the mind on hold

I've been playing a lot of mindless video games lately. Ones that involved catapulting penguins, sling-shooting strange birds at pigs and knocking zombies down to size with sunshine and plants. I can play these things either on my computer or my phone. I'm not sure that is a good thing, but there it is. I start with the idea that I will, you know, just putz around on them for a bit. Pick off a pig here and there. Or destroy one level of zombies before I take out the trash or put a load of clothes in the washer. Just a real quick game. And suddenly it's two hours later and I haven't quite got the angle on the bird crashing or the new zombie level has more determined and huge zombies and the lure of mowin' 'em down is just well addicting. So yes, it's sometimes two hours later! I could have read something for heavens sake! I'm not sure if this new state of affairs is better than mindless channel surfing or not. I used to be so smug when I knew that others were staring with glazed eyes at the TV. But I'm pretty sure my eyes look just as glazed (or is that crazed?) while concentrating on these stupid games. And in the back of my mind I'm contemplating getting the newest edition of whatever these things are. Spending money I don't have for mindless gaming. My smugness fades into the sunset with the pigs and birds. I'm doomed.

Sunshine Moments

I came home yesterday with a headache. I was grumpy, irritable, and in a funk. I had been pushed and pulled at work every which way and I am not very agile, so it was uncomfortable to say the least. There were ten different jobs that needed to be done "right now" and so the ten other jobs that were on the plate, didn't get done because of the hurry-up-and-do-now things. Very unsatisfying. Now in the backyard of our house there is a small patch of what most people would call weeds. I know better. They are milkweed plants and I put them there specifically for Monarch butterflies to find in their journey north. One year and one year only, there were a lot of them. Lots of caterpillars, lots of chrysalis' too. But since then, nothing. I've seen a monarch skip by occasionally, but they obviously didn't think my small patch worthy or big enough or whatever butterflies think and ignored my meager efforts. And so I came home sad, tired, angry at the world and its circumstances and sat in the car for a few minutes staring at nothing wishing that I could have stayed in bed with the covers pulled over my head. And then I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I am not a butterfly specialist so I don't know the difference between a Monarch or a Viceroy butterfly--so I really am not sure, even now what I was seeing. They have very similar markings. But there as I finally focused on what was there on the periphery were two butterflies swooping and dancing among the milkweed. They looked like Monarchs. They flitted and flirted with the leaves (the blossoms are gone by now) stopping for a few second here and there. I have no idea if they laid eggs on the leaves (which are their favorite food). But, oh, suddenly the day wasn't such a waste of breath. Suddenly, I knew there was someone who was paying attention to my little patch of hopefulness. I stood outside the car and watched them skip and prance among the greenery and I looked heavenward and said, "Oh, Lord, thank you so much for butterflies." It's too early to tell if there will be caterpillars. But it's never to late to say thank you to the Creator for the blessings of a day which seemed like one long endless no but which ended with a blessed yes.

You did what?

A friend of mine, who is just as sarcastic, just as guilt ridden about things, just as neurotic about self as I went sky diving. WHAT? She went sky diving. She jumped out of a plane, rode the wind and pulled the ripcord to safely land. Safely land, I repeat. She is coming over today to show me pictures of the experience. She said on the phone the adventure was "really cool". OMG. I cannot imagine nor do I want to either. Standing on the top floor of the Chrysler building, I had to step towards the center of the floor. I'm sure the picturesque view of all those ant-like people down below was exquisite. But not for me. It's beyond my comprehension how someone does this--either thing, look down from high heights or sky dive. And I have a pretty vivid imagination! Beyond my comprehension. My anxiety level rises just thinking about it. When we were in sunny CA visiting the son, hubby and I took an excursion to the "Hollywood" sign. It is nestled up in the hills overlooking the valley and the Griffith Observatory. There is a relatively wide path to go up for those who are not adverse to hiking a practically vertical walk. The problem starts when the left hand side of this wide walk-way is observed. You see, it drops off rather sharply to the valley below. And there is no railing to keep you from dropping off. On the right-hand side of the walk is scrubby vegetation and dirt hills. The problem with that is the occasional sign which states you need to watch out for rattlesnakes, scorpions and mountain lions. MOUNTAIN LIONS!!!! So as we walked up the steep slope, I was forced to make sure I was walking in the dead center of the path. Certain falling down death on the left. Certain slow painful death on the right. You choose. When we came down from the walk I collapsed into the car, my knees like Jello. Maybe I could do that walk again, maybe. But maybe not. So I do safe stuff. Read. Write blogs. Walk around the neighborhood and admire the nice flat landscape around me. That's what I do.