Worth It

You know how it is, when you're sick and you want nothing more than to go to bed but you can't because you have a two year old with unlimited amounts of energy? When said two year old comes up to you out of the blue and gives you a sloppy wet kiss, just because she felt you needed it.

That's what makes it all worth while.

I am thankful beyond belief for my amazingly sensitive goofball of a daughter.

Veterans of War

Yesterday would've been my grandmother's 90th birthday.

Yesterday my great-uncle Bob died at age 91. I just found out.

Can't write like I want to right now. Memories flood and drown me. The are a blessing though they overwhelm.

Sniffly Thanks

Today I am grateful to Mojo and cold medicine. Mojo for taking care of me and Arabis with narry a grumble and cold medicine for the obvious reasons.

Blood From a Turnip

I'm having a terrible time making blogging a priority these days. I had hoped that NaBloPoMo would give me the impetus to come back with a bang and it hasn't. It has been more of a chore for which I have no time.

Between chasing around a two year old and rehearsals, I've no time for much else. But I'll persevere doggedly because I hate abandoning things half way through. This is a particularly challenging time in my life and I am finding myself reticent to delve too deeply into my inner psyche and air my mental trash for all the internet to see.

I'm having trouble sleeping again, so my synapses fire slowly or too rapidly to make much sense. Hell I'm so exhausted these days that I've even considered actually posting some of my poetry here. Guaranteed to drive away my three readers for sure!

I have fallen behind on giving daily thanks. I'm not sure by how much. So here's a quick off the cuff list that perhaps I can elaborate on in greater detail when I've more time (insert laugh here) or inclination (a wry chuckle would be appropriate at this juncture):

• my mother
• my daughter
• Shemena, my best friend
• all my friends, truthfully
• Mojo
• the ocean
• the women who came before

Midnight

As the mother of a toddler, insomnia is something I cannot afford to indulge in. However it is sometimes unavoidable.

I'm going to pay dearly for this in the morning.

Trouble in Toddler Town

Rough night last night. Arabis was up and down for most of the night. Sometimes mellow, sometimes manic, sometimes sobbing. There was no relief and much discomfort. I suspect more of the second year molars (she's gotten one so far).

Little sleep for me, a bit more for her and it is a somewhat sensitive and brittle morning.

There is just too much going on right now, and I am scattered and pulled in so many different directions I barely know where to turn.

Physics Lessons for my Daughter

Arabis and I went shopping for bras last night and I had a good long look in the mirror. And you know what, after having lost 15 pounds, they look like they're sagging even more.

I gave Arabis a science lesson; "Repeat after me, gravity is not mommy's friend."

"Gra'i'ee," she replied with a serious look on her face.

Yeah. It sucks.

Sword of Damocles

I have no bloody time for this.

Bonfire Night

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,

The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,

I know of no reason

Why Gunpowder Treason

Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent

To blow up King and Parli'ment.

Three-score barrels of powder below

To prove old England's overthrow;

By God's providence he was catch'd

With a dark lantern and burning match.

Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.

Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

I really need to burn something tonight.

Exhausting Weekend

I'm not feeling well at all. I am thankful for medicine and a good mattress that calls to me.

Gratitude, Day Three: Surrey's Story

I am blessed with storytellers. I am blessed by those that will take the time to sit and share a bit of their life.

I was moved to tears today by the story a friend told of her childhood in England during WWII, of her evacuation from Bristol at about my daughter's age to a farmhouse in the countryside, where she lived with a man and his wife who detested one another and never spoke and the time she spent there, seeing bombs fall on the city where her parents were, not knowing whether they were alive or dead and no one to go to for comfort or solace.

After the war, her extended family pooled their ration cards for petrol so her parents could drive out to the farm to collect her.

She spoke of that first Christmas after the war, in London, reverting to her six year old self, the American tones of her voice fading as her child-self came out to talk of the wonders she saw. The lights bright after so many years of blackout curtains. The crowds of people in the streets. People still living in tube stations who had lost everything they had. Children her own age, bedraggled and dirty, scavenging along the Thames during low tide and among the bombed out buildings for anything they could sell. Shopkeepers taking to the streets with their wares in barrows or with tables set in front of their unusable shops.

Children were back in London for the first time in years, she said, and they were greeted with joy. Class lines were erased as strangers called out to one another, wishing the best of the season to rich and poor. A fruit seller gave her a banana as a gift, her first, and she bit into it like an apple, skin and all, not knowing it first had to be peeled.

A fishmonger, selling cockles and winkles and eels, reaching into his basket and pulling out a live eel, slitting it head to tail before her very eyes and cutting off a piece of the raw flesh to give to the wide-eyed, awe struck Surrey.

"My first sushi," she said. "It was salty and sweet all at once and tasted of the sea and freedom."

Dia de los Muertos

Today is Dia de los Muertos. I have always remembered and honored those who have passed before, whose presence in my life helped shape who I am. In the past I have built ofrendas for my ancestors and fallen contemporaries. I place photos, small keepsakes, flowers, water, salt, candles, bread and anything else that strikes me as being appropriate. The house is cleaned and incense is lit. It is a welcoming, refreshing feeling, the building and cleaning, the tears and joy that come with memory.

For the second year I have made no ofrenda. For the second year this post is my ofrenda.

There are people missing from my list. There is too much in my head...or too little, I can't remember which. I write their names and bring them to me for a moment in time. And send them on their way:

Rose Rushdoony Deovlet (Grandma Rosie)
Phil Deovlet (Grandpa)
Rose (Vartoohi) Mahdesian Deovlet (Grandma Darling)
Benjamin Deovlet (Grandpa Darling)
Rose (Vartanoush) Rushdoony (Grandma Rushdoony)
Y.K. Rushdoony (Grandpa Rushdoony)
Mary Movsesian (Auntie Mim)
Spurgeon Avakian (Uncle Sparky)
Ruth Avakian (Auntie Ruthie)
Evelyn Cooper Smith (Grandma Evelyn)
Haywood Smith (Grandpa Haywood)
Auntie Margie
Bob Thomas
Dave Ricker
Robin Wadsworth
Michael Hefflin
Maxina Danner (Snookie)
Jennifer Lee
Patrick Lee
Mace Hanley
Shelly Munge
Dan O'Brien
Ricky Paul
Barbara Rose
Ronnie Geoffrion
Dave Coker
Don Mills
Wally Lockwood
Sally Schneider
Linda Underhill
Manny Suarez
Mary Jo Goss
Andrew Small
Phil Robledo
Amethyst Mariani
Theryl O'Ryan


Gratitude: Today I am grateful for my family and friends who have gone on and for those who are with me still. I am blessed by your presence in my life, your belief in me and your love.



"To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due."

Neil Gaiman

Gratitude

Late nap, late dinner, late bath, late laundry...exhausted me. So lest I forget:

I want to start out by giving thanks to the always encouraging Boogiemum herself. I don't even remember how we found each other in the vast unchartable wasteland that is the internet, but we did and have been enjoying each other's writing and chatting in the ether for over a year. She has been unflaggingly supportive of my ups and downs, always there with a kind word when I reappear after an absence and generally being just being an amazingly wonderful and giving woman.

So, thanks to you, Boogiemum. I wish we lived closer so we could actually go sit in a cafe and chat up a storm.

Oh, No! It's National Blog Posting Month!

That's right, folks. The return of the infamous NaBloPoMo, guaranteed to kick my butt for the second year in a row.

This is not my official first post, hence no links, graphics or photos. This is merely a post to say that I have a toddler who is refusing to nap, ergo no computer time for me just yet. I'm going to scrape by tonight if I can ever get to sleep!

The dilemma now is, of course, do I keep her up in the hopes of getting her to sleep early this evening, or try to get her to sleep for a few hours of blissful solitude and writing? Hmmmmmm....both are intriguing prospects.

Artistic Expression

To the Person Who Invented Washable Crayons:

I think I love you. Really.

You have a very special place reserved for you in Paradise.

In Memorium

Maxina Danner

Born: 25 March 1987
Murdered: 27 September 2004

You are loved and missed, Snookie. You are forever in our hearts.
You are remembered.

Foreshadowing

Mojo: "Will you be a good girl for Mommy today?"

Arabis: "Noooooooooooooo."

Well. She's my kid, that's for sure!

Strike Two and a Home Run

While boiling pasta for Arabis' dinner last night I got distracted and let all the water boil out, leaving a charred mass of black sludge in the bottom of a vintage Revereware pot.

Thankfully my mother was here. She told me to put a little water in the bottom and some cleanser and let it set. Needless to say I then made new pasta while my daughter cried in the other room, telling her grandmother how much I mistreat her, scorch her food and force her to wear clothes.

Well, I may not be able to boil noodles tonight, but damn if I didn't make just about the best souboreg this side of Van! Yummy!!

(DISCLAIMER: The link is purely for identification purposes and is NOT my family's recipe.)

Two Dilemas

This afternoon we have two major problems. They work in tandem. The first is that I am having a terrible time staying awake. I feel like vultures are circling. I must keep moving. If I stop for only a minute, to sit on the sofa say, I will fall asleep. Then the vultures will descend in the form of the second problem.

Arabis will not keep her clothes on. Whenever I fall asleep, I awaken to her naked. Naked and jumping on my head. Naked and playing with her blocks. Naked and riding her wooden rocking horse like a pint-sized Lady Godiva. Then we reenact a distaff version of the infamous Undertaker vs. Mankind "Hell in a Cell" match wherein I attempt to clothe and diaper her and she resists. To anyone outside in the hallway it must sound like the Slaughter of the Innocents.

So I've finally managed to get her into a pair of Osh Kosh overall shorts, sans shirt, which she can't remove (knock on wood). I am in the kitchen drinking a coke and making her dinner.

But I can tell. This is not over. Not by a long shot.

Camping

Home from camping on Mt. Diablo this weekend, aptly named as it was hot as Hades! We saw a family of raccoons, quail, a tarantula and so many flies I wished for an Australian outback hat, despite its ridiculous nature.

Arabis had fun, although the constant vigilance was tiring for both Mojo and I. Our girl is tenacious and willful, albeit with a sweet nature, and it is coming out in droves right now. She will listen calmly to what is asked of her and then do her own thing if it doesn't suit her needs. (Expect an entry on discipline and cries for help very soon!)

I took a goodly amount of photos but am too tired to download the camera. A photo essay will be forthcoming in the next day or two. Unfortunately I didn't get a shot of the tarantula since I forgot my camera back at camp. But I did get a few spectacular shots of the sunset, tinged a brilliant orange-red by the smoke from all the wildfires.