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My Profile
Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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10:30 p.m. - 2008-05-18
The news from Asia is so crushingly sad it's difficult to talk about, you know? In this and only this instance do I wish I could be like conservatives. In several studies it's been proven conservatives are generally happier than liberals because conservatives are able to look at suffering and shrug it off. "Not my prob, man." This is not to say every conservative is a compassionless asshole, but overall conservatives don't bother much with how it is for the other guy. Over the years as I've jousted, debated and otherwise gone toe-to-toe with conservatives it's always come down to a maddened frustration on my part. "Bad things are happening! People are hurting. Don't you care?" At which point I get smirked at and told, "Actually, no, I don't." GAH! And it's not really that I don't want to care about people, only that I can find some way to strike a balance. Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can see where I can help and what is out of my control and that bleeding out internally over something I can't fix or really make any difference about is a waste of energy. Taking on every woe in the world also wears me out and leaves me in a poor position to be there when I can be of some use. One of the surest ways I've found to get my feet beneath me again is to focus on good stuff. So good stuff ahoy. (Did you know Alexander Graham Bell believed, "Ahoy!" should be how people answered the phone? I disremember who started the "Hello" thing, but I am grateful. "Ahoy!" is just too silly for words. Though Mr Burns on The Simpsons answers his phone this way. Then again he also asks to be taken to the 'aerodrome' when he needs to catch a flight.) Today I got to have one of those soul strengthening convos with Miss Steph. Gads, we talked and talked and talked! We also laughed. A lot. We also realized we hadn't seen each other in person since my birthday which, ahoy, was back in January. Not anything either of us could help, but definitely something we'll be rectifying ASAP. Found out she's not working summer school this year and along with this being the wisest course for her health (the woman needs some rest) it allows us to get together on weekdays. Mick does plan on working summer school but his schedule is different during summer session and he gets home in time to catch Wolf off the bus. Methinks there will be no few lazy summer days where my darling friend and I do nothing more taxing than sitting on her shady front porch smoking, gossiping, and drinking iced tea by the gallon. Wolf is writing a story. It's rather good. This isn't momsy pride talking either, I am a harsh literary critic even with my own kids. He went to bed early tonight because he'd been up to the wee s'mas last night scribbling. How can I not love this? Alex has bent all of his creative juice toward music and that's just fine. But Wolf the writer? Excuse me while I do some happy dancing. And no, it never occurred to me my kids might not be arty. As much as I'm loath to give Mike any positives the man is talented. Be nigh on impossible for our kids to have been born tone deaf and creatively void. While I'm on the subject of being creative, Mick has fallen in love with cooking, baking in particular. The man who literally couldn't boil water has tapped into an unheretofore suspected inner Duff Goldman. Speaks longingly of his retirement so he can go to pastry school. I kid you not. Wants to specialize in wedding cakes. This makes sense considering his romantical nature. Also suits his rather strident need for precision and symmetry. Personally I think he just wants to get jiggy with fondant. Seriously though I think it's an excellent choice for a second career. Can you think of anything more removed from police work than baking wedding cakes? Of course he credits me with this newfound joy. Says without me insisting there was more to him than muscles and bopping bad guys on the head he'd have never ever done more than nuke TV dinners and eat stuff straight out of the can. I have to confess I lurrrve when he tells me how terrific I am. You know how when you're all grungy and nasty and you step into a warm shower and the water pours all down your stanky self and how good it feels? That's what Mick's compliments feel like. Away goes the grubbiness down the drain. I am refreshed. Renewed. His loving words make me clean.
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