of loved ones and spend time with family. I know this time of year is particularly hard for my parents. both have lost parents, we split the holidays between families and an annual party hosted by old friends, none of which is happening this year.
anyway, i was sitting here watching the sun fade into the evening, feeling the temperature plummet, and thinking of warmer days and holidays and family, and got to thinking about my grandfather.
he died in june of two years ago.... maybe. i don't really remember. but i wrote about the experience as i felt it shortly after, and have yet to share it with anyone... so i thought maybe i would on this forum, i guess it's as anonymous as it gets in a way, i have no idea who is or is not reading this if these mysterious non-readers care or are passing through.
but all that is fine by me.
here it is....
My phone rang. jolting me out of sleep, bolt upright and phone in hand mere moments later. Heart pounding, im sure you could hear it along with my mom’s voice asking me, rattling, when I was coming out. We hadn’t discussed this before hand. I was not supposed to know what was wrong. but sometimes you just do. When I was pulling on my pants over my bare ass you were still stretched out on my bed, the sheet wrapped haphazardly around your waist. The t-shirt from yesterday and my shoes on my feet, as I said, I gotta go. Now. I….this is serious. I'm sorry, I’ll call you later.
Head spinning, and you pulled on your clothes tossing half of them into your bag with your bike lock and toothbrush, we were dripping with sweat from rushing and the early morning heat of June
and I flipped off the two fans which had been making sleep almost possible, bumping into things as I sprinted upstairs for old cold coffee and my car keys, and as you grabbed your bike and I hurried you outside, you grabbed me, we stopped, and with more assurance than was necessary, you hugged me so tight, my shaking stopped for a moment.
I need to go. Something's so wrong. so wrong, go. Go.
I ran to my car, and music seemed inappropriate and traffic seemed to part like the red sea for, this was urgent, why, I couldn’t tell you. I wish, I hope I hoped so hard…
And my mom’s on the other line again as the road races under my wheels and as she presses to find out where I am, I push the gas peddle to the floor and we reach 90, 92, and they are closer than they were before.
Barrelling into the hospital, slooooow it down. Slow. What good would it do to get in an accident now. I’ve been here so many times before, the room is the same, its been in my dreams ever since I drew that picture the last time he was here. I was ten then, eleven years ago. An eternity, a life time.
And my mom is pacing in front of the door and I grab her hand as I walk in, and pull her to my shoulder and whisper for her to get coffee, or tea, and I’ll be with him. I promise I wont let anything happen while she’s gone. She’s been here all morning. And the clock hits 7:30am as I sit down next to him and take his cold hand in both of mine. The skin is taught and loose at the same time, falling off, colors of the earth from years of being in the sun, dark cancer spots have been spreading as long as I can remember. His glasses are not needed, those huge rose colored seventies glasses that just came back in style, ‘cept his are legit and thick as my pinky finger. The while sheets are draped over his body, tucked under the mattress, perfectly flat and unruffled, a far cry from the sheets we left on my bed this morning, and I wish I could tell you the last time he was out of this bed, the last time he moved voluntarily, the last time his legs swung over the side to try and walk around. His limbs make pointed mountains in the bed, his bones visible, though covering them are skin and three layers of fabric. His ribs move up and down, up and down, and the beeping of the heart monitor is unbearably deafening.
His eyes are closed, and there are tubes everywhere, in his arms, in his nose, in his mouth, and they gurgle at different intervals, reverberating around in the room and in my skull and then out into the hall where my mom comes walking back, two styrofoam cups clenched in her hands. Hers eyes are swollen and her usual rosey cheeks are slack and pale. Her hair in a thick rubberband, spewing all over her right shoulder.
I try not to watch what looks like coffee grounds coming down out of the tube in the corner of his mouth, collecting in a large bag hanging under the IV. It makes me want to vomit, and yet I cant stop watching them dribble down the tube, sludge.
When my grandmother died. I didn’t cry. I thought those who did were weak. I loved her, and still remember her fondly, but my dad and I stood at his mothers funeral, side by side, mute and dry eyed.
And here, is the strongest woman I know, and her head is on my shoulder, and we are shaking, silently, shaking with so much love and we hold on to his cold hand, and that damn moniter is still beeping incessantly. And holding onto his other hand is my cousin, my tall blonde, smart witty and incredibly strong cousin, the mother of two boys and who has spent many an hour in this room in these last weeks.
When the nurse comes in we drink our coffee out of our styrofoam, staring into the deep brown liquid and we are grounded for a minute, as he tells us story after story of this man’s three weeks in this room.
How every nurse and doctor was in love with him, and how all he wanted to do was to walk around and meet the other patients and make them laugh by making fun of them, and how it wasn’t until last week that he took off this black shirt with white peeling letters that had been ironed on (I should know, I made it for him) that proclaimed “GRUMPY” across his bony chest.
And then he played a recording for us. See, whenever he would try and get up out of bed, this recording would play, to remind him to stay in bed. And it said in this deeply familiar, scratchy, yet slurred voice “stay in bed, stupid”.
And we laughed and laughed and laughed, and the nurse left the room, and the tears rolled down our cheeks and chins and spilled onto the sterile tile below our plastic chairs.
After a while, my mom and my cousin went to stroll outside for a hot second, and we two were left alone, one hundred years of life stored in that room, and I could see them being ushered away by the tubes into plastic bags near his head. And the dreams and the laughs and the ability to befriend the cashier at the grocery store and that old handsome face once dashing and seductive now hollow and inelastic, monochromatic and listless.
Bright Eyes and Poppy side by side. And I talk to him, even though he’s been comatose for six days, and tell him stories about my life and about how im making a difference in the world, a giving a voice to the voiceless through low power radio, and how I’ve been lobbying on capitol hill, and I know he would give me a hard time, but…
And I say his name over and over, and I ask him rhetorical questions hoping they aren’t rhetorical and I clutch his hand, casue I don’t want him to go yet, and I want him to open his eyes. And ive got both hands over his, trying to warm it, make it feel like it always has, and then, his breath gets quicker, and my eyes shoot up to his face, and for forty second, or thirty, his eyes open, and I know he cant focus, his eyes are so bad, but I know he can hear me, and I talk to him, and I kiss his hand and I tell him how much I love him, and I tell him that my mom and steph are here but walking, and they will be right back,and that I love him, and some stupid almost witty sarcastic remarks about how this is perfect timing for him to snap out of it, what a grumpy jerk, but I love him anyway, and his fingers have closed around my hand, and im trying to not lose my mind through my eyeballs.
And he closes his eyes again, and I beg him to keep them open.
Please, my mom needs him to hang on until she gets back in the room, and that codgedy old bastard kept his eyes closed, but kept the tiniest bit of pressure pushing I nto my hand.
And my mom and steph came back, and I guess I looked like id seen a ghost. I had. Because minutes later, the furrow in his brow, the only indication that he was in pain, relaxed, and his cheeks sunk one last time, and the gurgling out of the coffeeground coated tube stopped, and over what seemed like an eternity, I watched his face turn stone grey and realized his hand felt like soft granite, smooth and hard, and the coldest thing I have ever felt in my life.
And that fucking beeping of the heart monitor kept wailing long after we collected the last of his things, took turns kissing him goodbye, and wept our of the room, and out of the hospital.
His cold cheek print is still on my lips.
anyway, i was sitting here watching the sun fade into the evening, feeling the temperature plummet, and thinking of warmer days and holidays and family, and got to thinking about my grandfather.
he died in june of two years ago.... maybe. i don't really remember. but i wrote about the experience as i felt it shortly after, and have yet to share it with anyone... so i thought maybe i would on this forum, i guess it's as anonymous as it gets in a way, i have no idea who is or is not reading this if these mysterious non-readers care or are passing through.
but all that is fine by me.
here it is....
My phone rang. jolting me out of sleep, bolt upright and phone in hand mere moments later. Heart pounding, im sure you could hear it along with my mom’s voice asking me, rattling, when I was coming out. We hadn’t discussed this before hand. I was not supposed to know what was wrong. but sometimes you just do. When I was pulling on my pants over my bare ass you were still stretched out on my bed, the sheet wrapped haphazardly around your waist. The t-shirt from yesterday and my shoes on my feet, as I said, I gotta go. Now. I….this is serious. I'm sorry, I’ll call you later.
Head spinning, and you pulled on your clothes tossing half of them into your bag with your bike lock and toothbrush, we were dripping with sweat from rushing and the early morning heat of June
and I flipped off the two fans which had been making sleep almost possible, bumping into things as I sprinted upstairs for old cold coffee and my car keys, and as you grabbed your bike and I hurried you outside, you grabbed me, we stopped, and with more assurance than was necessary, you hugged me so tight, my shaking stopped for a moment.
I need to go. Something's so wrong. so wrong, go. Go.
I ran to my car, and music seemed inappropriate and traffic seemed to part like the red sea for, this was urgent, why, I couldn’t tell you. I wish, I hope I hoped so hard…
And my mom’s on the other line again as the road races under my wheels and as she presses to find out where I am, I push the gas peddle to the floor and we reach 90, 92, and they are closer than they were before.
Barrelling into the hospital, slooooow it down. Slow. What good would it do to get in an accident now. I’ve been here so many times before, the room is the same, its been in my dreams ever since I drew that picture the last time he was here. I was ten then, eleven years ago. An eternity, a life time.
And my mom is pacing in front of the door and I grab her hand as I walk in, and pull her to my shoulder and whisper for her to get coffee, or tea, and I’ll be with him. I promise I wont let anything happen while she’s gone. She’s been here all morning. And the clock hits 7:30am as I sit down next to him and take his cold hand in both of mine. The skin is taught and loose at the same time, falling off, colors of the earth from years of being in the sun, dark cancer spots have been spreading as long as I can remember. His glasses are not needed, those huge rose colored seventies glasses that just came back in style, ‘cept his are legit and thick as my pinky finger. The while sheets are draped over his body, tucked under the mattress, perfectly flat and unruffled, a far cry from the sheets we left on my bed this morning, and I wish I could tell you the last time he was out of this bed, the last time he moved voluntarily, the last time his legs swung over the side to try and walk around. His limbs make pointed mountains in the bed, his bones visible, though covering them are skin and three layers of fabric. His ribs move up and down, up and down, and the beeping of the heart monitor is unbearably deafening.
His eyes are closed, and there are tubes everywhere, in his arms, in his nose, in his mouth, and they gurgle at different intervals, reverberating around in the room and in my skull and then out into the hall where my mom comes walking back, two styrofoam cups clenched in her hands. Hers eyes are swollen and her usual rosey cheeks are slack and pale. Her hair in a thick rubberband, spewing all over her right shoulder.
I try not to watch what looks like coffee grounds coming down out of the tube in the corner of his mouth, collecting in a large bag hanging under the IV. It makes me want to vomit, and yet I cant stop watching them dribble down the tube, sludge.
When my grandmother died. I didn’t cry. I thought those who did were weak. I loved her, and still remember her fondly, but my dad and I stood at his mothers funeral, side by side, mute and dry eyed.
And here, is the strongest woman I know, and her head is on my shoulder, and we are shaking, silently, shaking with so much love and we hold on to his cold hand, and that damn moniter is still beeping incessantly. And holding onto his other hand is my cousin, my tall blonde, smart witty and incredibly strong cousin, the mother of two boys and who has spent many an hour in this room in these last weeks.
When the nurse comes in we drink our coffee out of our styrofoam, staring into the deep brown liquid and we are grounded for a minute, as he tells us story after story of this man’s three weeks in this room.
How every nurse and doctor was in love with him, and how all he wanted to do was to walk around and meet the other patients and make them laugh by making fun of them, and how it wasn’t until last week that he took off this black shirt with white peeling letters that had been ironed on (I should know, I made it for him) that proclaimed “GRUMPY” across his bony chest.
And then he played a recording for us. See, whenever he would try and get up out of bed, this recording would play, to remind him to stay in bed. And it said in this deeply familiar, scratchy, yet slurred voice “stay in bed, stupid”.
And we laughed and laughed and laughed, and the nurse left the room, and the tears rolled down our cheeks and chins and spilled onto the sterile tile below our plastic chairs.
After a while, my mom and my cousin went to stroll outside for a hot second, and we two were left alone, one hundred years of life stored in that room, and I could see them being ushered away by the tubes into plastic bags near his head. And the dreams and the laughs and the ability to befriend the cashier at the grocery store and that old handsome face once dashing and seductive now hollow and inelastic, monochromatic and listless.
Bright Eyes and Poppy side by side. And I talk to him, even though he’s been comatose for six days, and tell him stories about my life and about how im making a difference in the world, a giving a voice to the voiceless through low power radio, and how I’ve been lobbying on capitol hill, and I know he would give me a hard time, but…
And I say his name over and over, and I ask him rhetorical questions hoping they aren’t rhetorical and I clutch his hand, casue I don’t want him to go yet, and I want him to open his eyes. And ive got both hands over his, trying to warm it, make it feel like it always has, and then, his breath gets quicker, and my eyes shoot up to his face, and for forty second, or thirty, his eyes open, and I know he cant focus, his eyes are so bad, but I know he can hear me, and I talk to him, and I kiss his hand and I tell him how much I love him, and I tell him that my mom and steph are here but walking, and they will be right back,and that I love him, and some stupid almost witty sarcastic remarks about how this is perfect timing for him to snap out of it, what a grumpy jerk, but I love him anyway, and his fingers have closed around my hand, and im trying to not lose my mind through my eyeballs.
And he closes his eyes again, and I beg him to keep them open.
Please, my mom needs him to hang on until she gets back in the room, and that codgedy old bastard kept his eyes closed, but kept the tiniest bit of pressure pushing I nto my hand.
And my mom and steph came back, and I guess I looked like id seen a ghost. I had. Because minutes later, the furrow in his brow, the only indication that he was in pain, relaxed, and his cheeks sunk one last time, and the gurgling out of the coffeeground coated tube stopped, and over what seemed like an eternity, I watched his face turn stone grey and realized his hand felt like soft granite, smooth and hard, and the coldest thing I have ever felt in my life.
And that fucking beeping of the heart monitor kept wailing long after we collected the last of his things, took turns kissing him goodbye, and wept our of the room, and out of the hospital.
His cold cheek print is still on my lips.
12.18.2009
things making me squinty eyed and smiley...
-these folks: r.i.s.e. (a sisterly duo who sing beautiful old songs)
-the smell of the wreath as you walk in the front door
-the feeling of being able to attain your goals (i'm finally able to save money for my horse that will bring about the beginning of my success as a horse woman)
-finding amazing gifts for folks at every turn.... little surprises found on the ground, from the folks i work with, and the local artists
-courtesy stables (i <3 walt)
-spending tomorrow with my favorite person
-good coffee in the morning
-late afternoon sun naps with kittens
-a kitchen filled to bursting with good food, and the beginning of the winter CSA looming saturday!
and other things.... that i am not at liberty to disclose :)
-the smell of the wreath as you walk in the front door
-the feeling of being able to attain your goals (i'm finally able to save money for my horse that will bring about the beginning of my success as a horse woman)
-finding amazing gifts for folks at every turn.... little surprises found on the ground, from the folks i work with, and the local artists
-courtesy stables (i <3 walt)
-spending tomorrow with my favorite person
-good coffee in the morning
-late afternoon sun naps with kittens
-a kitchen filled to bursting with good food, and the beginning of the winter CSA looming saturday!
and other things.... that i am not at liberty to disclose :)
12.17.2009
changes
changes are good, though i usually get into a crazy tantrum of trying to change everything at once, which makes me crazy (and probably everyone around me as well). However, for the last couple of months, l;ife has been full, to say the least, and quite stressful. So to compinsate, my body has been craving all these things that are not so nice for it, namely cheese and bread in the form of pizza, mac and cheese from the pub on the corner, fries cheese, cheese in chunks from the refrigerator, string cheese, egg and cheese breakfast sammies for every meal, and of course BLT's with fakin bacon and guess what.... cheese.
anyway, seemingly unrelated to all of this, I have been so full of moodswings it's not even funny. prone to go from happily riding horses (which usually puts me an a 3/4+ day long good mood) to bawling my eyes out on the drive home. From laughing, to screaming, and feeling rejected and sad. Oh so sad. as i think it would be difficult for me to be pms-ing for two and a half months, something has to change.
end of story
SO. I've made some promises to myself and to the people around me who have been affected by my craziness:
**i will step back, breath, and step back when i start to get heated about something menial
**i will try to be more appreciative and less judgemental
**i will start to alter my eating habits towards a healthier and happier self
the first two are a state of mind, and the third i am finding harder than the first two.
being surrounded by fried food at work and junk food at home, it takes so much willpower to keep my cravings in check.
it is a well known fact amongst the my horsey friends that i can not eat bagels... they make me grumpy and lethargic and hungry(? weird, right). as background info: it is almost tradition to get bagels, cream cheese, and coffee for horse show mornings.
my theory is that bagels are so concentrated and so wheaty that my body just can't digest it... perhaps rooted in a minor wheat allergy (allergy may be too strong a word... bodily dislike?)
So. i am trying to cut back on my wheat intake as much as possible. i'm not checking the back of everything as i had to do when i was vegan, but just trying to not eat breads and breaded things, pasta, and tortilla.... my favorite food group. instead i'm trying to eat more whole grains and take the time to make food. easier said than done. especially since our kitchen is counter deprived (seriously, what kind of kitchen doesn't have a drawer big enough for silverware????? it's enough to make a kitchen snob have a minor panic attack everytime they walk into the kitchen)
moral of the story: i want-->
RIGHT NOW!
i'm so hunnnngry RAWR
anyway, seemingly unrelated to all of this, I have been so full of moodswings it's not even funny. prone to go from happily riding horses (which usually puts me an a 3/4+ day long good mood) to bawling my eyes out on the drive home. From laughing, to screaming, and feeling rejected and sad. Oh so sad. as i think it would be difficult for me to be pms-ing for two and a half months, something has to change.
end of story
SO. I've made some promises to myself and to the people around me who have been affected by my craziness:
**i will step back, breath, and step back when i start to get heated about something menial
**i will try to be more appreciative and less judgemental
**i will start to alter my eating habits towards a healthier and happier self
the first two are a state of mind, and the third i am finding harder than the first two.
being surrounded by fried food at work and junk food at home, it takes so much willpower to keep my cravings in check.
it is a well known fact amongst the my horsey friends that i can not eat bagels... they make me grumpy and lethargic and hungry(? weird, right). as background info: it is almost tradition to get bagels, cream cheese, and coffee for horse show mornings.
my theory is that bagels are so concentrated and so wheaty that my body just can't digest it... perhaps rooted in a minor wheat allergy (allergy may be too strong a word... bodily dislike?)
So. i am trying to cut back on my wheat intake as much as possible. i'm not checking the back of everything as i had to do when i was vegan, but just trying to not eat breads and breaded things, pasta, and tortilla.... my favorite food group. instead i'm trying to eat more whole grains and take the time to make food. easier said than done. especially since our kitchen is counter deprived (seriously, what kind of kitchen doesn't have a drawer big enough for silverware????? it's enough to make a kitchen snob have a minor panic attack everytime they walk into the kitchen)
RIGHT NOW!
i'm so hunnnngry RAWR
12.15.2009
<3 bagel bums
After returning home from a day of flea markets and hunting for long lost antique shops and a rifing lesson, i dumped the roping and wreath i had aquired on the floor, and this happened..... well, my cat is black and brown stripey, and laid down in it. Quite adorable.
i must say, i forgot how much i love flea markets. I love them so much, in fact, that last night i couldn't sleep well, and this morning my alarm went off and i sat bolt upright in bed, ready to go. I mean, I obviously laid back down and snuggled with purring kittens and my favorite warm body for a bit, and then got up and ran out the door.
My mom and I go the rice's flea market, up rt 263 between new hope and doylestown. and it is one of the best. some of the folks that are vendors there have been there as long as i can remember, and of course, the bagel folks are some of the best cream cheese spreaders EVER. not much beats an everything bagel with veggie cream cheese with a cup of coffee on a cold morning digging through antiques and deals of all sorts.
(this is a pic of the real-live-most-amazing-bagel-bums)
I got so many amazing presents for folks, as well as 75 feet of mixed roping, a wreath, and a bunch of holly for 20 bucks! Oh love oh love.
So home to cute kitten attack, a house now decorated.... and guess what. I think i may be an adult. I got those single lights that go in each of the windows, AND i saved the boxes and wrapping so i can pack them away for next year. I also got wrapping paper. no more newspaper wrapped boxes for me: I'm an ADULT!
except of course i have no desire to clean up the royal mess i made between being done for my school semester and having brought home all my metal scultures and the roping exploding all over the floor....
maybe i'll have help?
12.08.2009
dear oh dear oh dear
So. new house. new job. new room mates. and oh so much has happened since my last writing. my lovely partner in crime bought a house, and we, her sister, and our dear friend moved into it.... one of the most stressful things i've ever done. (settlement happened on the 30th at 2pm, and we had to be completely out of the old house by that date.
ugg.
but it's over. we've been here a week as of yesterday, and the improvements are crazy so far.
(i'll post some photos as soon as the cord to my camera surfaces)
and in the mean time, you can picture thirty five + year old pink and teal carpets stained with cigarette smoke and a family of 6's living habits.... as well as drop ceilings and a wee bit of paneling.
anyway, it's been fun and tiring ripping up the carpets, moving everything a million times, and trying to love on the felines so they don't go all sorts of vindictive and shit every where.
anyway. I want to elaborate on things, but right now, i have groceries to put away and the living room floor calling my name
until next time
ps. this is what i want my kitchen to look like:
(except with a wood floor, or even a dark and light grey checkered paint job on the floor and a non-ikea table)
mostly, i just want the sink SO bad.
wink wink
ugg.
but it's over. we've been here a week as of yesterday, and the improvements are crazy so far.
(i'll post some photos as soon as the cord to my camera surfaces)
and in the mean time, you can picture thirty five + year old pink and teal carpets stained with cigarette smoke and a family of 6's living habits.... as well as drop ceilings and a wee bit of paneling.
anyway, it's been fun and tiring ripping up the carpets, moving everything a million times, and trying to love on the felines so they don't go all sorts of vindictive and shit every where.
anyway. I want to elaborate on things, but right now, i have groceries to put away and the living room floor calling my name
until next time
(except with a wood floor, or even a dark and light grey checkered paint job on the floor and a non-ikea table)
mostly, i just want the sink SO bad.
wink wink
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