Parental Ideas and Sayings

Please excuse our little whimsical one, she won’t be attending advanced mathematics because she suffers from deadly allergies. Specifically to the subject of advanced mathematics and all things related to that. This is, of course, most unfortunate for her to have to suffer with this, but we are hoping she will find another means to support herself when she is older.
Sincerely Whimsy’s mother.

Okay so my parents never actually wrote a note like that, but not for my lack of trying. As a matter of fact the more I pushed against numbers, there is nothing sexy about numbers, the more my parents decided I needed numbers in my life. Yes it’s true friends my parents believed in torturing me, especially as they could get away with this idea that it was for my own good.

Oh how my parents used that guide, for my own good. It was used for mathematics and liver alike. They assured me I would thank them for this later on in life. I haven’t, not yet. I have actually developed a stronger aversion to the stuff.

Why is that? Well part of me never outgrew rebelling against my parents in some way. Another part of it is that I’ve found a means to keep my dealings with these and other yucky things at a bare minimum. For example I avoid liver as if it is the plague itself. I’m just don’t eat the stuff, I don’t even look at it.

As for mathematics, I can’t totally avoid it, but my career and hobbies are far far away from the stuff. I only touch the minimally because well it’s somewhat icky to me.

This isn’t a girl thing and it isn’t that I am not capable of doing advanced mathematics or all the other stuff that comes with it, I just really really really do not like it. Not one bit. So I just avoid it as much as possible.

Think of it as a truce of sorts, mathematics gives me a wide space and I do he same in return. We do not really or it each other because words are more my things.

I’ve managed my life just fine this way and plan to continue down this path. I’m an adult, free to make my own choices and be responsible for the choices I do make. There are no requirements for me to be excused from things, I make my own excuses. Why? Because it’s good for me! Yes I’m a parent’s dream child. Provided that the dream is a snarky, smart mouth that will so end time twisting your words to my advantage. If that’s not your dream then I’m pretty close to a nightmare I guess! :)

Creatively Excused

A friend cancelled a coffee date with me again. We’ve been trying to get together for two months now, but each time, as the day approaches, she has a “sudden issue” that creeps up. The first time it was something called work, which demanded that she stay late. The next time it was a headache. Then her father was ill, so she had to take him to the hospital.

But this time, the day came and I didn’t hear her say anything had crept up. I almost held my breath as the hour approached when we were supposed to meet.

Boldly and confidently I pushed my way into the coffee shop, placed my order and found a nice table for us. Smugly did I set there sipping my beverage as the minutes counted down. And then, just as we were supposed to meet, she texted me. She couldn’t make it.

I asked why, wondering if there was something I could do for her, but also suspicious about this cancellation. She told me that she had experienced a blow out.

A blow out? What kind of blow out? I’ve heard of the Brazilian blow-out, but she has straight and flat hair so I could see her doing that. I was pretty sure she didn’t call flat tires blow-outs.

This kind of blow-out was one I wouldn’t have thought of. Moshe told me her bra blew-out and created a deep, but small puncture wound. I have no words for this. No clue how one blows-out a bra. Apparently her underwire somehow came bursting though and into her skin. She needed stitches. She offered to show me pictures, but is decided to just let it be.

Sharing this latest stand-up with Beloved, he decided she deserved points for creativity with this excuse. He reasoned no one could have that many issues crop up each time she was supposed to get together with someone.

Maybe he is right, and then again, maybe it’s just bad timing. At any rate, I’d say the ball is in her court now, she will have to do the asking and arranging because clearly mine wasn’t working. I’m also not rearranging my schedule for her anymore either. It isn’t worth it to juggle appointments with other people or other commitments to free up the “ideal time” for her, certainly not when she then stands me up bra blow-out or not! :)

Drying Up

My grandmothers both hung their sheets on the clothes lines in the summer. Towels too. They said that the sun and the wind not only dried things better, but also kept the white more white and provided a freshness that couldn’t be found any other way.

I remember watching those sheets and towels flap in the wind; listening as they snapped and swished. I often wondered about the cleanliness of these sheets. These women would have washed them, carried them outside and hung on the line where they were exposed to the elements, which was fine with me. It was the wildlife that worried me. Oh sure bird poop, you’d see that right away on your laundry. Poop happens, in to every life a bit of poop happens, so you could just wash it off and go on. It was fly poop that really concerned me. I didn’t know what it looked like, for all I knew it was white like the sheets. No one else seemed worried about this though.

I also remember how those sheets and towels felt against my skin, all hard and rough. Maybe these ladies knew back then how important exfoliation was to skin to keep it all nice and smooth. Back then I hated the crunchiness of those sheets. I dreaded the scrape of those towels against my body.

Bit I loved to play among those damp sheets. I’d run in between them, turning them into my own obstacle course, until I got in trouble. Now and then while they were still on the line I’d wrap myself up on them, hiding on my own cocoon. I’d always be amazed that these ladies could find me when I was wrapped up. You see I couldn’t see through the sheets and therefore show could anyone else see me. Except for legs and feet poking out at the bottom. Wiggly feet and legs that called attention to themselves.

One grandmother would gently unwind me and lead me away into the house where milk and cookies awaited me. The other one would raise her voice slightly and announce that since I wasn’t there she’d just have to give my cake away to some other little girl. Then I’d bolt out of my cocoon, announce I was a butterfly and head off for my cake. :)

I don’t hang my clothes on a line outside, ever because I still haven’t figured out fly poop. But I do have a line set up on the house, for clothes that cannot go in my dryer. Every time I have things on my line, I am taken back to being a little girl wondering when I’d be tall enough to reach the clothesline. :)

Unnaturally Attempting Nature

I’m pretty sure nature doesn’t worry about where certain flowers will pop up and if they will work with the other plants. Nature just sort of is, well for lack of another word, natural.

So why is it that I struggle to determine where to put certain flowers each year? How will plant A look next to plant B? Is there too much of one color in this area? Have made it too structured? What about rocks, where do you place those? What about a tree here, or is here better?

Sometimes, in a fit of frustration, I will just scatter the plants and such in a rather willy-nilly fashion. Sometimes it turns out well and other times it looks like someone just have up and kind of tossed things wherever.

So what’s the secret? How does nature just get it all so right and I manage to get it wrong? Don’t say it’s because I’m human because I’ve seen humans succeed with this. I fear I may have missed a course or two on this as well as a few other items. When they handed out green thumbs I obviously want in the line up.

But I try and that has to count right? Except my attempts result in murder, the loss of life of innocent plants. And I’m ruthless with the corpses, they simply get ripped out of the ground and tossed in the garbage. Perhaps that’s part of my issue, this disrespect of the natural world. But the thing is, when plants die in the natural world,they simply wither and decompose where they are. When I attempt to do this my neighbors become upset and insist I remove the offending dead body.

So far this year I’ve managed to keep the body count down to one. A small plant that was too close to the house and thus got cooked to death. I know horrible way to go. But friends stick with me here, I’ve other plants that are alive and need to be kept alive. And that’s the fear, trying to keep them all alive this summer, letting them thrive so cross your fingers for these poor plants! They should at least be allowed a life of dignity, even if there is too much of one color right here!

Knots or Not

Knots, they told me. My back was full of knots. Knots aren’t supposed to be in my back, or anyone’s really.

These knots, these things I’m not supposed to have, apparently are caused by a little something called stress.

Stress, I was told, is a daft of life, a part of life and just reality. Stress is good, to a certain degree. Stress is a requirement apparently.

However it’s how we handle the stress that really matters. Mishandle it, underestimate it or disrespect it in any way and you will know. You will be knotted up like a pretzel and not because of yoga.

The key to handling stress is to learn how to cope with it. Evidently if you have knots you aren’t coping with it well. Knots that take forever to be massaged out are knots that have had time to be seasoned. They are hard knots.

Hard knots require, well, painful massage. We aren’t talking the relaxing or soothing kind of massage. We are talking the kind of massage that involves rolling pins in the hands of well muscled people. These types of massages can leave bruises and tend to make you feel tender (an understatement I dare say) for days after.

So when I had gone to see the doctor for an issue with my neck I wasn’t expecting to end up with a seriously bruised back a few days later.

On top of this, they expected me to come back, for more torture, I mean treatment to get the knots completely removed. Because obviously this is a good thing. I’m not so sure at this point which feels better the painful knots or the massage I received from Carmen. I’ll get back to you on this one. When I can move without tearing up. On the plus side I’m not (or is that knot) really all that aware of my neck pain right now because well Carmen has made me very aware of my back, thanks to bruises.

Cooking Demons

I have no idea what possessed me to use every pot and pan in the kitchen. I’m have no idea what made me think I could make merguines, a warm pear and spinach salad with blue cheese, seared scallops and grilled lemon chicken, but evidently possessed I was.

I started with a visit to the store to get what I needed, came home and got to work. I seriously underestimated the amount of work involved in what I was doing. I serious overlooked how much time prep takes. Basically I spent far me time in the kitchen than I had planned.

The problem with spending that much time in the kitchen doing prep and cooking is that the dishes got neglected. Typically I stay on top of them, cleaning as I go. But as I said, I was a girl possessed by a demon who thought I could cook. I pretty sure the demon doesn’t feel that way any more.

Why couldn’t I get possessed with simple things? Oh I don’t know possessed with the need to read or something. But no no that would be simple so of course that didn’t happen at all.

And I’m not going to deny it, I wouldn’t refuse help if that demon that possessed me to cook all those things would also help out and do some cleaning. Unfortunately the demon left as suddenly as it came.

Sure the food was okay, and it was enjoyed by a few close friends, but the dishes. Oh my word, it’s like Everest on the counter and I’m afraid I may get lost in the soap suds. If you don’t hear from me I may have gone down the drain! :)

Universe’s Humor Thanks to Murphy

It never fails, whenever I rush to grab a raining phone, it’s turns out to be something like a telemarketer on the other end. When I kiss a call it tends to be one that is time-sensitive or was one I was waiting for.

I’m not sure why this all sot always works out this way, perhaps the universe thinks it’s amusing, or perhaps that’s Murphy’s Law at work.

It’s the same with time. Any time I want to make sure I’m early for something, as in more than ten minutes, there is a traffic jam or all the lights become red lights as I encounter them. Again a sense of humor or something else.

Beloved assures me this isn’t really the case, rather it just seems this way. I argue that I’d it seems this way hen to me it IS the case.

Frankly I’m not finding this all that amusing and would like for this kind of thing to stop, but that doesn’t seem to be the case at all. Perhaps what I need is a magic wand or a spell or something to put Murphy in his place or change the humor to my way!

Need to look professional? I’m guaranteed to look like I hiked in the woods. I guess no matter how I look at it, Murphy is going to humor the universe at my expense. I just need to find a way to enjoy it myself! :)