Da Goddess

Every year, this is how I celebrate Christmas.

Merry Christmas, friends! May you always remember the best moments of life and love today.

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One of my favorite songs for this time of year.

It’s pretty much the same for me every Christmas Eve. Well, musically. Mostly.

Here’s Justin Hines.

Here’s hoping you have so many blessings to count your plate of food needs reheating.

I’m having a nice, quiet day with GmaB. Late breakfast, watching the parade on TV, and doing laundry. I may take a nap later. After we tackle leftovers from our Tuesday Thanksgiving supper.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends! Thank you for being you.

The bestestest boy in the world is now the bestestest boy in heaven.

He left us on Monday, the day before his guesstimated/assigned birthday.

Fletchy may not have lived with me for the last two years, but he was as near as every beat of my heart. My sister and brother-in-law took such great care of him and he was so very happy with them.

There will never be another cat like my galumpher.

My heart has broken. The shards scattered to the very corners of the universe.

Epenthesis and Anaptyxis walked into a bar and confused the hell out of everyone.

This week’s new words are wonderful. Simply wonderful. Or should I say they’re “wonderaful”?

Epenthesis (eh-penth-e-sis) is the adding of a vowel or sound to a word in order to facilitate pronunciation. Like “es-top” or “stop-e(h)”. Or “bu-lue”.

More spectacularly, the addition of the vowel in epenthesis has a specific name: (you guessed it!) anaptyxis (an-app-tu-sis). Think of Yogi Bear telling BooBoo he’s going to get that “pic-a-nic” basket. That’s epenthesis and anaptyxis in action.

What’s even more fun is when Epenthesis and Anaptyxis are out drinking and they run into and are mesmerized by Paragoge. Paragoge also goes by the name Proparalepsis. (Can you tell I love this stuff?)

Paragoge/Proparalepsis “refers to the annexing of an expletive syllable”. In some cases, you can think of it as a nickname for words and, (ed: er…um…) names. Like “Johnny, for John;” “deary, for dear;” “withouten, for without.” (ed: Or my personal favorite “broughten, for brought.”)

When someone asks me “what kind of weirdo are you?” I’m the kind of weirdo who loves this shit. And that’s the honest to God truth. I’m also just a huge ol’ word nerd.

Stay tuned for more words I’ve encountered which have charmed and enchanted me. I have a list. Yeah, an actual list.

Feel free to share words of your own in the comments section.

I did it! Finally!

I lost my virginity.

Silly thing for a mom of two to write, but hear me out.

Craig Ferguson took my virginity. True. Fucking. Story.

October 7, 2023, is a day that will live in infamy for it was the day I finally got to go see Craig Ferguson on tour with his stand-up act. Not only that, but I met him, got a hug, he touched one of my tattoos (neener neener, wouldn’t you like to know which one!), and…and…and…it was all perfection. Mostly.

Yes, I’d been to tapings of his show many times over his ten year run as host of The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. Yes, I’d been mere feet away from him. Yes, I laughed myself silly. But I hadn’t seen his stand-up show before.

I’d envied those I knew who had been many, Many, MANY times. They had met him. They got their picture taken with him. They…touched…him. I was happy for those people. But I stewed in my own bitter juices of jealousy in private. I feared I’d never get my moment with THE GREATEST, FUNNIEST, AND MOST HANDSOME SCOTTISH LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST AND COMEDIAN IN THE WORLD. But I did. It happened. And now my life is (mostly) complete. I say “(mostly) complete” because there was just one teeny weeny little problem with our conversation (okay, two teeny weeny little problems) (maybe three teeny weeny little problems, but definitely not more than three). Main problem the first: I’d forgotten to ask if he remembered a sketch from the show where a particular name was used. Why would it matter almost 20 years later? Because I was author of that name! Well, the author of half the name. And I wanted him to sign one of his books for me using that name. Big problem the second: I forgot to bring the book. Don’t look at me in that tone of voice! I know what I did and I know how stupid that was. Look, it’d already been a very long, hot day full of emotion* before I even left to make the journey out to the middle of nowhere to see him. I couldn’t possibly be expected to remember VERY IMPORTANT items I almost desperately wanted signed by THE GREATEST, FUNNIEST, AND MOST HANDSOME SCOTTISH LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST AND COMEDIAN IN THE WORLD! It’s like you don’t know me at all, people! Have you fallen so out of love with me your blog reading that you’ve forgotten all my (very) charming (and occasionally frustrating) quirks?

Le sigh.

I’m disappointed enough in myself, I don’t need your help in that department.

Problem the third: I also forgot to ask about his kids. Oh, the stories he told about his kids! So funny! So absolutely charming! So clever! The only kids I knew who were as funny and charming and clever as his kids were mine. Truly. I wanted to know if they continued to be funny, charming, and clever…like mine. Because: parents. IYKYK, right? Right.

All said and done, it was a beautiful day punctuated with the most magical evening of laughter and absolute joy. If I ever figure out how to post photos here again, I’ll post the pic of me beside THE GREATEST, FUNNIEST, AND MOST HANDSOME SCOTTISH LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST AND COMEDIAN IN THE WORLD. And you will once more envy my glamorous life. (Glamorous in that I had one night away from GmaB and the farm, but it still counts!)

And that’s the story of how Craig Ferguson took my virginity.

* My best friend got married and I photographed her wedding. She was completely stunning! She looked so happy! And the latter part is and was the most important part of the equation. I really want her to be happy.

I don’t like this day. I don’t like the memories of the many deaths, some of which were caught on camera. I don’t like thinking of the horror of the events this day 22 years ago.

I hate the fact far too many lost an important part of their family. I hate that it was hate which denied these people a chance at a future.

But, I remember, too, how neighbors came to the aid of those they didn’t know. How we turned to one another to comfort and be comforted. How untold numbers of men and women ran toward danger to help others, to help strangers.

We’ll never forget what happened 22 years ago, nor should we. We must remember the gut-wrenching terror and heartbreaking sorrow, the astonishing heroism and tender outpouring of love, and the tragedy that forever changed the world.

#NeverForget

Kids say the darnedest things. They also think the darnedest things.

Today’s memory brought to you by the magic of Memory Dumps: Safe disposal of all your sensitive information. “If you don’t need to know it, we’ll make sure it’s the only thing you remember while simultaneously deleting vital information!”

So…anyway…I woke up recalling how I used to think She Walks In Beauty by Lord Byron was a great poem,but was confused by the “meat in the aspic” line. When I asked my mom about aspic, she reassured me that it could, indeed, contain meat or meat byproducts. Then she wanted to know why I was asking and I told her Grandma had read me a poem about it. Ever confused by my explanation, Mom called Grandma. After their conversation, my mom read me the poem again and explained the line is “meet in the aspect.” And there you have it: kid brain thoughts.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

I think it would be an even better poem if it was about meat in aspic.

Dragonflies have always fascinated me. They’re so dainty and delicate in appearance, but they’re tough and rid the world of pests. Dragonflies symbolize good luck, prosperity, and new beginnings. Funny that. When I got my first tattoo, I chose dragonflies and got the tattoo as I was starting divorce proceedings. I must’ve sussed the meaning before I actually learned this bit of trivia.

Today, GmaB and I watched dragonflies flit about and then, miraculously, watched as one began to lay eggs. Sadly, those eggs will come to nought as the chosen site isn’t next to water. I may have to find a way to put water just below the eggs and then relocate the nymphs once they emerge. (I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just winging it…hehee…winging it. Wing-ing. Wing. Dragonfly. And…)

I needed beauty in my life today. I’ve been feeling rather emotional the last couple days and our dragonflies brought me beauty by the bushel. Now, I must go so I can weep silently in the kitchen.

I know enough to know I don’t know much. Because of this, I like to learn something new as frequently aspossible– if not every day.

Today I learned a large portion of Anheuser-Busch beers are partially made with rice. I mean, what?!? So, I did a little research (because I’m like that) and found the reason for this is the fermentable sugar at lower temperatures in rice (most likely short-grain white rice). It’s less expensive than barley, too. Using rice also produces a smoother flavor with less bitterness.

And, according to the three different articles I read (I limited the number of clicks because I refused to go down the rabbit hole today), sake is beer. I always thought it was wine. How have I lived 57 years and only just found out this information? Well, of course this meant I had to look into it. Wikipedia claims sake is…not really either. That’s backed up by sake-specific sites. It’s an “alcoholic beverage” with a brewing process different from beer AND wine.

It was around this time my head exploded. Sorry, brain. One too many facts, I guess.

Now that I’ve muddled my brain, I hope you find yours also sufficiently muddled. And speaking of muddling… No, no, no! I’m not going there. I’m going to have a look at what GmaB might want for dinner.

I finally got a pic uploaded to the site, but I can’t post it. The file info is weird. The code I used to add it to the post is weird. When I save the post, the code duplicates itself and does funky shit to the code.

What I’m saying is this: WordPress, in its current configuration, sucks balls. Big ass dirty donkey balls.

This may well be the straw to end my blogging — after 21 years. I hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate. It. HATE IT. HATE. IT. HATE. HATE!!!

That is all.

End of transmission.

The sunsets here are incredible. Every night, I’m treated to the most brilliant display of gorgeousness. It’d be boring if they weren’t so spectacular.

Can I share one here? Apparently not. I no longer see a way to do so. Oh well. Close your eyes and imagine the vibrant green of the lawn, the purples and greens of the alfalfa, the silhouettes of 50yr old trees and a windmill, all against the pinks, oranges, blues, and purples of a sleepy, warm sky. Maybe throw in the silhouette of a heron or egret while you’re at it. That’s what I suffer through each and every night. It’s torture. Pure torture. And I love it.

Today, my mom would’ve been 88 years-old. I miss her ever so.

Mom was the kind of person who could and would talk with pretty much anyone and everyone. Part of it was her genuine interest in other people. Part was a bit of a persona she cultivated for sales. Either way, you essentially got a woman who was willing and able to talk for hours and you’d never be bored.

Taking care of Crackerjack’s grandma, it feels a little like I’m taking care of Mom. Sure, Gma B has dementia, but she’s vibrant and kind and has so many stories to tell. That reminds me of my mom. And Gma B is an artist, like Mom. Her paintings are pretty amazing. I keep thinking I should rank them in order of my love for them. There’s just one teeny problem: I have multiple favorites for different moods and moons. Same as I’ve felt for Mom’s art.

I wish Mom could be here to meet with Gma B, talk with her about art, life, kids, etc. They’d have gotten on like a house afire.

So, while it seems strange that I might enjoy spending long hours with a 90yo who has dementia, the truth is that she helps me through the grief when it rears its ugly head. Not that grief is “ugly”. In fact, I believe grief is really kind of beautiful. It says you loved the person who’s gone. It says you have a heart. It says you can survive without them, you just wish you didn’t have to. That’s the clearest, purest definition of love I’ve ever come across. You miss them and you grieve them because you loved them deeply.

In a terrible bit of horrible timing and dark irony, Gma B was admitted to the hospital the other night after reacting badly to some antibiotics and becoming dehydrated, which, in turn, caused her to collapse as we were trying to walk her out to her youngest son’s vehicle. One 911 call later, we’re at the hospital with her and the doctors say her lungs were looking poorly. Yes, just as Mom’s birthday and anniversary of her death from lung cancer were approaching, my new charge is struck with pneumonia. (Thank God, it’s that and not cancer!) You better believe I asked God to help Gma B through this illness. I don’t think I could handle the alternative.

It’s made me miss Mom more than ever. It’s made me appreciate the time I had with her and appreciate how she was able to determine her own life and death. Mom was not one to linger or try to prolong the inevitable. She didn’t want to spend her last months sick from chemo or radiation. She decided against feeling awful just to spend a little more time here. Even if it meant we’d have to say goodbye sooner than we’d like, Mom knew she’d be living on borrowed time and she’d be miserable throughout. None of us wanted that for her. I certainly wouldn’t want her to suffer. And thus, she decided to make the most of the time she did have left. That’s a fortunate choice she was able to make and one I respect.

I thought of her yesterday as I discovered a hummingbird trapped in the garage. I happened to go out to look for a painting Mom had done of — a hummingbird, of all things! — in one of my boxes out there and found the bird buzzing about. It was hot. There was nothing in the garage that would’ve helped it survive for long. At one point, it landed on the ground in front of me, almost as if it was asking me for help. I opened the side door and then one of the garage doors. It took a minute or two for the bird to realize there was a way out of the hot concrete box, but once it saw the big door was open, it zipped on out, back to the world with nectar and water and others of its kind. I felt so elated watching it find freedom. It was as if Mom had been that bird and suddenly she was free. I took this as a sign that Mom’s okay where she is, that she wants me to release her from the this world, that it’s okay to move forward. I have been moving forward. It’s good, though, to have a reminder like that to push me towards the next thing in life. I work at that every day. Now I feel certain it’s time to open up my heart to whatever comes next, even if I can’t share it with her. Well, not directly. She’s still here in my heart and I believe she’ll always be there, cheering for me whatever comes my way. So, sharing with her, but not being able to talk with her about it all.

I miss you, Mom! I love you and miss you and I’m so glad we had many years of fun and sadness and joy and sorrow and good health, bad health, years of contemplation and action, years of making memories, telling stories, sharing in the wonders of this world, reminding each other how lucky we were to experience it. I hope you’re visiting with all the people you’ve loved and lost. And I hope you’ve saved me a seat at your table for when it’s my turn.

Love you! Happy birthday!

P.S. please forgive me for not wanting to write something tomorrow. I think I’ve covered it all here. <3 <3 <3

P.P.S. how do I get rid of the acrid smell of really burnt food* in the house? It won’t go away no matter what I do! It’s times like these that I desperately want to ask your helpful advice. You always knew what to do!

* I had chicken tenders in the microwave that decided to not only cook in record time, but to burn into tiny hockey pucks in record time. Smoke BILLOWED out of the microwave. It was awful. It’s still awful. Mom would’ve known what to do about the lingering stench. She always had solutions to problems like this.

I fell deeply in love at first sight this morning. So did Crackerjack.

She came to get me from her grandmother’s house so I could move some of my belongings over (I’m staying here overnight now because Grandma B’s dementia is getting worse). We stopped at Dollar General, which is out all-around favorite place to stop for Red Bulls. As we walked up to the door, this beautiful mini border collie came up (she was ignoring a man who was smooch calling her — is there another word for this?) and I asked her to sit, which she did immediately. She gazed up at me and I was instantly besotted. I mean, absolutely, positively, flat-out in love. I apologized to the man once he drew up to us. I said I figured it was better to have her sit and wait for him and I complimented him on what a VERY GOOD GIRL his dog was. And gorgeous, too! He then explained she wasn’t his dog, but was just running around loose and had been for a couple weeks. Crackerjack and I looked at each other as if to say, “we’ll take her until her owners are found!” Of course, that really wouldn’t be a possibility because the other dogs at the house would likely attack her. Instead, the man said his wife runs a rescue and she was on her way over to scan the dog for a chip and if there wasn’t one, they’d take her in.

While that was great news for the dog, my heart kind of broke into a million little pieces. I was so captivated by this petite pup, I had — in less than 20 seconds — already adopted her and trained her to herd cattle out here on the dairy ranch (it’s more of a farm now and they don’t do the dairy part as much, I guess???), where she could live her bestest life. I know, I know, my imagination overfloweth. The other scenario was that she would turn out to be more of a couch potato and want to spend all her time beside her new grandma and grandma’s caregiver. (A girl can dream, can’t she?)

Anyhow, Crackerjack and I reluctantly left the dog with the very nice man and went on to do what we’d set out to do: get Red Bull and move shit. We did that…two trips, in fact, with more to come.

In between the first and second trips, I asked if we could swing by the store to make sure the dog wasn’t still there. I’d been thinking about her the entire time I was packing and loading. She was gone. I was relieved because I couldn’t stand the thought that she was left in the lurch once again. I still don’t understand how she was just hanging around the store for two weeks without anyone coming to claim her or anyone calling a shelter to get her off the street. Apparently, she’d been seen on both sides of the (busy) road and, even worse, both sides of the freeway! Ugh! WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? How is there this gorgeous girl running loose with no one looking for her?

So, there you have it: my tale (tail) of instant love and almost instant heartbreak in a kind of wordy nutshell.