"On the other hand, I think cats have Asperger's. Like me, they're very smart. And, like me, they sometimes simply need to be left alone."
This is the face of a spoiled cat. Can you see the spoil? LOL. On the other hand, this is also the face of my child Dylan. Ask any cat enthusiast about whether there is any real difference between little boy humans, and little boy cats, and they will tell you, NOPE. Little boy humans and little boy cats are pretty much the same thing. Both are willful. Both have NO problem informing you of how completely wrong you are. Both species will fight with their brothers, out of a need to play and engage, and out of a need to express how completely pissed off their brothers can make them! LOL. Ask me sometime about the HUGE mistake I made over a little blue catnip mouse, that nearly lead to WWIII. No kidding!
I never had children, well, I never had human children. I was pregnant once, I lost the baby before I even knew I was pregnant. I never had time to become emotionally attached to the child. I had a very easy miscarriage, not emotionally speaking, but physically. A lot of blood, but no pain. I didn't even realize that was what it was, until a couple days later. After that event Alan and I didn't make any conscience decisions to not have children, I think we thought we might one day, but it wasn't really a priority. Here I am, a couple months away from my 51st birthday, and I can say that these furry little men meet all the needs I have maternally speaking. And I know one day I will meet my child in a different light then this one, but for now Elvis is keeping them filled in on all things mommy and daddy.
My furbabies love me. The need me, and they allow me to know that. I have someone to take care of and guide, although these two seemed to have come with the manuals on how to raise a proper human, so in actuality, I think it might be me who is being raised. I know I learn things from them all the time, and I can admit it! Here's the thing... what makes these two little boys right for me, is the fact that I will never have to get a call about a school shooting! Or a call about my child having gone missing. Or go through the worry of him coming to me one day and telling me he had been hurt by someone in such a way that he could only heal so just far but never completely.
Anyway, these two young men needed us, because of their individual stories. Both lost their feline mommies, but I was more than willing to shower them with love. And look at Dylan... I might be a little partial, but isn't he the most beautiful tabby cat? He isn't overly affectionate, but he doesn't mind being hugged for as long as I need to. He gets a deep brushing each night before I go to bed, and he purrs so deep that he sounds like a monster truck! His favorite thing in the world is to have his belly rubbed! Sometimes, when he is feeling silly, he will make an O formation with his mouth which means he is about the playfully attack. It's the funniest, cutest thing ever. I must do a video soon so I can share with you.
Sorry, I know I am going on and on here. I suppose I should put a sign at the top of the blog that reads...
WARNING: HOPELESS CAT LADY LIVES HERE. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!
LOL. But really, isn't he cute?
Alan and I are thinking about sending a photo into I Can Has Cheeseburger. Without telling you which one is Alan's and which one is mine, care to help us choose the best one?
Dylan is a very spoiled cat, and I admit, I am the one who spoiled him! I am spoiled to, Alan is the one who spoiled me. Hendrix is spoiled, but that was both Alan and I together. Alan is spoiled, but that came from Hendrix, and me... a little. LOL. Okay, we are just a bunch of spoiled people, but there is so much love and life in this house and I wouldn't have it any other way!
Mood: Happy... still sick! But not happy I am sick!
I am sick. It's a bad cold. I hurt all over... bad. I seem to get two or three hours out of the day when I am not in spasms of coughing, or doubled over in pain from pulled muscles in my back, legs, upper arms and chest.
My previous cat, Elvis, was a caregiver. He took care of Alan and we knew that his word was it! Every evening of his life, he would come into the living room at approximately 10:00 P.M. and stare a hole through us, until we got up, turned off the TV and went to bed. We would generally all get in bed together by 10:15 P.M.
After we lost Elvis to cancer, and prior to meeting our two new babies, I wondered what it would be like to not have someone care that much about the amount of sleep I got? I knew it would be just one more reason as to why my life would never be the same again!
Who knew? Hendrix was the first of the two new kitten children, and from the first moment Alan and I met our little man, he made it clear that he is here to take care of us! And a week later, when we found Dylan, we joked a bit with Hendrix that Dylan was now the baby, and he was the big brother, so it was his responsibility to take care of his baby!
We were just joking! But somehow it has always seemed like our little Hendix had not only understood our words, but had taken them completely to heart! LOL. Never assume your cat has NO idea what you are saying, they are amazingly intelligent and capable animals! It can be so funny when Hendrix will just out of the blue, begin to wrestle an unsuspecting Dylan, giving him the cat version of a nuggie, and biting him,vampire-like, about the nect!
I know I shouldn't laugh, but God help me, it's funny! Poor Dylan! And poor Hendrix when he doesn't understand why he is in trouble, when we told him that Dylan was his baby! LOL. Hendrix always looks up with a slightly hurt look on his face, as his eyes seem to convey... "But you said it was my baby!?"
Hendrix makes mistakes, we all do, even Elvis did, but the one thing he gets completely right is how he cares for Alan and I! He knows I am making scary noises. He knows I get scared when I can't breath sometimes, and he never leaves my side during those times! Yesterday morning I felt particularly alone, after experiencing a deep coughing spasm that made me feel like I was not so much pulling muscles, but rather breaking bones!
I was in the bathroom crying out of frustration, when the door opening with a thud. Hendrix came into the bathroom and wrapped his legs around mine, and pulled me down to sit, which I did. He then concentrated on nothing else for the 20 minutes except making me feel loved! He kissed my faced, rubbed his head on my forehead, then cuddled with me for about 3 hours after I went back to bed.
Hendrix loves me, and I love him back!
**Don't forget tomorrow, Saturday March 23rd, is the date for the next round of the Round Robin Challenges! Click HERE to be redirected to the official Round Robin Challenges blog where you can find all the information to play along!
"Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes."
Like most humans, I have my good qualities, and my bad qualities. Sometimes I think my very worst character flaw is my over propensity for sentimentality. It's my pattern of inability to let go of different things that serves as my greatest source of devastation. I have had super bad boyfriends that I seemed to have enough clarity to break-up with, but a year later I would find myself still mourning the loss of what could have been. Hell, I still find myself from time to time Googling old loves, not because I am unhappy in my marriage, or want to start some cheesy affair, but because I will remember a day we spent together, and I wonder what that perfect person was up to!
When asshole thieves broke into our storage unit and took just about everything we ever owned, I didn't mourn the loss of the material items. Don't get me wrong, I still wanted the cherry wood dresser Alan and I purchased when we first got married, but at the end of the day it still amounted to being categorized as JUST STUFF. Alan wasn't stolen. Elvis hadn't been stolen. We lost replaceable items. Although I did have a particularly lovely little stuffed bear that breaks my heart to no longer own, but it has always been my hope that she found a little girl who needed a friend, and I know Bess the Bear would have made a wonderful one. But as at peace as I am with that thought, I still look for her on EBAY and other sights. She was a Boyd's Bear, about 14 inch's tall, and wore a blue gingham dress.
Yesterday, I experienced another great loss. Don't laugh. You see, I had inherited my father's PO BOX when he became ill and needed someone to help him with paying his bills. It was something shared by us, and that trust came to mean a lot to me. My father passed away in August of 1995 on the 29th day of the month. I had made plans to close the box 2 months after his death, but when the time came, I saw all kinds of reasons why owning a PO Box made sense for Alan and I, and he agreed! So we kept it, and used it for catalogs, and for corresponding with pals on the Internet and feeling better about privacy, because my siblings loved to go through our mail when at all possible. My sister in particular was LIVID that dad had shared his PO Box with me, as opposed to with her. She developed a hatred of that situation, that flowed over into our already rocky relationship.
She is stupid, mean spirited, a drug addict and I will speak about her no further.
I miss my dad. I enjoyed kinda feeling like he was nearby when I picked up mail from that tiny box. Unfortunately, the box is now gone. The yearly renewal for the box was for $49 and was due on February 28th. Well, that date came and left, with me having dropped the ball on getting a check to the Post Office. When Alan and I realized our oversight yesterday, and went to pay it, we found that due to a new rule, you don't get 30 days grace period any longer. You now only get 10 days grace! When we didn't show up to pay, they cleared the mail out, changed the lock, and immediately rented the box to someone else!
At first I was incredibly hurt. But then I remembered... dad knew which bolt could bring down an entire airplane!
How does that help ease the pain? Well, you see, Dad is right here with me at all times, he doesn't live in the Post Office. He gave me the values I have today. I am a liberal progressive because of him, a fact I literally thank him, and GOD for every single day! He never told me I couldn't fly in a plane, but he, as an aircraft mechanic, did in fact know which one single bolt that could bring down a plane of any size, and he refused to say which one, because he didn't want me to walk around with unreasonable fears. It didn't help, I had a strong fear of flying for most of my adult life, but one day I said FUCK IT, pulled the stick out, and allowed myself to live me life! Having survived 3 car crashes in my lifetime, one nearly fatal, I kinda found it stupid that I didn't give flying a chance.
The trip Alan and I took for our anniversary last fall was A-MAZE-ING! I wouldn't trade those memories, or the chance to photograph my beloved San Francisco from the sky for anything! And while I was up in the sky, pretending I was a snowy Egret, I could almost feel my very amused father sitting next to me! LOL. That's why I snapped the picture above, I could just tell he was right there, happy and aware that he hadn't raised a coward for a daughter. It wasn't in a twin engine Cessna... no... not on your life, twin engines are for pussy's... nope... I was flying in a single engine, Cessna Skyhawk, and I was living my life!
Sometimes it's not the great big things that hurt the most, it's the small things. Stupid things like a single tiny bolt falling off an airplane. But in my case, as much as that bolt falling off that metaphorical plane yesterday hurt me, it didn't and won't kill me. Dad isn't in the Post Office, he is right her with me when I need him. But on a happy note, the postmaster had changed the lock and therefore didn't need to the key... how cool is that? So, maybe when this cold of mine is finally done, I will make a trip to Michael's and buy some doodads and turn the key into a pendant or a bracelet or something like that! I am looking forward to that I think.
Damn... look at that... I think I have a pretty healthy outlook after all. Yes, I rock! LOL. Besides, the bill for my annual mailbox rental went from $49 to $89 in a year! I am pretty sure I would have given up on things anyway! LOL and again, I can almost hear dad somewhere whispering to me... "It's about damn time you let go of that thing... that price is outrageous! Damn republicans!
Yes dad... DAMN REPUBLICANS!
*Some of dad's favorite places in San Francisco. During the 1980s he work extensively on the restoration of the S.S. Jeremiah O'Brien
"I never really thought about how I look at the moon. It's the same moon Shakespeare and Marie Antoinette and George Washington and Cleopatra looked at."
~Susan Beth Pfeffer, Life As We Knew It
There is a rumor that if you go outside, just after dusk, you will see something special in the western sky. It's a comet, and it's called Comet Pan- Starrs (C/2011 L4). I checked out the western sky at sundown, and I saw the bright silvery bottom outline of the moon, but there wasn't any sign of the comet. It should have been positioned to the left of the moon, a slight angle down in the sky. I didn't see it, but I think it was being obscured by a small amount of wispy clouds that were in the same general direction.
I heard from the doctor, and as it turns out I don't have Whooping cough, I have a fairly new virus that mimics Whooping cough. THANK GOD! I will still have about a 2 week recovery, but I won't have to do any of the unpleasant things Whooping cough would have demanded. And more importantly, Alan won't have to walk around in a mask, take anti-biotics, or inform his coworkers that they may have been exposed to the highly contagious, painful, stupid, coughing spasm disease.
My virus is a poser! Let's hear it for posers everywhere! RAH RAH RAH!
See, kept my word!
Anyway, back to the sky watching. I am going to try to get enough rest so I can venture out tonight, only this time I will drive down Grizzly Peak to my favorite spot, where I have a better, unobstructed view of the sky. The same basic place where I do my sunset photos over the bay should do nicely. Wish me luck! I think I will stop at either Panera or this wonderful little Chinese restaurant I frequent, and grab some soup for the trip. I am not sure which place will win out, both offer such different experiences, but both are wicked good so either way I win. Now, if the medicine kicks in and does it's job, and the twilight sky doesn't let me down, I think I will have something special to show you tomorrow!
*If you would like to join me in photographing our visiting celestial visitor, pop over to SpaceWeather.com to get yourself a sky map and be sure to stop and take a look at the wonderful images of the comet compiled so far!
"Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint."
My work from home photography jaunts to my office continue. LOL. Don't let the happy little giggle just then fool you, I am NOT a happy girl! This cold of mine, as it turns out is not a cold at all. Nope indeed something worse lies beneath!
The symptoms weren't quite right. Low grade fever then outrageous fever then a low grade fever that goes away for a couple days, then mysteriously returns. No sore throat. Not that I am complaining. Sore throats suck! I had the bad mother of all sore throats once, Strep Throat, which felt like a collection of tiny stars that had been dipped in very HOT oil. YUCK. So, the absence of a sore throat is appreciated, but I have never had a cold that didn't include a sore throat.
The next strange symptom came in the form of a cough. It was a strikingly unusual cough. It produced nothing or very little, but the cough itself was intense and intensely painful and fitful as well. Several times a day I begin to cough uncontrollably, to the point where I feel like some invisible entity has their hands around my throat. You know, like the mean spirited ghosts you sometimes see in movies and bad TV shows! It's deep, and again produces nothing, but literally leaves me blue from lack of oxygen. For several minutes a day, I can't stop coughing, and no air is getting into my body. Nothing. It feels like I had pissed my body off for the last time, and it is determined to choke the life out of me.
Both medical information sites returned one distinct possibility!
Great... I have a painful kiddie disease.
Make no mistake, while it is usually children who suffer from this, it is probably one of the toughest, painful, things I have experienced in my 50 odd years! I can't even imagine watching any baby or child go through the painful spasms of coughing I am experiencing, let alone if I had my own child experiencing it. I don't know how all those brave souls with children do it! I really don't!
I will find out for sure later today, well, almost. My usual doctor is out of town, so an associate will be calling me to interview me over the phone. If you could possibly have Whooping cough, they would rather you start with a phone interview. It makes sense, and besides, I don't have much energy. Every time I lie down to sleep, I wake up a short time later mid-spasm.
The final straw, the thing that made me finally call my doctor was the odd noise that tends to accompany the cough. WHOOP!
I will never make jokes about WHOOPING IT UP or MAKING WHOOPEE again.
But in the mean time, I have Popsicles and jello, and lots of nice cold water, and salty soup.
It's all good. Well, no it's not, but it's one step closer to being cured.
"Above all, life for a photographer cannot be a matter of indifference."
I like the quote I chose for today's post. I think it fits my life as a progressive, and my life as a photographer. It fits a lot of decisions I make when it comes to actually clicking the shutter. Most of the time I prefer pure instinct, but in order to get better at what I try to accomplish with the camera, I have to schedule myself to practice with settings and light. Light! Oy... light can be your best friend, and just when you think you understand each other, the odd natural filter like a cloud or a flock of geese soaring over can change how you think about everything. Photographing fireworks is a lot like constantly trying to make a good impression. You have to get it right the first time, because there is NO forgiveness available.
Photographing anything in San Francisco, especially outdoors, comes with a unique challenge. In a word... angles. San Francisco is a love story, built on a million or so earthquakes. I swear, there are NO even angles remaining in the city. Nothing seems to really line up. My meter can read that I, and my camera, are perched equally straight on a hill, STRAIGHT, or even on a perfectly mostly flat surface and yet nope, some off angle is hiding somewhere, waiting for me to come along. Invariably there will be something out of whack! To the right. To the left. Something. I want and need to do more work with hills this year. Hills facing up and hills facing looking down. Stairs to. There are so many stairs in San Francisco... all of them present some challenges for the amateur photographer.
But challenges are good! I am thankful that I continue to be challenged by something I love so much!
I have not, and will not cease growing as a person, as long as I have photography to challenge me. And what's great about that is that as I adjust how I feel about lighting, I think I remain a little more open minded about the other challenges that haunt my brain. The ones that don't have much to do with photography. It all works out at the end of the day, and if for some reason I can't find the correct angle or lighting moment, or manage to screw in the right light bulb, there is always new opportunities the next day to get it all right!
My two great loves. Photography and Progressive Politics.
"I want to grow a flower for every time someone tells me FUCK YOU." Then I'll go back to that person and pin the flower on their lapel in a gesture of friendship." And while they are looking down on it in astonishment, I'll bunch up my knuckles and punch them in the face."
~Jarod Kintz, I Want To Apply For A Job At Our Country's Largest Funeral Home And The Wear A Suit And Noose To The Job Interview.
As predicted the head cold (should that be capitalized) continues. Also as predicted, or as rather simply stated, I am posting some photos that were originally taken late last month. I am making progress in my illness, meaning I am aiming for my first day out with the camera to be Tuesday, in the afternoon. But as of today, we have crossed over into the pesky time of year when we lose hours. I know that it is only one hour of manipulated time, but to me it seems like hours and hours and hours! As you might guess, I am a HUGE fan of the FALL BACK but not of the SPRING FORWARD! It all seemed to work the way it needed to, so, okay, I got the concept, but then George H.W. Bush's moronic son, W, had to put his slimy hands on things yet again... this time... TIME!
It wasn't bad enough he made our money look stupid?
He had to fuck around with TIME as well?
Apparently... because here we are, setting the clocks ahead, even earlier in the year than we used to once upon a time.
Thanks a lot moron!
Anyway, in celebration of my least favorite day of the year, at least until the longest day of the year, June 21st, I have assembled some lovely poppy photos, which I have transformed into true art, suitable for framing! That's what happens when life gives you slightly blurry poppy photos... you make surreal poppy art suitable for framing!