bark.

Holy crap, guys.

I just saw the best dog ever.  It was a Dachshund-Rottweiler mix.
A Dachweiler.
A Rottshund.
A Rattsheild.
A Rottenweiner.
The tiny legs ending in huge paws and giant head and long tail and burnt sepia eyes and burnt sepia fur and floppy old ears and uberlong body killed me.  It was seriously the most unnatural thing I've ever seen in my life.

I want one.

In other feel good news, Jake started tee ball last night.  He's on the "Braves".  It went as well as expected, and they play a couple blocks away from the Phillies stadium and the Phillies were there for their first pre-season home game and the lights were on and the crowd was roary and the sun was setty and the jet trails were orange and pink and the kids' pantlegs were dusty and everyone was excited and all was right with the world.

If I had one wish it would to hold a baby giraffe.

I didn't hate Disney World.  I wouldn't go back any time soon, but we all had a good time.  Especially Jake.  He liked the Dumbo ride and the Buzz Lightyear Astro Blaster Experience.  Or whatever it was called.  And the light parade at night.  A girl next to him had one of those "It's My Birthday" pins on, so all the characters wished her a happy birthday from up on their floats.  Jake thought they were wishing him a happy birthday.  Everybody plays, everybody wins.

We had a really awesome show Saturday night and it's on tape.  It should be ready to see tomorrow. I'm guessing it will be up on our YouTube channel.  I have a hard time getting used to watching stuff on the computer.  I guess it's the way of the future, I don't know why I'm so down on it.

A sonic toothbrush and dish soap is an amazing way to clean your jewelry.

Cats can go for a long time without food or water in their bowls, as long as you let them have at the toilet and leave the cellar door open.  Science.

I got super upset the other day when I had to poop at work and a co-worker who is always fully covered took off her face veil to apply blush and lipstick and wouldn't leave the bathroom for what seemed like ever so I had to pretend I was in there to blow my nose and wash my hands.  I feel kinda like a hate-filled anti-Muslim extremist but really I just had to go bad and was confused about the urgency for make up.  I didn't poop my pants or anything, but it was a close one.  For the record, I have no problems with burqas or Muslims or lipstick.  I feel really shitty that I got angry, and called faith and personal care routine into it.  Maybe shitty is a bad choice of words.  My problem lies with the fact that I'm not successful enough to have my own bathroom no matter where I go.

I wonder if I'll ever have my very own toilet.  Is that an acceptable goal?  Me thinks, yes.

My favorite funeral joke from last week was telling people to have a Good Mourning.  They thought I was wishing them an enjoyable morning.  It's the little things that help you pull through.
That's a homophone, not a homonym.

I'm almost done with my Understanding Teens and Enhancing Trauma Awareness classes.  I still don't fully understand teens, but I've become acutely aware of trauma.  Mid-April marks the beginning of my Understanding Anger Part 2 and Deepening Trauma Awareness classes.  If the Part One's were any indication, I may be a bit angry and/or traumatized over the next few months.  Don't say you haven't been warned.

The downtown Borders Books is closing.  Oh, noes!  Where will the mothers who are too good for the public library nurse their six year old children?!?  Where will the toddlers disrespect things their mother has no intention of buying until they are allowed "just one more game" of Angry Birds?  The horror!

My Uncle Charley, who got all the brains in the family, wrote this on his blog yesterday:

In the evening at the beginning of March, Leo the Lion rises in the east just after dusk to bring March in.

After the vernal equinox, the Sun is in Aries the Ram (lamb), the first sign of the zodiac. Therefore, at the end of March "the lamb" is setting in the west at dusk, and taking March out with it.

So from an astronomical point of view, the saying more correctly would be, "March comes in with the lion, and out with the lamb." However in this case meteorology trumps astronomy and so we say, "March comes in like a lion, and out like a lamb."

That all makes me feel better since our Pennsylvania Marches are typically lion and lion, through and through, coming and going.  Turns out no matter what, there's a lamb out there somewhere.

Cue Fievel.

I had to wait for a bagel at the Starbucks on Broad and Pine for minutes upon minutes upon minutes a while back.  I got a voucher for a free drink of my choice that can be cashed in any time.  I'm saving it for an emergency, most likely a Wednesday before a Thursday when I get paid sometime in June.

I wonder what life will be like in June?

Thinking about the future is fun.
Maybe there will be flying cars.

art after death

Jake is doing well, all things considered. 
But that doesn't surprise me.

Two nights after his grandfather died, he said that he knows that Pop's body is back with the Earth (it's not, it's in a really nice little box over at the house- or will be shortly) and that his energy has gone into the universe and every time he misses his Pop all he needs to do is go outside to be part of nature and they will be together again.

That boy knows more than I ever will.

Jacob turned 5 on the 17th.  We took him to Disney as a surprise.  He woke up that morning and came downstairs and rather than finding presents and balloons at the breakfast table as in years past, he found two packed duffle bags.  He took the no-present thing pretty well, after we told him that really soon we'd be getting on a plane headed to Florida.

More on that later.

Right now he is angry. 
Not right right now.
But at moments. 
He's aggressive with his toys. 
He's crashing into my arms then kissing my hands and asking if I'm okay.

I'm okay.

When he asks me what I'm doing, I tell him that I'm remembering good stuff about his Pop, and ask him what his favorite times with him are.  Or ask him what he'll miss most.  Or ask him how his heart feels.  And we tell funny stories until Jake gets up to go play.

Or draw.

Things like this:

That's a "Rust Bus.  It used to be able to go places and help people get where they needed to go but now it can't anymore".

And that's a "Fifty Thousand Blaster.  It messes normal stuff up so it isn't normal anymore".

And that.

That's, well, that's that.

I have a funeral dress.

No wait.  First:  I've been all but dark over here.  Not dark like grim.  But dark like silent.  I've been all but silent over here.

I stop to check in.  To let people know I'm still breathing.  I read news feeds and blog feeds and status feeds.  I text my friends once in awhile.  Pick up the phone if absolutely vital.  But I've been quiet.

Sometimes things happen around me that I think aren't really appropriate to write about.  As Jacob gets older I feel that his life is like that.  His life is happening around me, near me, with me but not necessarily to me.  His life is his life and mine is mine and they wrap themselves tight around one another but they are separate things. 
That happened this year.  This year that he was four.  This year that ends in two days when he turns five.  FIVE.  5ive.  That separation happened this year.  I like it.  I hate it.  I love that we are strong enough to go through it gently and effectively and togetherly.

Sometimes things happen around me that I think aren't mine to write about.  Things like Dave's dad getting sick.  It was happening, but I didn't feel like I owned a part of it.  He's been a huge part of my life for nearly twenty years, but he isn't my dad.  He's Dave's dad.  Jake's grandad.  So when he got sick, I felt on the outside of it all.  I didn't know I'd feel like that.  I didn't expect it.

Several of my friends lost their fathers over the past two years.  Lots.  So many that it really shook me up.  Made me realize that we are grown ups who go through grown up things.  Things like losing parents.  Not just kids who were too young to have grown up things happen to us and when they did it was labled a "shame" because we were "so young".  I prepared myself to lose my own dad.  Made peace with a few things in our relationship.  Within myself.  With him. 
Let go. 
Just.
Let. 
Go. 
Because life is too short.

I prepared myself to lose my dad.  My healthy, young, active dad.  Who is probably not going to die any time soon.  Who hasn't even turned 60 yet. 
When I was all done with that I rested.  Waited.

And nothing happened.

And I stopped preparing.  Stopped thinking about it.

And while all this was going on, Dave's dad- who hasn't really ever been the pinnacle of health- got sick.  Sometime after Christmas I guess.  Maybe a little before.  Thanksgiving?  I don't remember.  But it wasn't terrible until it got bad a month or so ago.  And he didn't get better.  And he got pneumonia.  And he didn't get better.  And he got admitted to the hospital.  And he got a chest scan.  And he got diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer.

That?  That I was not prepared for.

Not his sickness.  I was prepared for that.  I'm pretty sure we all were.  It was really just a matter of time.  I wasn't prepared for losing my father-in-law.  I forgot to do that.  To prepare for that.

I am really really good at helping people.  At supporting people.  At doing something to make things better or make people more comfortable.  At finding the right words.  The right gesture.  The right thing.
I've made a career of it. 
For a decade I've gotten paid to help people.  To support people.  To do something to make things better or make people more comfortable. 

I was no good at watching Dave watch his dad get sick.  I was no good at watching Jake watch his grandpa get sick. 
I acted good. 
Sort of. 
Not really. 
I tried. 
Inside I felt like a failure. 
Sometimes outside I acted like a failure.
Usually while I was alone. 
One time at a restaurant.
Probably in the car a couple times.
Support: fail.

I was good at watching Dave's dad be sick.  Good at sitting with him.  Good at keeping the spit and vinegar in our relationship.  Good at listening.  Good at finding the right words.  The right gesture.  The right thing.
But I was no good at watching Dave watch his dad get sick.  At watching Jake watch his grandpa get sick.

I was angry.  Angry that he got sick, that he didn't take better care of himself.  Angry that he was putting his son through that.  Angry that he was putting my son through that.
And sad.  Sad that the rest of his life- whether it was a year or ten or a week- would be spent dying.  Sad for him.  Sad for the family.  Sad for myself.
Anger and sadness go hand in hand for me.  When I'm mad, I'm sad I'm mad.  When I'm sad, I'm mad I'm sad.
Feeling helpless made it worse.
Sad, mad, bad.

And then he got chemo.  And he seemed to get a little better.  And last Friday was his birthday.  And we had a big party.  And every one came.  We had a great time.  Party party party into the next day.  And he seemed to get a little better. 
And Saturday happened and everything was normal.  And Sunday was Sunday and we didn't go over there for dinner like we have been because he went to Dave's baseball game that afternoon and everything was normal and Monday was Monday and everything was normal until it wasn't anymore and he was gone.

I have a funeral dress. I thought it would be prudent to buy something appropriate for all these funerals I keep getting invited to and there is nothing worse than having to decide what to wear to a funeral. It's black, with white polka dots. Short sleeved, button down, full skirted, past the knee, sash waisted, and collared. A size too big. Sometimes two. Bought large so the spaces between the buttons don't gap and show my tits or my belly. Sensible and neat, stylish but not a bit sexy. It goes well with my black high heeled, round toed, silver buckled, all seasons Mary Jane shoes. Everyone likes it. Getting complimented at a funeral is strange, but something I'm used to these days. These days since I bought the funeral dress. It won't go out of style. I'll wear it until it falls apart. It always fits- thanks to that sashed waist- it always will. Old reliable.

sporting news

Spring is almost here. 
We're going through allergy meds like no one's business.
No one except the business of the people who make Benedryl and Sudafed and Mucinex and Motrin (and their generic counterparts), that is.  They are in the business plenty these days.
The fruit trucks are back out in the street.
The crocuses (croci?) are popping through, and so are the jonquils and daffodils and tulips. 
The cat is frisky.
The college kids are stripping down.
The new tree in front of the house is budding. 
The clocks are sprung. 
The boy is turning another year older this week.
Now we just wait.

And while we do?

NCAA Brackets, baby.

Mine is filled out.  Using science and age-old technique.
And pink ink.
I usually do pretty well on these things.
Pretty well for a girl.
Or a white person.
Or maybe college basketball is a white thing?  And it's the NBA that white people aren't in to?  I forget.
Does that sounds racist?  Because it sounds like I'm assuming college and white people are correlated.  Or that professional basketball is only for black people.  I don't mean that at all.  I'm just saying that I do okay for someone who doesn't know anything about basketball.

But brackets, I know about.  Brackets are easy. 
First I find all the colleges I know someone who went to and pick them to win. 
Then colleges in Pennsylvania. 
Then colleges playing against colleges located in Texas. 
Then ones with the names of states where my family lives.
Then ones in places I've visited.
Then I pick all the ones with cool sounding names and pick them to win.  Hello, Gonzaga. Vanderbilt.
Then I pick colleges that cute boys in high school wore sweatshirts for and I pick them to win.  Duke, check.  Michigan, check.  Notre Dame, check. 
That pretty much fills the first columns out- or is it the second?  I mean, the first one that you have to fill out all by yourself- but just in case there is a blank I go with school colors.  Like Syracuse because I love orange and blue together.

Next round gets filled mostly with schools where I know someone who went and places I've visited, with family residence pulling up the slack.

Then it's just guessing.  My final four is Villanova because it's close to home, and Pittsburgh because I grew up in Western Pennsylvania, Temple because I went there, and UNLV because I think the LV stands for Las Vegas and I've been there twice and I thought it would be a lucky guess.  Because luck and Vegas go together.  Temple and Pittsburgh will play the championship game and Temple will win.

Because it's the only school on the list from which I have a degree. 

Science.

for the pleasure of ages