Every Little Bit Helps

"Did you ever stop to think and forget to start again?"

Winnie the Pooh

I titled this blog Random Thoughts, which is not highly original, because I've found in my advancing years that it is hard for me to stick with to one subject for any length of time. Like a butterfly flitting from one pretty flower to another, my mind glides from subject to subject as if on a summer breeze. I wonder if this could be the reason when I look around my living spaces - the couch where I sit and type, the kitchen counter, the bathroom shelf, my bedside table - are so cluttered. Obviously when I pick something up - a bill, a spoon, my toothbrush, a book - to use for its intended purpose I put it down without much thought to orderliness as I go on to the something else.

For example, in the space where I'm sitting right now there is a table covered with seemingly important papers. An insurance statement that should be filed, some recipes I copied from a magazine I sent to Weneki, a newspaper article, an empty envelope (or two), a take out menu co-mingle on a table top that has not seen the light of day in weeks. Oh, did I mention the cat brush, my glass of tea and the paperclip? It is an odd assortment, and my point exactly, of what my mind must look like. The randomness of it all is both scarey and enticing.

In keeping with my blog's name here are a few thoughts I've had lately:

1. About a year ago I signed up to receive a word a day from dictionary.com. When looking for something else yesterday I discovered that I now have a file of 251 words that doesn't seem to have an end in sight. I believe my original intent was to make a concerted effort to use each new word and have it become a part of my vocabulary. Instead, the words pile on top of each other in a file that is way more organized than if I were writing them on 3x5 cards. I seriously doubt I will ever use words like inanition, pandiculation, defalcate, yegg or xanthou in a sentence. Still, I can't bring myself to hit the delete button.

2. I read a column in today's newspaper about a young man who was born with Cystic Fibrosis and how he lived his life to the fullest even though a good portion of it was spent in hospitals. I've spent my share of hours sitting and waiting, listening to the steady beep of the blood pressure monitors and, when all else fails, counting the drips of saline going through an intravenous line. Instead of complaining about it this kid and his mother started a 501(C)foundation called The Big Fun Box (http://www.thebigfunbox.org/). They give kids who are in the hospital these cool red plastic lunch boxes full of brain stimulating things to do. I remember one time when one of her friends was faced with hours of ER waiting Wendy did something similar. With a degree of knowledge that could have only come from "been there, done that" experiences, she put together a bag of treats and magazines and puzzles to help the family wile away the hours when praying felt redundant. Hoorah for great thinkers and givers.

3. My writer's group assignment for this week is to write about something that was "stolen." Question to myself - should I make something up or is this the time to come clean about that itty-bitty, no big deal tube of lipstick I took from Woolworth's for no other reason than to see if I could get away with it? Or should I confess to the very real possibility of being a cleptomaniac by telling the purple bra story? How is it that guilt can be as palpable today as it was 40 years ago? I call it the Bonnie Ann MacDougal effect.

4. One of the best parts of my day is reading other people's blogs. I have to wonder what it says about me that I have embraced and been embraced by people on the Internet more so than real live people? Blogs have become my window to the world. It's easy to blame my isolation on my father when in fact, the truth might lie in the fact that I'm more comfortable with writing words than speaking them. Does that make sense?

Case in point: I've come to know and love Terri St. Cloud from her blog, honor yourself (http://www.bonesigharts.blogspot.com/). When I think of this fellow (is there a female version of fellow?) blogger I think of a big ol' heart with legs for walking, hands for painting or holding, ears for listening and eyes that see right into the heart of the person she's with. Recently she wrote a post about doing an "art gig" and about how scared she was. Not just in a shy way, but scared as in not wanting to let other people down. As if she actually might not live up to strangers' expectations. Good Golly Miss Molly, with all the strangers in the world how could she possible begin to be what each of them expected. But, I knew exactly what she meant.

I surprise myself when I'm at church and stand in front of the congregation (no longer strangers, which helps - a lot!) and speak. I'm surprise when Sweetie calls me a natural coach. I'm not at all surprised when someone puts me down - even if it's just teasing. It's hard to be "ME" and be what I think people expect of "ME" at the same time. Where do these expectations come from?

In a similar vein, Jon Katz wrote in a recent blog (blog@bedlamfarm.com) "March 11, 2009 - ... Sometimes, [Somerset]Maugham wrote, a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. "Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest." I wonder has this blog become my home? Would I be just as comfortable with a black compostion notebook and a yellow #2 pencil? Is home where you are or what you have with you?

5. Why am I sitting inside typing when it is such a beautiful day outside and I could be digging in the dirt? (Answer: To get to the dirt I have to scoop a winter's worth of poop. This does not sound as much fun as dirt digging even if it is outside in the sun.)

6. Is it cheating to Google crossword clues for my father? If it is, in the big book of Right and Wrong does sitting with him while he puzzles so he doesn't feel lonely balance things out?

7. What am I going to make for dinner? (Something Mexican covered in cheese, sour cream and guacamole. Mmmmm)

8. In her last post AntiJen (http://www.antijen.blogspot.com/) wrote a "Crazy Cat Lady" story that I admit made me shudder. It seems to me that in the natural order of animal heirarchy the human, i.e. the pet owner, i.e. ME or Antijen or whoever, should have the final say over where the pet, i.e. cat, i.e. Ratty Catty, Boy Cat or Cry Baby, gets to pee. The trouble with cats is they believe they are at the top of the animal pyramid and humans are somewhere at the bottom near the dogs. Cats obviously feel like they can pee wherever they damn well please. Still, I wanted to scream across cyberspace from Florida to California, "Antijen, take control. Throw those cats outside."

So, imagine my dismay when I was putting the freashly washed and delightfully outdoorsy smelling blankets (whose sole purpose is to protect the couch from the animals who look upon the couch as their own personal platform bed) on my somewhat new (less than a year) couch and discovered a rather LARGE wet spot right in the crack between the cushions .

NOOOOOOOOOO! I screamed. How could they? I thought we'd worked through this unacceptable behavior. I thought we had an understanding? I thought I had gained the upper hand!

I should probably toss the couch out for the garbage men or college students who roam neighborhoods looking for such a pot of gold giving no regard to the suspicious odor of urine. I know I should toss those litter-challenged felines out on their cute little black butts right behind the couch. But seriously (and this is takes us full circle right back to the start of this post) all I can think of is there goes my idea of having a tea party.

A real party, with guests that know each other come to the house and drink tea and chat and eat store-bought pastries that I try to pass off as my own. I can't very well invite people to come to my home and sit on a pee-stained couch. I've soaked it with Simple Solution which my sister, who has had her own share of sneaky pee-ers in her life, swears by. Still, when I look in the living room, I see no sign of the comfortable brown recliner I fell for in the furniture store. All I see is a big microsuede litter box. Damn!

Okay, that's enough randomness for one blog. Randomness? Is that a word? Hmmm, I'll have to go to my "words" file and check it out!

Sometimes I scare myself!
Merry ME