Momaraderie

Tasty Feet

Britton — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 04:38:58 -0700

…which reminds me of the time I tried to satirize a satire (because I was trying to impress my very cool college English professor) about famine in Ireland. Suffice to say that I was not successful in my attempt to make eating people sound funnier than it was the first time, though the professor did invite me to lunch (which I never had time to take her up on) and that was enough kudos for me.

But since this post has nothing to do with Ireland, college English, or eating people, I digress. Indy loves feet! Now if you are Indy, you may not want just anyone knowing this fact (shhhhhhhh). But if you are the feet that Indy adores, you might just be smiling right about now. However, if you are the feet that almost step on Indy when he is happily sniffing said feet, you may feel a bit guilty about all the times you accidentally step on said kitten.

My husband thought that Indy liked HIS feet exclusively, which I was inclined to believe because he DOES have nice feet (and hands for that matter), but this morning I discovered that my feet are also a target of Indy’s affection (and kitty-teeth) when I almost stepped on him. And this fact does not follow the “nice feet” theory because unlike my husband’s, mine are no prize. I’m thankful for them, mind you—they’ve gotten me through a lot of life’s miles…they’re just not pretty. I could never have married a man with a foot fetish---unless of course he had an “unattractive-feet” foot fetish. So in a weird, healing kind of way, it’s nice that Indy likes my feet too.

Hmmmm, I’m feeling a satire coming on…which must mean that it’s time to end this feetsy blog. Tschuss!

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Britton — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 12:38:04 -0700

Is there a graceful way to give someone the axe? Is there value in the hazy “It’s not you, it’s me, I just need to find myself” break up line that eventually comes into ugly focus as, “I’m just not that into you but I couldn’t say that.” ?

Is there justice for those who have been plunged into agonizing limbo only to dangle helplessly from the precipice of sanity, hoping for their heretofore perfect mates to “find” themselves feeling the desire to rescue said ditched ex from the murky depths of this black-listed hell where they have fallen?

Is Facebook a satan-created hell within which people can suddenly become bold and brazen, cold and cruel, posting kissy-face pics with a new “friend” while the formerly devoted and still-waiting-for-you-to-find-yourself ex looks on (unable to wrench himself away from any possible connection with you that allows him to view your life without invading the space you so fervently begged for, and which he is graciously and gut-wrenchingly giving you) in agony?

Has decency gone out the window with social networking? Have we begun to value freedom of expression over the kind of empathy, or at least sympathy that would dictate NOT posting photos that would hurt someone, should they happen to be looking on Facebook (let’s “Face” it, what ex wouldn’t be looking, given the chance?)?

I’m all for freedom, and all for Facebook and other forms of social networking, for that matter. But what I can’t support is the lack of regard that I have seen in this scenario with my friend and his ex-girlfriend, and also with people in general who can’t be bothered with speaking their truth, simply because it’s not convenient for them!

This is a post from Windows 7

Britton — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 15:55:09 -0700

Which runs in VMWare Fusion on my wonderful iMac.

Treemendous!

Britton — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 10:27:54 -0700

And this is the reason I will now take my camera EVERYWHERE I go. I would have hated to miss this one-of-a-kind tree. And the way the light caught the precious little star reminded me that beauty is truly Divine! Click on the photos for a larger view...

And speaking of precious little stars...may I present, Princess Bubble Pirate:

Pure Joy!

Britton — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 07:24:57 -0700

Oh to clone this youthful exuberance and share it with the world...

Paint My Heart Pink

Britton — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 04:46:58 -0700

Baby Monkey With Backpack

Coconut Trees (top) and Tobi, Mosaic, Raggedy Ann (bottom) by Kassedi (almost 4) who said, "My heart, when it's in the right place for the family, comes up with these ideas, and then I paint these pictures. I painted my ideas. My strength helped me draw these. And my skills helped me."

If you get the chance...

Britton — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 10:46:34 -0700

...dance!

Fabulous Fall Foliage Fingers the Moment

Britton — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 10:22:43 -0700

The GREAT outdoors doesn't have to be far away--at least not when you're five years old. My youngest son can collect "nature" anywhere he goes, and in a nod to being in the moment--anywhere he already is. He gathers nature with reverence and unadulterated joy absolutely anywhere his feet take him. So this morning when he happily gathered some of the most gorgeous leaves imaginable, it was one of those Ah-hah moments for me.

The air was crisp, the clouds marshmallowy, the sun brilliant. And there frolicked my jubilant son in what you would have thought was a meadow or the top of a mountain kissed by an early spring, but was actually our neighbors' driveway. Asphalt no less. Note to self: Life is not a destination, it's definitely a journey...and the journey is to be enjoyed moment by moment, INside each of them...not wanting to be anywhere else but where your feet stand.

Here's to my nature lover, my little rock hound, and the most constant and authentic reminder I have to enjoy this amazing planet!

Friends

Britton — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 11:58:26 -0700

I have a friend who likes to help me get a handle on my life. She left about an hour ago after helping me (for the fourth time in a row) clean up and clean out my house and my garage. As the direct result of her amazing help, I can now park my mini-van in the garage. Oh, perhaps that doesn't sound like much, but it's the first time that has happened in, oh, 12-15 years! Why would a friend do this? Why oh why? I wrack my brain trying to come up with a logical answer and then it comes to me. She LOVES me. She really and truly loves me--enough to overlook her own questions (which she does not utter) about why I can't get a handle on all this myself--and she just pitches in and cleans up any and everything she comes across. Have you ever had a friend such as this? If you have...then you know what I mean. If you haven't, then I wish this for you, because it is remarkable.

Not only does my friend ask me how I'm doing (overwhelmed?), but also she takes it directly into her heart and soul and thinks, "Britton needs me." That's all it takes for her to pick up the phone on the weekend after Thanksgiving and say, "Hey, what are you doing."

"I'm thinking about doing some more work on the garage."

"Great," she says with enthusiasm that actually sounds genuine, "I'll be right over!"

I should have taken before and after pictures. Today she came and helped me with the inside of the house. We cleaned the food pantry together (nope, I'm not jesting). And let me not forget to tell you that she also folded laundry, swept the neglected corners of the kitchen; and without a hint of judgement, picked up sundry sticks and stones throughout the house (I have a five-year-old boy) and calmly asked me what to do with them. Did I mention that she brings me snacks when I forget about eating??

Perhaps she does it for the champagne and cranberry juice we sip along the way...but I don't think so! Something tells me that the love we share is a gift from God...a God who knew that if he didn't provide my precious friend, I wouldn't have made it this far. Oh, there is so much more I could tell you about her, but you just wouldn't believe it!

I have two friends--friends who regularly meet me in the dark for exercise and friendship beyond the bounds of normal. As life would have it, they both share the same name. Nope, I'm not going to tell you who they are, because I don't want you to steal them!! Mile after mile we trod along and talk, pray, commiserate, sympathize, empathize, advise, listen share, gripe and ponder.

My days are richer because of these amazing women. My days are filled with the silent succor of support and love. How can I possibly explain what they mean to me?

I have a friend who accepts me for who I am...at any given moment...who understands when I flake on a run, or just can't give it my all. She humors me by letting me win a few laps in the pool now and again, and she always always cares about what I think and feel. The fact that two years of her life went by without me noticing...didn't even offend her. Oh...wait a minute---is that because I was thinking that she is two years younger than she actually is? Hmmmm. Now I'm confused!!

I have a friend who lives hours away, but who feels as close to me as when she lived practically next door. Time and distance have only brought us closer. Not because we've been great at keeping in touch (we haven't), but because the love we share is stronger than the time and distance between us--stronger than gravity, or even time immortal. We will dance in heaven together, I'm sure of it.

I have a friend who is the best friend a girl can have. This friend seems to know me best--and because of that she doesn't ask a lot of tedious questions, or even question why I made certain decisions. Sometimes she doesn't ask any questions except those that involve when we will see each other next, how things are going, or whether or not I need any money, or food, or help, or hugs, or books, or useful items, or...just love...plain old ordinarily amazing love. This girl happens to be my mother, and I will be thanking the Lord for her as long as I have breath or thought or spirit enough to pray. Thank you Lord for the friend I have in my mother, for the friends I've mentioned above, and for my other friends who didn't make the "uh-oh, my kids need some attention cut-off tonight!"

I love you all...so so much.

Once Atawna Pine

Britton — Fri, 28 Nov 2008 04:40:31 -0700

When my son was a toddler, he would stand up and say, "Once atawna pine, " and continue his fairy tale. It was about this time that an acquaintance at work rescued a part-Siamese kitty from a home where the disabled owner had died...leaving a litter of kitties to fend for themselves...until the owner's body was discovered. Even then, the workers ignored the kittens until rescue day. The ironic part is that besides the kittens, my acquaintance needed rescuing something bad. She was part crazy, part wonderfully kind-hearted, and part perfect victim--always gravitating towards bizarre situations...and ultimately a bizarre marriage to a guy I worked with who seemed perfectly normal (but wasn't). Anyway, that's how I got my very snuggly cat, Atawna 12 years ago. She might have been a year old, perhaps younger. Though I had an older cat (Cuddles--who was NOT cuddly, mind you), it was Tawny who became the "mother" of cats in our household. A few years later we took on a brother and sister cat (2002, when the Angels played the Giants for the World Series and won) and named them Angel and Giant. Tawny was certainly their "mother". And then, when Cuddles (15 years old) left a few months ago and didn't come back, it was Tawny who suffered--suddenly becoming diabetic, and losing control of some of her bodily functions. This morning, the day after Thanksgiving, while preparing to cook a large turkey dinner for just four people, it was apparent that the right thing to do was to put Tawny "to sleep". So...I called around, got the best price (sounds disgustingly cold, doesn't it?), and took her in. It was the right thing--at least that's what I'm telling myself. My precious 3-year old wanted to go "watch her die"--not morbid like it seems, but sweet, because this little girl has a direct line to the BIG GUY up there, and I'm sure she would have offered her prayers...

And so now I am cooking The Big Dinner, and if there is a silver lining on this sad day, it is that I am taking solace in preparing this meal. I feel no stress, just thankfulness to have something to do that requires little brain power, much love, and repetitive tasks (chopping onions, apples, celery and the like). Perhaps I will finally become a good cook, and I can dedicate my first cookbook to "Tawny". May you rest in peace sweet kitty. Happy Thanksgiving...thanks for all the love and snuggles.

When Life is Sketchy

Britton — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 09:25:39 -0700

I think it's funny...and astoundingly beautiful how life simultaneously laughs at and supports me. Kids ensure the "laughs at" part--because no matter how long I parent, there are still aspects of this marvelously daunting job that baffle and confuse me--and ultimately make me laugh at myself for thinking I'm anything other than regular. The "supports me" part is when I think there is no time for my latent passions (like learning to draw/paint), and then I accidentally discover that my new friend and his wife are art teachers.

"Knock knock," life says confidently.

"Not now. I'm busy." I reply as sweetly as possible.

"Let me in!" life hollers. "Now!"

Sheepishly and chagrined I answer the door, "Come in?"

"Wipe that question mark off your face and get busy girl!" life says with a jaunty smile.

That's how it is. And come to think of it, that's how it's always been with me. I keep waiting to get a handle on my chaotic, busy life; thinking that if I could somehow get perfectly on top of things, expertly organized, infinitely patient, I would then be offered membership into the Superwoman Club. You know it--it's the club for all the "other" moms you know who are perfectly on top of things, expertly organized, and infinitely patient. So what if I learned a LONG time ago that the club only exists in the vapors of my mind, and so what if I know that other moms aren't really pulling EVERYTHING off effortlessly. I still covet membership. It's my birthright. Right? I'm a woman...I should be capable of absolutely everything.

And then...when I become so serious that not even my mirror recognizes me, I hear the gentle laughter of God, as he enjoys the folly of the girl who sometimes just chooses not to answer the door.

"Come in," I respond, "please do come in."

Speaking of sketchy:

Rat & Snake all snuggled up (not!)

Morphography

Britton — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 07:01:37 -0700

There is something so satisfying about doing this:

and this:

Now if only I can figure out what I'm doing!!

Hoping to find "Mommy of 2"

Britton — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 10:33:59 -0700

Here's to "Mommy of 2" if you're still out there: We now have about 15 walking sticks (after only have 2 left), and just yesterday one of my oldsters died. I was reaching in to remove his/her body from our cage (which is a small--5-7 gallons?-- glass fish tank) and I noticed an egg dangling from the back end. "Oh yeah!" I practically shouted to myself silently, "Don't toss the dead ones too soon...there may be babies there!"

Keep firmly in mind--I'm NOT a walking stick expert. We've been caring for these great creatures for about three years now, and so what I say is simply based on my own experiences. I DON'T clean our walking stick cage. It started off as an accident of being busy...and then morphed into an attitude of "Well, it seems to be working out this way, so..." From what I've read, it seems to be that walking sticks take a while to hatch, so combining this knowledge with my realization that a dead parent walking stick can still have live eggs attached to it...I'm inclined to keep NOT cleaning their habitat (other than for removing stale lettuce, eventually removing dead bodies, etc.). My son's preschool teacher also told me that she read that frequently spritzing the wood chips (or other cage base) with water helps along the "new life" process.

Mommy of 2--send an update. Did you get new life in your walking stick cage?

note: we use organic lettuce...in an attempt to avoid poisoning our friendly creatures with pesticides. I always think, "the smaller the creature, the more sensitive." May not be true, but it works for me. :)

The Exquisite Beauty of Imperfection...

"It's not that I'm brave...

Britton — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 04:04:46 -0700

...I just like holding it."

-Tobias Graefensteiner

CALIFORNIA SLENDER SALAMANDER

"Sally" (temporary moniker until Tobi thinks of 'his' real name) has been a willing participant in several outdoor activities: boating, scenic tour of the backyard, trucking, and a wild ride on Tobi's Razor (scooter). While outdoors, Sally also has her own playhouse, where she can occasionally be seen leaping from level to plastic level. Since a sudden vacation with a 5-year-old boy can be awfully taxing on a small amphibious homebody (formerly pretty darn happy deep in the wet mealy earth), our new salamander is happily at rest (live rest that is) in its new, and more ordinary habitat--complete with neighbors (snails) and potential food sources (crickets, earthworms, centipedes).

Tobi wants to let you know (in case you were worried), that Sally is not poisonous!

My new blog

Britton — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 09:44:38 -0700

Well it's been a wonderful weekend at the house of Graefensteiner. To think they cleaned the out the whole garage just for us LOL!!!!!