Do Stuffed Animals Have Souls?

Do stuffed animals have souls? Think about it. Who among us has looked lovingly into the black, button eye of a beloved teddy bear and not wondered if it might be so?


I can’t throw stuffed animals away because it feels like…..murder. I did it once, a long time ago. I was a different person then – you wouldn’t even recognize me as I am today. All I can say is that I was in a crazy place in my life. When I am some day standing up for the Final Judgment, and they are reciting the long list of my thoughtless transgressions, I know that throwing away a helpless, harmless teddy bear is going to come up. It haunts me even now.

The other day I was driving along a fairly busy street and there - in the gutter near an intersection - was a small stuffed… I don’t know what… but his tiny body was all twisted upside down and his little happy face was smiling at me, despite his unfortunate circumstances. They never give up on us! Why do we give up on them?

Oh sure, I understand – the mere subject opens up so many debates that it boggles the mind: should stuffed animals be allowed to roam freely within your house? Is it okay to box them up? What about the ones – like the cheap hot pink snakes and the crudely sewn carnival pandas – that should never have been “created” at all? Do we treat them as lesser beings? I could go on for hours, but I want to be able to sleep tonight.

The Winter of My Toes

Winter can try her best to rally, but her power is waning. Her pitiful attempts at a comeback are short-lived. We're not afraid of her any more. Her voice grows faint, and in its place we can hear the strains of the song of Spring.

I want to run outside without my coat! My flip-flops beckon from yon closet. But hello -- what's this? Whose feet are these at the end of my legs? Someone has surgically removed my own toes, it would seem, and transplanted a batch of MAN-toes on my feet. **Sigh**. This is what happens when you don't see your feet for 5 months out of the year.


The Winter Of My Toes

In winter
My toes live cloistered
In my socks
And do not associate
With the Outside World
They may long to bask
In warm sunlight
On a patio laid with cool flagstones
But theirs is a dark and woolly clime

In winter
My toes are neglected
They grow handsome
Burly and robust
And lose touch with their feminine side
Like old bachelors
Left to fend for themselves

Canta-Lupe, Patron Saint of Fruits

Sweet and mellow
She’s an orange-y sort of yellow
That’s Canta-Lupe, the patron saint of fruits
She’s a musky round melon
With a flavor so compellin’
Canta-lupe, the patron saint of fruits
She’s not a water melon or a honeydew, her
Virtues are many and her calories few
she’s a pip, she’s a prize
for the stomach and the eyes
Canta-lupe, the patron saint of fruits
Canta-lupe, the patron saint of fruits

Snow He Was a Friend Of Mine

Hooray! We love snow!

Snow is here! -- softening edges, muffling noise,  bringing tree skeletons to life: it’s miraculous!
It’s bliss!
Lovely snow! Beautiful snow! Let’s stop and throw a snowball. Make snow angels! Pull down on that evergreen branch and we’ll take a snow shower!


********************

We emerge from our domiciles with wonder and trepidation. Some make the careful transfer from house to car, car to work, work to car, and home again. Others spend the day sledding and exhilarating. Our world is January’s page -- torn from a calendar. We rustle up big, steaming pots of soup and dig our thick socks out of the drawer.

********************

Life resumes…..the snow is pushed to the side of the road. We have places to be and time doesn’t really stop. There’s catching up to do but damn, it’s cold outside. Salt on the roads sticks to our cars. Hey there, snow – we give a cursory acknowledgment as we drive past.

********************

Dirty now and covered with mud from intermittent melting and traffic, the snow holds no joy for us. Life has thrown mud all over our good, beautiful snow. It needs to leave already. Go on, get out of here. It was nice, we enjoyed you, but we don’t want to see you like this. Tarnished. Ugly. Brown. Or worse - yellow. 

********************

For the love of God! Five more inches of the hated stuff last night! I’ve had enough of Snow. I’m ready for Spring.

Walking Man

Moving in silent desperation
Keeping an eye on the holy land

a hypothetical destination

Say, who is this walking man?

                             -- James Taylor

He walks.
Along the road.
Whenever I see him, I think,
“There goes Walking Man.”


I don’t know where he goes,
or where he’s been,
but I see him sometimes in the evening
as I’m coming off of I-29 at my exit.


In the hour of the long shadow,
at the onset of dusk,
he’s walking alongside 64th Street
right where it crosses
under the overpass.


Traffic is nuts here –
the intersection bloats with cars,
stacked up and waiting
for a green light to release them unto their final destination.

But still, oblivious, he walks.


His gait is unnatural and herky-jerky, as if walking requires some skill beyond just setting one foot down in front of the other. He carries one arm close to his body, and there’s an extra beat per measure, somehow, in his gait.

The first time I saw him I thought, “Oh my god, that guy is loaded -- and he’s going to walk right into traffic!”

Walking Man has white hair, almost shoulder length, and a frightening grimace that is a perpetual look of anguish. After seeing him a few times, I began to realize that he wasn’t scary and he wasn’t drunk. Well, he could be drunk or high. He definitely has some serious infirmity, though whether it be of body, mind, or heart, I couldn’t say.  

Mainly, he walks.

In the summer - with waves of heat turning the pavement to jelly and distorting my view of him -  he was walking then.

Last winter he wore a stocking cap and a coat, but he walked. When the snow was deep, Walking Man trudged on. What was so important that he just had to get out? I’m not sure but it seems like the walk is the thing. He’s never carrying anything.

I’ve invented stories in my head to explain his walking: he’s a Vietnam vet who walks to forget the horrors of war; he’s had an unfortunate accident is walking for therapy, determined to regain full use of his body; he’s a drugged out weirdo who gets hammered and then decides he needs to walk down the road… for a fix…for some booze….maybe he thinks he’s walking an imaginary dog.

But you know, Walking Man doesn’t care what I think.
Obviously.

A few days ago, I saw Walking Man wearing a bright orange vest with reflective stripes on it – like the ones that highway workers wear. I like to think that somebody else who watching this saga unfold cares about what happens to Walking Man, and has donated the vest so that he maybe won’t get hit by a car. Because you know, he’s our Walking Man, and we have to look out for him, a little bit.

Christmas Is Coming

Christmas is coming
The goose is getting fat
Everywhere I go I wear my santa hat
If you haven’t got a santa hat a stocking cap will do
If you havent’ got a stocking cap you’ll say ker-choo!

Christmas is coming
Have you bought your wine?
Better do it soon because I won’t share mine
If you haven’t got a bottle your Christmas will be lame
And you won't have anyone except yourself to blame

Christmas is coming
With presents on the tree
How the hell they got up there, don’t ask me
If you didn’t get a present, consider this advice:
Santa will skip over you if you’re not nice

Christmas is coming
Have you extra lives?
You’ll need all of them if you should hear Burl Ives
If you don’t run screaming from the room you’ll wanna stab yourself
Then dial 9-1-1 and give a call for help

Christmas is coming
Light a penny candle
Bring me all the peanut brittle I can handle
If you haven't got a peanut, some toffee will be fine
And a little box of chocolates and some deep red wine
Deep red wine,
Deep red wine,
Merlot is fine,
La la la!

Mom's Banana Bread

I just baked up some banana bread. I got this recipe from Mom years ago and I think it's a great and easy recipe.

Mix together:
1/2 cup butter
1 cup sugar
2 eggs

Add: 3 bananas, mashed
Then add:
2 cups flour
1 tsp soda

Then add: about 1/2 cup nuts, ground to a fine meal

Bake at 350 in loaf pan for 1 hour.
This recipe is so easy, there's no reason to ever buy a banana bread mix!

yuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Kegeling

Kegel, kegel, kegel, kegel, kegel
Kegel, kegel, kegel, kegel, kegel
Kegel, kegel, kegel, kegel, kegel

If I type 3 sets is it the same as doing them?

Kegeling sounds like the olympic sport where you push those little pots down the ice and sweep frantically in front of them.

It sounds like an old Norwegian custom involving singing, throwing fish, and eating krumkake. Or a really big bump on a ski slope. Or a beer measurement: "that guy can drink 15 metric kegels of beer!" Or the act of rolling around on the floor in an aimless pattern.

Sounds innocuous enough. 

Oh, but it isn't.

Supposedly, both women and men can benefit from doing kegels. They are an integral part of strengthening exercises for the core muscle group that supports the lower back. So they tell me.

That doesn't mean they are fun to do. Not as much fun as throwing fish and eating krumkake.

Exploding Heads - Addendum

My head exploded in a burst of glory on Saturday, December 4, spraying the walls, ceiling and racks of clothing at Maurice's.

I didn’t want to go anywhere. I was bloated and cranky. But I needed to check out a certain brand of jeans that is supposed to look good on fat asses, so I went out. (I stayed all night, the next night too. I’d be there still, no doubt. But I had to do an errand, so the next night, I went out. **)

I had tried on about 10 pairs without having to engage in much conversation with anyone, when a sales clerk spied me and said, “Has anyone been helping you? Have they told you about these jeans?” I mumbled something like, “Oh, not really, but I found what I wanted.” WHAT WAS I THINKING? Please see above: I wasn’t.

And then it was like someone flipped a switch! She said, “blah blah blah 20% off of any sweater if you buy blah blah blah Maurices credit card blah blah blah blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” And I said “well, thank you but no thank you and I don’t want a Maurice’s card.” Ah, but she was not so easily denied. And she said, “Oh, but blah blah blah blah blah blah!!”

I left her standing there, by the rack of fleece-lined sweatshirts, and escaped to the check out counter. And the girl said, “CanIpleasehaveyourphone numberDowehaveyouremailaddresstoreceivespecialoffersAreyouawareofourspecialtodayifyoubuyapairofjeansyoucanget20%offanysweater….”

It took every bit of my strength not to scream at her and say, “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WOMAN! JUST LET ME PAY FOR MY PANTS AND GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!” Oh, but I was screaming it inside, I tell you!!

Yeesh. Then my head exploded. 

**taken from What Was I Scared Of by Dr. Seuss

Current Address: The State of Self-Denial

It occurs to me that the older we get, the more we deny ourselves. This seems somehow the opposite of the way things ought to be. We should get license to allow ourselves more, the longer we're here --  why isn't it working that way?

I deny myself so many things: donuts, chocolate, potato chips, staying up late, relaxing instead of exercising, movie popcorn, new underwear……….I’m forever telling myself no.

Why am I thusly compelled? What is behind this perpetual state of self-denial? I’ll tell you: It’s GUILT. Self-Denial is driven by Guilt. Self-Denial and Guilt pull up in front of my house in an old, rusted-out Chevy van, and just sit there. If I don’t open the door to Self-Denial, then Guilt will leave the van, come INto my house and just follow me around through every room  --  an unwanted, unwelcome guest.  Saying no to things I want is the only way to keep Guilt out at the curb.

Well, I’m tired of it, really. I want to relish and revel. Why can’t I relish things? Why can’t I revel?  A life of self-denial is a boring life indeed. Give me that cheeseburger with bacon and fries, I tell you, and leave the cottage cheese in the kitchen!! Do I really want my potentially last moments on this Earth to be ones of restraint and longing??

Guilt, you fiend, release me from your hellish grasp!! Loose me among the grocery aisles and lingerie departments of this world to run free and unfettered, gathering as I go, till from my arms spill forth a wealth of foodstuffs, panties, and sundries! Oh Life, is it too late? Am I too weak? Can I win the battle? And if I do - what will become of me?  

Mediocrity

A fun little poem for your Friday

I’m swimming in a sea of mediocrity
I am fighting the battle of the bland
Where it rears its ugly head
I will strive to strike it dead
Upon the rock of excellence I stand

“Mediocrity!!” I give a noble shout
I must set my standards high and hold on fast
Raise my fist up to the sky:
“I must care, lest I die!”
And I’ll do it with distinction to the last

Though the way is fraught with trouble, I press on
For ‘tis hard to always choose the better course
Some my works commend
Others I’ll offend
For these casualties I cannot feel remorse

“Mediocrity!! I scream - Mediocrity!!”
Am I the only one who cares at all????
If you can’t do something well
Do you say ‘oh what the hell?’
I must be the only one whom this appalls!

I’m swimming in a sea of mediocrity
Above the briny tomb of apathy and doom
Though I’m tossed upon its waves
I will never grace its grave
For mediocrity I say there is no room!!

Exploding Heads - Another Rant

Warning: this is just a bitchy rant. There are no graphic images of exploding heads. Sorry to disappoint you.

My head is about to explode. I can only take so much I tell you  - only so much! Because all I want, really is to be left alone. Is that such a bad thing? Is that bad karma, Karma Chameleon? Why must I be accosted daily by members of the madding crowd? All I’m asking for is a little space.

Rare is the occasion when I can make it through a check out stand these days without being bombarded:

“How are you today?”

“Would you like to save 10% today by signing up for our charge card?”

“Do we have your email address?”

“Are you sure?? – You know you can receive valuable coupons in the mail.”

“My name is Thelma. If you go on line and fill out this survey, be sure to tell them what great customer service I gave you today.”  

“You saved $2.21 today!”

“Here’s a little smiley face I put on every receipt, so that you get at least one smile from someone today.”

“Do you have your Rewards card with you today?”

“Have a good evening.”

“Have a great day.”

“Have a good weekend.”

“You folks have a great weekend.”

I resent being put on the spot -- when I am tired and just want to go home -- about donating to a cause: “Would you like to spend an extra $1 today to help spay or neuter a poor, homeless kitty?” It’s only a buck, so I feel like a jerk if I say, “uh, not today.” But that’s not the point! Why must I even be made to consider whether I would rather be pressured into paying an extra dollar, or look like a schmuck? Why must I be forced to do the mental gymnastics?? Why must I deal with it??

And here’s another thing that really gets me, “Did you find everything okay today?” I’m thinking, “Look, lady, I am here at the CHECKOUT, would I be paying if I hadn’t found everything???” Does she think I just abandoned my shopping halfway through, due to frustration or a possible mental impairment and ended up at the checkout? Does she think I happened to wander into the checkout line, accidental-like, and might not actually realize where I am? Is she really concerned about whether I found everything? What’s she gonna do about it if I say no? Does she expect me to believe that she is going to just up and abandon her post to assist me in the completion of my shopping list??  Or did she just say it to make stupid, meaningless conversation.

Meaningless conversation exhausts me.

Yeah, yeah, I understand exchanging pleasantries and all that. But it's a gauntlet out there - between supermarkets, retails stores, and restaurants - everybody's gotta have their schtick these days. And it's not doing so much for me.  What would be so wrong about just a nice, nod and a sweet, closed-mouth smile at the checkout between both parties? Or even maybe just an acknowledging nod that says, “Gotcha. I’m doin’ what I need to do, and you’re doin’ what you need to do.” And then………blissful, ear-shattering SILENCE. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Things That Don't Go Well With Cold Weather

Cold Suppers
Pumping gas
Watermelon
Falling down on the ground
Ice cold beer
Patio sitting
Sun bathing
Ponytails
Linen
Ceiling fans
Driving with your windows down
Aluminum bleachers
Walking into the wind
A stiff breeze
Early mornings
Shopping
Children in car seats
Kite flying
Snorkeling
Nachos at an outdoor event

Things that do:

muk luks
whale blubber
woolen underwear

A Walk In the Park In Late Autumn

Saturday morning in late Autumn

I take a walk in the park

Trees on fire

Cerulean blue sky

Sunlight streaming down like halleluia through the treetops

This is what all the fuss is about

Oh it’s lovely to be out with all of the

dogs and people, people and dogs

babies and strollers

walkers, runners and riders

Leaves, the size of dinner plates, lay down their worries next to the path where I power-walk

If I was a woodland fairy, I could find a lot of uses for those leaves

Coffee Cups of My Week

My coffee cup stable houses a motley herd of cups. Some, I like better than others. I have favorites. Not only do I have favorites , I have certain cups I prefer to use on certain days.

Let me expound here upon the architecture of a good coffee cup  -- which I will admit is totally subjective. Join me as I explain ad nauseum why I feel that there are 4 design components that are required for a positive experience. If you find all four in one cup, you’ve got yourself a keeper there, by god.  In order of importance they are:

The Rim

The Handle

The Base

The Composition

1.  The rim: nothing ruins my coffee-drinking experience more than when I have to flop my gums over a big, fat rim. Coffee cups with fat rims are like neanderthals with big fat fingers. Who invited this clumsy oaf to my morning coffee meditation? Not me!  No, the perfect rim is thin and smooth, glossy, providing some refinement for my delicate pie-hole.  A secondary choice would be a rim with an interesting, slight “lip” to it – as long as it isn’t too thick. I can also tolerate some kinds of pottery.

2.  The handle:  it should be easy to hold. Interesting curves or notches are fine, as long as they aren’t painful to grasp. The handle doesn’t have to be as thin as the rim, but again, I eschew giant, fat handles that cause me to use two hands to lift the cup. Who are these made for --- ogres? I don’t think ogres even use a handle so I guess they are made for NO ONE. If the handle has a smooth interior surface – one that makes your hands happy – it’s a bonus.

3.  The base: okay, again I admit it may be weird, it may be OCD, but I like to be able to run my finger around and around on the bottom of the cup, if I want to. If the base is all rough or has (HORRORS!) craggy bumps on the bottom, I’d don’t wanna hold this cup.

4.  Be it pottery, porcelain, or ceramic  – I need to be able to put it in the microwave and heat it, without it getting so hot that it might explode into a million pieces. If the pottery or ceramic or whatever material is such that it can’t take a good microwavin’ – I am not going to use this cup at all – ever.  Some cups do really well and others are very unstable in this regard.  I also refuse to drink from a coffee cup made of GLASS, and I don’t enjoy drinking from plastic travel mugs. Yes, I do it, but it’s not the same experience.

With these parameters in mind, I bring you my week of coffee cups.

MONDAY: I like this cup for a Monday morning. I like the prosthetic arm picture on the side. In addition, the lip has a nice little curve to it and the overall size is just right.

TUESDAY:  I usually grab this cup on a Tuesday. I have two of these, so I will probably grab the other one on Thursday morning.  This cup really isn’t that visually pleasing to me in design. But it’s small and the rim is thin. So I dig it.






WEDNESDAY: Hump day requires a special cup to get a body over it. I choose this cup because it pleases me. I actually got it at a restaurant. I was drinking coffee and just really liking it. So they sold it to me for a couple of bucks. This one has a thin lip but also with a rim that makes things more interesting.

THURSDAY: See Tuesday

FRIDAY: by Friday, I tend to go with a cup that was in Tim’s cupboard when I met him. (I have some weird, weird mental processes that often preclude me from drinking out of cups that I didn’t bring into my life on my own). This cup barely passes my requirements --the rim is borderline. But, I like the plainness of it. It’s a well-made cup but completely unassuming and vanilla. So it doesn’t interfere with my weird mental processes too much.

SATURDAY: Ahhh…… I save my favorites for the weekend, when my coffee-drinking is relaxed and extended. For Saturday, I choose this cup. This cup has EVERYTHING I love in a cup – thin rim, smooth handle, nice glossy area around the bottom. Just the right heft and balance.  I didn’t really go into that, but if you pick a cup up by the handle and it’s so unbalanced that you can’t keep it level with one hand…um…could be disastrous.  So this little baby gives me everything I need to perform my coffee ritual. Oh yeah.

SUNDAY: For Sunday, I reserve this cup that was given to me by Aunt V. I think Simone has one too. I used to have 2 of these but I lost the mate in my divorce, somehow. I only got out with this one. It has a little vignette on the side of cats and quilts. It’s glossy and smooth where it ought to be. I have a little problem with this cup, however. I HAVE to use it on Sundays. HAVE TO.  To make Sunday the way it needs to be, I must drink coffee from this cup and this cup only. To keep the delicate balance of the Universe, it must come from this cup and no other. Do you hear me?? So don’t come to my house and try to wrest this cup away from me on a Sunday morning!!!! DON’T TRY IT, BUSTER, UNLESS YOU WANT THE WORLD TO IMPLODE OR SOMETHING!!! Okay, good. I think I explained that sufficiently.

This one is an alternate Saturday cup. As you can see, it's pretty tall - but look at the rim - paper thin!

Finally - the undesirables. They only get used by unsuspecting guests who come over and grab them out of the cupboard.



To Ward Off Evil

To ward off evil
You must travel
Seven miles beyond
the place where the ground is level

Walk in circles for 10 feet

Ignoring every one you meet

To ward off evil, this you must complete

Listen near
Till you hear
A painted bird singing words
plain and clear


Take its place and sing its song
Getting every word wrong
Then evil is not long for this world


Cast your spell
Work it well
Every skeptic you must thoroughly compel


Then go home and go to sleep
knowing all of this will keep
and evil can only sit and weep

Words I Like

unawares
magma
sashay
baloney
insouciant
acquiesce
rapscallion
blithe
mettle
balderdash


fisticuffs, especially as used by John Wayne's character, Captain Nathan Brittles,  in the 1949 movie, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon:

Captain Nathan Brittles: Mr. Cohill, it is a bitter thing, indeed, to learn that an officer who has had nine years experience in the cavalry - the officer to whom I am surrendering command of this troop in two more days - should have so little grasp of leadership as to allow himself to be shivvied into a go at "fisticuffs" while 'Taps' still sounds over a brave man's grave! God help this troop when I'm gone.

Dont' Get Caught With Your Product Down

I used to work with this girl named Alex, who had the shiniest hair around. Other people would comment to her about her soft, shiny hair. She said, “It’s because I don’t use any product on my hair.”

No product??!!? How can one live without product? How could she go out the door every day practically naked? “All I ever use is a little hairspray, if even that,” she said. I marveled at her bold, minimalist approach. Because, as we all know, product is the thing that separates US from ….the apes, for example…..Vikings, for another. I spend top dollar for my product. I know others don’t. But even those who don’t still have to have the gel, the goo, the mousse, the lifter, the thickener, the après shower-body-building-show-stopping-root-bending product!!

When I travel, I have to be careful to make sure that all product containers are nestled safely next to a roll of socks or some other cushiony item. I seal it in Ziplocs and I hope for the best. I especially hope that my aerosol cans don’t explode during the flight, ripping a gaping hole in the fuselage and causing everyone’s bags to be sucked out as an emergency landing is attempted on some remote corn field. But still I am willing to risk it, because I need my damn product!

I Am The Rain Goddess!!!

i bought a new umbrella-ella-ella yesterday and THEN IT RAINED!!!!!!!!

The Ass-Clown Revue

Every workday morning I’m forced to fight my way through a herd of caffeine-injected ass-clowns, just so that I can get to work and perform my required 8 hours of mindless drudgery. These velocity-loving morons put on quite a show as they literally dive in and out of traffic with their cars.

To some extent, I can tolerate it until it interferes with my forward motion, because when some ASS-CLOWN jumps in front of me and then proceeds to brake, brake, brake…I can feel my head getting ready to explode.

I didn’t invent the term “ass-clown” (check out the movie Office Space), but it’s appropriate and useful at times, and it can bring unexpected peace to your soul to say it aloud. Just this morning, some idiot cut me off and I thought, “Asshole!” but then I thought, “NO! he’s beyond asshole – he’s an ASS-CLOWN.”

Of course, then what happens is, while I’m watching the Ass-Clown Revue unfolding before my very eyes, I am thinking of all the other ass-terms, like “ass-wipe, ass-noogle, ass-nuts,  ass-ifer, ass-nard, jackass, dumbass, fatass, shitass (which I rarely use, almost archaic at this point), ass-in-boots, ass-face, and ass-of-all-trades.  

But nothing says it quite like ass-clown.