Family

The Road Less Traveled Yields Soft Surprise

Wednesday, December 12th, 2012

 

The Same Road, The Same Spot Where It Happened

Almost no one lives out here but us.

Later in our lives when we are far advanced in years, the area will become known as The Grasslands. Our town will fight about saving it and all the raptors, eagles and little burrowing, running creatures that live here…they will argue about saving The Grasslands, or not.

The Grasslands are rolling fields of low grass, peppered with massive boulders and oak trees.

Today, I am 11 or 12 years old. I am riding my clunky bike in the middle of the quiet road that runs below our tiny house on 14 acres. It’s paved and spirals languidly into the far distance.

My old blue bike is heavy and huge and I have to stand up to pedal and push to make the bike move slowly forward.

My brother Art, who is maybe 3 or 4, is on foot, meandering along beside me.

I’m sweating. My hair and my face are damp.

We’re heading far down the quiet road to a stream tucked behind boulders and trees, miles away.

We have a small lunch with us. 2 Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I’m grappling with a fishing pole when suddenly my bike hits a small rock in the road and I fly off the seat, hit the middle of the road hard, and roll. (more…)

The Great Cat Potty

Wednesday, November 28th, 2012

Before The Cat Potty

This is my back patio where I first have my Brilliant Idea. Notice the cat door.

 

The Great Cat Potty Begins To Take Shape

This all started when I tried to train my cat Sparkle to use the toilet.

Sparkle Asking To Eat Or Go Outside.. Or Both

This Is Sparkle Telling Me She’d Like To Go Outside, Please

After 2 1/2 months I succeeded in teaching her not to use a cat box OR a toilet and now she will only go outside. This means at night. Often multiple times a night. You can imagine how this is affecting my rest and peace of mind because of all the dangers that lurk in the dark for cats.

And this, of course, is Karl.

Karl In Repose

He too chooses to only go to the bathroom outside. Fortunately, I had a large cat yard built for him, but again, I am up much of the night putting him in and out of it.

 

This Is Just Part Of Karl’s Yard!

Sparkle will not go in this yard. She hates it. She is used to her freedom.

I do not have a photo of Jeronamo and Bill laughing madly and slapping each other as Jeronamo builds The Great Cat Potty. They are already hysterical about the big covered yard I had Jeronamo build for Karl. And they are hysterical about this back patio that I had fenced in so Karl can not get out. The coyotes can get in, of course, as they jump fences. So at night, Karl and Sparkle will need to use the New Very Improved And Brilliant Cat Potty.

Bill says my back patio now looks like Guantanamo.

 

My Back Patio Wired For Karl's Safety

This Is Karl At Guantanamo

And here is the finished Great Cat Potty!

 

Maybe The Cats And I Will Get Some Sleep Tonight

Bill and Jeronamo are still slapping and laughing.

*Please EMAIL this on to your Cat People Friends? We understand each other’s excesses. I need their understanding company.

*Do you know the kind of work I do when I’m not busy building Cat Potties? Look here for details. It’s a great time to have a phone reading with me!   Visit me at www.GodIsAlwaysHappy.com for rates and availability.


Different Hair Disasters

Wednesday, November 21st, 2012

The First Hair Disaster But Probably Not The Last

Lexi stuck one  of her little brother’s big toy gizmos in her long hair and it won’t come out. She doesn’t know why she did it, but then, when it comes to hair, we women often wonder why we did it.

The night before my sister Polly’s son got married, she had a friend put a color rinse on her white hair. Her hair turned the color of an apricot and it wouldn’t come out. All the wedding photos feature Polly looking like a bowl of ripe fruit. These family photos are ‘forever.’

When Polly was 40, with the same white hair, she asked her husband to give her a perm. You probably know how that worked out?

I hadn’t been warned about this and when I saw her the next day I almost fell down the steps at our mother’s house. Polly had an Old Lady Poodle Perm. She was a shocking site as The Look had aged her 30-35 years! We had a preview of her Old Ladyhood. I laughed so hard my guts hurt for days.

But, let’s be fair and tell you about my hair mishaps. They started with I was 15.

One evening I came to the dinner table with my hair dyed red. My father yelled and slammed his fist onto our conference sized dinner table.

“Margaret!” he yelled at my mother. “She looks like a godamn slut!”

How was I to know his mother had dyed her hair red when it ‘wasn’t done’ and had some other ‘slutty’ adventures?

My mother immediately took me out to the wash room, dumped my head in a concrete sink and washed my hair vigorously with Tide detergent. A number of times. It didn’t remove the red  but I did have hair like dried hay until it finally grew out.

After that experience, you couldn’t stop me. I bleached my hair blonde and it went green.

I dyed it red, again. And then a dark plum purple color when purple hadn’t been invented yet.

Easter egg dye was good but that shocking pink color took months to work itself out.

My father raged.

When I went off to college I went into a positively dying frenzy.

One terrible morning I had just dyed my hair and was washing it in the bathroom sink. Suddenly, I felt my hair blow up in my hands. I slowly raised my head and looked in the mirror. Yikes. I was Bozo the Clown, I was Daffy Duck, I was a Monster. My entire head of hair had exploded and expanded. There was only one thing to do. I cut it all off and called it a Pixie Cut, but you need more hair then fuzz for a Pixie Cut.

Walking to my college classes the next day, there were 2 fellows trailing behind me. I was wearing a red and white polka dot culotte outfit that I had sewn. I was feeling pretty cute about my sexy little self when I heard one of the boys say about me, “Wow. That’s really cute. But…what is it?”

What is the definition of dumb?

I kept dying my hair.

When I was in my early 40’s and had the sexiest, handsomest boy friend in town, I had a new fellow at the local hair salon cut and dye my hair. When the deed was done and I was unveiled, the entire Salon went silent.

My hair was dog shit brown and the short hair cut made me look like a long green onion. The word ‘ugly’ is too mild.

I slunk home, sat on the stairs and waited for my handsome boyfriend to show up. When ‘R’ opened the door, looked up and saw me sitting on the stairs, he fell against the wall. In 2 seconds he had me out in the kitchen with my hair in the sink while he scrubbed my hair with dish soap. Deja vu. And, it didn’t work.

When my daughter Summer, was in her early teens and most embarrassed by her mother, I decided to quit dying and cutting. I decided to grow my hair out.

As the hair grew out it was layered in bands of dyed brown, red, yellow and natural white.

While driving my 280 Z, I’d leave all the car windows open because we lived at the mild coast. My hair would blow all over my head, back and forth, up in the air, out the windows and into my face. It was a fresh, free feeling.

However, one time Summer was in the backseat while I was driving with my hair blowing. She suddenly shouted, ‘Mother! How can you let yourself look like that!’

Don’t know. It didn’t bother me.

But, then of course, I dyed my hair, again.

Looking back, I had beautiful, natural hair. It was light brown with copper highlights.

In my 30’s my hair started to go ‘platinum’ but of course, I felt I couldn’t have that. I was too young.

I continued to fiddle with my hair and once a stylist even made me look like a dark brown tarantula.

But now, things have changed.

As an apology to my hair, I never touch it. I leave it totally to it’s own devices. It’s ‘platinum’ and it’s long. It does whatever it wants to do.

However, oddly enough, I’m swamped with compliments. People, (mainly older women) gasp and clutch their throats when they see me. They rave about my ‘gorgeous, fabulous, incredible hair’!

Men don’t say much of anything. They just think my hair is ‘platinum.’

I’m thinking of all those years I could have had my own, gorgeous hair but I constantly pestered it, instead.

What was wrong with me? What is wrong with us? Why can’t we leave our lovely selves alone?

*Do you know the kind of work I do when I’m not busy having Adventures? Look here for details. It’s a great time to have a phone reading with me!   Visit me at www.GodIsAlwaysHappy.com for rates and availability.

 

 

 

 

 


contact me now to get a reading CONTACT NOW