Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Happy Sugar-fest!

Halloween always sneaks up on me. I realize how ridiculous that sounds, given the fact that the stores begin putting up their spooky displays the day after Labor Day. Despite that, year after year I forget to buy any candy and procrastinate about shopping for costumes for my girls.

I know, I stink. When I was a kid, nobody bought costumes. We decided what we wanted to be and then found a way to make it. Sometimes, we were lucky enough to find an adult who was willing to help us sew, glue, or otherwise construct our fantasy outfits. I can remember spray painting two cardboard boxes white with black dots, cutting out holes for arms, legs, and heads, and teaming up with my little sister to be a pair of dice. Okay for trick-or-treating, but they came off the second we got home since it's pretty hard to sit down when your body is contained inside a box.

We used pillowcases to collect our candy as we walked block after block in our neighborhood, accepting congratulations on our creativity and wishing the grownups would quit talking so we could get to the next house. Like everyone else we knew, as soon as we returned home, the loot was dumped into piles on the carpet in the living room and sorted and traded.
I am a candy snob and, to some extent, I always have been. As a kid, I liked candy bars as much as the rest of them, but I wouldn't eat just any candy. Those families that gave out little stacks of Necco Wafers on Halloween? If I had been paying enough attention to pinpoint exactly who they were, I'd have gone back later with toilet paper. Those things are just glorified communion wafers with food coloring. They always tasted stale and the flavors were just gross. Come on, people! I can also remember rejecting Tootsie Rolls. Now, I know some people really like them but what are they really? They aren't chocolate. They aren't taffy. They aren't right.
No, back then I coveted Milky Way candy bars, M&Ms and Sugar Daddy's. Getting a real Sugar Daddy - you know, the big ones on a stick - was pretty rare, but at least one family in our neighborhood always came through. I could make those things last for days. Bubble gum was always welcome, too. Anything with peanuts, though? Those were fair game for my siblings as were Almond Joy and Mounds bars.

These days I almost don't have to buy any candy at all. With only six houses in our neighborhood, we don't get any outside trick-or-treaters. That leaves me free to make up special bags of goodies for each of the kids who live near us so I stuff them with temporary tattoos, stickers, and lots of good candy. Real size candy, not those piddly little bite-size ones. This afternoon I raced to the drugstore to pick out the loot since I had pretty much forgotten that tomorrow is the actual day. Lucky for me there are an odd number of kids in the neighborhood so I usually have some good stuff left over. Like Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. And Sugar Daddys.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

In a Music Mood

Speaking of concerts, I just happened to attend one today. A house party concert. It was the first one I've ever been to and I hope to God it wasn't the last. A few weeks ago I received an email from my friend Jess, alerting me to something called The Firefly Concert Series. They had ten tickets left to a show featuring Edie Carey, a singer-songwriter who happens to know Jess as well.

Something made me bite. Even though Bubba is (still) out of town and I'm the 'numero uno' parent right now (although not the preferred one if you ask my girls), I took the initiative to find a date and a babysitter and thought, "why not?" Even if her music wasn't my cup of tea, at least it was a way to get some time for myself with a friend, right?

Let me just say that it surpassed all my expectations. We were asked to bring a brunch item to share (a potluck concert? I thought) and some cash to buy CDs or drinks (mimosas and bloody mary's sounded good). Pulling up to a distinctly residential neighborhood I worried that this might be a little hinky. Walking through the front door and spying the view of the water and distant islands and the table piled high with homemade goodies, my worries evaporated.

Edie Carey is a terrific singer-songwriter. Should she not be able to make a living at either of those things, I suspect she would have a good shot at earning money as a stand-up comedian. There were perhaps 40 people in the room, most of whom had not heard her music before. She joked with us, told us stories of each of the songs before she sung them, and signed CDs for us at the break. She chowed on our homemade brunch items and gave most of us sincere thanks for supporting her today. One of her songs in particular gave me pause. She told us a story about an email she received from a man who wanted to hire her to perform at his wife's 30th birthday party. He then wondered whether she would write a song for his wife. He enclosed seven years' worth of love letters that they had written for each other in case she needed some inspiration. The result is a gorgeous song called "What Love Looks Like" that moved many of us to tears.

And so I began to wonder. After seventeen years of friendship (fourteen of them spent married), two children, multiple pets, two houses, three apartments, several jobs and a lot of time spent apart due to business travel, what does our love look like? I still consider Bubba to be my best friend. I am in love with him and relish any opportunity to go on a date with him. We make a very good team when we're running the household and parenting our children. We are capable of communicating at times without uttering any words. What does our love look like?

It is being excited for each other when one of us wants to embark on a new adventure. It is not worrying whether it will take too much time away from the family, but trusting that it will strengthen us as individuals and that, in turn, will make us all happier and better.

It is being able to recognize when the other one is feeling overwhelmed and step in to support them without making them justify it.

It is remembering the reason we fell in love in the first place.

It is not getting so wrapped up in what is going on today that we forget how much we loved each other yesterday.

It is feeling brave enough to speak our own truths, regardless of whether they match up or not.

It is knowing that when I feel like I'm going to fall down, all I have to do is yell, "Catch!" and Bubba will be right there, hands outstretched, no questions asked.

It is hating the fact that his frozen toes will press up against my warm shins just as I'm falling asleep at night. But hating the nights they aren't there more.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Don't Ask Where This Came From...

I am one of those people who get songs stuck in my head really easily. Once there, they attach themselves like velcro to the wrinkles in my brain and it takes a lot to dislodge them. Unfortunately for me, every other member of my household is fully aware of this facet of my personality and it gives them endless joy to exploit it.

Top 5 Songs Most Likely to Cycle in My Brain:

1. Star Wars theme song (the kids particularly like to hum this one to me first thing in the morning and see how many hours it takes me to purge it)

2. "peanut, peanut butter.....jelly" (I don't actually know any more of the words to this song and I suspect it comes from some absurd advertising jingle, but I couldn't say for sure)

3. "The Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin

4. "Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland" (the farther the season is from Christmas, the more likely it is to be found in my head)

5. Bonanza theme song

On a similar note, my physical therapist and I happened to be reminiscing about our high school years the other day and we began sharing notes on the rock concerts we'd attended. Let me just say that the vast majority of concerts I went to were in the mid to late 1980s and many of them I went to with my older brother. My mother thought we'd be good chaperones for each other and, I suppose we were, but now that I'm a parent I've gotta say she was much more lenient than I will be. Just a sampling of the bands we saw:

  • Yes

  • Rush

  • Van Halen

  • ZZ Top

  • The Scorpions

  • Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

  • AC/DC

  • Kiss

  • Journey

  • REO Speedwagon

Lest you think I was only a 'rocker chick', I also saw Depeche Mode, Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark (OMD), REM, and INXS. This was back when concert tickets could be had for $15 at most and you didn't have to pay for parking. Sadly, I suspect my girls won't have these same experiences at $65 a pop and an additional $20 to park. Guess they'll have to settle for pay per view...

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Life is Good

Even as I struggle to fit in all of the things I know I 'need' to do this week, I can't help but feel an enormous sense of peace.

To Do:

Mail birthday gifts/cards to no less than four people whose birthdays fall between the 29th of October and the 5th of November.

Make an appointment to have someone come fix the dishwasher

Make dentist appointments for every member of the family

Get the cats their shots

Order flowers for friend whose surgery is Thursday

Write thank-you notes for birthday gifts I received

Make sure girls are dressed appropriately for school pictures on Weds.

The list goes on and on. Bubba is away on business for another eight days and I'm flying solo yet again. The laundry is far behind, the house is a disaster, I haven't written anything on my book in days.

I am so blessed. Over the past three days, I've been lucky enough to have some quiet 1:1 time with each member of my family. My youngest is beginning to come out of the funk that led her to flip out and start screaming and/or crying at the slightest disappointment and she is slowly overcoming her Ovaltine addiction. She is more compassionate, sympathetic, and quick to grin over the last week or so. She is working hard in school and feels very proud of herself. My oldest daughter has discovered new 'old' friends in her classroom and is expanding her circle of playmates and thoroughly enjoying herself. She is practicing her gymnastics skills every day because she loves it so much and can't wait to demonstrate her increased strength to everyone she knows. My husband and I unexpectedly reconnected with some friends we hadn't seen in over ten years at dinner on Monday night and had fun reminiscing and talking about how far we'd come.

As relationships wax and wane, and our connections to those around us stretch thin and strengthen over the years, I have often found myself worrying that the thinning is a dangerous trend. Today I realize that the thinning is perfectly normal and so long as my committment to the people themselves remains intact it is likely that hanging in there for a little while will pay off. The days that find me feeling close and connected to the others who share my household are such a blessing. Despite the continued whirling of the universe around me and the neverending bullet points that populate my to-do list, tonight I am able to sit back and relax in the knowledge that my children both love and feel loved by me. Despite the fact that I sit here alone while Bubba sits on an airplane bound for the other side of the world, I am secure in the knowledge that our goals and feelings are in synch with each other's and our love is deep and warm. The stuff will get done. Or it won't. But tonight, life is good. I'm grounded right here and thankful for what I have right now. I'll pack lunches tomorrow morning.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Let Us Eat Cake!

This is the first year that I can remember when I've not only welcomed a birthday party, but I actually planned it myself. Typically, I let my family and close friends acknowledge my birthday, but because I despise being the center of attention, I absolutely forbid anyone to tell the wait staff in any restaurant that I am the guest of honor lest they decide to sing to me. I have also threatened my husband with a slow, painful torture should he ever throw me a surprise birthday party.

So imagine my surprise when, this year, I decided to save the four bottles of wine I managed to bring back from Sonoma and throw a wine, cheese, and birthday cake party for myself. After spending several days thoroughly puzzled as to my own motives, I think I've finally figured it out. I do not wish to be showered in gifts - it actually makes me incredibly uncomfortable to receive gifts at any time, but especially when I'm the only person in the room on the receiving end. I most definitely do not want to be sung to and I have no intention of putting even one candle in the chocolate cake I've ordered. I don't wish to be the center of attention.

I think I've simply decided that it is time for a celebration. Past time, in fact. The weather has turned and become rainy and windy and cold. The sky is dark by 6:15pm and stays that way until 7:00am. The daughter of one of my friends was recently hospitalized for surgery to remove a tumor growing on one of her ovaries. The little girl is five years old. Another one of my friends recently discovered that she was finally pregnant after five years of trying and three more years of giving up trying. Tomorrow she goes in for a D&C because the placenta failed to attach and her short-lived dream is shattered. One of my closest friends will undergo surgery at the end of this month to remove a tumor from her eardrum that has begun eating away at the bones in her ear, rendering her deaf on one side.

So on Saturday, we're cracking some fine California wine, opening some incredibly decadent cheese, slicing that gorgeous cake and having some laughs. If I have to be the center of attention for a little while in order to introduce some light on these difficult times, so be it. I can make that sacrifice. Let the good times roll. At the end of the night, we can all embrace and remind each other that, no matter what, we've got each other. And some damn fine wine, I hope!

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Can You Say "Cuckoo?"

For a person who is absolutely certain I am incapable of writing fiction, I've decided all I have to do is look to my dreams. Not that they make any sense, but for people who enjoy psychedelic stories like "A Clockwork Orange", they just might do the trick. I've begun having hot flashes again after nearly six months free of them, which is really too bad because I love, love, love the crisp cold clear mornings of fall and look forward to putting on sweaters and heating up the kettle in the afternoons, but damned if these hot flashes haven't forced me back into capris and short-sleeved shirts and iced tea! Anyway, along with the hot flashes come the technicolor Pink Floyd dreams and who better to share them with than you all, I say? Here goes:

Last night I had a dream that I was in Seattle with my husband and some other nameless, faceless person. Somehow we either lost our car or it became incapacitated and we decided to walk home. For the record, that's about 25 miles. In the dream it seemed like no big deal. Until the thunderstorm started, that is. Along our route, we became aware that there were hordes of other people walking in the same direction as us and we decided to join them. We ended up on the I-90 bridge where it crosses Lake Washington towards Mercer Island but it was under water. Luckily for us, there were literally dozens of laundry baskets floating by us, pulled by the northward current (?) in the lake. Each of us grabbed one and jumped in. Yes, laundry baskets. With holes. Not sinking. Don't ask me! Anyway, I had my laptop in its pink bag and we started paddling. It took only minutes to get all the way across the lake and we were hauled out by some good samaritan on the other side and began walking on Mercer Island, looking for a phone to call the babysitter to come pick us up in her car. All of a sudden I realized I’d forgotten my laptop in my makeshift boat and, even though my husband assured me that it was a lost cause, I raced back to find it. Miraculously it was still sitting in the bottom of the laundry basket unharmed, and I grabbed it and opened it and turned it on and it was fine. I was gloating.

The power was out on the island so we couldn’t call anyone to come get us but they said it wouldn’t be down for long, so we decided to walk and wait. We came across this house with two pigs, an adult and a baby. They were both grey and dirty and ugly and the adult had huge sores on it’s back, filled with finger-width size worms burrowing in. I almost couldn’t stand to look at it. At some point the third person with us remembered that she had a house on the island and invited us to come have some food. By now the sun was shining and we followed her into the house and sat down at her kitchen table all together.

Later as we walked along the island, I saw the 13-year old daughter of one of my close friends and started talking to her about sex, hoping she would trust me with her most private thoughts.

Thank you, menopause, for entertaining me in my sleep. Now, if only the hot flashes served some purpose!

Friday, October 12, 2007

My Love of Writing (A MEME from Michelle O'Neil)

  • My best 'writing' is done in one of three places: in the shower as I talk to myself, while I'm walking the dog, or in the grey, predawn hours as I'm between sleep and waking. I carry a mini-recorder in my pocket as I walk the dog because so often as soon as I get home the best phrases have flown the coop.
  • My daughters think it's cool that I am working on writing a book and my oldest collects spiral notebooks and has begun dozens of children's stories in the last few months.
  • When I was in high school and college, I firmly adhered to the formula of making an outline before writing anything. Now that I write for me, I can't even manage one powerful word if I use that method. Instead I have to firmly engage my creative mind and throw the rules out of my office on their a** in order to make magic.
  • Writing longhand is incredibly difficult for me. I type almost 120 words per minute and can't write nearly that fast. Because my brain works so fast when I'm writing, I can't keep up as I write. Typing is the only way.
  • The posts that I've dashed off without thinking about them too deeply are the ones that have gotten the most positive responses from readers. They are the ones that come from the top of my head and my heart and I doubt them every time - every single time. I am always blown away at the response to those posts and one day I'll learn to trust that process I hope.

Okay, next up are Scott from Oregon, Deb, Eileen, and Jenny.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Turning on the Lights

Chasing shadows, tiptoeing farther and farther in to the corners of the rooms of my history, I am sad but not frightened. I know there are monsters here, but I know that the most powerful tool I have is light and only I can deprive myself of that. I can feel my lifeline, tied firmly around my waist and tethered to a string of strong, wise, loving women behind me. I'm not going anywhere without this connection and I know the way back. Now that I'm here, I'm filled with a morbid curiosity that will keep me from leaving before I've illuminated every room in this place. I was strangely excited to sit with Deb and make the connections between the painful places in my past and the shameful way it all began. I sat for three mornings after I returned home and let my fingers translate the electricity in my brain that was busy finding more pieces.

Letting it all come was humbling and amazing. I still don't quite know how some of the stories found their way out. Certainly it wasn't through any active effort on my part. I am left feeling that they simply found a path to navigate after all this time and all I had to do was let them come and be sure to leave the door open.

Tonight I am in awe at the power that certain events have held over me in my life. Although there are not many details I recall, the molestation I suffered at the age of eight branded my psyche with a certainty that I was less. Unworthy. Deserving of pain and destined to work every moment of my life to prove myself to others. I accepted this unquestioningly and spent thirty years of my life basing my decisions on it.

The first time I fell in love I was even more determined to hide my 'true' nature and prove myself good enough for the boy I loved. In my fanatical need to be worthy of kindness from this other person, I courted disaster. I refused to acknowledge that I was human and needed any kind of support, emotional or otherwise. I actively solicited physical abuse and felt somehow validated when I received it, believing I deserved it.

I have spent decades of my life living out a sentence imposed upon me by someone who had no right to treat me the way he did. Without him speaking a word to me, I let him convince me that I was trash, worthless, good for nothing, disposable. It wasn't until I began walking through the dark rooms of this house and flipping on the lights that I started to realize he was wrong. Going from room to room I am recognizing the paths I've taken again and again, trapped in the dark. Today, I carry a flashlight and I'm going to light this place up like the 4th of July. Once I'm standing in the light, I think I might be able to begin formulating my own ideas of what I'm worth.

Sunday, October 07, 2007

Stay in the Moment and MYOB!

Sunday. Homecoming day. We're packing up and leaving sunny Sonoma to head back to the weekly routine. Bubba (an affectionate nickname for my husband) has showered and dressed and has donned his 'professional traveler' mask. He's encouraging the girls to get dressed so we can get into town and eat before driving off to the airport in San Francisco. I'm lounging in the living room and beginning to feel guilty that I haven't yet showered.

"Okay, I'm off to shower, guys," I announce, hoping Bubba's 'all business' demeanor will ratchet down a notch.

Less than two minutes later the shower door is flung open, "Momma, I can't find my underwear with the purple stars and lace on them," my youngest hollers through the steam.

"I don't know what to tell you, sweetie. They don't fit me so I didn't take them," perhaps if I don't offer a solution she'll find one on her own?

"MOM!" yells my oldest, furious with me because I took her favorite (read: filthy) jeans out of contention for the plane ride home. "What am I supposed to wear? I am NOT wearing a skirt today! I'll freeze on the plane! I'm wearing those jeans! I'M WEARING THEM!"

My blood pressure is rising faster than the steam. Deep breaths. Rein yourself in, girl.

"No, you're not wearing them. They are filthy and disgusting and I will not let you go out in public like that, much less sit on a crowded plane full of people. You are a clever girl. I know you can find another solution," I hope that doesn't sound too condescending but....wait, don't they have another parent around here somewhere? Now I'm getting mad.

I find myself rushing through my routine, sliming the conditioner on my head and soaping up in a hurry. I've got to get out there and make sure the youngest hasn't decided to forego underwear altogether and pull something out of the suitcase for the oldest to wear instead of the jeans. Wait a minute. The bathroom door slammed a minute ago after I said my piece. Why can't I just stay here? Stay in the moment. This warm water streaming down my spine, inhale the steam and feel it as the moist air fills my lungs. My heart rate slows down. Staying in here for a few more minutes won't make us late for the plane. Letting Bubba solve the girls' issues isn't a crime. Breathe. Nobody out there knows that I'm done with the business portion of the shower and now just reveling in some quiet.

By the time I decided (repeat: I decided) to step out and dry myself off, both girls were dressed appropriately and I was patting myself on the back for having given myself permission to stay in the shower and not worry about what was happening out there.

Unfortunately, by the time I stepped out of the bathroom, Bubba was cursing my decision to purchase four bottles of wine to bring home. He was repacking our suitcase in his expert way, wrapping several layers of clothing around each bottle and shooting me looks that said something akin to, 'why must you torture me so? I tried to tell you we shouldn't bring wine home'. I assured him that when we got to town I would see if there was a way we could get a box from one of the sixteen billion wine purveyors in the area that would transport the wine without risking our wardrobes. His enormous sigh was my answer.

Within ten minutes he was herding us toward the door and his frustration was radiating off him in waves. He is used to traveling solo with only his own stuff to pack and his own timeline to adhere to. The three of us women, while none of us wear makeup or take time doing our hair in the morning beyond running a hairbrush through it, have come to our own version of a 'routine' by understanding each others' need to finish the task we're currently doing if at all possible before moving on to the next one. I knew making sure that all of the treasures we had collected were accounted for was of paramount importance. After spending five days finding acorns and their "hats", pristine oyster shells at Drake's Oyster Farm, unusual seed pods from trees and stickers from the Sonoma Chamber of Commerce, neither girl was about to leave without these trinkets and reminders of our trip together. I collected my belongings and looked under beds and through bed linens for odds and ends, all the while soaking up Bubba's impatience like a sponge.
As we finally made our way to the car, I inquired whether it was worth having one more look around the room to make sure we hadn't left anything behind. The way Bubba closed his eyes for two beats, opened them and said, "If you want to" gave me my answer. Okay. He was ready to go.

After breakfasting in town, watching him herd the girls toward the rental car and being 'instructed' as to how to use the GPS properly I was feeling pretty brittle. I began preparing my speech for later.

By the time we reached the San Francisco airport I was annoyed. The girls were feeling rushed and it showed. They were bickering with each other and as we made our way through the security line my jaw was set. Strangely, about 20 steps past the security line I realized I was at a crossroads. I could either continue to soak up his impatience and frustration with us in order to use it against him in our discussion after the girls were in bed or I could let it be his. I had no worries that we would miss our flight. I'm not exactly a novice traveler and I was sure we had made it in plenty of time to even have a nice lunch before boarding the plane. I recognized his discomfort at traveling with these other creatures who require more time and a little leeway and respected it, even, but I didn't have to embrace it. I could let him feel uncomfortable and, heck, even angry, but I knew it would pass and I didn't have to reflect it back to him. He didn't mean it in a mean way - it wasn't even really directed at us. Or maybe it was, but the end result was that nothing had to come of it. I could let go of the bad feelings and pretend ignorance, all the while making sure the three of us had what we needed to move along comfortably so long as it didn't result in us missing the flight. Huh. Argument avoided. And all I had to do was mind my own business and own my own feelings. Maybe I am learning something new every day. I think I can chalk up two points today!

Friday, October 05, 2007

Carrie's Homework

After all the seriousness of the last week, Ms. Carrie Link encouraged me to find some humor in my life. Luckily for me, I don' t have to go very far for that. Having become so jealous of all the exotic and wonderful places my husband gets to travel without us, we decided it was about time we tagged along. Unfortunately, since my passport is expired, the list of places we could accompany him were limited. Note to self: fix that ASAP!

Having said that, Sonoma, CA is not such a horrific place to have to spend five days at the beginning of October, so the three of us girls packed a bag and tagged along.

Since this is technically a business trip for my hubby, he spent the first two days working while the girls and I explored the area. Since they are quite a ways from being old enough to drink, none of that included wine tasting. Think bookstores, ice cream shops and the park. However, they were adventurous enough to join me on a road trip to the Point Reyes Lighthouse. Unfortunately we didn't realize until we got there that it is known as "the single windiest place on the entire Pacific Coast". They don't exactly trust my choice of activities anymore.

But I digress. Carrie's homework was, specifically, to find ten funny things that have happened to me. Being so far in the middle of this porcupine embrace, I was finding this difficult, but then, being married to my husband and having produced a child that is literally a miniature of him means that laughter is not far away at any given moment.

Last night I discovered just how glamorous my husband's business trips usually are. Unless there is some specific dinner or evening event scheduled after his day of work, his normal routine is to return to his hotel room, change out of his work clothes and open his laptop. Now, this is not generally a humorous thing unless I add a few details. At home, changing out of his work clothes means substituting them for one of his favorite t-shirts and a pair of shorts (May-October) or sweat pants (November-April). When he's on the road, he likes to pack light. What this means is that he generally doesn't want to waste space on extra clothes. So he sits in his underwear on the couch of the hotel room in front of the TV with his laptop on his lap and works until midnight. He did remark that occasionally he worries about how warm his 'fellas' get with the laptop after about a half hour. Good thing we're done having kids or I might have to intervene...

This evening my youngest came through with another piece of my homework. As I helped her older sister bathe after a long day of hiking and defying the strength of the wind on the Northern California coast, I could hear her singing at the top of her lungs out in the other room. As we emerged from the bathroom she was only too happy to perform her latest creation for us, inspired by the travels we've taken her on. It goes a little something like this (you'll have to create the tune for yourself - it's nothing you might recognize normally):

I like to live on a monkey ranch,
Because I do a monkey dance.
Which makes me smell like monkey pants
And that's even worse than the streets of France.
Ta da!

I'm thinking that so long as I continue to surround myself with my family, I'll be doing just fine...

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Hugging the Porcupine

"Why the f**k," you ask, "would you want to do something like that?"
The fact is, I don't. It is completely counterintuitive to look at this little beastie and have your first instinct be to pick it up and give it even a little cuddle. Unfortunately, I'm not going to give it a little cuddle. I've already got it in my arms and I'm squeezing it like it's the last piece of chocolate I might ever see again.
I've come to the conclusion that rocking this little guy in my arms, crushing him to my chest is the only way I'm ever going to be rid of the quills. First I have to embrace him and feel those sharp little buggers pierce my skin. I have to let them get through the armor I have been wearing and fill me with holes. Only then can I put him down and pull the needles out one by one. I'll look at them, respect them for what they are, and throw them away. With any luck, the holes they leave behind will let the light in and when it's all said and done I'll have me a little bald pet porcupine who doesn't frighten me a bit.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...