Of “Evil Scissors” and “Nobler Modes of Life”

[Are these the "evil scissors" you were looking for?  (For more of this, go here.)]

In my last post, I alluded to the search engine terms shown in my statistics that bring people to my blog.  They are great fun to read and are the main reason I look at my stats.  Lord knows, I sure don’t get any pleasure out of that line graph they show where I often see, in one painful glance, the precipitous plunge of my plummeting blog statistics.

But the search engine terms are quite entertaining—sometimes humorous, sometimes happy, sometimes poetic, and sometimes poignant.    And sometimes, they’re real headscratchers.   For example, this one:  “rat collars; I put them on my rat.”  Now this one gives rise to so many questions.  First, which one of my posts did that phrase correspond to?   Do they really put a collar on their rat?  Why?  If so, do they take their rats for a walk?  Are there little rat leashes too?  If they do take them for a walk, what happens when they meet a cat?  Where do you buy rat collars?  Do rats really have a well-defined neck that a collar would work with?   Really, the questions are endless.

In the same “headscratcher” category, we have “evil scissors,” “snake recipes,” “family tree nuts,” and “babies playing poker.”  “Babies playing poker” certainly brings an immediate image to your mind, doesn’t it?  Can’t you just see the babies, with Budweisers in their hands, cigars dangling from their mouths, poker chips piled high, sitting in diapers around a table?

Then there’s the funny and whimsical—“leaf quizzical,” “money spiders,” “bee collision,” and “quiet stupidity.”  One thing’s for sure—I’ll take “quiet stupidity” over “loud stupidity” any day. 

But my favorites are the poetic ones.  “Nobler modes of life.”  “He treasures her like a poem.”  “The forever kind of love.”   What I like imagining are all the wonderful stories behind these searches.  Who are you, sweet man, who treasures your lover like a poem and loves her, no doubt, with the forever kind of love?  A nobler mode of life you live, to be sure.

But there are two that I get on a regular basis that almost bring me to tears.  One of them is “Mama died I miss her” or “Where are you Mama” or just “mama.”  The other is a single word:  “Alone.”  Or sometimes “Lonely.” 

For any of you that find my blog using that phrase, I hope you have found just a little bit of what you’re looking for.   If you are lonely, I hope that, somehow, reading my blog helps by showing you that you are not alone in feeling lonely.  It’s a universal emotion that very few of us escape.  And I hope that reading the kind comments of my blogging friends makes you feel just a little less alone, as it does me,  by helping you see, as I have, that there is goodness and kindness yet to be found in this sad, tired, old world.  And that I, and you, are not alone.  We are not alone.

She Dreams of Falling

 

(Steps on our hike last year at Stone Mountain State Park, North Carolina)

No, I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth, though I do dream most nights about falling.  And, no, I haven’t given up on my blog, though it has been woefully neglected, along with my commenting on all your wonderful blogs.  I am truly sorry.

More immediate and urgent concerns have commanded our attention of late.  The good news is:  We have sold our house and the new owner wants to take possession very, very soon.  The bad news is:  We have sold our house and the new owner wants to take possession very, very soon.

And, as of today, we have nowhere to go.

Until today, we have been looking to buy a home in the place to which we’re moving.  The trouble is, people there apparently haven’t gotten the word that it’s a buyer’s market now.  They all want outrageous amounts of money for their houses and land. And we don’t have that kind of money to spare.  And we’re not that picky—we just want a couple of acres or more in the country where we can see mountains and clouds and stars.  The house doesn’t have to be fancy—a trailer will do. 

Anyway, at this point, we’ve gone from mild anxiety to full-blown panic.  And needless to say, we’re looking for short-term rental—just so we don’t end up sleeping in our U-Haul truck.   Did I mention that we haven’t found work yet? Did I mention that the pain from my slipped rib problem returned, so that I’ve taken to sleeping in a recliner?  Did I mention that my car’s reverse gear suddenly stopped working out of nowhere (at sixty-thousand miles)?  Looks like I’ll be getting a transmission for my fiftieth birthday.  Yay.

And please don’t lecture me on how it would have been prudent to have gotten a job before making a drastic move.  Yes, that’s how it would have happened in an ideal world where eveything works out just as you’ve planned.  Lord knows, we’ve tried.  But nothing yet.  The reality is:  we’ve sold our house and we have to move.  I’m sure we’ll find work in time.  Blue Ridge Blue Collar Man is one hell of a carpenter and a highly skilled handyman besides.  Oh, and he writes poetry.  But not on the job. 

And now you can see why I haven’t been writing.  Not only a lack of time, but a growing lack of my usual cock-eyed optimism and a general crankiness that I didn’t wish to burden my readers with.  But I did want you to know that, Lord willing, I’ll be back—both writing and reading your writing.  So please don’t give up on me or my little blog.  And please, if you’re so inclined, say a little prayer for us.  Sometimes I’m not so sure mine are getting through.

A True Sense of Community

One of the unexpected pleasures of blogging, for me, has been meeting a lot of genuinely nice people in the blogging community.  So nice, in fact, that they have begun to restore my withered faith in humanity.  One of the nicest is my friend and kindred spirit, June, of Spatter.  So I was particularly pleased when June selected me for a Community Blogger Award, an award that celebrates “people who reach out and make the blogger community a better one.”   June herself was chosen for this award, and I am glad.  She deserves it.  Thank you, June for honoring me and for your kind encouragement of my writing efforts.

There are a number of deserving bloggers I’d like to pass this award to—writers who share their lives and bare their souls—so that we all can know that we are not alone in our struggles.   These bloggers’ lives may be different, but one thing they have in common is a sense of honesty and sincerity.  They are not afraid to speak their hearts and minds, to share their successes and failures, and to write of their joys and pain.  They blog straightforwardly, forthrightly, and truthfully.  And, for certain, our world needs all the truth it can get. 

So I’d like to recognize:
 

Wesley of Mountain Mama

CountryDew of Blue Country Magic

Sara of Speaking of Simplicity   

Marion of On The Blackwater            

Shannon of Going Crunchy

Thanks to these bloggers and all the others out there who write the truth of their beings, so that I and others can know we are not alone.

Part Three: Six Guilty Pleasures

It might seem a little strange or shallow to post this on Thanksgiving Day, when others are writing lovely and profound pieces on gratitude.  But when I thought about it, I realized that the fact that I’ve made peace with certain things about myself is indeed something to be thankful for, as is the fact that my husband and children accept and love me as I am.   Happy Thanksgiving.

Name six guilty pleasures you once considered guilty but you now have either abandoned or made peace with:

1. I sleep with a stuffed animal at night.  No, I don’t mean my husband, though I do sleep with him, too.  I mean I sleep with a stuffed rabbit I got as an adult.  And I make no apologies.  I’m a very mature and responsible adult, and I’m not ashamed—it helps me sleep and gives me comfort and hurts no one.  I didn’t have one as a child, so it fulfils a need I always had.  My husband is fine with it.  And if you’ve got a problem with it, well… you’ve got a problem.

2. As a child, I loved the smell of mothballs.  I think it’s because my mama kept our quilts in a trunk with mothballs, pulling them out when the weather got cold.  So I associate the smell of mothballs with comfort and warmth, and when I was small, I’d inhale deeply the mothball smell of the quilt as my mama pulled it up to my chin at night.   But they are now known to be pretty serious carcinogens, so no more deep breathing of mothball fumes for me.

3. I am not thin and svelte. In fact, my ex-husband used to say that I was “hearty peasant stock,” meaning…not petite.  (And he didn’t mean that as a compliment). I used to worry a little about this and feel guilty when I’d eat something I knew to be highly caloric.  No more.  I adore food, so when I do partake of a high-fat indulgence, I savor every bite.  I just make sure I eat healthy otherwise and that I don’t indulge myself too often and that I buy things with elastic.  Thank God for elastic.

4. Though we don’t have much money, I do occasionally buy books.  For one thing, our local library seldom has the book I want to read.  For another, I love owning a book, especially a new one.  (See post below).  I don’t buy many clothes or shoes or spend much on beauty (though I probably should)!  So I don’t feel guilty buying books, especially those I know I’ll read again and again.

5. I indulge my love for yard art.  I love whirligigs and windchimes and gnomes and pink flamingoes and ceramic frogs and…well, the list goes on and on.  Yeah, I like stuff that some consider bad taste or tacky, but I don’t care.  I could never stand to live in one of those communities with covenants that ban certain “distasteful” yard ornaments.  Nobody’s going to take my gnomes from my home.  No sirree.

6. My greatest pleasure ever is being a mother.  It’s not a guilty pleasure, but I used to worry a bit about the fact that I wasn’t like the other mothers.  At school functions, I’d feel so out of place, and I’d worry that I’d embarrass my children. I mean, it was pretty obvious that these mothers had never told their children that their food had been nibbled by a mischievous kitchen rat! (See post below).  But my children love me as I am.  And I love them as they are.  A lot.  So I’ve stopped comparing myself to other mothers.   I yam what I yam, as Popeye always said.  

And that’s not so bad.

And now, I hereby tag anyone who would like to be tagged for this meme.  It really was a lot of fun to do, even if I did ramble.  But no need to feel guilty about that!

Part Two: Six Guilty Pleasures

Name six guilty pleasures you wish you had the courage (or money!) to indulge:

1. I have always had a longing to see Niagara Falls.  Now I know for those of you who are world travelers, that must seem kind of…I dunno…quotidian.  But, really, I’ve always wanted to go there.  Funny thing is, I’ve never had the inclination (or money) to travel overseas, but I’ve always yearned to see all of the United States and Canada, though I’ve barely made it beyond North Carolina or Virginia.  Maybe someday…when I have more time and money.

2. North Carolina has a rich heritage of literature, a very active community of writers, and a wonderful organization called the North Carolina Writer’s Network.  As Lee Smith once said, you can hardly throw a rock in North Carolina without hitting a writer.  The Network has lots of workshops and a yearly festival.  I’d like to go someday to the workshops and the festival and talk to other writers.  Maybe someday…when I have more courage, time, and money.

3. I’d like to learn to play the cello.  When I listen to recordings of Yo-Yo Ma, it really strikes a chord in me (no pun intended).  Sometimes I find myself listening with tears running down my face, and sometimes, I feel an actual vibration in my body, as though I am the cello being played.  Yeah, I know.  Weird.   But the cello…um…really resonates with me.

4. I’d like to own a laptop.  The idea of sitting outside while tapping away on my laptop is very exciting because outside is where my creative inspiration strikes most often.  Plus, people just look really hip and cool reclining with their laptops perched on their stomachs, and Lord knows, I’ve always wanted to look hip and cool.  My daughter Ariel loves the laptop she had to get for college, and she looks especially hip and cool with it.  When she was small, she drew a keyboard on the inside of old pizza boxes and pretended it was a laptop.  She really looked cool pretending that, but I don’t think I would. 

5. I would like to finish my novel.  I started one about three years ago, but my life took a turn for the worse for a time, and I lost my muse.  That’s why I started this blog—to find it again.  Ah, well…maybe someday…when I have more…courage and confidence.

6. I don’t suppose this is a guilty pleasure, but it is a wish.  I wish I weren’t so painfully shy.  Perhaps you can’t see it from my writing, but I can barely talk when I meet new people, and I can barely breathe when I’m in a crowd.  So when I say painfully shy, I mean it is physically painful for me sometimes to interact with people.  Only my family (and my friends to some extent) know who I really am because it takes me so long to open up to people.  But now that I think about it, maybe you, my faithful readers, know me after all.  Because my writing, I think, reveals who I am–for better or for worse. 

******Okay, well, I didn’t mean to get so serious here or be so long-winded either.  Sorry.  There’s something about the holidays that makes me pensive.  But, again, if you’re interested—Part Three will be tomorrow—Six Guilty Pleasures You Once Considered Guilty But Have Either Abandoned or Made Peace With.******

Six Guilty Pleasures

 

My friend June over at Spatter tagged me with a meme:  Six Guilty Pleasures.  And it’s been kind of fun doing it.  June herself wrote a great post on it here.   Now, the truth is, I don’t feel near as guilty as I should when I do these things, but I’ll pretend I do. 

Name six guilty pleasures no one would suspect you of having:

1. I buy Nestle’s Toll House Semi-Sweet Chocolate Morsels and Nestle’s Toll House Butterscotch Morsels regularly to make my children’s favorite oatmeal cookies to send to them at college. At least, that’s my premise for purchase.  Truthfully, many of those morsels never make it into the cookies.   Because I eat them.   By the handful.  No, make that plural.  Handfuls.  Both the chocolate and the butterscotch.  I keep them in a small Tupperware container for easy, surreptitious access.  The butterscotch ones are uncommonly good with peanut butter, which brings me to number two…

2. I love peanut butter.  I mean, really, really love peanut butter.  I’m a Jif girl, always have been.  I eat peanut butter by the spoonful (but I don’t double dip!).  We buy it in huge quantities—in those giant jars.  Last time we went to Sam’s Club, we bought ten jars.  Partly to give to our son Benjamin because he is nuts (no pun intended) about it, too, but really, I personally eat at least one of those jars every single week. If it weren’t for Nestle’s Morsels and peanut butter, I’d be thin and svelte.

3. And speaking of food, back when my children were small, sometimes when preparing their food, I’d be so hungry, I’d take a bite.  Being the alert and clever children that they are, they’d usually notice and ask indignantly, “Who took that bite?”  I invented a story about a greedy kitchen rat named Raggedy Rat who would always take a bite of something when I turned my back. “Darn that Raggedy Rat!” I’d exclaim.  I always thought they’d bought my story until they told me years later that they were always onto me.  They never were easy to fool, though Lord knows I tried.

4. Regular readers of my blog may remember my “googly eyes” post .  If you’re new to my blog, I’ll wait while you go read it.   No, really, I don’t mind.   Go ahead.
                
                  *goes to kitchen to find some morsels*
                  *eats a spoonful of peanut butter*
     
I’m back.  Did you read it?  Well, here’s my new guilty pleasure.  Sometimes, I  put googly eyes on fruits and vegetables at the grocery store.  It doesn’t do any  harm (they peel right off) and I know it makes people laugh because I’ve loitered  around to see reactions.      

5. I love to eavesdrop.  I don’t mean I lurk in closets or behind bushes to overhear private conversations.  I mean, I love to sit in a public place and listen to conversations.  I would much rather listen to people talk than to talk myself, which you probably don’t believe due to the fact that I do seem to ramble on at some length in my posts.  Trust me; I’m really very shy and quiet.

6. When I say I love books, I don’t just mean I love to read, though I do.  I do get a lot of books from the library, but on the happy occasions when I buy or receive a brand new book, I take enormous sensuous pleasure in the newness of that book.  I inhale that new book smell, I run my fingers across the cover (I particularly love it when the cover has dimension), and I even relish the sound of pages ruffling and the little puff of air when you ruffle them.  Yeah, I know that a little weird. But it’s the truth.        

My goodness, how embarrassing.  I’ve rambled on so long that I’ll have to post Part Two tomorrow, Six Guilty Pleasures You Wish You Had the Courage to Indulge.  Not that you’d be interested.  But if you are…

The Deep and Hidden Chambers of the Human Heart

When I began to think about having my own blog, I read a bit of advice about how to start one, how to keep it going, and how to increase visits to your site.  One thing I heard consistently is that one should have a “target” audience.  That is, blogs should have a predominant theme—be it parenting, politics, sports, or popular culture.

I knew then I was in trouble.  For one thing, my interests vary widely, and the thoughts that rumble through my head, like a runaway circus train, reflect that. And, naturally, those thoughts sometimes end up in my posts. In other words, sometimes it’s the lions that escape from the circus train; sometimes, it’s the clowns.  Besides, the blogs I like the best tend to be about a little bit of everything.

But some of you may have noticed that my posts tend to swing in a very wide arc—from happy to homicidal, from touchy-feely to just plain touchy.  Perhaps you’ve thought I should rename my blog Dr.Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde.  Maybe you’ve thought that the menopause I wrote about here was making me a little…moody. 

Well, no.  My kids and husband will tell you that I’m actually a very even-tempered person (perhaps even to the point of boredom) —not prone to moodiness at all.  But clearly, there is a dichotomy here. 

Years ago, I used to read the comic Cathy (back when she was a single girl and so was I). Once, describing herself, she said:  Brain of a cynic; heart of a Precious Moments figurine. Heh.  That’s me.  OK, I don’t really care for the Precious Moments figurines, but you get the idea.
 
Long story short:  The past twenty years have been very, very hard.  I have no desire to rehash it all here, and I’m sure you have no desire to read it.  So, trust me on this:  We’ve been rode hard and put up wet. 

So, I’m angry.  I’m sad.  And weary to the bone.  And sometimes I veer dangerously close to misanthropy.  But somewhere, in the deepest chambers of my heart, is the spirit of a cockeyed optimist.  There are so many things in my life to be grateful for.  And I am.

Though I am angry at God, I see Him everywhere.  Especially in nature, so that explains my sometimes enraptured essays on the natural world.  What I’m working on is seeing God in other people.  That’s hard for me right now. 

I pray every day that God will heal my brokenness.  I know He understands and forgives me for my anger.  After all, the Kingdom of God is for everyone.  Especially the brokenhearted.  In Isaiah 61, the prophet speaks of Jesus coming to “bind up the brokenhearted.”   In Psalm 34, I am reassured to know that “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”  And Lord knows, I’m crushed in spirit.
 
So, please bear with me. Some people drink to deal with pain, some smoke, some take Valium.  I write. Sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter.  But always the truth, as I see it.  It eases my heart and quiets my mind.  Jesus said that the truth will set you free, so my writing has to be honest and true if I’m ever going to loosen these chains that bind my heart.  So, for now…I’ll keep ranting.  I’ll keep raving.  I’ll keep rhapsodizing. 

I hope you keep reading.

Friday Fact: Aeschylus and His Unfortunate Bald Head

June, of Spatter, came up with a dandy idea the other day.  She thought it would be fun to have a weekly post with an interesting new fact we’d learned that week.  I agree.  She calls it Friday Fact.  So, for those of you out there with a certain lust of the mind (lust for knowledge, that is), here’s mine.

Aeschylus: When Bald is Bad

When Robert F. Kennedy was given the difficult task of announcing the assassination of the Reverend Martin Luther King, he drew from the dramatic poetry of an ancient Greek playwright, Aeschylus.  His words have a terrible beauty:

He who learns must suffer
And even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart.
And in our own despair, against our will
Comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.

Aeschylus also was the one who said, “In war, truth is the first casualty.”

He is known as the Father of Greek Tragedy, and his plays touched a great deal on the relationship between man and God, or in his case, gods.  So, it seems the ultimate bitter irony that Aeschylus died by such a cruel twist of fate.  His manner of death was undeniably tragic, to be sure.  But the first time I heard how he met his fate, I laughed incredulously.  Definitely a prime example of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.   I thought MY luck was bad….

An eagle, flying overhead, wanted to split open a turtle it was carrying.  It mistook Aeschylus’s bald head for a rock and dropped the turtle on it.  So, in a plot twist stranger, for certain, than anything in his tragic plays, Aeschylus died from a falling tortoise.

Telling On Myself/Learning To Practice What I Preach/Irony Hits Me Upside My Head

The one thing that is guaranteed to send me off into the deep end is a computer glitch.  The most frustrating aspect of this is the fact that I rarely have any idea at all how I got into the trouble.  In addition, even if the problem inexplicably resolves itself, I rarely have any idea at all how I got out of trouble.  So I live with the terrible knowledge that somewhere down the road, it’s probably going to happen again. 

So it was on Monday, when I tried to post my piece about sundogs and The Cloud Appreciation Society.   I’ve been blogging for a couple of weeks now, so I was feeling confident, almost smug. (Here’s where I should tell you that my very first photo post took me three hours to finish.  Three hours.)  But I was getting a handle on this blogging thing.  Yeah. This was going to be a piece of cake.

When I tried to load the photograph of the sundog, it was huge, covering my whole blog page, so that my sidebar completely disappeared.  I was flummoxed, as the photo was about the same pixel size as all the other photos I had uploaded.  So I went back, reduced its size further, and reloaded it.  Still enormous.  Still no sidebar.  So, over and over and over again, I reduced the size of the sundog picture until it was only 48KB.   Still gigantic.  In the course of doing this, I accidentally deleted the written part of my post, including my links to The Cloud Appreciation Society and my pictures of clouds.

By now, I had been working on this for two hours.  I was actually trembling with frustration, sweating profusely, and almost hyperventilating.  It was about this time that Tom, my husband, came in.  He was excited. 

“Beth, you’ve got to come out and see this cloud.  It’s settled right on top of the mountain like snow, and the little wisps of it are trailing down the sides, but the sky is pure blue above!  It’s amazing!”

I wiped my perspiring hands on my jeans. “Umm, not right now, honey.  I’m trying to make this post upload.  You know… the one about The Cloud Appreciation Society.”

Tom stared at me.  “Just come out for a second.  This cloud is really something.”

“Not right now!  I’ve got to finish this cloud post!”  I felt irritated.  Why doesn’t he leave me alone?  Damn this stupid post.  Stupid blog.  Stupid sundog.  Stupid cloud. 

Tom was still staring at me.  In a significant way.  But, of course, I was too distracted to care about why.  Dadgummit,  I was going to finish this post about the beauty of sundogs and clouds if it killed me.  

Tom didn’t say another word.  He grabbed his camera and went back out.

I retyped the piece and redid the links to The Cloud Appreciation Society.  And that’s when it happened.  Yep, it was like in the movies.  In the old movies, that is.  You know, where the lead character has a sudden epiphany.  Their eyes widen in amazement, their mouth falls open, and they hear, as though in a dream, the words that opened their eyes, that single revelatory phrase, over and over, echoing through their astonished mind.  The Cloud Appreciation Society…Cloud appreciation…cloud appreciation…cloud appreciation…

Yep.  Irony hit me upside my head with a sledgehammer.  And, just like in the movies, I shook my head and smiled a rueful smile, as I faced the folly of my ways.  Slipping on my shoes and grabbing my camera, I headed outside.  Outside to look up.  To look up at the wonder of the clouds.  To “marvel at their ephemeral beauty.”

Footnote:  Indeed, beauty is ephemeral.  So I was too late to capture the cloud enshrouding the mountaintop at its best.  But here’s what I did see once I came to my senses and went outside.

 

Technical Difficulties-Please Stand By

It is indeed a bitter irony that in my previous post, I spoke of my mastery of adding tags.  Apparently my confidence was premature, as today, inexplicably, the Tag Catagories in my sidebar and on my posts completely disappeared along with my custom header, my blogroll, and some of my comments.  I treasure all of my comments, so I am truly sorry.  A few minutes ago, my header reappeared, also inexplicably, so I have high hopes for the eventual return of my other missing sections.  So, to all my valued readers, I apologize.   This is particularly vexing for a new blogger like me.  But I hope it won’t keep you from coming back.

Update:  Well, my blogroll and my tag categories came back, but were completely scrambled, so that the wrong tags are on the wrong posts!  It is my understanding that there is a WordPress glitch sitewide that is causing this and not my usual computer gremlins or my own inept bumbling.  So my efforts at fixing it myself were futile, but at least it’s not just me.

Update to the Update:  Tags still scrambled, comments not posting properly, blood pressure skyrocketing.  And while I’m at it, I have no idea why the first part of the most recent post is in blue, as though it is a link, but I think I’d better just leave it be.  Apparently, wordpress still has a few bugs to work out.  But at least, I am not alone.