The stuff pushes in, new stuff; Christmas stuff and clutter. I have a tendency to be overwhelmed even by too many groceries after a trip to the store, the consumerism of Christmas always freaks me out a little. I don’t know how to catalogue things, except books. I have just gotten done giving things away, things with emotional weight; I never keep such things. They stay new and perfect if they are full up with expectations that never realized fruition, or a disappointment that hangs over my heart. It’s so much easier to gift wrap my emotional bounty and give it away in parcels,

But there is always the incoming. The influx.

I don’t pretend to be well, but tomorrow and the next are also parcelled into organization bits. This year I will synthesize a little bit more of the love offered. I’m frowning over a sum, bent over the computer. The stuff has a presence of its own, looming and omnipresent as rock formations in my mind.

What she does, the kitten, is she leaps into the middle of everything that seems so serious and so much. She’s a little girl cat, and she’s one of *those* girls, you know: The kind that prove boys aren’t _quite_ the most lovable things on Earth. She’s all round tumminess and slightly slanted green eyes, and she can take the distance from the couch to the arm chair in one leap, no sweat. She lands in the pile of my terrible stuff, and I’m laughing, suddenly, because there’s a ribbon caught on her whisker, and she’s a rakish pirate cat. I push it all aside, very matter of factly, and retrieve my wayward cat.

Strange magic, Maya. You turn my sink and soar into a comical flounder. I want to write, to respond to people far enough away that I can get close to them. And of course push away those who have gotten too close, find some way to word my regard and still carefully post my ‘Keep Out’ borders, but you won’t stay on the floor, will you?

She jumps into my lap with the stubborn, single-mindedness of a girl cat. Gracie was the same way, but Gracie didn’t leave four tiny holes in the skin of my thigh, rousing me to holler from the pain of her stubborn climb.

You’d laugh too, to see her looking wild and alarmed, rushing away from the shout, to hide behind a pile of ‘Shall i keep them?’ books. She knocks things down. She doesn’t listen. She hops into my lap over and over while I’m sitting at the keyboard, thinking I will write the twisted etchings of my mind.

I have to take my hands off the keyboard, and wrap them around this little, purring body. She doesn’t understand anything. She doesn’t know I’m a failure, that I make some sort of living off of introspection, that I hate myself, and the holiday, and love my family and hate their presence and hate  hate hate the STUFF; she’s a fool.

And she’s real. And soft. And alive.

And I’m in love. 

Happy Thanksgiving

I won’t be around the next few days, but you’ll hardly notice because I’ve been so absent from here. 

But I want to say, Happy Thanksgiving to all the friends who read here, and who I’ve known over the last year or two. Have a safe, happy holiday-

and remember to be thankful.

Thankful for family, for love, for joy. Thankful that the spring always comes, and soon will come again.

Robin of Bountiful Healing has helped me see things differently many times with her gratitude posts, and her efforts to find, appreciate, remember the positive.

A special Thanksgiving to you. I’m very grateful for you and the beauty you put out in the world.

Take care!


Rather Remarkable

I know it’s pretty natural for a parent to boast a bit about their child’s accomplishments, and maybe see signs of greatness in small, rather commonplace things.


However, I am about to indulge in a little wonderment, cus I couldn’t hardly believe something Sierra did yesterday, just as casually as could be.

If you’ve never seen the film ‘Ratatouille’ by Pixar, it’s a pretty entertaining use of a couple hours. We saw this film in the theater, and since then we’ve seen it twice on movie channels. My daughter may have additionally watched parts of it at a friend’s house.

Yesterday, she was downstairs watching hip-hop videos on YouTube in my room, and I was upstairs, sort of reading, and sort of watching Ratatouille again on t.v. My daughter came to the bottom of the stairs to call up a question, and she went, “Oh! You’re watching Ratatouille!”

I’m going to show you the clip that was playing here in a moment. At the time she called up, none of the characters were talking. It was kind of cool that she derived the movie from the score, but not like- amazing or anything. It’s pretty distinctive.

But then-

She went on to say what the action was, with pauses- kind of like punctuation in the clip. I was like- “Cool.” on the first one, but then- my eyes got really wide. She described stuff like, ‘He almost got flamed by the oven.’ ‘The guy shut the window.’ I started to prompt her at that point. “What now?” “Luigi hates the soup.” And then she didn’t talk for a bit. I think, like so often happens with kids, my getting involved made her promptly lose interest, so she ended with, “Now he’s looking at the mouse.” and then went back to her videos.

Understand, there is hardly any dialogue in the whole scene, just music and a few sounds that might give hints. I bounded down the stairs, just to check- wondering if somehow she had Ratatouille playing on the computer, or what. Nope, just hip-hop. “What mom?”


You try. Watch this clip, starting from where the mouse falls through the window.

Could you do that? Try it with your eyes closed. I knew she had really good pitch, and tends to be sensitive to loud sounds. Both me and my brother are auditory types, too- but I couldn’t do that. I rely on dialogue for that kind of thing.

It just struck me as kind of amazing.