Nature Lover

We rounded the corner of the running track in Quannah Parker park and much to my amazement, I spotted a coyote - a BIG one- hunting in the field. Yippee was the first to notice the motionless canine, watching and waiting to pounce upon some unsuspecting vole. He quivered with anticipation. As soon as the coyote scored his little rodent treat, Yippee leapt to full speed and was after his distant relative, just closing the gap as the hunter fled into the forest. I was stunned. A coyote, at 1:30 in the afternoon, on a bright and delightful Sunday. A Mummy, I supposed. Perhaps rustling up the grub for her early pups. Yippee was disappointed that his attempts at contact were not met with more enthusiasm, and Dittles gallumphed behind wondering what all the excitement was, as she couldn't see over the ruined brown winter grasses. Chelsea, our little birder, snubbed the chase as far too banal - fowl were much more challenging as well as good eating.

I hate living in all this urbanity where the sight of mating hawks and feeding coyotes is a rarity. I'm ready for the farm, Jed!

Mid-Term #2

Completed.

Three hours of self-editing prose now submitted with no recourse.

This is grad school.

Well... It's about time!

I was scared that if I wrote about this, it would all vanish in a POOF! of djinn smoke. However, after 4 months (lunar, that is) I guess I should introduce you to MrTuck.

Despairing of ever meeting someone with my own quirky interests, superior intelligence and prose skills, and a true gentleman; I posted an incredibly flippant profile on Match.com as a farewell flip-off. Lo, and Behold!, 24 hours after posting, I receive a flippant response... and the game was on. Perhaps I had niggled the Fates just enough for my thread to be loosed to the karmic winds. Maybe I just gave up, let go, and what I wanted came right back to me.

Happy, Happy... Joy, Joy!!!

Dillying & Dallying

No, not dead. Although I suspect that for the few, very few, who visit my blog, there was little if any concern. And, since I considered this initially a publicly private space for my own bizarreness, I'll just carry on with that in mind.

To recap:

looks as if I haven't posted since Spuper-Bowl. A delightful time was had by all and the custard-y key lime pie looked rather snotty, but tasted just fine. Since then it's been mad dashes to school, work, parents' house, Mr. Tuck's abode and too brief encounters with my pillow.

I was whisked away to New Orleans for valentine's weekend and ate myself into a stupor. I was pregnant with hollandaise, wine and the thrill of cajun environs. The few viewable pictures taken can be seen here.

There have been other thoughts, observations and ramblings that I have been pondering, but I will torture you by stringing them out over the next several posts.

Ciao!

Knows and Knows-Not...

Spuper-Bowl Sunday was typical. Frends arrived, friends hugged, other friends arrived later, food was plentiful... icky queso, guac, chicken fried steak revived from my Grand-Dad's skillet, Key Lime pie lifted from my Mom (my version was a bit custard-y), and discussion was rife. I still marvel at the fact that one of my bestest friends is so incredibly intelligent (stats, trivia, general knowledge [ and if he is reading, yes, you most always beat me at Triv]), but clings to a creationist faith while working in a scientific venue. Now, we all have our dicotomies and I guess at base the conflict twixt Creationism vs. Evolutionism seems a valid argument. I disagree... vehemently.

What we have here (and he'll appreciate this) is a mock battle of Faith vs. Science. Creationism, tautologically speaking, is a faith-based belief, while Evolution is a scientific theory. The two are not, let me repeat, NOT comparable. How so you ask...or shriek?? Fact is folks, one is independent of the other and ne'er the twain shall meet 'cause it is just not proselytized. What I mean to impart is that the age-old dilemma of Hominid vs. Adam just doesn't hold water 'cause they are two different disciplines. There should no more be animosity between "C" and "E" than there should be between... well, there are two no more disparate subjects than these. Hence the immense controversy. "What we have here is a failure to communicate"... a basic inability to acknowledge the right of each to his own.

AND, by virtue of that, an inability to accept our fellow human (in all his evolutionary divinity, or divine evolution) as just that... a FELLOW. MMMmmmmmm, we fail miserably as a global community to realize that it is not how we came to be, but how we ARE that will shape our now.

It's just a thought...

Is Cancer Better?

As a last ditch effort to treat the ongoing skin rash (2 years) that has been plaguing my hands and now my body, my doctor has prescribed this...

Bars and Measures

Last night I attended the symphony - the program was Handel's "Water Music", followed by a Bruch violin concerto accompanied by a young mistress of the fiddle, and post intermission, the Symphony No. 2 by Elgar. The Handel was a delightful way to start. Lilting and light, it wafted through the Meyerson Hall inspring thoughts of drifting down the Thames in Edwardian barges amongst royalty. A short piece, it was said to have been requested by George I to be played three times during his day's seafaring.

Bruch's violin concerto, an exceptionally emotional piece, was performed the our guest, Leila Josefawiscz (sp? - trying to do it from memory). What an interesting bit of physiognomy she was - small, wonderfully shaped head complete with pert nose, a moue of a mouth and sandy blond shaggy hair; however, continuing to her body, things changed radically. Athletic and rugged, she stood and played with legs splayed, body jerking with the effort of extracting the whines from her instrument, but a very masculine morphology. And then to her hands, delicate, fluttering and gracile, they danced the bow across the strings at times with vivd ferocity, at others with lithesome tenderness. Not only did her expressions mimic the varied emotional scale of the composition, but her morphology was a physical representation of the range in tone of the music. Very interesting.

Unfortunately, the second half was a wild and busy piece of which I could not catch a string to tow me through its swirling melodies. The crowd fidgeted as the piece crescendo-ed and receded, awaiting the finale to this long and demanding aural spectacle. At last the final squeak was drawn from the bows and we were relieved.

Always in Threes...

Isn't that what geriatrics say about events? You know, those events that are usually so stunning you are left, ears bleeding, lying in the aisle of your life and no one to help you to the emergency clinic??

I just had a "three". Shame, devastation, re-evaluation of all that has come before and all that may come after. Reeling with mental mortification and spiritual flagellation, I am spent. And, nothing but good ol' reliable, steady and measurable time will heal these wounds. I want to prove myself now. To be re-affirmed of my commitment to a better me... but patience must prevail. That commodity of which I am so distractingly short.

I hate waiting.

Another Schmaltzy Quizlet...

What Type of Parrot Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

To Blow, Or Not to Blow!

Most of us work in an office, with a company, for somebody else, and with co-workers. It is only the valiant few who work from their homes and are blessedly exempt from the trauma of the confines of "The Office".

Working for a close relative in a small family-owned business, the stress of close quarters is amplified. No escape to the "break room", no seclusion in the "copy room", and no fleeing from the dimness that threatens to engulf me. If I were more "zen", I guess I would breathe for a bit, contemplate my navel and feel my frustration drift away into the ether like so much incense smoke. However, I am NOT "zen" and I am most definitely not even "Zen-like" at this particular juncture. In fact, you might say that I am anti-"zen", with a GMAT (MBA entrance exam) looming large tomorrow, Christmas menacing me from close range, Mom's b-day on Sunday, and the usual daily stresses giggling like evil imps under the toadstool.

Sooooooooo, what I do not need or want or even should have to tolerate, are the aimless shufflings and idiotic grins of my all male co-working staff as they revel in the absence of the boss - swilling coffee, cackling wildly at eachother's sexist jokes, absently answering the telephone only to relegate the proceedings to a dusty bin in the back recesses of their teeny, weeny little helpless brains. Meanwhile, I, the faithful servant (not even self-righteous at all), slave away in the warehouse (40 degrees cold) counting, answer inquiries that only a bacterium could not discover for himself, and attempt to maintain a semblance of normalcy until the whistle blows.

Now I have wasted my brief lunch period on you goobs... off again to the dungeon!

The Flash

Brains. Involved in the most mundane of daily routines, and the brain decides to have one of those eye-popping, breath-stopping epiphanies that bring you to your knees and make your heart feel as if it will burst. Life is illuminated by a cosmic light through which you can clearly see that all of the trappings of our material world are merely that - trappings. Preventing us from experiencing and realizing the fundamental precepts of this simple existence.

This morning unconditional love was defined for me and another piece of the puzzle has become complete.

Another Cheezy Profile...

You're the Fashion Plate!
Take What sort of Hipster are you? today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Personality Test Generator.

You know what's "in" and what's "out," and you give those trends the finger! You wear what you want and get damn respect for it. You still own pants you wore in high school. Your hair is five different shades of hip. You make it cool to shop at Goodwill, the Gap, and even Walmart. You hang out in crowded bars and restaurants, but don't care if anyone is even looking at you (though they are). You're swank and friendly and at ease just about anywhere. You're well-liked and talked about. The world wants to be just like you.

Communication vs. "ANAL"-yzation, and Coinkidinks

Just this morning I was discussing the value of open communication in relationships - not just romantic, but familial, friendship and coworker as well. And as "coinkidink" would have it, I checked one of my regular blog reads and today's post examined the "thinking too much" syndrome that some "anal"-yzers encounter when faced with relationships. Then, being the "anal"-yzer that I am, as well as embarking on better communication techniques, I concluded that whether cogitating or relating, "anal"-yzing is just a severe and inhibiting form of communication. In English, what I am trying to convey is that communication at its most honest and straightforward is the comlier cousin of analysis at its most OCD. For many years I wondered why my relationships floundered even though I had a marvelous vocabulary and the intense counseling to back it up. However, I failed to recognize that I was not only analyzing my communication but "anal"-yzing it and ending up communicating very little and expecting perfect results from what I thought were very detailed communiqués.

Realization is the first step, practice is the scary, "go-out-of-your-comfort-zone" skip, and expectation fulfillment is the leap. I'm trying it, and it's working out more grandly than I could ever have imagined.

Updates to follow.

Complaint Department

Sometimes, specifically at this time, life is just too good for me to be posting. My job fits me perfectly, my family keeps encouraging me to gain weight, I have three living grandparents, a fourth date (with the same person) is pending, the Goose is running like a charm,... what do ya say to all that?? At forty, I look like I'm thirty, feel like I'm in highschool and have the wisdom of fifty (give or take). Mostly I write here when I am examining something, whether internal/external, emotional or physical, however there is precious little that bears close scrutiny just now. Perhaps I should be looking over my shoulder for that big glob of pookie hurtling towards my head. Or maybe I should just ride my happy wave and accept that I've rather got it together. Lord knows it will all start unravelling soon, but for the nonce I can't think of a sinlge thing to bitch about other than the fact that I remain the most UN-photogenic person in the galaxy.

Kiss, kiss and toodles