“Your reality, sir, is lies and balderdash and I’m delighted to say that I have no grasp of it whatsoever” ~ Terry Gilliam, from The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (movie)

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Friday afternoon, brilliantly sunny and cold, 33 degrees.

I actually feel like writing today, so I’ll work on tomorrow’s post since I already had today’s post ready to go. Quite an assorted collection.

Enjoy.


From funnymemes:

From memescomedy:

Hilarious:

From anxietyproblem:

Tillie used to do this with dog cookie boxes:

Love this from John Atkinson:

From ultrafacts:

Sooo tempting:

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“My real self wanders elsewhere, far away, wanders on and on invisibly and has nothing to do with my life.” ~ Hermann Hesse, from Siddhartha


“A cold grey morning—houses have a faraway look; a bluejay screams; imminent sunshine from east light up palely the eastsides of houses.” ~ Charles Burchfield, Journal entry 3 November 1917

Tuesday afternoon, partly cloudy, 52 degrees.

Happy New Year, everyone. Hope 2019 is safe, happy, and healthy for you.

Yesterday when I realized that I couldn’t gather my thoughts adequately to write, I spent many hours going through my drafts, pairing quotes and poem for future posts. I try not to repeat quotes or poem or music selections within posts, but after so many years, I’m certain that I’ve had some repeats inadvertently.

Tumblr is a great source for the quotes and poems that I use. Several of the people who I follow always post wonderful things that serve as a source of inspiration for me. But when I first began posting, before the advent of tumblr, I used to do quotes searches on subjects, like water, or spring, or whatever I was thinking about.

The internet has a plethora of quote sites, but I would caution any of you who choose to use these sites that the attributions are not always accurate. I always try to verify any quotes that I use so that I can be sure to list the correct work or individual from which the quote was taken. Goodreads is also a source for quotes, but again, as the site itself does not verify sources, anyone who belongs can post quotes, and I have found several that are inaccurate. Just a bit of housekeeping information

“My road, that I do not understand, leads me
Toward a blue, lost distance” ~ Hermann Hesse, from “Holiday Music in the Evening” (trans. James Wright)

We think that Tink is getting better slowly. Today, she managed to keep down a bit of mashed rice and chicken that Corey made. So far, the fluffy boy shows no signs of being sick, but both Tillie and Bailey are a bit lethargic today. They’ve had all of their shots, so they cannot get canine parvovirus (CPV), but we’re thinking that maybe they can get a mild form of a virus. At least, that’s what we’re hoping is the case.

The vet said that once a dog has had the virus, they will never get it again, so if we can just get her out of the woods, we’ll be okay. Here’s hoping. There’s a lot of hoping going on in our house right now.

Dallas says that he vaccinated all of the puppies at six weeks, so if that’s accurate, Maddy cannot get the virus. The most interesting part of all of this is how the older dogs, as well as the male cat Ash are treating Tink. Maddy has been seen curling around her as she sleeps. Ash approached her very slowly and licked her, and neither Tillie nor Bailey have growled at her since she came home. The older girls are impatient with the ongoing puppy frolicking between Maddy and fluffy boy (no name seems to stick to him; it’s the strangest thing), but they all seem to know that Tink is sick.

Animals are amazing.

“And only the wildest of the forest creatures continued to hear the echo of a despairing, tortured wail in the soft whisper of the wind.” ~ Diane Hoh, from The Accident

It’s now almost four hours since I first began this post. At first, I thought that I had it in me, but apparently not. I don’t really know what to say, other than we’re taking it slowly, hoping no one else gets sick, working with the puppy, and kind of ignoring the whole idea of holidays.

Obviously the stress of such a sick animal is taxing, in many ways. I just try not to think about all of the implications, and focus instead on the good: watching Maddy and the fluffy boy have play fights; watching Tink sleep soundly on the couch, hoping that the sleep brings her rest and energy.

You might think me extreme for this focus on my dogs, and perhaps I am, but truthfully, I do not care. They are our family for now. They bring me great joy and much needed company. I cannot imagine any of these animals deliberately breaking my heart, and so I will care for them with everything that I have.

Perhaps tomorrow will allow me to write more.

Peace.


Music by Nirvana, “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” (Unplugged version)


Today’s poem is by someone I don’t know much about; I found her on tumblr: Ingeborg Bachmann. For more information on her life and work, you can visit this very good article on Alejandra de Argos.

[Everything is lost, the poems first]

Everything is lost, the poems first,
then sleep, then after that the day
then everything else, what belonged to the day
and what belonged to night, then when nothing
more could be lost, more was lost, and then more,
until there was less than nothing, not even myself,
and there really was nothing more.

Time to retreat to an inner hinterland
with all the promised years and pictured places
still before one’s eyes, where the earth
no longer exists nor the shame, far
back when there is still space, open stretches
covered with doves, silent and bright beneath
the talon, within calling range of him,
the arrival, the silencer.

For the silence, there is desolation
with its perceivable web
that softly spins its madness
until it creates its glass hotel.

~ Ingeborg Bachmann (trans. Peter Filkins)

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

marshawn-lynch-nfl-super-bowl-xlix-seattle-seahawks-press-conference1-850x560
Marshawn Lynch at NFL Super Bowl Press Conference

Friday afternoon. Drizzle and cold, 47 degrees.

Corey arrived home safely yesterday. No word on when he will be called back. I never thought I would wish for oil prices to skyrocket . . .

Bad night last night—too wired to sleep, and the dogs were feeding off that anxiety by announcing a need to go out pretty much once an hour. In between, I was seized with a vicious migraine, and then the ensuing body-itching from the pain medication. Today I plan to do a whole lot of nothing after spending two days cleaning a house that wasn’t really dirty, which didn’t stop me from taking the bottom of the vacuum apart to pull strings from the roller (love that my Dyson doesn’t have any belts). That’s just how I get once I go into overdrive.

Ah, the sweet, sweet joys of my life . . .

More later. Peace.

This week’s headline:

“I’m just here so I won’t get fined.” ~ Marshawn Lynch’s Super Bowl Press Conference

As Jon Stewart pointed out, Lynch was threatened with a ridiculous $500k fine if he didn’t show and a possible other fine for wearing the wrong hat, yet the NFL does little to nothing when it comes to the serious infractions, you know, like domestic violence:

“How is it that this guy is facing international drug cartel penalty money, but the owners and commissioner of the league have no obligation to address stadium financing shenanigans or concussions or domestic violence policies?” ~ Jon Stewart, “The Daily Show” (29 January 2015)

Shakespeare’s tragedies by body count:

Diagramming my life:

Dr. James Barry was a woman:

James Miranda Stuart Barry was a military surgeon in the British Army. After graduation from the University of Edinburgh Medical School, Barry served in India and Cape Town, South Africa. By the end of his career, he had risen to the rank of Inspector General in charge of military hospitals. Although Barry lived his adult life as a man, he was born a female and was named Margaret Ann Bulkley. In his travels he not only improved conditions for wounded soldiers, but also the conditions of the native inhabitants. Among his accomplishments was the first caesarean section in Africa by a British surgeon in which both the mother and child survived the operation.

Well, how could I not include this?

See this? This is not how my dogs would help:

They would either sit on the extended part of the tape measure or take the whole thing and run away . . .

Too perfect . . .

And oh how I wish so many times that I would have been able to say and do something like this:

See—I freaking told you . . .

Things that can happen at Wal-Mart:

“You don’t think that’s a lot of red for a child’s bedroom? We don’t want it to look like the Amityville Horror kill room or anything.” ~ The Ugly Volvo

I have to share this post from The Ugly Volvo with you. I read Goodnight Moon to Olivia every time she spends the night here. And I also read this story to all of my children when they were small. But this is one of the funniest deconstructions of this story I have ever come across. It’s long, so I’m only including the first few, but trust me, you need to click here and read it in its entirety.


 

All of my Issues With the “Goodnight Moon” Bedroom

I’ve read Goodnight Moon almost every night for the past two years. It’s a wonderful book which my son enjoys. Here are some of my issues with the bedroom depicted in it.
aa goodnight moon 11. The Size of the Bedroom
Nice bedroom and/or place to possibly hold the 2024 Olympics

This bedroom is enormous. There is no one, I think, who has not noticed this. As someone who has lived in apartments only slightly larger than “a little toy house,” it’s mildly vexing that this bedroom is the size of a banquet hall in Downton Abbey.

This little toy house would rent out for $2500 a month in Manhattan (not including utilities)

2. The Little Toy house.
This little toy house would rent out for $2500 a month in Manhattan (not including utilities)This little toy house would rent out for $2500 a month in Manhattan (not including utilities)

This is not that little of a toy house. Not only could the rabbit easily fit inside the “little toy house,” the little toy house also has working electricity. Why are these rabbits so civilized? Is this some f**ked up Watership Down sequel???

The color scheme we're going for is "exploded paint factory."

3. This Just-Discovered Transcript of a Conversation Had by the Interior Decorators
The color scheme we’re going for is “exploded paint factory.”The color scheme we’re going for is “exploded paint factory.”

“So what color have we decided on for the upstairs child’s bedroom?”

“Which child’s bedroom?”

“The enormous one. The one with the expansive tomato-colored floor.”

“I was thinking for that room maybe a dark green?”

“Really? Dark green? You don’t think maybe dark green walls with a tomato-colored floor is a bit much?”

“No, it’ll look amazing. We can break up the monotony of the color with some dark green and yellow striped curtains.”

“That’s an amazing idea. On non-matching red and yellow spearhead curtain rods? Do you think a tiger skin rug would be overkill?”

“For a young child’s room? No. Not at all. ”

 

Sunday afternoon . . .

 

“But, of course, mermaids were always terrifying. With the exception of the Little Mermaid of the Hans Christian Andersen tradition, they would take your soul. And fairies were never things that people embraced — they were unknowable, dangerous, capricious. They could cause real trouble for you.” ~ Neil Gaiman, on the Royal Mail Mythical Creatures stamps

Sunday late afternoon. Partly cloudy and mild, 55 degrees.

Today sharing Neil Gaiman‘s write-ups for the Royal Mail’s Mythical Creatures stamps, with artwork by Dave McKean. The stamps came out a few years ago, but I thought it was a nice bit of fairy tale magic for the afternoon:

Giants

If it were not for the giants, Britain would look very different. In the dawn days they feefifofummed across the land, picking up rocks and throwing them at other giants in friendly rivalry, or alone they would break mountains, crush rocks into causeways, leave henges and stone seats to mark their passing.

The giants were big, but not bright. They were outsmarted by clever boys named Jack and fell from beanstalks or were tricked to death. They died, but not all of them are dead.

The remaining giants sleep, lost in deep slow dreams, covered in earth and trees and wild grass. Some have clouds on their shoulders or long men carved on their sides. We see them from the windows of cars and tell each other that from some angles they look almost like people.

Even giants can only sleep for so long. Do not make too much noise the next time you walk in the hills.

Unicorns

Nobody remembers who sent the first King of Scotland a unicorn. They are long-lived creatures, after all. The Kings of Scotland were proud of owning a unicorn, and left it to run, tangle-maned and alone, across the stark highlands, an ivory flash against the heather.

And then James VI got the news from the south and he sent a maiden into the hills. She sat and waited until it came and placed its head in her lap, then she bridled it with a silver bridle and walked it, skittish and straining, to the King.

The royal procession was made all the more exciting by the presence of the fabulous beast at the head. And then they were in London, and the Tower rose before them.

The unicorn was led into its stall. It scented the animal, caged across the way, and heard it roar before it saw the golden mane, the tawny eyes. The only lion in England was caged in the Tower, beside the only unicorn. The artists placed them on each side of the crown.

Two hundred years later, the unicorn’s horn in the Tower was valued at 20,000 guineas; but now even that is lost to us.

Mermaids

She keeps the souls of the drowned in lobster pots that she finds on the seabed. They sing, the captive souls, and they light her way home beneath the grey Atlantic.

She had sisters once, but long ago they shed their tails and scales and stepped gingerly ashore to live with fishermen in their dry-land cottages. Now she’s lonely, and not even the souls of the dead are company.

Walk the sea’s edge in winter and you may see her, too far away, waving to you. Wave back and she will take you down to her world, deep below the waves, and show you cold wonders, and teach you the songs of the merfolk, and the lonely ways beneath the sea.

“How important are free speech and satire? Important enough that people will murder others to silence the kind of speech they don’t like.” ~ Neil Gaiman, Twitter

Friday leftovers

This week’s headline:

“To any local Florida officials who refuse to perform these ceremonies: You live in a giant cockroach choking-hazard infested, Hooters-dining, reptile-abusing Everglades-draining, election-ruining, stripper-motorboating, ball-sweat scented, genitalia-shaped, 24-hour-mugshot factory.” ~ Jon Stewart on some Florida counties’ decision not to perform courthouse marriages, “The Daily Show” (15 January 2015)

Um . . . come again?

I don’t think this was what Big Brother had in mind:

Needs no explanation . . .

How cool is this?

Marie Curie: One of the baddest of the original BAMF:

Wasabi is a miracle food as far as I’m concerned. Nothing opens my sinuses faster, and after a good crying jag, wasabi allows me to breathe . . . just saying . . .

                    

Music by The Neighborhood, “Let it Go” (no, not that one)