She will recieve a prize when she sends me the address to send it to!
Ok, this week's game will be more of an introspective one.
Time to open up the thoughts, the heart and the keyboards. Watch this clip from "Almost famous" and tell me what it sparks in you. What you write can be anything as long as it is related to the song, "Tiny Dancer", the movie, bus traveling or anything really. Even the color of Kate Hudson's hair. But, the more germane it is to the song or movie the more points you will get.
I can say both the movie and the song mean a lot to me for many, many reasons. But, I'll save that for tomorrow as I have a bit of a fever (ok 101.1 with medication ON BOARD). I can say this song and this movie means healing and comfort.
Here is the original full length version from the man himself, Elton John.
First, potter's ground news. The game will now begin on Sunday night so all those at work can view the vids.
Secondly, still in a bit of a mood. Getting better though. And the weird thing is, I am not even a big fan of Evanescence. Frankly I find their music a bit goth for my taste.
Yet, here she is again.
I promise this will be the last. Healing will begin on Sunday.
Hello everyone. How was your ThanksGiving? Mine was good. Lots of driving to the home I own and driving back here, to the home I live in. Left the mister and the kids back there, they will be up here tomorrow.
Driving back was hard. All of this separation is starting to really really hurt. And well, there is really no place to put this stuff I feel right now. It is all sorts of, yuck. If I could direct it toward a speedy solution then THAT would be a place to put my sad and angry. But I can't so FUCK! Even though it is temporary, it is still sucks.
I am in a bit of mood.
So, enough from me. Let's hear about darker things from someone else. And let's hear them from a bonafide babe. And this video has wolves. Which is kind a bonus really.
"Call me when you're sober" By: Evanescence
O BTW I am not sure when you tube started putting advertisements with the videos, but when they show up on the video below, just click on the x to shut that crap down and enjoy the video.
I have bothered Mr. Hall enough times to comment on my blog, to add his two cents, to defend himself on this blog. I fear it won't happen. Ya see, he is such a part of me that I want to him to speak here. Where I speak.
I think we came to a compromise. I asked him to send me an article that he found interesting. He reads a lot of articles from various news sources on the interwebs. I do not.
-- As temperatures drop, many filling up their gas tanks turn to a bottle called HEET, which claims to keep the fuel system from freezing.
In this "Good Question," WNOO-TV examines whether putting HEET in gas tanks helps in cold temperatures.
According to the label, HEET is made up of isopropyl alcohol.
"What alcohol does is absorb moisture," said David Important Guy, of Important College's automotive department. "So, if I were to put that into a gas tank, it would absorb the moisture out of the gas and run it through the fuel system."
That is especially important in winter, when that moisture can freeze.
But most of gas used in many vehicles already contains alcohol -- up to 10 percent ethanol. So, do these motorists really need HEET as well?
David Important said it's probably not necessary and is redundant.
"It does become less necessary because we've got that alcohol in the gasoline already," Important said.
But Important said that when it gets really cold -- such as 10 to 15 degrees below zero -- HEET could come in handy.
But he said it's probably not worth the extra expense or the extra trip to the store. The auto expert said he's never used HEET and that he has never had any problems in the cold.
"Is it necessary?" Important asked. "One could argue maybe not. But is it going to hurt? No."
NOW, we had just discussed this very topic in the car last weekend. I am OBSESSED WITH HEET. I am convinced that it is a secret elixir that runs even the shittiest of POS cars.
So THIS IS WHAT HE SENDS ME.
An article on HEET. Say it with me, an article outlining what HEET is and what it does. It's like that alarm clock he got me for Christmas, this article. Sure, it was very fancy and purposeful, but it was an alarm clock for Christmas, wait, wait no, an article on HEET for my blog. Sigh, I do love him so.
As the holidays roll around, the visits with family can be somewhat of a challenge. Fear not, I am here to help. Don't worry, I am a professional. If you follow the tips here, you will have a decent shot at having a good time and not killing your family.
Holiday get togethers have three areas ripe for contentious emotions. There is family, food and a place were all of the above are put together (confinement) for at least an hour. At this point, while you are mulling over each of these items, it is important to define what you are expecting from these events. Expectations are like psychic visions, they will tell you what the future holds. So please, tell yourself that you will have a good time. No matter what. And if you really believe this and really work at it--it will be the truth.
First, ask yourself, What are the challenges that I personally face here? Again, look at the three factors in the holiday dinner equation. The most prominent challenge for most of us is the actual family. We did not choose these people, these family, but yet there they are.
Ask yourself what bothers you most about your family. Does your Dad tell racist jokes? Does Aunt Peg pester you about not having kids? Does your brother bug you about your parole? Well, let them. When we interact with others there are two people involved. You and them. You can do nothing about them. Which is more important, you having a good time no matter what, or you helping them understand what idiots they are? You cannot have both.
And if you could sit with them, talk things over like adults, decide on a behavioral plan, then you wouldn't be reading this would you? Thus, when your Achilles' heel is being hammered upon, take a deep breath. You are in control of you and remember, you are going to have a good time no matter what. Let the racist jokes roll, let them go on and on about meat eating, let them, let them, let them. Who knows, once you stop taking the bait, perhaps they will stop casting the line?
Secondly, ask yourself about the food. Food is a big deal for most folks. There are all sorts of emotions tied to what is fed us and what we feed upon. If your family serves the food you like then YAY! Stop reading and go to number three. If no, then please, use this one day to divert your attention from it. At most houses, there will be a smorgasbord of food. Pick and choose what you like. Bring your own 'side dish' without briefing them ahead of time. Just act like you are being "helpful". Keep in mind that food is secondary to these gatherings. And again, you are going to have a good time no matter what.
Thirdly, ask yourself about confinement. Some of us are not really people people and don't like gatherings in the first place. Let alone with a group of people we have nothing in common with and don’t really like. If this applies to you, then plan on breaks. Plan on escaping to the rest room, to the porch, to the car. Plan on regular intervals when you can breathe. This is all part of how you are going to have a good time, no matter what.
Oh and a word about booze. Best not to tempt fate here. Booze loosens the tongue and impairs even the most sound social judgment. If you find that you must drink in order to survive the gathering, well, maybe you should rethink some things. So, in order to ensure that you will have a good time no matter what, pass on the old timey nogg. The exception to this is if you and your family has a decent shot at getting along after a few. If so, have at it responsibly.
The overarching issues in any holiday gathering are many. But, there is always a way to figure out how to best serve your needs. Please use the above tips to have a pleasant holiday gathering. And if you are prepared, and if you return to your central purpose—to have a good time—time and time again, you will.
But, if you can't bring yourself to even consider having a pleasant day, or to refrain from drinking that ole timey nogg, then stay the hell home. It's your life, you can do what ever you want.
Ok-now it is your turn. Share your tips for a good holiday dinner with the family.
For some reason the comments are not showing and people are having a hard time commenting, so just email me if you want
butcher.hollow@gmail.com
Last time this month, winner will be announced on Wednesday
This song below is from a very earnest band called The Killers. The title is called Mr. Brightside.
I must first point out that this song is the--
BEST. DOG. WALKING. SONG. EVER.
I have taken thirty five minute walks with my dog, listening to this song on repeat. I can get a little obsessive.
Anywho, the song filled with visuals of a girl he loves, loving someone else. It is a song about betrayal.
BETRAYAL!
The singer sees real acts of betrayal and imagines them. The betrayal I am looking for is not one he sees "all in his head" but one that he really sees.
It involves his girl sharing something with someone who is not him.
HINT ALERT! HINT ALERT! (HE ACTUALLY GESTURES THIS SHARING IN THE FIRST 35 SECONDS)
Good luck!
And Slyde-you have my permission to look up the lyrics cause you always complain that you can never see the videos. But only Slyde, and only this once!
And by all means. Get this thing on your ipod or what ever mp3 player you have and get out there and work it like a redheaded step child. Because again---
Part of the reality of being a parent to a 2 & 6 year old, is energy expenditure. Even when I am exhausted, sick, crappy and sore, the kids have needs. Needs like breakfast, teeth brushed, setting up coloring stations, diaper changes, hair braiding, song singing, book reading, time outs and time to freak out. They can, to varying degrees, accomplish some of these tasks on their own. But they are small, they need me, their Mom.
My own needs, like reading the Sunday paper, brushing my teeth, drinking my coffee, putting make up on, blinking, getting dressed and pooping are often secondary. These tasks are accomplished in concert with the kids' needs. They get done mind you, but only after the kids are settled. My own needs are often accomplished in fits and starts. Their needs interrupt my daily self care tasks. With two busy kids, and one Mom, it can get kind of rough.
So let's revisit the reading of the Sunday paper. This was what my mom was doing on Sunday morning. I was ping-ponging with the kids, wiping noses, making oatmeal, getting juice, fetching socks . . . While my mom was reading the Sunday paper, from start to finish. There was no interruption of her reading the paper. Which is fine. I think.
It is not that she took no notice of my struggle, it is just that she was reading the paper. From start to finish.
The breaking point was when I talked about using filtered water for their juice. Ya see, I don't like the kids to have juice/milk between meals. I like for them to have water only. Only the water in this town is absolutely yucky tasting. So I buy generic crystal light and the kids drink it. Only my son's poops have been turning bright green and well, that's no good. I figure it's the high mineral content and the artificial coloring that comes with the drink mix. They have had drink mix back at our house and well, no green poops.
So, I say, "Hey Mom, let's make the drink mix with filtered water okay?"
"LOOK! YOU DO IT YOUR WAY AND YOUR FATHER AND I WILL DO IT OUR WAY! NOW LET ME FINISH MY PAPER! NOW BACK OFF!"
In case you didn't get it by reading the caps there, she said this very angrily. Very, STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO. Very don't bother me I am reading the paper.
I realize that this outburst is not really about the filtered water. We are all tired and getting on each other's nerves. I have certain ways of doing things and they have the other way. So in my head, I take a deep breath and clear my throat. Underneath all of this. I have to adjust my expectations.
I can expect and be thankful for them dropping the kids off and picking them up. I can expect them to change the occasional diaper, reading books to the kids, putting on videos for the kids. I can expect them to do all the laundry and some meals. Although, their idea of 'food' is suspect and I am starting to take over the whole deal. But what they do is completely their choice and idea. Asking them to anything more is, well, asking for trouble.
What I cannot expect is emotional support. I cannot expect them to see me struggling and react the way I want them to. They will not put their arms around me and say, "Holly, it will be alright." or "Hey Holly, why don't we take the kids somewhere so you can get a nap." or "Hey Holly, let me color with the kids so you can finish your coffee in the other room". I hate to break it to you all, but it ain't gonna happen.
This is very sad at times. They suck. But, it is what it is.
Lo, behold yon children in the mall indoor playground! Witness! The shiny, Styrofoam treehouse of Your love! Look at yon lacquered log, empty and hollow, waiting to be filled with Your glory.
It is laying down in worship, next to the treehouse of your glory!
Hark! Hear my fellow mom, hovering like an Apache! Parking herself firmly between the lord of the flies, And the rest of the sweaty children.
WITNESS! Her struggle, her pain, as she speaks! In Your gift of adult and logical tongue she calls, DON'T CLIMB ON THE LOG HONEY! YOU WILL GET HURT HONEY!
LOOK! Her mall bangs in this mall of Your glory. She moves yon log away from Your treehouse of worship. Honey now cannot hurt the temple you have built.
WAIT! LOOK FURTHER! As I cast my motherly eyes on yon Pancake. WITNESS! Yon Pancake is moving the devotional log back to where You grew it in Your infinite wisdom. And there it shall stay, in testament to You.
It is beside the tree house of Your glory And yon Pancake, she is shining with Your wisdom. WITNESS! HARK! She is helping her wee brother, Mac, up on the log. So he can climb and be closer to Your glory.
I could put a lot of things here, about the criminal subterfuge that goes on between my parents and I. We are roommates now. Well, temporarily anyway.
I could go on and on about our central conflicts. Make pie charts about what we fundamentally disagree on.
But no no, o no.
I will say that I picked up a few pounds (ok ten) in the three weeks since moving in. And DAMMIT! I say:
I AM NOT GOING OUT LIKE THAT!
I reevaluated. Looked over my diet that was being infected by their constant eating of beef, effing fucking white fucking 99 cent bread, effing oily american individual sliced Kraft fucking disgusting cheese, fat and salt and I say again:
I AM NOT GOING OUT LIKE THAT!
I stopped letting them shop for me. Stopped listening to their eye rolls as I made my own three bean chili. My delicious, yummy food. And no, they can't have any. They suck.
And yes, o yes, I am down five pounds. And I say again:
I AM NOT GOING OUT LIKE THAT!
And while I am may live in the same house as them, and be witness to their mass consumption of crap, I am above it. I stand leagues above it. All healthy and healthier by the day.
Today, I bring you two stories that demonstrate the power of music.
First story:
When I was a nursing assistant in a nursing home, I would assist elderly folks that couldn't do a lot of things for themselves because of dementia. This included feeding them, helping with 'personal cares' and such.
One night, I was working with an 97 y.o. patient, who spend most of his day sleeping upright in his recliner. He rarely, if ever, said anything. Even to his wife, who sat in a recliner next to him during the day. Sitting in the recliner all day was his choice, which we supported.
As I was readying him for bed, I taught him to sing, "Everybody was kung fu fighting". He struggled with the words "kung fu".
"Everybody was kung few fighting", He would say.
"No no, Bill, it is Kung FOO", I'd answer.
It was like Marco-Polo for about 30 minutes. Each time, I would crack up at his mispronunciation. He would laugh in response to my laughing, and we laughed at the sillyness at all.
"What the HELL is kung few?" He finally asked.
"Oh, Bill, KUNG FOO, it's like boxing" said me.
"Oooo, kung foo!", laughing as he sounded it out.
All told, it took about 45 minutes for him to learn the verse "Everybody was kung fu fighting/those cats were fast as lightening", the same amount of time it took me to ready him for bed. When he finally could sing it, we sang it together and it was AWESOME!
We both laughed so hard!
Second story:
When I worked as a Registered Nurse in another nursing home, I would change a dressing on a elderly woman's hip from a skin graft procedure she had done. This was tough because she was in the later stages of dementia, so she didn't know what was really going on and couldn't really be talked through it. Also, she was mostly blind because of cataracts.
Any who, the donor site was about the size of a deck of cards. It really, really hurt these dressing changes. We would give her narcotics before hand, but she still bellowed.
But, here is the thing about dementia patients, they have endless intact memory for songs. They may not recognize their daughter, or pictures of their house, but they still remember Christmas songs and other songs from their childhood.
So, while I was doing this incredibly painful dressing change, I would have her teach me Norwegian folk songs. And in turn I taught her this:
"The other night dear, as I lay sleeping
I dreamt I held you in my arms
But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken
So I hung my head down and cried"
What is the next verse?
Guess and/or personally relate the song. Points awarded accordingly.
And BTW-she never once yelled during the times I did her dressing change. Music has power beyond any medication I could offer.
Sitting with patients today, I realized that my training basically prepares me to unpack the most unbelievable of patients baggage. During my training, mostly in acute psyche admission's units, I usually unpacked psychosis or manic states.
In the more stable outpatient population, where I am now, I unpack something entirely different.
For the most part, I help unpack trauma and long denied and buried emotional discourse. I help them unpack their pain. It is quite a raw experience. And when the patient was in an acute state of psychosis or mania, during my training, this was pretty easy to fix. Well, at least calm the pain to a level where they could be discharged.
So now I see patients in the community. Post discharge. And i don't have to unpack all the pain with them, just the parts I can aim the drugs at. And what ever else they can tolerate. The entire package gets unpacked during their therapy sessions with counseling staff. I explain to the patient's that we are limbs on the same tree, the medication and the counseling. A big tree they can use to shade them during their time in the hot, hot sun.
My task now, it to embrace pain. Not embrace their pain, but be comfortable with idea that they have pain I cannot effect. I have fully long since learned to sit with their pain and not absorb it. Yet I still fall into the trap of trying to fix it. Working their problems over and over in my head, like some sort of mental rubix cube. This happens when I shower at night, when I am trying to sleep.
Here's the thing. Life is full of all sorts of love and hate, good and bad, yin and yang. I have a prescription pad, a warm open heart, and two ears to hear it all. I do not however, have a magic wand. And really, I shouldn't. That would make the struggle mean nothing. We all have a certain amount of personal responsibility in our own lives. This includes my patients.
So there, there is a post after two glasses of wine. And I believe that I now qualify as the world's worst drunk blogger. I get all meaty in the head after booze. Why can't I just relax?
Have you people heard about these web cam thingies?
They are awesome fun.
The wee Mac and I watching The Wiggles on you tube
This is the wee Pancake showing off her "owl eyes" Not technically a webcam photo, but come on, so cute!
Still not photos from the web cam but . . . .
My husband, when he was eight years old, took apart a lawn mower engine and put it back together. I know because I have seen the actual photos. He still takes apart engines, and photographs them while he does it. We have like 300 such photos in the digital photo folder. He takes photos of engines and the computer innards and whatnot. It use to annoy me to no end, having such photos clogging up my storage space.
I try to ask him why he does this, this photographing ... But then he tries to explain what he is doing with the engines . . . installing carburetors . . . and well . . . . I lose consciousness. But now, when I look at these, I feel all sorts of tender for the man who takes them. I feel tender looking at them.
1. The fresh new Potter's Ground Points are up. Good job on all the comments. It is good to know that truth is an essential to art. As well as love, passion and other shit. And I was most impressed with Slyde's answer. In fact, I think his answer inspired a post in and of itself. It is getting harder though, to keep this Potter's Ground going. I like the discussion part best. We'll see where it goes.
2. As I drive around in this semi-isolated town, I can't help but think it is getting darker, earlier. It is, but it seems darker here. And then I realized, oh yeah, there isn't as many street lights in smaller cities. Which is doing a number on me. Mostly I am getting lost in the dark. More time to listen to my son sing along to the radio as we drive home at night. :)
3. Living with my parent's is surprisingly easy. If you live together, there is no pressure to socialize. Which is FABULOUS! Plus, they do all the laundry. Score!
4. I miss my daughter and husband. My daughter will be moving up this weekend. Not so my husband, that will have to wait until the house is ready for sale. Either way, I have to stop watching John and Kate plus eight. My family is not whole right now and I am hurting.
Here is the promo that never fails to make me cry.
5. I am so very very very happy with my new job. Really, I am so damn happy. I have trained so hard and worked so hard I am so happy to get this far. I am so happy to be part of a team with a united purpose. Maybe it is because my patients can drive to the clinic, and maybe because I am a nice person, but my new patients, for the most part, are thankful.
THIS FLOORS ME, ABSOLUTELY FLOORS ME
6. They should realize I am just thankful for the chance to serve.
7. I know my better half reads this and I wish he would comment, but he doesn't want to appear to be one of those husbands that hovers over his wife's blog. But, I miss you sweetie, see you in two days. :)
(Our favorite honey moon pic BTW)
And I just want it noted, not one person commented on my
Moving four hours away, into my parent's basement means, something else. It means moving to my home town. Which I left at age 18, 18 years ago.
Which is fine really. I harbor no hard feelings. We (the town and I) didn't know how to get along when we first lived together. What with we me being an angry artsy type and the town being hicksville. I didn't know how to smile. But I do now. Having long since learned to let my love shine, I am all sorts of fun and happy. This is who I am now.
This town is different too. It is bigger. There are non-white people living here. And the edge that is still hick? Well, I find it charming. Maybe I'll take up line dancing. Although, um, probably not.
But, today it happened. I knew it was going to. I was recognized. At my son's new day care no less. By someone from my high school no less. All my eighteen years of being anonymous, of being able to make up my back story, are gone. Perhaps this is a good thing. After all, I worked very hard to get here. Might as well take some credit.
I can't hide!
No paparazzi!
Well, I will miss my old radio stations. There are no less than three country stations here. Which is not too bad in small doses. In fact, I have taken quite a fancy to this song. I like to think, that if Mr. Hall were a country singer, he would sing this to me.
I say to me, welcome home Mrs. Hall (nee Godsmack) Welcome home indeed!
This will be a different Potter's Ground. I am much too tired to come up with a riddle.
Let's discuss something I have endless energy for. Art.
More specifically, Frida Kahlo.
She is painter from Mexico who had a really bad accident early in her life. Then she met Diego Rivera, a communist mural painter. Really bad "accident number two" per her report. I love this woman's paintings. I really love her paintings people. I love the movie too.
THESE CLIPS HAVE SWEARS AND SOMETIMES NEKID BOOBIES. nsfw
"Loyalty is important to me"
This is the problem though, fidelity is paramount within a marriage in order for it to thrive. There is a lot of pain in Frida's paintings in terms of this marriage with Diego.In terms of her accident, her inability to carry life inside her. So, why I am drawn to them? Why do I see myself in so much of Frida's work?
In all honesty I am a fully formed, happily married wife and mother of two. But why do I feel sucker punched when I look at certain paintings? Why do they call to me?
This clip is about the music from the film tells me a bit more about it all.
And lastly, we have a song by Chavelas Vargas, the one talked about in the previous clip, and the creation of my favorite painting by Frida Kahlo, "The Two Fridas".
This woman, Frida Kahlo,she had a very complicated and beautiful life.
One of my readers really can't understand why I don't do more in this blog, more in terms of public service. And this is why---this blog is my chance to fully explore all the inner swashes of color that I can muster. I try to write as Frida painted. Looking in, swimming in all of this rich inner life I've only told my husband.
So I write a lot about me and my tribe. Which, by all accounts, are stable and without much drama. Certainly nothing like the life of Frida.
So I wonder, can art grab you if it doesn't cry out in pain, if it doesn't vibrate with craziness? It is still interesting if it is mostly a celebration?
Husband: Hey babe, how's it going? What do you think of the new clinic? Are you seeing patients yet?
Wife: The clinic is really nice, they just built this new section. It's too bad, but my real office will be in [another city] in the basement. blah, I will have to get one of those lights. It's weird though. I mean, it is so clean.
Wife: Yeah, and people drive there. And they ask for my help. I don't know, I feel kind of weird. I mean, this job is much different. I feel like I am losing my street cred. I mean, when I was going into people's homes, moving the garbage aside, taking their blood pressure, cleaning wounds, listening to lungs, I mean, no matter what I did, I knew I was doing good. Even if they had no use or tolerance for me, the 'white nurse', I knew I was helping people.
Today, I talked to a patient for a half an hour and adjusted his sleep meds. I mean, the conversation was really easy. I was wearing a dress. I don't know, I feel like I am not . . .
Husband: Wait, what are you questioning? That you're not helping people enough? You helped that patient right? If you think about it, if he can't sleep everything is effected, his job, his wife, his kids and you are helping him sleep. Don't question yourself here babe, you are doing all kinds of good. You're awesome.
There is this show, called John and Kate plus eight. And, turns out, it is a really good show. It is a mom and dad plus eight kids. The Dad on the show wears ear plugs when he drives the kids.
Settling in quite nicely with my clinic. I am doing exceedingly well.
But I feel something missing.
Oh yeah, the kids aren't here.
I took this week to really settle in, hence the kids staying at home until Friday. Oh wait, this is home.
I will see them this weekend. But man, it feels weird. I am acutely aware of my movements. For instance, after I use my make up, I put it away so little hands can't dig in the powder and brushes. When I cook, I am careful to cook on the back burner and listen for curious little feet. When I shower, I leave the door open and am short about it. I usually shower when they have gone to bed, I leave the door open to hear and tend to them quickly. These Mommy habits, they are so ingrained they are reflexes.
The extent of it is taking me by surprise. :)
I stretched my limbs tonight, feeling my temporary freedom. Tonight I lingered while running errands. I lingered at the grocery store, lingered at Walgreens. Heck, I almost lingered while voting (if they would have let me). I took my sweet, sweet time reading the shampoo bottles comparing colors of lipstick, sniffing different lotions. It was the lotions that got me though.
I realized something. After a while I am not lingering because I have this freedom, this Mommy vacation. Truthfully, I don't want to go home because they are not there.
But, they will be soon. Mac comes this weekend, Pancake after that. Then I will have my needy monkeys all clamoring for my attention. All clingy and jumping on my head.
Till then, I think I will have a real glass of wine. Out of a wine glass, not a plastic cup.
All of you at home can play along with this mental exercise.
Aaaannnnddd begin ....
For those of you just tuning in, a change is happening in the House of Hall. Namely, we are moving four hours away from our house. The first step began today, with moving Mrs. Hall (that's me). In the following weeks my tribe, including daughter Pancake (age five), Mac (age 2) and Mr. Hall (age 40) will follow.
There are a number of ways I can process this and present it here, in this blog. The easiest is the most crabbiest. I can lament and wail for hours. I can go into some detail about what this means and how it makes me feel.
But, I wouldn't want to read that, and neither should you.
Hence, I will look to the positive. I will fill my lungs with good clean air and be energized. I will talk about this in terms that lift me up and hopefully you too. After all, no one likes a whiner.
SO! Hear me now, o negative, self pity thoughts in Mrs. Hall's head! Hear this now!
My spank hand, it is strong. And when you gather in the fog, my spank hand will get twitchy and surely a smack will be delivered with the utmost speed. Oh yes, my spank hand, it is strong.
Wait, wait . . . .
Perhaps that is a bit strong. After all, don't all my feelings and thoughts deserve to be? After all, if we deny what we feel, it just pushes it down. And then it grows into a Zombie and really, it gets all sorts of stinky. Not that I don't like Zombies, in fact I loooove Zombies. I just don't want to be one.
The key, I think, is balance. And to admit that I am very, very scared. Also, I must reach out to Mr. Hall, to my friends, to Yoga and dog walking. I must ask for help when I am overwhelmed. These things up there, in this paragraph, these are not strong skills of mine. I am a 98 lb weakling in this respect.
So, this will change, right now. I will give myself credit for being cooler and smarter than I actually realize. I will think of myself as capable of anything. I will not numb up and shut off. I will not fall into the traps of anxiety and wanting to control everything around me. I will let go and let God.
I will realize all that I breathe and feel tunnels directly into my children and for that, I will be their superhero through all of this. I will be who they think I am. SPOON!!
Aaaaaannnnnddddd breathe . . . . .
This right here, is a moment. This is not the entire journey, but just a moment.
There, this feels better eh?
I know I do.
Take care everyone
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ *I can say with the utmost authority no actual physical spanking occurs in the House of Hall. No spanks for Mrs. Hall or Mr. Hall. No spanks for Pancake or Mac. Really people, it is just a metaphor. Trust me.
It takes a special blog to gain my loyalty. Not because I am all that and a side of slaw, but because I am chronically exhausted. This is what happens to everyone who has small kids.
But, the blogs I go to have a common thread. They are nothing like me. The exception being Cam. "What Cam Says" But, who knew there was a long lost twin out there for Mrs. Hall?
Yeah see, I value different. I enjoy hearing about other types of jobs and hearing people's stories. Big shock considering what I do for a living eh?
But, again, tired. So, a blog has to be really, really interesting to both catch my attention and keep it. They must work for my loyalty.
Even though they are different from each other, there are some trends in the demographics. They are mostly older guys in their 40-50's. Two of them "Slydes Blog" and "Bug-Eyed Earl" are friends and trade barbs in their comment sections. In that guy way of ribbing each other. Slyde is a Daddy, I enjoy reading about this. He also tells excellent penis jokes. These blogs are highly recommended because they are 100% guy. Very wonderful blogs indeed.
Another blogs featuring a new Daddy, is "Geology Joe". He is a veterinarian. No, I kid! He is a geologist and often publishes the unexpected. Highly recommended this one.
Then there is my other blog which I co-author with several other bloggers. This is called "Bonez".It was started by a man named Tony who has unique appreciation for all things. Again, highly recommended.
There is a new health care section of sorts. That would be "Mr. Poopie " (a licensed massage therapist) and "Antler"whom works in the care of those that have passed. Mr. Poopie is especially funny and poignant. Antler is a touch more heady and gives me a peek into another life. Awesome blogs indeed.
Another heady blog, but in an extremely efficient way, is called "Hypocrisy".This blog is by Bruce aka Lotus07. He is also a proficient photographer that produces evocative images. I plan on using them more often. I honestly am unsure if he understands what he has in his images, they are amazing. It is pretty amazing what hidden talents people have.
There is an art section. This would be "Not Keith." I think he will be my only art blog because he is just that good.
His good friend and talented writer, "Bete de Jour",is a blogger of somewhat cult following. If you go, pack a picnic basket. You're going to be there a while.
In the funny section is "An Englishman in Osaka". He's English, he's a man, and he's in Osaka, Japan. Funny people, funny!
My favorite funny? Why, that would be "Photo-Cliches". This will serve all your juvenile humor needs. Please, if you go nowhere else, please go to the "Statue Groping page." There is nothing more pleasing. Trust me.
AND NOW, LADIES AND GENTS, THE NEWEST ADDITION TO MY LOYALTY ROLL........
Highly recommended is the post entitled "Old school"
Which contains this quote that solidified my decision to become loyal to his blog.
"I’ve told people they were “as entertaining as bone cancer.” I’ve made references to trailer parks and compared people to the size of my bowel movements. I’ve expressed these and many other constructive thoughts in the name of making a living wage.
This job has failed in its attempt to make me a better person."
That is good writing my friends.
------------------------------------------------------------- But THAT'S IT!! I will not be finding or reading any more new blogs. I'm tired of finding all this great interesting writing and stuff. I'm done for now.
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