Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve participated in Random Tuesday Thoughts, but I actually had some random this week, so here we go. Grab the new and improved funky purple button, link up to Keely and let’s all play along.
Excerpt from an IM conversation between me and Oldest Son:
Me: Your mother is a strange person, dear
Oldest Son: LOL how so?
Me: I can guarantee she’s the only person you know who says things like “Well, shit – I need to take another jar of lard out of the freezer.”
Oldest Son: LMAO
What? It’s true.
Why is it that I can find a pair of shoes, try them on, walk around the store and declare them the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn in my entire life only to take them home and the minute I put them on, they rub 47 huge blisters on my feet?
Someone please tell me this phenomenon is not limited to just me.
A conversation between me and The Young One, when the Miami Heat went to Cleveland for their game last week:
TYO: Are you excited about the football game?
Me: It’s basketball, honey.
Hey, at least he knew it was a sport and they were playing a game.
To the person who found my blog via a search for “Gross pics of liver and onions”:
#%$@ you too.
Seen on a t-shirt in a local butcher shop (alas, one that does not sell grass-finished beef or pastured pork, but does sell the best Mexican chorizo I’ve found in Ohio):
“Friends don’t let friends buy grocery store meat.”
Amen, brother. Amen.
And here is the view in my neighborhood this morning.
I think the black and white really emphasizes the bleak starkness of it all, don’t you?
It’s that time again folks – so grab the funky purple button (what’s with that ham, anyway?), link up to Keely and play along with Random Tuesday Thoughts.
Today’s edition: The Annual Groundhog Rant.
So, here it is…February. My least favorite month of the year – for all sorts of reasons, but mostly because it’s going to be at least six weeks before I see the sun or any sign of life around here. No matter what the stupid groundhog says.
Because while it is PERPETUALLY GRAY here in my neck of the woods I imagine it’s sunny as all get-out in Puxatawney and I bet the rotten little buck-toothed rodent is dancing around going, “See? My shadow! It’s my shadow! Six more weeks of winter! Bwaaaaaaaaahahahahahahaaaaaaaa!”
Going a little crazy? Not at all. Why do you ask?
But Phil the Weatherman was right…it’s all the groundhog’s fault.
Puxatawney Phil needs to die.
I don’t care how well he drives for a quadruped.
Oh, PETA is going to be after me now. Have you heard? They want the organizers of Puxatawney’s Ground Hog Day Festival to replace Phil with a robot.
Does this organization not have one thinking member that looks at their press releases and says, “Hey, look guys – this is pretty damn stupid. Do we really want to publish this?”
No, I didn’t think so either.
Ah, well, at least we know what we’ll be watching this evening. I don’t think The Young One has ever seen Groundhog Day.
There I go again – I’m just racking up the votes for that Excellence in Parenting award that I know is just waiting for me somewhere.
“You want a prediction about the weather, you’re asking the wrong Phil. I’ll give you a winter prediction: It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be gray, and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.” — Phil the Weatherman
Yes, here it is, practically 2 p.m. and it just dawned on me that it’s Groundhog Day.
The little bastard is out there just staring at his shadow…you know he is.
When I pointed this out to a coworker, he said, “Oh, I think we’d be in for 6 more weeks of winter no matter what.”
Oh yeah? Well, you’d think between the freakin’ rodent and global warming, I could get some satisfaction, somewhere. But, nooooooooo – I get to spend at least the next six weeks freezing my tookus off, while my sinuses slowly dry up and my skin gradually flakes off. By the time spring finally does get here, I’ll look like a biology text plate – all muscles and organs, no skin.
I’m feeling a trifle melancholy today; it may be because Beloved is out of town this week, or the bad patch of insomnia I’m going through right now, or the bleak, gray, cold weather that is the norm this time of year in our little corner of Ohio. Of course, it could just be stinkin’ perimenopause. Whatever the cause, it’s not characteristic and I don’t like it, but I deal with it the best I can (which is to say not well at all a lot of the time, a fact I’m sure my immediate family will attest to).
The subject of this week’s Spin Cycle – write about a song that speaks to you – has had me in “pondering” mode for nearly a week and is following me into my melancholy mood. Beloved is a music enthusiast and has one of the most ecclectic collections on his (80GB) iPod of anyone I know. There is rock, for sure, but he also has bluegrass, jazz, dixieland, big band, swing, reggae, Motown, blues, gawd-help-us-Johnny-fucking-Cash and, of course, everything ever committed to media by the Grateful Dead (including every recorded burp, snort, gasp, wheeze and gurgle of Jerry Garcia). He’s even got some Kenny G on there, and if one day he were to slap his favorite toy into the Bose docking station and it started playing Zamfir, Master of the Pan Flute, I would be the least surprised wife on the planet.
I, on the other hand, am a rock ‘n’ roll animal; I always have been and probably always will be. If it was recorded between 1965 and 1983 and is classified as rock and roll – not pop or bubble gum or punk (although I am rather fond of the Sex Pistol’s version of My Way) or – shoot me now – disco – it is most likely on my iPod. I grew up in an era where the sun rose on The Eagles and set on Steve Miller, and in a part of the country where the Holy Trinity consisted of Lynyrd Skynyrd, ZZ Top and Stevie Ray Vaughn (in fact, Stevie Ray and I grew up in the same neighborhood and attended the same high school). There is a good amount of blues and Motown in my mix, because I love the genres, but for the most part, it is nothing but good old classic rock ‘n’ roll for me.
At any rate, as I began pondering what song I would write about – the one that speaks to me – I began thinking about what my favorite songs mean. I know I’m going out on a limb here, but by and large, classic rock ‘n’ roll isn’t exactly a genre of profoundly meaningful lyrics – you’ve got Billy Joel trying to talk a Catholic girl into doing the horizontal bop on one end of the spectrum and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s classic tribute to being a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy on the other end. Oh, sure, you’ve got songs like Stairway to Heaven (if you know what it means, please let me know, m’kay?) and You Can’t Always Get What You Want (pretty self-explanatory), but profound? Um, no.
There are exceptions, of course, and the song that really speaks to me the most these days is one of those songs that I really enjoyed when I was younger, but now makes me stop, listen, and think about how time transforms us. Quietly, mundanely; often insidiously. How our expectations and perceptions of ourselves and the world around us changes as we grow older, and how often we end up someplace completely different than we anticipated when we were young. When everything was ahead of us, and the world was ours for the taking.
And of course, it has a completely bad ass guitar riff.
Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day,
You fritter and waste the hours in an off-hand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.
Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you –
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but its sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in the relative way, but you’re older;
Shorter of breath, and one day closer to death.
Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught, or half a page of scribbled lines.
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought I’d something more to say.
Edited to add: It occurred to me that not everyone is a Pink Floyd fan, so I’m (attempting to) embed the song here. I can’t NOT jam to this music. I just can’t.
This is the earliest accumulation of snow we’ve had since I moved here in late spring of 2005. For the most part, we haven’t really had any snow, with the exception of two big snow storms the last two Februaries – it’s usually just gray and grim. I’ve heard it does sometimes snow all winter here and that it’s quite lovely when it does so. Here’s to hoping that this will be one of those winters…and our 2/3 of a cord of wood lasts the whole season.