This week: fruit juice and watchful cats. Next week: fruit juice and watchful cats and surgery.
You Know You’re Nobody’s
Category Archives: our furry overlords
I Understand About the Food
This morning, I opened an envelope at work and found something totally unexpected: a thank you note from the family we collected for during the unnamed university’s anti-hunger project. We have not had any contact with the families and worked with the understanding that our efforts helped people we won’t know, but here was an adorable drawing in the hand of a tiny artist of five snowmen with initials of family members. My icy heart melted. Later, because I am a conniving thinkerizer, I cornered the head of the libraries and told her all about it in heart-rending detail until I was sure she would never allow anyone to cancel the project.
Georg put out the word that I can’t be left to my imagination and yarnworkers have responded in a big way.
So I Can’t Go Into Town
Sweetpea and friend regale us from atop the mantle. Art is life, life is art, cats is cats.
Night Long Ruffled the Waves of Dew
Preparations for the surgery started several years ago, but tonight, Pete and I drove over to the blood center, where they drew a pint of blood to perk me up later. Presently, I am most flat.
In Our Minds And Our Toes
Georg’s friend sent six skeins for the cat blanket project. Thank you, friend! Georg is also making sure I have plenty to do after surgery later this month because Georg knows verrrry bad things happen when I fold my hands politely.
My favorite thing about this picture is the black background is a six pound pussycat.
So We Can Stop Repeating
This rag rug for my stepmommy and friend Darla is Drusy-approved.
Hey La Hey La Hey Lo
Though Sweetpea is sanguine, Drusy is unimpressed with my use of art supplies she could be napping in. Have I no shame? No, in fact, I do not.
See the World Spinning Round
Ladybugs: friends or crunchy snack?
The horror of a massacre of first graders and their teachers – children and women – was immediately compounded by the loud and persistent call by an apparently endless parade of crazed white men for more guns in schools. Before the bodies had even been removed from the school, white men slammed teachers and unions for the wholesale killing, blamed contraception, blamed everyone but gun culture and mental illness. Columbine was thirteen years ago and I was no longer interested in school shootings because Americans were playing them on TV as spectacles and I wasn’t playing along; but this latest crime brought us a secondary horror. One would think that when women and children lay in pools of blood, men, ultimately our partners in the enterprise of living, would lay down their arms to take us in theirs. Instead, all across the electronically connected United States, white men have chosen to hang on to their guns.
This is not just a gun problem. This is not just a mental illness problem. This is also a profound disconnection of white men from women and children, one I still can’t really believe I’m seeing. It’s shocking and, somewhere in my gut, something has changed. I now wonder if women and children should have safe towns or even states where men are not allowed, and if that is the only way we can live in relative peace and safety.
Tomorrow Will Be A Tree
Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she mails out your package. I nip to correct bad behavior.
All I Want To Say To
La la la la da doo doo doo da da da da LEONARD BERNSTEIN! What the –
Could it be…?
AAAAAAAH!
SWEETPEA!
Poor Impulse Control 