Category: humor

poem: a smile

i wish i could smile
in that particular way
that always ends
with my shamefully
thunderous laugh.

A delightful fire
curled my lips like smoke –
burning away the damp,
of my awareness.

Even if this respite
only lasted
for that one
it could still save
the broken shards
of my life,
their jagged edges
with light.

all day i have lamented
the problems with my eye,
and begged
for that vision
to be restored –
as i lay down,
weary and worn,
i find myself wistful,
for a smile
that would slowly
take over this dour mood
until nothing was left
but the joy.

16 July 2016

Jesus and $10,000,000

movetomyheart  thisboldfiercemadness It started two days ago with a varmint. Something is in the wall upstairs and in order to make life easier on my tenant (for i am aware of how much sleep deprivation sucks,) i bought things to capture or smite said creature. Alas, yesterday i got home from the errand too late to do anything with the supplies.  However, i awoke with determination today.  Sadly, following the recommendation to put the trap in the basement (the most likely place the critter got in) meant i had to shovel a path to the basement door.

lovelostAnd that is when my back started to be unhappy. Three shifts between shoveling and then laying on a heating pad with one break to go to the bank and i was done. It took all my strength to get to the couch – going the extra four feet to the bed was out of the question. i realized i wasn’t going to be writing when i had left my pen on the table at the wrong end of the couch and could not get myself up to retrieve it. Back onto the heating pad i slumped, when almost immediately a neighbor called. The phone chasinglovewas just out of reach and my attempts at psychokinesis were still a disappointing fail. valentinesdancerMy cell phone (which cannot hold a call at home, but can text) was beside me, so i texted her – she said we could talk tomorrow – at which point the dogs went insane. Barking, growling, racing through the house, dancing.  “OHMYGOD!”  They kept barking “SOMEONEISHERE!”

i don’t care if someone is here, i texted to my neighbor and a friend with whom i was also messaging, it could be Jesus with $10,000,000 and i still can’t answer. i just can’t get up.

Don’t worry, came the response, Jesus would just shove what he could under the door and come back tomorrow.angelandspirit

dancewithspiriti found myself grateful for friends, for having a sense of humor when i can’t quite manage standing, for the snow that was coming so i wouldn’t feel guilty about going nowhere tomorrow so i can be gentle to my still screaming back. About an hour ago, i had to push myself to get the dishes done in case we lose power in the blizzard they keep predicting to hit.

Yet, physical complaints could not dent my joy. Today was a lovely day. i wound up getting a tremendous blessing. In the middle of this irritation, while moving from heating pad to cool, from prone to sitting up, i made some lovely art. It is Valentine’s day and i thought to make images of love – not love of a person specifically, for that is not my situation, but love in general, love that was lost but still lingers, dancing with Spirit, or alone, but filled with the rhythm of love. Even in this cobbling situation, i could at least draw dance. And that made me happy.

Just a reminder about yesterday’s blessings, if you missed it on my twitter, facebook, linkedin or Google+ feeds.  Any purchase ($10 or more) on my online store is 20% off with the coupon code HUZZAH! to celebrate getting credit card processing set up independent of paypal!  Woo Hoo!  If i got too mopey when i couldn’t sit up and draw, all i had to do was think about that… and huzzah! If you want one of today’s pen and inks before i get a chance to put them on the store, just email me at

Now i think i have the strength to make it to bed.

the coup

For the past hour or so, I’ve been rambling about the studio trying to figure out if I dare throw the five big pieces that have been hanging over my head for ages (three for nearly two months, having gone through four previous throws only to crack in the dry air of the studio, then to be thrown again, to crack again…). There is a cruel mathematics to things like this: do I risk hurting myself more for the psychological delight that will be ticking these things off my to-do list?  (The to-do monster is appeased by such actions, almost giggling, his red eyes glow a little less angrily for awhile.)

My wandering was interrupted by a phone call and a delightful conversation – the poor woman had no idea how much I wanted to connect with another person today!  As the words burbled from my mouth despite her attempts to hang up, I kept pacing, hoping my back would magically heal itself.  Alas, it has neither gotten worse nor better, which gives me no answers.

roxi_martinbothersmeHowever, I realized that I could use these moments of indecision to tell you about the coup this morning.

The cat to the left, Roxanne Whiskerdinks, had been the undisputed ruler of this domicile since the untimely passing of her elder brother, Andre the Giant.  As a radical militant female supremacist, a lot of her job had involved keeping her younger brother, Martin Longshanks, in check.  For two years, he has worshiped her as a goddess and every time he has drawn near enough to dare physical touch, she has growled and smacked him on the head.  He kept trying to win her over with his beauty and charisma, but she could not see past his deeply annoying little brotherness.

During the past two weeks, she had developed a new torment for the nervous, jumpy boy: standing on one side of a partially open door so she could jump on his back while he walked through and bite him on the head.  It had gotten so bad, he had taken to waving a paw into any open doorway, testing the waters, not realizing that all he was doing was providing her with delighted anticipation for the taste of his delicious flesh.  A small tooth sized chunk is missing from his left ear, which I believe is related to this particular game of hers.  (When questioned, she seemed to indicate he did it to himself.)martin_wakeup

This morning, as I showered, I heard what turned out to be the opening volley of a coup. The actual cause is a mystery. I don’t know why, but quite suddenly Martin’s nonviolent leanings left him – perhaps knocked out of his head in another assault by his sister.

By the time I was making breakfast, he had thoroughly thrashed her four times – each time relenting when she mewed and complained, only to get hit on the head as soon as she thought it was safe, at which point he looked completely affronted and attacked again.

Neither cat seems to have caused permanent damage to the other (except for the missing chunk of ear), although a significant amount of Roxi’s beautiful belly fur was caught in Martin’s back claws, like she was violently groomed.

What is obvious, though, is that the power structure of the house has changed.

The cats have a job while I work in the studio – holding down the bed – and Roxi always sleeps by my pillows and Martin is relegated to the foot of the bed where the dog sleeps.  This afternoon positions shifted.  I watched Roxi come into the dining room and all but bow to her little brother who stood on the table, tall and regal, with his eyes narrowed in pleasure, as though he were now her liege.  She even waited for him to have kibble first, instead of shoving him away and mewling at him for his impudence.

All hail Martin Longshanks, King of the House.

The interesting thing to me is that Martin could have done this at any point during the last eighteen months, at least, if not earlier.  He is taller than she is – with amazingly long legs and tail. When she rolls over onto her back, exposing her belly, fangs and all the sharp points, he can reach right through the barricade with his longer limbs. In a lot of ways, he is more agile. She always took Jabba the Hutt as her role model for despotic monarch, never really worrying about keeping her form or martial art skills in peak condition. She relied on psychological tactics: Martin thought the sun rose and set on his sister – and she used that mercilessly to her advantage.

Although, I think she has learned her lesson.  The last time I went in the house, he was forcing her to cuddle with him – something she detests more than anything else (boy cooties! For the love of GOD, boy cooties!) – and although I did not see the negotiation that lead to their positioning, he had more of her soft belly fur caught in his back claws.

So, I suppose the moral of the story for Roxi is that you shouldn’t treat your little brother like shit and expect that he will take it forever and ever without complaint.  And her brother’s take on all this?  Sadly, I think it is limited to: “If I close my eyes, it almost sounds like her growling is a purr.  She loves me!  She really loves me!”

The coup is complete.


abusing cats with flea prevention medicine – or, his name is mud.

So, I don’t want my cats getting fleas (again!) so I give them a flea prevention treatment every month.

Let me stress, every month. The same medication for months on end.  None of them are allergic to it, none of them have burst into flames at the thought of it.  Every. single. month. This is not a new situation and they usually whine a little but seem to accept the futility of resistance.

So, realizing that tomorrow might wind up getting away from me quite quickly, I decided to go ahead and give them their treatments.  My female cat, Roxi, wins gold stars for sleeping through the entire process.  But my cat Martin, watching his big sister get the stuff gooed on the back of her head, decided to hide under the bed.  No big deal, I got him out, got about six drops on the nape of his neck when he acted like a vampire in the noonday sun, clawed and darted under the bed.  I sighed, put the remaining flea treatment on top of the chest of drawers, closed the bedroom door and treated the dog.

The dog also wins a gold star for taking his like a champ.

Alas, Martin would not come out from under the bed.  Coaxing did not work.  The water spritzer did not work.  Stripping the bed did not work (that usually agitates him enough to want to leave the room.)  Moving the mattress did not work.  Lifting the box springs and putting them against the wall worked, sort of.  He was out from under the bed, for there was no bed to be under, but he scaled the door and was balancing with his back feet wobblingmud on the top of the door jam and his front claws furiously scratching the joint between the ceiling and the wall, trying to tunnel into the upstairs.  Much screaming accompanied this, and part of it came from the cat.

I got him down from that unstable perch, grabbing his ass until he realized he could let go of his death-grip on the wall.  Alas, he then clawed me and ran into the window, plowing through the plastic weatherproofing like it wasn’t there, his back feet on the joint between window panes, his paws furiously trying to make their way through glass.

I got him, brought him onto the floor, got the flea stuff, got two more drops on (it burns! it burns!) before he clawed me again and ran back into the window. Finally the adrenaline subsided enough for me to realized the hole he made only devastated the bottom of the weatherproofing – the top was intact, holding him like a little shrink wrapped kitty.  I punched a hole through the still firm plastic, right at the nape of his neck and gave him his flea treatment while he was trapped, although he kept screaming for the ASPCA.

Of course, he ran for the hills as soon as it was done, and I started to put the bedroom back together (and my back hurt badly enough to cry BEFORE having to lift the TempurPedic mattress.  Now I feel positively broken.)  Five minutes afterward, though, he crept into the room and stared at me disparagingly.  Five minutes after that, he made contented piggy sounds while he ate the extra gushy food I give them for successful treatment and kept looking at me like – WHAT?  WHAT?? Why are you grumps???

His name is mud.

But on the bright side, I will not have to watch him scratch at fleas.

However, any ideas how to explain the claw marks on the ceiling to the realtor?