One, Two Buckle My Shoe

To the minute, well, to today's prompt "Coat".  The results haven't been exactly as they appeared in my head but I am pleased to have gotten the core idea down on paper. The groups still are what the groups are, mostly good with some other thrown in.  I do have a list of supplies to buy and am cataloging techniques to try. 

I'm remembering when I was a kid and someone other than myself or my mother took a fancy to what I was putting on paper artistically.  Weird to feel like that these many years later.  Weirder still to not have my number one fan cheering me on.   

Cheers to memories. Cheers to inspiration.  Cheers to finishing up Inktober and moving onto the next challenge. 

Still Life

The last couple of weeks have been full of a mish-mosh of events, emotions, and more. While there are many things to say, I find myself devoid of fitting syntax to relate any of those things except this: wherever there is a project to be done, there is Buttah offering his sage advice and guidance.

#MicroBlogMonday-click for more! 

Beginning the 'Ber Months

Last week, holiday aside, was a long, exhausting week. Due in part, to the resurrection of memories brought on by the anniversary of my father's death (and his birthday). Last week also marked the 58th birthday of my other brother to whom I haven't spoken with in over a year.

The first days of September are fraught tangled emotions and memories crashing upon themselves wreaking haoc on the status quo of day-to-day.

My younger brother called last week with chit-chat, news of a family death, and a request permission to pass on my email address to a cousin on our father's side who is looking to get in touch. I said sure, eventhough we'd been down this road before.

The first few days are now behind me stabilized by celebatory notes; happiest of happy birthday wishes extened to an aunt and two dear friends.

Welcome to the beginning of the 'Ber months.

Click for more MBM! 

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Bottled Frustration™

Time is not on my side.

#SixWordSaturday click to see other six word offerings. 

March Ink On

Greetings and Salutations;

Simply put, it is freaking cold~still. And there is more snow. I know, I know, it is winter and it is what happens in winter. E-X-C-E-P-T this is the snowiest in many, many years. Plus we've broken temperature (sub zero actual and windchill) records. If feels like it has been going on forever with no end in sight.

I am not ashamed to admit that I haven't done well with the conditions this winter. Never my favorite season, I had here-to-fore been able to tolerate the snow and the cold. Not this season. It is more than the record breaking, sub zero temps and biting wind chills. More than it being the snowiest season in many, many years. More than the extraordinary rudeness of property owners who haven't been clearing their walkways.

I have spent a number of minutes throughout a number of days being annoyed. And tired. And sore.
And . . more.

On the plus side, I haven't fallen down very much this season.

And now it is March. True, it snowed yesterday and it barely made it out of the teens today and there is more of the same on the way for the coming week.

But, it is March. There are changes afoot for me.  Not because it is March, but changes are a'comin'. It just works out that the changes are beginning in March. It is March and hopefully that means winter will give way to spring because it is March.

Simply put, I'm ready for it not to be so freaking cold. But, even if it is for many more days to come the changes that are coming will make it feel not quite so.

Welcome Women's History Month and here, here to some happy in March.

All Ears

 

Pete as "Yoda" 

Buttah as "Yoda" 

While marketed as "Yoda" ears, I think they look more like a "flying nun" accessory. On the plus, the daughter (who loves dressing up the fur babies) only purchased one set. The cats get to share, which I'm sure (if they could speak) would be all, "oh, goody, goody, gumdrops" about that fact. 

Buttah seemed the more agreeable of the two over donning and posing in the ears. Though, Buttah is nearly always the more agreeable of the two. Ms. Cinnamon got saved from any new costuming. The daughter's budget will not allow, for now. 

Speaking of Cinnamon, the wonder dog, she's in dire need of another haircut. Schedules and budgets have not allowed.  But come heck or high water, IT. MUST. HAPPEN! While I like her micro curls, her face and feet are much too fuzzy. Decision must be made about how best to showcase her innate beauty.  

In other news yours truly is struggling to keep emotions in check. Tears are flowing easy like Sunday morning.  

Speaking of yours truly, of great interest to daughter who finds herself  Fantasy Footballing,  Bears are 2-0 which matters not to yours truly except as in a purely conversational sense.And on that note: Must get to bed now, well, not to bed to sleep so much as to read before sleep. 

Ta Ta  

Shot Without the Sound

For the record I didn't hear the gunfire, only reports its existence. While walking to the train station on my way home from work on that particular day, talking to Dad on the phone, three ladies in scrubs standing outside of the Respiratory Health Center smoking warned me against advancing further toward the park by shouting in unison, "there was gunfire over there, don't go over there!!"  The last bit I didn't need for my number one rule of thumb: Gunfire, heard or reported equals stay away, as far away as possible.

Thus I detoured to the parking lot of the Respiratory Health Center, away from the smoking scrub wearers but still allowing me an unobstructed view of the action in the park across the way. The action; bystanders scurrying, sirens blaring, dome lights flashing, announcing police presence and the expectation of order being returned, led to the conversation with Dad took on a "my, how the city has changed"  tone. 

For the record this area is one of the least likely to experience gunfire, these days, hence the quick police response.The  area near my work has been upwardly mobile for a few years now. There are expensive loft spaces, townhouses, trendy restaurants and even trendier boutiques, east of the park. And while west of the park is on the move upward as well, with the demolished projects and new condos in their place, it is still in transition and due to the influence of the neighborhood just east of the park, relatively gun violence free. 

I spent several years of my childhood in a housing project just west of the park, circa 1970--1973. Dad and Mom were already divorced by then, but was still in the city and quite familiar with the neighborhood. Back then gunfire, stabbings, beatings, and various other crimes against people and nature were the rule rather than the exception. Police action was slow, if ever.  

Dad moved away from Chicago a very long time ago limiting his visits to one every 10 or 15 years, I think. I know I've only seen him once here in the city since he moved away in the late 70s. He may have returned other than that time for I don't think he sought me out whenever he was in (or near) town. And so we  talked about changes.  My remarks of the various changes to various neighborhoods specifically the one I was standing in at the moment were met with his remark of how he's sure he wouldn't recognize much, if anything. 

Since that conversation some realizations began to crystallize; my dad hasn't seen me or a photo of me for many, many years. My younger brother may have provided Dad with a photo (of a photo) of me, but it would be a very old one. I never refer to my dad as "Dad" when I'm speaking with him, He hasn't been that for so long, the verbal expression of the term is foreign to my tongue. I notice, even when relaying conversations I've had with him to M or D, I hesitate or stumble when I'm about to say, "my dad." He isn't even listed as "DAD" in my phone listings.  

For the record I didn't hear the gunfire. I do however, feel as though I've been shot. 

  

*pirate pumpkin seen around my little town.  

A Week's Worth

 

Monday: A patchwork of emotions welling up inside, threatening to bubble over the surface at any given moment. 

Tuesday: Much like Monday except for the charming spillage of hot tea all over the desk creating accidental watercolors of hand-written reports. 

Wednesday: What was that? Gunfire? Right where I need(ed) to be? Abort Mission (at least temporarily). 

Thursday: Another conversation with James (aka: DAD). He asked for my address (I've only lived in the same location for eleven years next month) but, no worries, I understand. He asked if he sent me something, would I read it. Hmmm... now, wondering WHAT could it be? Though, I suspect it has to do with his faith. We'll see 1. if he sends or 2. when it arrives. 

Friday: Much too tired to go to the store for beer, wine, or other. Probably just as well. 

Saturday: Scrubbing bubbles and shelf liner rule the day. 

Sunday: What? Here already? No booze, no dates, no clean underwear! I.E. Laundry. Where, yet again, some dip shit messes with our clothes. In Danielle's words, "what the fuck is wrong with people?" 

 . . . and it is Monday again: A patchwork of emotions welling up inside, threatening to to bubble over the surface at any given moment.   

Peace. Out. 

Chillin Cat

Me and Buttah are completely simpatico these days. He is quite often doing exactly what I'm feeling.

My most favorite of his moves is when he's sauntering about and then suddenly he's splayed over the floor as if every bone in his body decided to melt, dropping him on the spot.

Thankfully I'm not walking behind him at these times as this melting and melding to the floor comes without any warning.