Playing Possum

Ever since Emily went away, several animals have crept into my space.  First  Oye the one eared feral started coming by.  Oye and I have a perfect relationship.  I respect him, give him some of my space, and he expects nothing and gives nothing.  PUUUUURfect!  (Bad pun.)

Right now I don't have the will or capacity to love another animal.  Peripheral is good.  Surface is good.  I think it applies to other aspects of mi vida right now if I'm honest.  It feels like nothing could compare to that love.  Just owning that and living with it for a bit seems both authentic and safe.

One night in the little shack of a laundry room, I heard some creeping.  Figuring it was Oye, imagine my surprise when a juvenile possum crept past until he spied me standing there, thong skivvies (clean I might add) pressed against my mouth as I stifled a horrified scream.  He immediately froze.  I turned off the light, left the laundry and called my Daddy.

Daddy advised leaving the door open overnight and then closing it in the am to keep the little varmint away.  But I kept thinking about his little face and how he really wasn't bothering me.  He was just looking for a shelter. I decided I would allow him to share my space and let him come and go as he pleased.

I knew he was still around as I would occasionally hear him shuffling.  It made me smile to hear him waking up for his nocturnal travels.

Last week,  I bought some dollar store plastic zombies for a Christmas Prank at the office.  They needed to be soaked in water for a week to expand.  They also glow in the dark.

Sat am, I checked them, pleased to see they were almost ready to go.  I left them overnight and went out.  I went to retrieve them Sunday a.m.   The bucket was tipped over and all the zombies were gone.

I joked that the possum ate them.  It turns out, he did eat them!  I found a decapitated zombie and another glowing fella missing a leg.  I feel sooooo bad.  And that CAN'T be good for my little friend.

A call to Wildlife Rescue and a referral to the Possum Lady of El Cajon confirmed that IF my little friend is still alive after consuming 18 GMO glowing plastic toys, the only hope of helping him is to trap him and bring him in.

And casual as we keep it, I still want the best for him.  He kinda grew on me. Just a little.  Okay, I've been crying some.  Stupid animal.  Fuck!

So I'm on my way to borrow a trap and buy some cat food.

Here's hoping he'll grow and glow some more in this crazy life.

Moon In A Different Light

I love celestial events.
I cherish nature's light show in the comets.
I've taken meteor showers in the cold desert at 3 a.m.
The Sisters of the Seven Stars are my companions

And most of the time, my little shadow has taken in these heavenly sights along with her mama.
Trips to the back country in cold winter months, cuddles in blankets while we awaited arrival.
She loved these trips.

My favorite is the moon.

His light means so much.
I looked to the moon in complete love once.
I still smile when he follows me in my 4 a.m. drive to work.

His yellow glow in Autumn enthralls.
His crescent is most magnificent.
I take solace in him right now because he is a constant.

And this morning, the sun, and the earth and our beloved Mr Moon gave us a spectacular show.
And I am most grateful for such a beautiful gift......

My girl is old and fragile.   She's tired.  So this week, after spoiling her with yummy dog meals of hamburgers and all things forbidden, we will enjoy hours cuddled beneath the waning full moon and cherish the light and our time together.  It will be a little more dear to me this time.

She is a most beautiful lunar companion.  I could not have asked for more.

Laughing at Dog Funerals

It's not every day that you get to go to a dog funeral.  Yes, a dog funeral- complete with a viewing.  Eeeeek!  Sort of creepy, random, surreal, sad and funny all at the same time.  I felt like I was channeling Elaine from Seinfeld in a Coen Brothers movie.

Now listen!  Don't get your knickers in a knot!  I have buried plenty of beloved dogs in my time.  I have ashes on a shelf.  Dundee and Mr. Tweeligers broke my heart when they died after 17 long years of love and devotion.  I know the grief losing a beloved pet brings.  Dogs are like family!  Who else greets us like we are the bomb diggity EACH and EVERY TIME we walk through the door?

So, Uncle Bill, I understand your need to bury your beloved Mr. Mike, who, by the way, was a girl dog.  (I didn't even ask....)  But I still have to tell it like it is.

My dad offered to take eccentric Uncle Bill to the dog cemetery to bury his dog on Friday.  Due to some extenuating and painful circumstances, Dad needed to stay at home and deal with some important family business.  Poor child #4.  She got the shit stick.

Oh yay!  I picked up Uncle Bill, drove 40 miles, turned left off of Highway 9 as soon as I saw the Saint Francis of Assisi statue and pulled in.  Hmmm....not sure what significance the slightly crooked statue of the cavorting Roman goddess sporting a jar of wine holds, but THAT was the first sign that this day would be wackadoo.

We pulled into the house marked "Office" and I followed Uncle Bill.  Upon entering the door, we were greeted by 4 snarling Min Pins snapping at his heels. At first I thought we entered the wrong door as it appeared we sauntered into a private residence.  Nope!  The Funeral Director, dressed in a plaid shirt and dirty overalls, greeted us.

After a pit stop involving VERY careful and purposeful non contact with the toilet seat (Thank GOODNESS for regular attendance at boot camp and those cursed forward and reverse squats), we were directed to the chapel located beyond the house/ dog funeral parlour / office / Min Pin asylum.

A chapel?  Okay.  Tiny, with a small glass kiosk welcoming the Williams Family for Mr. Mike's funeral at 1:00 p.m. Inside....an altar, stained glass windows and ummmmm, Mr Mike.  Yeeeeek!  Yeeeek stands for yikes and eeeek combined - totally appropriate to utter when you enter a chapel and see a dead dog in a casket with a blanket and a teddy.  Okay, I admit it.  I whipped out my phone and tweeted.  Like a 16 yr old.  I may have even typed OMG!

Honestly, I think the whole viewing tradition for humans is sort of Creepy McCreepster.  But for dogs, it is even more weird.  Still, out of respect for Uncle Bill, I managed to mask the horrific/incredulous/snarky look threatening to erupt over my normally expressive face.  To Uncle Bill, this ritual is normal, important and necessary.  Come to find out, every dog he's ever loved and lost in his 70+ years is buried here at the Min Pin Memorial Park.

After the viewing and proper goodbyes, we followed the Funeral Director in his golf cart up to Uncle Bill's private dog cemetery.  There on row #24, which is marked on the sidewalk in red spray paint, we listened to the 15 second service conducted by the Min(pin)ister and then watched as they lowered the plastic casket containing the remains of Mr. Mike the girl Cocker Spaniel in the ground.  And I cried.  Well, because I did! It was a funeral after all.

 I sat in the car while Uncle Bill met with the Funeral Director to pick out a proper headstone.  Soon a text arrived from my little sister.  Earlier in the day, she really, really got a kick out of my discomfort in the whole affair.  Here is the text exchange between loving siblings:

Cheri:  "Taps sounding for the 4 legged friend."

 Susie:  "This was sad, but also funny.....I feel bad for laughing. But seriously!

Cheri:   "Just adding a little levity to this whole stinking situation.

Susie:    "And that is a gift from Mom. She has a wackadoo sense of humor. That is a wonderful legacy."

That's it!  That is why I spent the day as I did. Thanks, universe!  This day was a reminder of my mom and her wonderful, slightly irreverent, wacky sense of humor.  She HAD to have a slightly skewed sense of humor to endure five children, one dog, one raccoon, 4 cats and every stray kid who came to find refuge from their own crazy lives in her always open home.  Of those, there were many.....

Oh, Mom.  Over the years, we've endured some trouble when our snarky Hazelton selves laughed, mocked or grinned at solemn moments like weddings, grand poobah ceremonies,  secret sorority initiations and now dog funerals.  But for every person who found fault with this, there are 25 more who love us for it.   Because life IS wacky, and we take ourselves way too seriously sometimes.   There is always room for a little humor.

Thank you, Mama!  I love you for the gift of laughter, a sense of the ridiculous and the teensy bit of smart ass you gave to all of us.




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Pantyhose, Chic Filet, Body Scrub and Other Random Thoughts

My thoughts on pantyhose (and other random things, which result from a restless spirit wide awake at 3 a.m.):

Who wears them?  I am thinking possibly the stuffy crowd looking to flash mob Starbucks because they employ gay people.   90 Year old women living in Alaska where nothing grows; even yeasty little microbes which require an embarrassing trip to the doctor, or for the hardy do it yourself crowd, a furtive, nonchalant stroll down that "special aisle" dedicated to women at the CVS.

Come to think of it, why is it that strange men seem to populate this aisle on a regular basis?   WHY ARE YOU THERE?  LEAVE!  Let me buy whatever it is that I don't want to broadcast to the world that I have in a semi secret state of anonymity.  There is NOTHING  on this aisle you need.  You are not pregnant, ovulating, menstruating, yeasty or menopausal.   It's bad enough when the dope at the check out can't scan to save his life and asks for a price check on the loudspeaker.

And have you BEEN down the pantyhose aisle lately?   What used to take up a whole row is now reduced to a sad, single little display of plastic eggs begging to be harvested.   And they are seriously UGLY!  And expensive!  So you want me to plunk down $5.95 for a pair of hose in "Natural."   Seriously?   I don't recall ever seeing skin on any woman that is so shiny it could be seen  by astronauts looking down on Mama Earth from the space station.

Why is that strange men populate coffee shops?  Seriously!  "NO, I HAVE NEVER SEEN A FLYING SAUCER.  Thanks for inquiring.  I do sort of wish one would appear right now and beam me up.  Save me, Captain James T. Kirk! (The young maverick from the 60's, please!  The current version schilling cheap hotel rooms for Priceline need NOT apply.)

And old guys who can be my grandpa.  Ya'll are SO cute when you flirt.    I don't mind.  It makes me smile.  To the old dude in Encinitas who said he felt lucky he missed the light and schmoozed me with, "Honey, you have the most beautiful green eyes I have EVER seen. "  Well, that was just sweet.  Never mind that they are blue; it was still cute.  No, I won't go to dinner with you, but I appreciate that you still work your skilz, playa'.

And adorable fireman?  Yes, I did blow it the other day.  I am a dork.  My  25 year old cousin (twice removed ) who works at the coffee shop called me on it!  He shook his head at his 3rd cousin as he witnessed the following exchange:

AF: " It's REALLY hot."
Dorky Susie:  "Yes, it IS.  Well, see ya later."

You notice I wrote Chic Filet?  I did it on purpose!  Cuz this is MY blog!  That's how I roll.  Seriously, though....  Being fashion forward is taking a beating lately.  It's a chic filet of another kind.   Open toed shoes?  I AM A FAN! 

Open toed shoes are fashion forward, show off the $30 pedi we just had to endure while trying to ascertain whether the chick doing our toesies is talking about us in another language and are sooooo fun to wear.  That's all I gotta say about that. 

I HATE Chick Filet.  No, not the restaurant serving up crusty chicken sandwiches with a side of hate spew,  although you will never see me dine there.  I hate Chick Filet where mean females gang up on the innocent like rabid little chimpanzees in a Jane Goodall documentary.  Not all of us practice this cannabilistic display, so it distresses me when I witness it in all its rabid glory.

 May you a sprout gnarly, twisted hair from your left nipple 5 minutes before a date!  And STOP being mean!  Life can suck hard enough without your little contribution.  And stop picking on people who are different or less than perfect or frail and weak!   Be nice!  Resist peer pressure to act like vapid morons!  Go hang out and eat chicken with the pantyhose wearin'  haters and revel in how beautiful it is to be "normal.". Have a great, yeasty old time!

 I bought into to it for juuuuust about a second until I pulled back and remembered a little thing called loyalty and respect. And I remembered who I am.  Daddy Clovis always told me to remember the people who got me to the dance and make sure I stick with them like glue.  So I did.  I have to honor people and history and time.  And love.  Because love is important.   Love comes in a million different ways.  Honoring your past with someone is love in its purest, most beautiful form.  You Remind Me Who I AM!!!!!!

If acupuncture is really just the placebo effect, does it still work?  I mean, if you know that, does that negate its effectiveness?    What if the needles are dirty?  What if the needle sticker dude is just a washed up heroine addict pretending to be an accuprofessional?  These things keep me up at night!

Finally,  thanks for sticking with this rant all the way to the end.  I apologize.  Let me leave you with something useful.  Best body scrub ever:!!!! -  Kosher salt, olive oil, peppermint, vanilla and a dash of cinnamon. Your beautiful skin will be soft and feel great -  except if you have a papercut.