preparing for a ranting tear....

this might just be the precursor to a much larger storm of vile rantings... but it must be said so that I can get the vile evilness out of my heart and get one with my day...

when good people get vilified and treated like shite, and the sucky ass humans who gossip and malign others for their sheer enjoyment and gratification get all the praise and glory, I get peeved.

I get more than peeved... I get downright pissed off.

I know some folks like this (won't dignify their existence by even calling them acquaintances) and have to say that I am waiting for the day when Karma smacks 'em upside the head with a big ol' 2x4 of comeuppance.   

short & sweet

all  i have to say about today is that it was a very, very good day.  

<3

of dreams... and nightmares.

When I was a child, I dreamed a great deal.  I knew somewhere, in the very back of my mind that I was dreaming, but the dreams would play out with me, their hapless victim.  I still can recall several of the most vivid and frightening very clearly.  

For the past, I don't know how many years, I haven't recalled my dreams, save on rare occasions, and even those became ephemeral and fleeting once I was a few hours into my day.  I have counted this as a blessing, knowing enough about human psychology to know that we are never truly dreamless.  We may not recall our dreams...but they are there...

My children and I received yesterday, a brand new kitten.  We adore cats, and haven't had one in a while.  The result was having to make sure I was up every couple of hours to ensure the little fluffball got a trip to her kitty box.  She's just a wee thing and cant' make the jump from the bed to the floor yet.  The net result was, I believe, me spending a great deal more time in REM sleep last night than I do on most other nights.  

...and i dreamed.  

I don't like the dreams where I can't speak, or I can see.   I've had the pursuit dreams, I get them, I can deal with them.  But the not speaking ones, and the ones where I lose sight sporadically are just... WEIRD and remarkable unsettling.  These are the dreams that I remember with great clarity and for extended periods of time.  They stick with me for some reason.  

Now, the inability to speak in dreams, the inability to communicate, can reflect feelings of not being heard in ones waking life.  (How many times have I made that complaint?)   A person may feel ignored or not valued for their thoughts.  but the dream I had last night... it was more than not being able to speak.  It was frightening and the inability to speak or cry out  made the fear all the more intense and palpable.  

In my room there are sliding glass doors which open onto our back yard.  The children and the pups like to romp about in the grass when the weather is warm and sunny, I like to sit out there and watch the birds that flit and fly about the yards that abut ours.   Every night, before it gets dark out, I check that door and make sure that it is well fastened and locked tight.  I did so last night, just like every night, then again once more right before bed.  Lately, Armani, my "rent-a-pup" has been sleeping on the foot of the bed.  The slightest sounds will waken her and she'll bark if there's anyone about.  But she wasn't with me last night, the new kitten was.  My brain knew this, and took advantage.

I rose having heard a noise.  It should not have been light out, yet there was light streaming into the back yard, and thus, through the chinks round the edges of the curtain covering the sliding glass door that led out.  It was the billowing of the curtains that made my heart race and my breath catch deep in my chest.  The curtains only billowed when the door was open.  

It was wide open.  Shocked...I stood there, one hand on the door handle, the other braced against the door jam, staring out into my yard.  Why was the door open?  I had locked it.  I always lock it.   The man striding across my yard seemed not to notice me for a moment.  Taller than me, he was broad and heavily muscled, to use the word 'thug' would be most appropriate.  He moved with purpose from the back of the yard, past the bird of paradise tree towards where the hot water heater is housed.  But then, he pauses and looks my way, looks directly at me... and starts forward.  Still I am standing there, the cool air of night blowing against my face.  I want to scream out to the children.  I want to cry out for help.  I want to slam the door shut and lock it... keeping him at bay.  But I can do nothing.  I am frozen, the words caught in my throat.  Halfway towards me his expression changes, and becomes almost feral, and I finally act.  The door slides shut and the lock clicks home.  I don't know if he continues in his approach... I have already turned and moved, running out of the room, the door slamming shut behind me, the thought clear in my head that I must ensure the children are safe. 

I woke up then, a kitten mewing at me piteously that she needed to go use her box, again.  I scooped up the cute little thing and deposited her in her box, then made sure that damn door was closed up tight.  It was, the dogs were sleeping soundly and there seemed to be no signs of any hulking thugs rampaging about my back yard.  Once the little fuzzball was done with her business, we got back to the business of trying to have a good nights rest.  I'd like to report that I didn't dream the rest of the night, but I'd be fibbing.  I did.  At least it was nothing so striking that I am able to clearly recall them now.  

So maybe my brain is trying to help me figure out some major subconscious boggle in the deep, dead of night.   Or maybe, it was just a really sucky-ass bad dream that creeped me out more than it should.  Either way, whoever is doling out the dreaming needs to skip me over the next night or two.  I need some sleep!  

I need a new baseball hat

Tie Dye perhaps? 

I do... I need a new baseball hat.  My current favorite, is a tan SF Jazz baseball hat, gifted to me by one of the folks who works with SF Jazz.  It's a lovely neutral that goes with just about everything.  But it's been around for a while now and has picked up a few stains.  The stitching is still solid (my absolute FAVORITE hat fell apart.  :(  ) but it's not as pretty and new as it once was.  It's a great, solid hat for just about every day, but I find that I need a new baseball hat.

It's just something that really needs to happen.

I like hats.  I don't like having hat-hair...but I do adore hats.  But, I have a small head so finding hats that fit well and won't go blowing off at the slightest  hint of a breeze (happens a lot here in S.F.) can be a bit of a challenge.  Baseball hats are perfect... I can size them down to my tiny little 6 7/8 hat size and rest assured that only in the most windy conditions might it threaten to go flying away.

...I mentioned that I don't like having hat-hair, right?

Now, unfortunately, wanting a hat brings me to the point of needing to CHOOSE a hat...and this is where the conundrum begins.   How on earth am I supposed to choose one when there are so very many very, very cool baseball hats out there to choose from.  You might think it simple... just go with your hometown baseball team's hat.  Okay... that's one idea.  But what if you don't like Baseball?  I happen to love Baseball, but my hometown team's hat is not necessarily, well, coordinate-able with the bulk of my wardrobe.  I just don't do Orange.  o.O  Not a good color on this little gal.  My ex-favorite hat was a darling little affair.  Light blue denim with a pink ginham daisy with a little Hello Kitty at the center.  LOVED that hat.  But, eventually I wore it out and it fell apart.  Then came the 'DUDE' hat.  Neutral, tan, with a big  blue oval in the center with the word DUDE in bright orange letters.  Fun story behind this one... Dell, launched a marketing campaign where in a young man (in commercials) would say "Dude! You're getting a Dell!"  Unfortunately... the young man playing the role of 'slaker Steve' was caught and arrested for attempting to buy marijuana, which pretty much immediately ended the marketing campaign.  Yet... having known someone who worked for Dell for many years, I was able to get my grubby little paws on one of the rare and elusive baseball hats from that campaign.  As I am a gamer-chick and tend to use the word 'dude' ad nauseum... it was only natural that said hat  become mine.   But, like all good baseball hats... it's gotten a bit old and worn and stained.   That's when the SF Jazz hat came onto the scene.  And, like its predecessors,   it's beginning to show signs of its age and frequent use.

So a new hat must be found.   Why all the Fendi hats?  I think they're pretty.  I'm a visual person, so I've been skulking through google images looking for the perfect baseball hat.  It needs to be something I can wear to work (baseball hats are almost a requirement where I work), something that will go with the bulk of my relaxed wardrobe, something that reflects my unique personality and sense of style.  (I really like this floral one!)  But I'm not opposed to some other form of baseball hat.  If I could possibly FIND the cute Hello Kitty hat again, I'd buy that in a heartbeat.

But when one thinks baseball hats, one almost must think about baseball. As I mentioned earlier, I don't groove to my hometown team's hat.  Love the team, don't love the hat.  But, they're not my only team.  I grew up watching the Yankees far more than I did the Giants.  Still love the Yankees, just because watching them brings back such fond memories of sitting in the living room with my step dad, watching the game and being instructed in the game of baseball by someone who really knew the game inside and out.  Dad was a fabulous baseball player when he was young, and taught me how to play.  Everything I know and love about baseball came from him, and for me, the Yankees bring all of that home every time I watch them play.  Last fall I was in an airport where there was a shop with a great display of NY Yankees baseball caps.  I was tempted to buy one then, but was watching my finances and really couldn't afford the extra expense.  I still regret that I didn't one.

And while i'm on the subject of baseball hats... what the HECK is the deal with these dratted hats with flat brims.  I cannot begin to describe how irritating I find those flat brimmed baseball hats.  I hate them so much I almost want to declare that they are not legitimate baseball hats. A baseball hat, in my opinion, is supposed to have a nice rounded brim, so as to help keep the light away from sensitive eyes.  I do not like the flat brimmed baseball hats.  I do not.

To that end, I give you this article I came across relating to baseball hats and their brims: Baseball Cap Care

and now... back to my regularly scheduled pile of things to do.  Some much to do and so little time in which to do it!

...and I still need a new baseball hat. 

memories....

*just an aside as I eat my lunch*

... I noticed today that some of my favorite photos (of myself) were either taken by, or include, a very dear friend of mine who passed away recently. He was a very special person, to be able to induce that particular smile that you's see on my face in those photos. He was never a romantic interest, just one of my closest and dearest friends.

I think sometimes that I did not value his friendship enough when he was with us. I made a point of calling him just to catch up on our favorite books and shows, and he always knew he was welcome in my home. There was never a phone call that didn't end with "my love to you and the little ones" and there was never a major holiday that passed when we didn't call one another.

Without being anything other than a good and loyal friend, he was my staunchest defender. When my husband told me he was in love with another woman, and that I should leave... my friend was there. He was the only one (out of our local friends), if you want to be brutally honest about what happened way back then. My ex and I have reached a point where we can be friendly now, and even he has admitted that my dear sweet friend had been there for me, no questions asked. He was the only person I know/knew with balls enough gently and kindly tell my ex that we was being a douche (though he used somewhat harsher language than I might). He made sure I wasn't alone and had someone to go to the movies with (finding a sci-fi watching movie-mate is tough when you're a cute girlie sometimes!). He listened when I was crying and falling apart, and gently helped keep the pieces in one pile until such time as I could start putting myself back together again.

So, I sit here on this rainy day reflecting upon what it is that I, personally, have lost in the passing of this once gentle, intelligent man who so loved my family and was loved in return. There is still a massive, gaping wound in my heart that aches when I think of him, so good and kind and wanting so little from this life. Even near the end...there he was, looking out for me. He'd already heard the rumors of the day floating about and called. We talked and shared and laughed and cried... and at the end of our talk, I thanked him for being one of my best friends and one of the best people I knew. I told him that he was a true gentleman and that he was loved. I'm thankful for that opportunity to say what was most important before I'd not have the chance ever again.

I miss you bud, and think of you every day... always with love and fondness.

getting back to it...

It's been a long time coming, but finally, at long last, I'm starting to put things back together, the way I want them.

I used to write prolifically. I've gotten away from that. I used to draw almost as much, and I've gotten away from that too. I used to laugh, and dance, and play with my children...

...but somewhere along the way I started to hear the same mantra over and over again... about how I must be more responsible, more mature, more focused on the wants and needs of my family. Somewhere in the midst of 'growing up' and becoming the responsible woman the world was instructing me to become... the artist got lost and fell behind.

I've missed her quirky style and obsessive bouts of creative genius. I missed the long nights spent finding that perfect 'line'. I've missed the weekends spent curled up in front of my monitor writing page after page of story, until I surface and discover that I'm 50 or 100 or 200 pages into some fabulous adventure. I've longed to have that back and have wondered where it went to, all of the fun and creativity that used to fill my life.

So here I am... back at it, with fresh, renewed determination not to let the world take from me what it tried to take once before. This is my art, and my life... it's time to take it back.