I am not going to be all sentimental and smarmy, I promise. However, in the newspaper (yes, they still make them; yes, I still read them) this morning, there was a whole section of "What I'm Thankful For". It was filled with tales of "I'm grateful for the cancer treatment and the nurses and doctors" as well as "Uncle Joe is doing so much better now". Thanksgiving is a time, it has been touted, that we remember the past year and give thanks for the things that make us happy, the things that give us a "glow", the things that point us to something bigger than, well, the things. I am and have been rather ambivalent about Thanksgiving to be perfectly honest, for a very long time. Not because I'm not thankful and not because I don't appreciate all that I have in my life. It's because it seems wrong somehow to put aside one stinking day to do this. It almost smacks of hypocrisy. Let's say thanks during this one day then go back to being cranky about all that we don't have after its over. Many around me are blessed with abundance or really, over abundance. They aren't complaining about stuff they don't have, they are complaining about the stuff they have that doesn't work, or is inadequate or less than perfect. And I do this, too. I'm not pointing any fingers at anyone without the other four pointing at myself.
So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to begin to say "thank you" each and every day for at least 5 things. This is a personal list, I don't intend to share or even post it. But I am going to do this every day and see what happens to my attitude by next Thanksgiving. The world is a scary, threatening and disjointed place, full of uncertainties. I keep running into things which would push me into the "fear zone" and intimidate me into "woe is me" scenarios. I'm going to try not doing that. And I am thankful honestly for those around me who put up with my weirdness and uncertainties. I am thankful for being able to post stuff and know that those who read it will get what I'm saying and not put me away or shame me for whining. It's a start.
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Monday, November 9, 2015
The Sanctity of Life/Bug version
It occurs to me that I have an interesting attitude about six and eight legged creatures in the house. If they are of the beetle variety, I usually gather them up (unless they are a stink bug-then I tissue them up) and take them outside and set them free. The same is true for moths. I even found a stick bug walking on my dinner plate (much to the dismay of our daughter) the other evening and escorted him outside. I don't really know if it was a him or not, but I just guessed. I'm not overly fond of bugs that jump if they are in the house. Crickets of any kind, black or camel creep me out and my almost always first reaction is smush and ask questions later. But I don't seem to mind grasshoppers. But then they are almost never in the house, so maybe that's the key.
But eight-legged creatures are never welcome in my house. I don't care how tiny or innocuous they appear. They are on the smush list immediately. Do not tell me how beneficial they are. Do not pontificate on their usefulness in keeping the other "bad" bugs at bay. I'm not listening and never will. I began this post sitting at the computer in my kitchen. Next to the thoroughly cluttered desk on which this PC sits is a ledge built in as a pass through. On the pass through is the fish tank, pictures of the grandcats with their owners, a digital clock and the lazy leo (NEVER call it a lazy susan, please) with the salt, pepper and napkins at the ready for any meal. The ledge extends about six inches from the wall and most of the time I don't pay any attention to the fact that it is there because, well, it's just there. But this evening, typing away, making typos and fixing them as I went along, something moved just out of eyesight under there. I peeked. There was a spider walking doggedly along the underside of the ledge, away from me. It wasn't the Shelob behemoth of mythic proportions, nor was it a black widow or brown recluse. And it was running away from me. But you see, I cannot let it go. Because in my mind, it is just a spiderling and its huge parent is just around the corner behind the fridge and if I smush it, the parent will know this is inhospitable territory and will run away. I can't explain this irrational feeling, it just is. So I reached up with a shoe and clobbered the sucker. I made sure not to miss. Which has been known to happen and ensures a dance around the kitchen floor until I find it again. But not this time. Nope, I hit it smack in the center of the sole of the shoe and it was mashed beyond recognition, even to its huge parent waiting with grasping pinchers somewhere nearby.
So now I am typing away again. Content in the spider free space for now. Until another one shows up. Which they will. Because they always do. Eight legs are not welcome.
But eight-legged creatures are never welcome in my house. I don't care how tiny or innocuous they appear. They are on the smush list immediately. Do not tell me how beneficial they are. Do not pontificate on their usefulness in keeping the other "bad" bugs at bay. I'm not listening and never will. I began this post sitting at the computer in my kitchen. Next to the thoroughly cluttered desk on which this PC sits is a ledge built in as a pass through. On the pass through is the fish tank, pictures of the grandcats with their owners, a digital clock and the lazy leo (NEVER call it a lazy susan, please) with the salt, pepper and napkins at the ready for any meal. The ledge extends about six inches from the wall and most of the time I don't pay any attention to the fact that it is there because, well, it's just there. But this evening, typing away, making typos and fixing them as I went along, something moved just out of eyesight under there. I peeked. There was a spider walking doggedly along the underside of the ledge, away from me. It wasn't the Shelob behemoth of mythic proportions, nor was it a black widow or brown recluse. And it was running away from me. But you see, I cannot let it go. Because in my mind, it is just a spiderling and its huge parent is just around the corner behind the fridge and if I smush it, the parent will know this is inhospitable territory and will run away. I can't explain this irrational feeling, it just is. So I reached up with a shoe and clobbered the sucker. I made sure not to miss. Which has been known to happen and ensures a dance around the kitchen floor until I find it again. But not this time. Nope, I hit it smack in the center of the sole of the shoe and it was mashed beyond recognition, even to its huge parent waiting with grasping pinchers somewhere nearby.
So now I am typing away again. Content in the spider free space for now. Until another one shows up. Which they will. Because they always do. Eight legs are not welcome.
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