A Photo..

Here's a pic of my baby girl, Elsie.

Why so hard to motivate sometimes?

All I needed to do was get a shower, get groceries, and get dog food. It took hours to motivate. In fact, I’ve been doing an extraordinary number of crossword puzzles and word games.  I find USA Today puzzles are much easier than Thinks.com.  So, mindless crosswords at that!

I’ve also been reading a book by Lowell Cauffiel.  It’s called Forever and Five Days.  It’s about 2 seriously messed up women who were aides at a nursing home and murdered some of their patients by suffocating them.  I’m trying to figure out which of the two women is more dangerous, or are they just a deadly combo?  One of them had her first parole hearing in 2005.  The other is in prison forever.

I wonder if reading so much true crime depresses me a little.  It could be my job.  I love it,  but it’s so busy I feel exhausted when I get off.  In case I haven’t mentioned, it’s at an assisted living facility as an activities assistant.  I really love it.  I like the busy-ness of it also.  I lead residents in exercises, do crafts, take them on outings to eat or for entertainment, and a bunch of other stuff.  I also make all the wreaths and silk flower arrangements for the facility–something I love, but have little time for!

Oh, worrying about money depresses me, although it doesn’t make me manage it better.  It’s been a long time since my hubby has worked full time.  He hasn’t worked at all since before Christmas, save some tax returns he did.  I’m not complaining, just stating a fact.  He was ill a lot, and had a hard time keeping a job, or feeling confident in his abilities, so it’s been a long climb back up.

Eldest is doing great at school.  He’s a sophomore, and he’s coming home this weekend.  Youngest had a busy few weeks.  SAT’s on the 12th, Marathon Dance (28 hours, $160,684!!) the next weekend, and the following Wed. he went to Nashville with the chorus.  He had a great time with all of those activities.

Today was my day off, and I should have gone into my other job, but it was really hard to get going, and I had 3 other major priorities.  I’ll telecommute some this evening, and go in later in the week.  I have no desire to write poetry, or even read it.  I made a few greeting cards yesterday and today, and sent a few notes.

Blah, blah, blah!

The weekend was wonderful.  My VCU Rams are going to the Final Four.  Now I do love me some March Madness, and this is the best, maddest March ever.  Friday and Sunday I cheered my team on at the local eatery/watering hole.  I live in the suburbs, and for once, I was happy about that.  Instead of moshing and having beer sprayed all over me downtown, I was in a crowded, but not too crowded bar full of middle aged folks just like me screaming like hell!  That was lots of fun.  Note, both places are named the same and owned by the same person, just in different sections of #RVA.

Okay, I think we need a little Twain to cheer us up.

The perfection of wisdom, and the end of true philosophy is to proportion our wants to our possessions, our ambitions to our capacities, we will then be a happy and a virtuous people.
- “The Enemy Conquered; or, Love Triumphant”

I don’t believe in happiness as much as in contentment.  The older I get, the more contentment I feel.  I think it comes with wisdom.  I don’t ever want to stop learning, though. — Me.

Here’s a picture of Elsie, btw.  She became afraid when I was yelling and screaming during the #VCU game(s), which is why I ended up at the bar.

Mumma, why are you screaming?

 

 

Elsie 2

I took a walk tonight

with my sweet shadow, Elsie.

The birds were making a racket,

as we say here.

Perhaps they knew a forced subdual

would come via rain tomorrow.

Now, I’m prone to making up endearing

nicknames for my pets.

Elsie is a female. 

First she was Girl,

then she was Guhl.

After that she was Gwael,

and frequently she is Gwaela.

The etymology of these nicknames

is western European.

I’ve studied my ancestry,

and while many years here,

my ancestors come from western Europe.

A cabbie in San Francisco,

either psychic or ethnically gifted,

believed me of Welsh stock,

which doesn’t surprise me,

given the spelling of my pet’s nicknames.

On our walk tonight, I saw a bunny run off,

perhaps rattled by the birds

or us.

Elsie didn’t see the rabbit.

I told her,

“There goes Peter Cotton Tail

hopping down the bunny trail.

You didn’t see it, Gwael.”

Elsie, in one of her favorite waking spots.

Elsie (blog Post)

She ate, and I am thankful.  She also didn’t poop on our last walk, which was about 15  minutes.  That’s good, too, that the urgency isn’t there anymore.  She hadn’t eaten until this evening, though.  I took a very long nap, and plan on getting back to sleep soon, because we have to take Barrett to an appointment at 7am.  When I woke up she let me know she had to go, and it was just #1.  So, I’m hoping this thing is done.  Just have to see what her poop presents in the morning.  The thought of saving it and not throwing the baggie away grosses me out, to use a 70′s colloquialism.  Here’s a pic of my baby on the bed with me right now.  She won’t look at the camera because the flash scares her.

Sweet Baby Girl!

Elsie

Elsie

 

It was a dark existence

Teeming with other dogs whining,

Howling

The smells of dogs on top of one another

Eating, fighting, defecating, wallowing

 

Did all the bitches stay in one place?

How did the farmers know they were in heat?

Did they place her in a cage with all males?

Did the males attack her?

Did she suffer?

 

Litter after litter, she had.

I wonder how many.

It must have been so painful, fearful

Living in filth, only canine contact

Never gentle.

 

She was so afraid of other stimuli.

A click would frighten her.

She was hyper vigilant.

A tall man

A flash of lightning

A sudden movement

 

She is clean now

Her teeth are white.

She eats healthy food and receives tasty treats.

She sleeps, always by the one she trusts most.

 

She’s such a good girl

So loyal, so true, so loving.

I’m so thankful for my shadow.

Some new music and some old music

I’ve just gotten started talking about Belhaven, but taking a break.  I hope it wasn’t boring.  Tell me if it was, really. 

On NPR today I heard an interview with Rosanne Cash about her new album The List.  Let me just say, Johnny Cash is sacred to me.  The man moves me.  Of course I’ve always known of him from his early years.  In about 1997  I got this album called Unchained.  It was one of the ones produced by Rick Rubin.  I have no idea what goes into producing a record, but everything I’ve known to be produced by him is excellent.  It’s one of those records on which every song rocks.  He actually actually covered a Sound Garden song called Rusty Cage.   He also wrote (his second, I believe) autobiography around that time, which I read.  I was in love.  The man is just heart stirring.  His songs…ethereal to me.

Anyhow, this interview with Rosanne Cash was the bomb.  She was so eloquent; just her speaking was art.  It sounded like poetry.  The List was inspired by a list of songs her Dad wrote down for her when she was about 18.  She described being into The Beatles, Buffalo Springfield, etc., and he was shocked she had never heard the song by Don Gibson called Sea of Heartbreak, and some others.  Well, I hadn’t either when I was 18, but it’s one of my favorites now.  Anyhow, he wrote down a list of about 100 songs that she needed to know.  This album includes songs from the list he wrote for her so many years ago.  And, she sings Sea of Heartbreak on the album with Bruce Springsteen.  She also gets a little help from some pretty solid folks like Rufus Wainwright, Elvis Costello and others. 

My favorite (at least one of my favorites-how can I choose?) song by Johnny Cash was actually written by Kris Kristofferson.  It’s called Sunday Morning Coming Down.  It’s pretty melancholy, but it has always spoken to me.  He recorded that a long time ago.  “Well I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt.  And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad, so I had one more for dessert….”  It talks about the things that, as a Southerner, you would have done as a kid on Sundays-sing in church, eat fried chicken for Sunday lunch, etc. 

Okay, there’s a little girl named Elsie who wants one last walk, and I need to get myself to bed.  Here’s a picture of Elsie, by the way.  She’s my baby.