Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
The last snow was a wet snow. This is a fluffy snow. If you can't tell the difference, you're not in a snow belt. I'm not sure whether to feel sorry for you, or envy you. Get back to me about late January, or so.
See how nicely it pads the rock in our front yard?
This is our road in front of the house. It is called 'Casino Highway', and heads straight into the Seneca Nation, and the obligatory Native American casino. There's some dark, desolate territory between our home and theirs. Once, we found a beautiful but very drunk Indian girl lying along side the road. Her brother pushed her out of a moving car and kept on going. It does not look like such a thing could happen on a road like this, does it? It does, though.
Doesn't appear that the snow is over any time soon.
This is our work truck.
One of them is snowplowing.
We have a very nice snowplow for this truck...
...which we need to pull from along side the garden shed,
There was a quote that was once attributed to the late, the great George Carlin: "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away." He disclaimed that. I thought that was a real testimony to his integrity.
I would have claimed it, totally.
In fact, if nobody has, I will.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Bush Babe read my earlier post about Michael Hedges. She offered up an Australian guitarist. This reminded me of another guitarist, William Ackerman. I looked up some of his music, and lo, there was a set with Michael Hedges. Without further ado, for your viewing pleasure, another round of guitar hero. My version, anyways, having no interest at all in video games.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
I am not what you would call technologically proficient . If you want to hear a girl laughing her nether regions off, you should hear Cara, who is most certainly laughing to herself and muttering, "No s**t, Sherlock." What with all of her college freedom, she's developed a bit of a potty mouth. She smoked a cigar with friends, watching 'her' candidate win the election Tuesday night.. Because she could, doubtless to say. All that freedom. And...well. Let's just stop talking about darling Cara.
Anyhow, blog buddy Bob told me how to install a video. I'd wrestled with it quite a while, trying to download McCain's concession speech and Obama's acceptance speech. Finally gave up and just installed the link. I'm embarrassed to say that I spent quite a bit of time on that little pursuit. I kept thinking that it could not possibly be that difficult. Unfortunately, in the end, I was forced to admit defeat. I uttered a couple potty mouth words, but it was not freedom rushing to my head. It was frustration. Bob provided me with impromtu lesson. So let's put this to the test, shall we?
The past few weeks have been stressful, and chock full of changes. I've been soothing myself with old music. One of the labels that I used to purchase from a lot was the Windham Hill group. One of my very favorite musicians from that label was Michael Hedges, a guitarist. Watching him play (I have videos) was remarkable. He played the guitar in ways that it had never been played before. He played with an energy and a passion that came from someplace that most artists never go. I don't know how to explain it actually, but he was a marvel to watch. He was referred to as the 'guitarist from another planet'. What you cannot deny is that the man was a genius, extraordinarily gifted.
Pulling out these CDs and blowing the dust off them brings back memories of other times, and other places. I listened to one of his CDs waiting for Cara's arrival nearly 19 years ago. She was very overdue, and I was worried about things, and emotional. (She was trying my patience even before she drew her first breath.) But I listened to this music and was soothed as I waited. I'm doing a lot of waiting now, and it is an emotional time. I'm being soothed yet again. So here you go. History being made, right here on this blog. Thanks Bob.
PS: Cara, I'd like to point out that even in my jubilation, I've no urge to run off and share a cigar with anyone. Just saying. Love, Mom.
Late edit: Sorry. I was thanking the wrong Bob. I've corrected that error. *sigh* There are certainly a lot of Bobs in this world.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
I can endure.
I've endured before.
I'm actually pretty good at enduring...
Holding this paper in my hand, reading these numbers, suddenly reality shape-changed yet again.
It could happen again.
There is a very real chance that I will fight this fight again.
I pride myself on responding well under fire. I listened calmly to the doctor. Asked appropriate questions (I think), and when the appointment was done, I left the office and I calmly drove home. I wanted my husband badly. Neither one of us knew that this was 'the' big day, the unveiling of the treatment, we did not know that we would be getting a new, clearer image of the beast, an image that would reveal it to be a bit more beastly than we had believed it to be. And when I told him, he was speechless.
'This is not good.'
'Why has this changed?'
'How can this be?'
And we spent Halloween night sitting together on the steps downtown, handing out candy to the children. Quiet. Digesting this news. Each of us independently coming to grips with what lies ahead. We are both strong people, we are both enduring people. We're in it for the long haul. Still, this latest was a lot to digest.
I do not talk a lot about my mother. My father died of cancer in 2000, on Thanksgiving Day. My mom and I are estranged. There's no sense trying to explain why. She will tell you that it is my fault. I know that it is not. I also discovered that mom's version of the truth is the version that makes her a pitiful victim. My mom has disconnected from two of her children in a very big way. I try to imagine one of my children dealing with cancer. The first thing that I would have to deal with is my own grief. My first goal would be to comfort my child. My mom cannot. She does not. There is no sense to trying to explain her difficult life. It would take too long. It begins when she was a baby, and left with relatives to be raised. The relatives, fearful that her real mother might return and take her, raised my mother with words like 'she did not love you' and 'abandoned'. I understand that my mother is a product of her life. I do not hate her. After a while, though, you simply get tired of the family dramas, and the anger, and the necessity of picking sides. I stepped away. I stepped out of the picture. I feel better for it, because while I was in the picture, everything was MY fault. Now that I am out of it, I feel much better, less anxious, less guilty. Although every problem my mother ever had was my fault, she's still got problems, a lot of them, and she is still a pretty angry person. Remember the dream that I had all those days ago, that I'd heard my mother's voice from another room? That sums it up as good as anything. My mother and I reside in different rooms. She can't hear me when I talk. She hasn't heard me in years. She'll tell you the same thing about me. The difference is, she'll be good and mad when she tells you about me. I'm not angry anymore. It's sad, but like so many other things in my life, it is what it is.
I don't think it's funny.
An expert weighs in.