Smoke gets in your eyes. Or between Pete and the city.
Author Archives: Tata
I’m Up Before the Sun
This is Mom. Isn’t she pretty? She sure is. That’s her great-grandson looking mighty photogenic. For the sake of clarity, let’s call him “Spanky” – or, as Daria pronounces it, “‘Panky”. Try it out: Hey, Panky, let’s go get tattoos! or Panky, that’s my walrus! I like it. So there we have Mom and Panky. When I was a kid, I calculated I’d be 36 at the turn of the millenium and I recall feeling horrified that I’d be SO OLD! Now, Sophia Loren is gorgeous after 70. It’s a different life than it might be if we didn’t expect to live long enough to know and love our great-great-grandchildren, which privilege brings with it an increased responsibility to our present and our future.
On the other hand, since my life expectancy is about another forty years it’s pretty embarrassing that I haven’t planned – say – dinner. I’m working on it!
But I Was Only Dreaming
I’ve had a splitting headache most of the day.
Pete made us a fantastic dinner of turkey tenderloin, fingerling potatoes and sauteed snap peas. I’d baked a loaf of whole wheat bread that turned out pretty well, which we can attribute to the brand new food processor. It’s not like I suddenly aquired the magical yummy breadmaking skillz. Nope! So tastiness must be chalked up to the shiny shiny new machine. Whooosh! Nice crust!
Nothing You And I Won’t Do
It’s New Year’s Day. I’ve been thinking a lot about how I do stuff, however small, for the common good and urge you to do stuff for the common good. It’s possible to assume all kinds of things are wrong or would be productive and make stupid, humiliating mistakes with the best of intentions. Kali knows years ago I threw benefit events where none were wanted or especially needed because I felt the want and need to do something. In my old age and sloth, I slow down and listen to people who actually know what they’re doing. Case in point: the blogosphere has put a great deal of effort into successful fundraising for Pretty Bird Woman House. I didn’t have a spare nickel to my name, so I sat that one out. I didn’t think I could help. A few days ago, Melissa pointed out a detail that had escaped my notice: the house needs stuff. I slapped my forehead. Of course it does.
Material Donations Also Needed
In addition to monetary donations for the house fund, PBWH is in need of the following items for women seeking emergency shelter: towels and washcloths, twin and full size sheets, toothbrushes and toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner, women’s hygiene items, diapers of all sizes, baby wipes, first aid kit items, and analgesics such as ibuprophen and aspirin.
Since winter is approaching, there is a need for new or gently used winter clothing for women and children as well.
UPS, FedEx and DHL will not ship to P. O. boxes. If you use one of those services, use the building address:
Pretty Bird Woman House
302 Sale Barn Rd.
McLaughlin SD 57642If you are using the USPS, send your package to the address at the top of the page.
It also turns out that the shelter specifically needs NEW sweat suits, underwear and bras for women who have been sexually assaulted, since they often must leave their clothes behind at the hospital as part of the evidence gathering process. Recently a hospital released a woman in only her hospital gown and blanket. Wow, that one has to change doesn’t it!
PBWH would also like to offer victims of sexual violence information on coping with sexual assault, but does not have the budget for this. An inexpensive yet good booklet is available for $2.50 ea. at http://www.tsnelson.com. If you would like to contribute by buying some of these pamplets, that would be greatly appreciated as well (there is a minimum order of 50).
Thank you!
At the beginning of a new year, one thing we all have is extra stuff. I’m not materialistic and I despise shopping, but I opened my lingerie drawer and found five bras with tags still on. I have extra coats I’ve been lugging around. I have sheets and towels that I don’t love above and beyond what I truly need. These things weigh on me. Their presence does not enrich my life. Yesterday, I called my sisters and asked them to go through their closets and their children’s closets for things gently or never worn but no longer needed. We each have separate social structures that involve the re-circulation of clothing and household items. In this case, I asked them to give me what they don’t need and I’d send it to South Dakota.
Tomorrow, I’ll send two big boxes out. I will never miss these things, no matter how I acquired or once loved them. I feel lighter already, especially knowing that what space I clear out the universe will fill with what I actually need. I’m hoping for artichoke dip.
People in need come in all shapes and sizes. I am sometimes overwhelmed by the problems we face, and that we absolutely must face them, but that sense is out of proportion. I can’t solve the world’s problems. What I can do is be a connection between something stuck and in excess and the place where that stuff is needed. You can do it, too. Take five things out of your closet and send them to Pretty Woman Bird House, if you are a woman. Then ask your friends to do the same. Money is tight everywhere, but all it will cost to help is postage, and probably less than $20.
It would be easy to say, “What about the homeless or abused where I live? Don’t they deserve help? Shouldn’t I help them first?” It’s not a competition. No. No, it’s not. Recently, I asked you to consider helping the good people at Vandenberg Air Force Base and I discussed my little project with a few of my co-workers, who at first did not seem receptive. They didn’t share their concerns with me, so I have no idea what they were. Just before Christmas, one came to me and told me what happened. I almost burst into tears. See: this woman discussed my little project with her granddaughter who works at Conair. Her department pitches in and their boss matches the group contribution. This year, they chose to use the money to buy stuff for deployed soldiers from Fort Dix in a project parallel to mine. So at first I worried that a particular set of soldiers might lose out because I hadn’t articulated their need properly – then I realized a large group of people had just recognized one way they could contribute to the common good that had never occurred to them before.
So. Tell me how you’d like to start this brilliant new year.
Be With You Night And Day
That Will Grow And Bloom In You
This morning, Miss Sasha called from the hospital, where she was most displeased with the cuisine. “Mommy,” she opined, “They’ve got me on a liquid diet. Herbal tea, apple juice, Jell-O. Also: the baby was born at 1:30 by caesarian. I hate my doctor. Grandma and Papa are at a wine tasting and promised to smuggle in wine that wasn’t pre-tasted. Call everyone and tell them the news.”
“What,” I asked, “That Grandma and Papa are on a liquid diet, too?”
“No, that I could use a pizza. DUH!” So I called Trout and Siobhan, who have been Miss Sasha’s mad aunties, are fully on board with my plan to raise this new kid with frequent help from Archie McPhee – because who doesn’t need itty bitty rubber chickens? – and wield credit cards with abandon. I made a few more phone calls, then made the one that made my day.
Tata: Guess what! Miss Sasha had the baby!
Grandpa: Everyone’s good? She’s all right?
Tata: Yup! Everyone’s very happy!
Grandpa: That’s wonderful!
Tata: Hey, Grandpa! I’m a grandma!
Grandpa: You’re a – [wild laughter] Hey, Grandma!
I’ll drink to that.
An Ace Card Coming Down On the Rocks
Friday Cat Blogging: Caturday Editiion
These are the pussycats of my neighbors. The little red one is named Finn. I can’t remember the name of the giant gray kitty, which is embarrassing. She adores me!
No, really! She loves me to pieces.
For the past week, I’ve been off work at the unnamed university, where offices are closed. I really needed a break from the confines of the office, where one of my co-workers is deeply depressed and has been for some time. I tried talking to her about depression and how it makes us feel helpless, angry and anti-social. Caught in the feedback loop that is believing something is wrong but nothing can be done about it, she actually argued with me that everything would go on as it had. The best I could do was introduce the topic into conversation, so when I had, I walked away. A minute or two later, the woman who sits next to my depressed co-worker gently put a xerox down on my desk: an article called Adversity Has Been a Familiar Force in My Life. Thus, we trap the depressed in the prison of our denial because their illness calls our health into question.
The family store has been another matter, as Anya and I sometimes rang up purchases and gift-wrapped, as fast as we could for hours on end leading up to Christmas. Since then, the store has been a little more normal. I’m getting ready to go there now. Topaz and Drusy are being very helpful. They’re napping in the other room, as opposed to untying my sneakers as fast as I tie them – unless they’re not sleeping. Pete suspects they’re building a rocketship behind the headboard. I keep saying nobody’s that neat, and I’d certainly be vacuuming up little tools.
The large gray cat used to be part of a matched set of large gray cats. They weren’t just large. They were LARGE. When you have two cats at a combined weight of about 50 pounds you have a reason to fear for your china. And the china cabinet. Fortunately, they were mild-mannered and never nabbed the car keys. Last winter, the other large gray cat took the dirt nap, and recently, Finn came to live with my neighbors, who dote on him endlessly. They described him as a kitten but if he’s a kitten I’ll eat my shoes. I’ll keep my wager to myself, though: Finn’s got it made, and I’m not the kind to let the cat out of the bag.
You See Your Gypsy
The building on the right was designed by I.M. Pei.
Yeah. In town, he could’ve gotten much better drugs.
Sitting In A Nest Of Bad Men
Pete’s a far better photographer than I am, so when I took a pile of pictures from the spot above the river I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t get the city in the frame. Ah well. My city, shrouded in fog, disappears before one’s very eyes. The city I loved is gone, anyway, a victim of corporate greed, and my first clue that I should leave was when the artists moved away. I held on, and my city disappeared. For the last few months, it’s been on my mind that this was the place Dad was young, and where life once held such promise.
Ah, a person can believe in the soul of a place even as the lies pile up – not in New Brunswick, but in some places, yeah. Yesterday, Pete and I drove around in circles on Route 9 until we found the right Shore road to take us to the Jackson Mills Mall. We wanted a giant food processor as our present to each other. Christmas has been exhausting physically and emotionally; fortunately, the one song guaranteed to make me burst into tears played on the PA system at Le Grand Chef. Note: smart shoppers give you plenty of room to browse when you’re a soggy mess.
Years ago, the way I coped with losing Morgan was to act as if he’d died, and now he’s engaged to be married to someone I’ve always liked. It’s as if my crystal ball exploded. Pete and I got a really great deal on the 12-cup Kitchenaid.





