Miz S

Getting my voodoo on.

Ha ha! A little Lent humor for you. I emailed Josh yesterday afternoon and told him that I was probably going to Mass for Ash Wednesday after work. He replied, "Oy! So go! Don't let me get in the way of your little voodoo thing!"

Faithful readers know that I pretend to be wicked and irreverent and VERY REBELLIOUS about religion, but am slowly and inexorably being drawn back to the church of my childhood. Well, you know, the older you get the more pious you become. Unless you are Josh. Or my mother-in-law.

I ADORE going to church on Ash Wednesday. Come on! You get ashes smeared on your forehead in the shape of a cross! From dust you came and to dust you shall return, bitch! I love that shit! Bring on the voodoo! Here's another good one: the Blessing of the Throats on the feast day of St. Blaise (a 4th-century martyr who could talk to wolves and was tortured with iron combs then beheaded. What?) The priest puts 2 candles in an X around your throat and murmurs, "Through the prayers of St. Blaise, may God free you from ailments of the throat and from every other evil. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." Extra protection against ailments if he does it in Latin! Truthfully, I haven't had my throat blessed since I was a child but I remember it fondly.

To be perfectly honest, there are other things I enjoy about church. It's a really good feeling to sit someplace for an hour and just...be. I'm alone, yet I am with all these other people. I only have to interact with them in very scripted ways. I can think about whatever I want. Etc.

I'm such a fool to even blog about this, because I know that easily half of you are gasping in horror and the other half are pursing their lips with disapproval. Well, you know what? Shut it. We all have our idiosyncrasies.

So, anyway, I was there at church last night, and I was doing my favorite church thing which is to watch all the people. I saw the priest bend down to put ashes on a toddler. The toddler was with his big sister who was maybe 10. And when they came back down the aisle I could see that the little one had Down Syndrome. He held his arms up over his head so that he could grip the fingers of his sister, behind him. He wore Osh Kosh corduroy overalls and a little lumberjack flannel shirt. His blonde bangs had recently been trimmed to perfection and lay just so. All of that, and the dusty cross on his forehead. He looked so cherished. He and his sister made me smile and think about my friend Ellen. She knows why. Private shout-out, okay?

And if that's as close as I ever get to a religious experience, it's okay with me.

Go Go Go Shawty

Me, in Italy 2 years ago. You know. When I was IN MY FORTIES.

It's my birthday, it's my birthday. I hope you got me something GOOD! It's not too late. I accept  presents at any time of the year.

Some of you might remember last year when I turned 50 and I bought a bunch of new clothes and thought about maybe getting my teeth whitened. Turning 51 is not nearly as exciting as turning 50. Now I am just "in my 50's."  BOR-ing. Although, I don't feel bored. I feel...happy. Go figure.

Usually we go out for dinner on my birthday, but we were just out last week for Valentine's Day and Josh accidentally WAY OVER-TIPPED our waitress (it was probably the sake). We are trying to not spend too much money because the economy has tanked recently. Perhaps you heard about it? So I thought the prudent thing to do would be to stay home and eat a cozy, home-cooked meal. Cooked by Josh, of course.

Today I am giving myself the gift of sitting around blogging. Later on, I'm giving myself the gift of going out with a friend to look at fabric for recovering our ratty dining room chair seats. After that, I will give myself the best gift of all: paying bills and filing papers. Dudes, I know how to have a good time. Stick with me and you too can lead a lively, intoxicating life.

I really wanted to get a post up during the week but I was busy with one trivial thing after another. But this is what I wanted to tell you about:

I am in my "evaluation year" at work. This means that I have to have several formal observations, I have to create a "professional development" plan, and I have to participate in a meeting with my principal where I present a portfolio that proves I adhere to our teaching standards blah blah blah. That sounds stressful, doesn't it? I was a little agitated about it.

My meeting was on Friday. I bit my nails all week and tried to get organized for it. My book club was scheduled to meet at my house on Thursday evening and I almost canceled it because I thought I should stay up late at home and put more time in on this portfolio bullshit. But I talked myself through it. "Self," I said sternly, "you're making too much of this! Stop with the fretting!" I hosted book club,and we had an awesome time. I hadn't seen these women for a long time because I had been making excuses not to go to book club for some reason. I've really missed them. A lot of wine was consumed, and we were up much too late.

The evaluation meeting went fine. It was not nearly the big deal that I was determined to make of it. Afterwards, I thought how much it would have sucked if I had missed out on a good time with friends because I was being so anxious and under-confident. 

Maybe I am maturing, hmmm? Getting some perspective? About time, don't you think? After all, I'M IN MY FIFTIES.

Sniffly, but well-rested.

 

I bought this for Pushkin the other night. He loves it soooooo much. Before he lies down he stands there kneading his claws for like 10 minutes and drooling with pleasure. It's hilarious.

Check me out with the FIFTH post in a week. I am trying to win back the readers I lost when I became so goddamned LACKADAISICAL in my posting habits.

(Sidenote: I just spent 10 minutes trying to decide whether or not I should say "goddamned lackadaisical." It all started when the spellchecker didn't like my spelling of "goddamned," so I thought maybe I would subsitute the phrase "fucking lackadaisical." Then I spent a few minutes in a reverie about which word is more offensive to people. I hate to offend people, but I am who I am and if I can't cuss on my own blog, COME ON! I really did feel that I needed to modify "lackadaisical" with a sturdy adjective. You know, for emphasis. Then I worried about my vocabulary for another minute or two. etc.)

Wow, that was a long sidenote.

ANYWAY. I am officially sick with whatever it was that laid Josh up last weekend. He hardly complained a bit because that's how he rolls. Not me, man. I'll tell you right now that my throat hurts, my head hurts, my back aches, AND I HAVE SNIFFLES. I came home from work yesterday, ate a bowl of ice cream for dinner (with just a smidge of Baileys Irish Cream on top) and went to bed at 5:30pm. I slept straight through till this morning. If nothing else, I am at least well-rested.

Today is Valentine's Day at school. Thank goodness I have a student teacher. I'm putting her in charge of everything today. I hope she won't mind fetching me tea and gently massaging my temples.

Adios, amigos. I must go wake Josh up and describe the pounding of my head and the exact color of my nasal discharge.

An Evening in Pictures.

You know Sasha moved to her own cool apartment, right? She lives there with her kitten, Sammy, who is a big boy now. She still comes over to see us. Or maybe it's just to see April and Rosie.

Last night I went to the apartment to see her. Or maybe it was to see Sammy. I took Rosie with me.

Then we went to Petsmart. Rosie did NOT like riding in the cart.

 

Sasha is poised to adopt ANOTHER kitten (Miz Robyn would be proud of her) and she needed to stock up on cat food and other necessities.

  

Rosie helped Sasha browse for food dishes. Rosie considers herself an authority on anything food-related.

 

Rosie met a friend.

 

And another friend.

 

Hey! Birds!

 

Okay, we all know I'm nutty about my dogs, but this pet's owner is OUT OF CONTROL. She ought to let her dog be a dog. 

Sasha's new kitten comes home tomorrow night. I'll try and put up some pictures over the weekend.  By the way, why is it only Thursday? Doesn't it seem like it should be Friday by now?

Soldiering on, here.

                                     

This is not my bed. But it is my new bedding.

Sooooooo. Liza gave me a little pep talk today, via email. "Just do it!" was the essence of her advice, after I moaned that I have lost my blogging mojo. Those of you who have blogs have probably experienced the phenomenon where you read some of your old entries and it strikes you that you used to be so clever and funny and popular and now you are just a boring old bore.

In any case, I plan to soldier on.

Belle wants to know what's going on with the bed. Remember a few weeks ago I was all, "Ohhhh, I want a grown-up bedroom with a pretty bed! Blah, blah, blah!" I did, in fact, finally decide on some bedding. I ordered a Merimekko duvet cover from Crate and Barrel, and I bought a comforter from Brookstone. (Seems like an odd place to buy bedding, I know, but I happened to walk by a store one day and there was a big sign that said, "DOWN-ALTERNATIVE COMFORTERS, ALL SIZES, $49.99" which is a steal.) So we have a king-size bed now with an airy, light comforter all wrapped up in a silky-soft duvet and duuuuuude...I have never been so comfortable in my entire life. And it's so easy to make the bed! Just shake that thang out!

But the best thing is that there is room for Josh, April, Rosie, Pushkin, AND me. Oh, the cuddliness.

I am thinking of painting the bedroom a soft gray with bright white curtain panels. I swear on all that is holy that I will follow through with pictures for you but it may take a month or six.

Why can't I be one of those people who says they are going to paint their bedroom and then BAM they buy paint the next weekend and get started?

Oh, I just remembered. It's because I work like a dog all week and take naps on the weekend.

It's bedtime now, so please excuse me. I got some cuddlin' to do.

Yikes! I'm Late Now!

He's not fat! He's big-boned! And he liked the warm temperatures this weekend.

I don't have an actual post in my brain, but I need to get that sad animal stuff off the front page, you feel me? (Yes, I've been watching The Wire reruns.) I think we established long ago that I am a nut so I'm sure no one is surprised by any irrational animal stories. I loved that Vicki went all professional on my ass in the comments (as MsCellania so aptly described it).

The picture of Pushkin at the top reminds me that I have been meaning to tell you something. He has become so much more outgoing since Nash died. He always seemed sort of stand-offish and grumpy, so I focused my attentions on sweet Nashie. It turns out that Pushkin is really very affectionate. He just needed to come out of his shell, which I have forced him to do since I have no other kitty to lavish my attention on.

So, let's see, what did I do this weekend that is noteworthy? Not much, really. Josh was sick as a dog with a nasty cold so he stayed on the couch most of the time. (Side note: women often complain that the men in their lives are whiny babies when they get sick. I would like to state for the record that Josh is not at all like that. He doesn't ask for a thing and barely mentions his symptoms. So there.)

The red toenails are his claw caps, most of which he has pulled off and eaten.

My younger sister, Sarah, came down from Pennsylvania to visit with my parents. I went over there for lunch and hung out with them which was fun. One of the things I miss about my kids being little is that I used to hang out with my siblings and their kids more. We would get together a lot so that the cousins could see each other. These days the cousins are all in college or beyond so there are fewer opportunities for get-togethers. Now we're just all waiting to die.

Ha!  A little black humor for you! And by "black" humor I mean ghoulish humor, not humor of color.

I'm hilarious.

On Sunday I meant to be very productive but I accidentally took a nice long nap. Mmmmmm. Then I went over to my in-law's house for dinner without Josh because he didn't want to infect anyone.

Hey! Stop snoring!

Okay, I have strung enough sentences together that I think we can call this an entry. It's past time for me get ready for work. Have a great Monday, everyone.

Serious Buzz-Kill. Have a Good Evening!

This happened a long time ago:

I was about eight months pregnant with Sasha and was approaching that oh-my-God stage where one begins to feel ungainly. I was driving home in the dark from a prenatal exercise class when a raccoon crossed the road. The road curved right there so that I was able to see it scurrying across exactly one instant before the car ahead of me hit it. I didn't know for sure if it had really been hit until I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw it writhing in the road, its black eyes glinting with the reflected lights of traffic. I burst into tears but kept driving because I didn't know what to do. I really did know what to do, which was turn around, go back, and run over the suffering creature again to put it out of its misery. But honestly I just didn't feel up to it.

I drove home as fast as I could, weeping, and arrived there in a state of near hysteria. I sobbed out my story to Josh ("Do you think it's still alive, oh my God I'm afraid it's still alive"), who sighed and went out back to get a shovel. We drove back, but found no sign of a body. Josh got out and searched in the brush by the side of the road until he found the spot where the poor thing had dragged itself to die. He told me later that it seemed like it was dead but he used the shovel to make sure. Then we went home.

Afterwards, we sat on the couch in our basement watching TV. I remember feeling raw and spent from crying, and also hugely pregnant and uncomfortable. I took off my shirt so that my belly could breathe and sat there on that couch, half-naked and weary.

Well, hell, it's no secret I list towards being overwrought.  And, y'know, pregnancy hormones and whatnot.

This happened tonight:

Josh has a fierce cold, and I decided to stop and get him soup on my way home from work. The best pho place in Silver Spring is around the corner from my school in El Crappo neighborhood, right next door to the laundromat and the pawn shop. I saw a tough guy in the parking lot with a skinny pit-bull puppy on a leash. The puppy was all big feet and floppy ears with a clumsy, cheerful stride, sniffing the air eagerly and being pulled along by this macho asshole who yanked the leash and bellowed, "NO!" and "COME" when the puppy slowed down. There's nothing good about that.

I felt desperate to rescue the pup from the hard life that undoubtedly lies ahead of him. I thought about going to a cash machine and getting some money, then finding the guy and saying, "Hi! I'm a middle-aged suburban woman! I disapprove of you for many reasons, especially your lack of compassion towards dogs! I'll buy your puppy for a hundred bucks! Let's shake on it!"

Sheeeeit, I would have gone a lot higher than a hundred bucks since I have no sense of proportion in situations like these.

But even if he had said yes, and not, y'know, stolen my car (shut up! he was obviously a low-life!) what would I do with this little pup? A third dog would be wildly impractical for us, and I can't believe that there are tons of people who want to adopt pit bulls. What the fuck am I going to do with a pit bull puppy? And what next? Pick up some feral cats? Get me some cute li'l orphans?

I was a little tearful in the car on the way home. I kept reminding myself that there are tens of thousands of skinny little pups out there. It's a hard-knocks world. But then there was that little whisper in my head that said, "Yeah, but you could have rescued that one."

And there was something about that helpless feeling that made me remember the raccoon.

This is a very busy weekend.

My brother's new backyard.

Josh and I drove up to Mercersburg, Pennsylvania yesterday to see my brother Tom's new house. He's a Latin teacher who raises goats and chickens, don't cha know? He and his wife just bought a totally cool old house FOR A SONG.

We drove my parents up there to see the new house and go out to lunch. As usual, my mom was in chatter-y mode. Good God, that woman can talk. She will not stand for even a few seconds of lapsed conversation. You could say she "momologues."  (I just invented that word via a typo. Feel free to borrow it. Or "vorrow" it, another word I just invented. Apparently I can't type worth a damn.)

It was a beautiful day, but cold as balls (an expression that I don't really get. Balls are 98.6 degrees, no?).

I hadn't seen my brother and his wife since Christmas Eve. I miss them. Like everyone else in my family I delight in my brother. He is far more intelligent and funny than most people I have ever met, and also eccentric in the coolest way possible. When I am with him I am overwhelmed with sisterly adoration that is tinged with just a soupçon of shame that I am not a better person. More prudent. More disciplined. Better informed and funnier and less addicted to TV and the internet. More Tom-like.

Tom and his wife Barb have all these chickens and goats, right? One of the chickens has lived in their house with them for the past three years. They bought her and some other chickens from a guy for a dollar each. I guess they were expanding their flock or something. She turned out to be a cripple, and all the other chickens kept attacking her. (Chickens are not always very nice, did you know that?)  They couldn't bear to just let Nature take its ugly course, so they named her Paralyza (Liza for short) and now she lives in their downstairs bathroom. Tom and Barb have calmly accepted their fate, which is to care for a crippled chicken all the days of her long, long life.

 

Liza and I had some quality time together in the rocking chair.

We came back home from Mercersburg and then went right back out to see Slumdog Millionaire, which was awesome. I have a whole entry in my head about the evening but I will have to post it later because right now I must get ready to go bowling with my little friends from school.

It's just one thing after another around here. When will I get my nap?