Red's Wrap
Happiness. It's relative.
Good Grief Friday Round-Up
I’m such a little due diligence rosebud. And so rule compliant it isn’t funny. So naturally I think everyone should want to do things by the book when having an impeachment trial. And wouldn’t the trial rule book say you have to have witnesses? It’s embarrassing to be so oh gosh, oh golly about all of this but feels oddly good at the same time. Innocent and a little righteous.
We are having one of my mother’s signature dishes for dinner. She didn’t have that many, maybe nine or ten. We had kind of a tight rotation at our house: bean soup, beef heart, liver, chicken giblets with noodles (that was a prize winner), meat loaf, salmon patties, and enough potatoes to adobe a house. But hamburgers in Campbell’s mushroom soup – that was food of the gods. Well, back then, it was food of the gods because of its obvious superiority to beef heart, the cooking of which took hours lest it be tough, the heart jiggling and simmering with the lid ajar so the heat and the feral odor could escape. We never had beef tongue, though. There were limits to the offal.
Punchy is beginning to like me. He comes to where I am in the house and lays down like this. It’s a sweet thing. He could’ve stayed a foster child for a long time and it would’ve been okay. But it seems he wants his own place on the rug.
On the topic of dogs, Swirl ate the leather gardening gloves my daughter gave me. I am loathe to tell her this since her giving me the gloves along with a flat of seed pods that I only had to put in the ground and water was such sweet encouragement for my endless gardening dream. I loved wearing the gloves for pulling weeds and clearing winter debris which I am good at but not for actual gardening. Don’t ask me why. Gardening requires a consistency of effort that, apparently, I will never have, even with a beautiful pair of gloves.
If I am still for a moment, I think I might be happy. Happy isn’t a reflex for me. Angst is. Worry is. Lately, I’ve been catching myself not really having a care in the world and then having to rifle through my mind’s dense files of troubles to find something to dwell on. Just quit it! I tell myself. Just be happy. It’s okay. It’s cool.
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Snow Door | wisconsinacademy.org
Listen to Jan read her essay “Billy” presented on WUWM’s Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “At the Breakfast Bar” on WUWM Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “The Parish Hall,” on WUWM Lake Effect
“Fury Cannot Touch Me,” Modern Love, NYT, 9/29/11
I really thought that there had to be some people remaining in the Republican senate who knew what the “right” thing is and would do it. I keep thinking we are better than we apparently are. What is worse, across the ponds, they are sneering at us.
As for dogs, Gibbs has suddenly developed hugely inflated lymph glands yet less than two weeks ago, he was fine or at least had not so enlarged lymph glands that anyone could see or feel them. We’re starting with antibiotics in the hopes that it’s an infection, possibly from a bad tooth (which were perfectly FINE last year). When they get old, they go downhill awfully fast. So now it is both Scotties, both almost 13 and they are sliding away. I’m trying to come to grips with realizing that both of them will be gone in the not very distant future. I don’t think I’m doing a very good job.