no sleep no sleep no sleep
That seems a trivial complaint in light of recent times, but it is what it is, and it is annoying...
But let me wipe the grump off of my face long enough to welcome my buddies, Balladeer and Toerag to the Tiara Club.
They've always been royalty to me.
And sharon? I like yer style lady! Cuddle hugs.
And Kari, please remember what I said about trips--even the bad ones can make a good story. So either way, we'll be expecting a tale from you. Stay safe, sunshine.
More hugs to you.
* * *
Last night, my son couldn't sleep. Which meant of course, that I couldn't sleep. It seems there was a Megadeath video marathon on, and I was treated to a private concert until about three in the morning.
Then the power went out.
I was grateful and said the proper thanks to the "higher" power--until I heard my son pick up his guitar and begin his own "unplugged" version of the rock show.
I am here to testify that the old "parents curse" of "I hope someday you have one just like you" actually works.
But since it was an unplugged electric (That Jackson I told ya'll about) I figgered I could deal with it--so I just put my pillow over my head and tried the sleep thang again.
Then it got hot.
At least I think it got hot. I'm at that hormone stage where I have to ask other people if it's hot "or is it just me?"
It wasn't just me.
Everybody woke, and about dawn, gratefully, the power was restored--just in time for my neighbor's rooster to start boasting about his job.
And last night was another bad med night for the hubby. I think I mentioned that when I'm ill, I think of myself like a dog, in that I would rather crawl under a porch and suffer alone.
My husband is not like that in the least.
He needs to talk through it.
(I think I just figured out when & why he started talking so much.)
So...I wearily unlocked my pc for him (his being temporarily retired) and directed him to ebay, saying, "Here. Browse. Dream. Buy yourself a Father's Day Gift. Just please be quiet while you do."
He wasn't of course.
But he did pick up a tenth row ticket for a show to see a band I can't recall.
Now that's a good name for a band...and quite apt considering the quality of some of the music I've heard lately.
But anyhoo...some of ya'll know I'm a close friend of Mysteria's--smile--isn't everybody?
And if you know Mysteria well, and talk to her on IM--then you know that much like myself, she has a tendency to start conversations in the middle, just assuming that you will know what the hell she is talking about.
Therefore, I get some pretty strange offline messages from her--and she from me.
(Ya'll should eavesdrop on our phone conversations, especially on three-way with PdV--secret smile and wicked grins.)
But there is a certain poem I once posted that caused no small amount of fascination for our ever curious kitty Mysteria.
That poem prompted this offline query:
"What color is your Jesus?"
So I shrugged and typed back,
"Um, 'my' Jesus is spirit, and therefore has no color."
"Not that Jesus!"
She was roaring with laughter in Canada.
"Jesus, the MOUSE."
So now, to keep you up with the story, please indulge me while I repost my poem (which is another true serenity story) entitled:
A Mouse Named Jesus
He was named by accident--
just because he startled me
catching me quite unaware
each time I lit the stove
I would thus proclaim
as he scurried from my grill--
this happened once too frequently
my exclamation stayed the same
so "Jesus" is what he is named--
He appeared for every meal
sputtering of smoke and heat
tiny rodent paw to mouth
choking on the smoke
beady eyes accusing me
I scolded him
"We have to eat!"
and pointed out the obvious
he must be indulging too,
he nodded, waiting patiently
for his home to cool.
He grew accustomed to my voice
He slowed in his retreat.
I swore I saw the curious
as he turned to look at me.
Once I left him a snap bean
because he likes them fresh.
I turned my back and it was gone,
I calmly smothered down the rest
thinking surely I'm insane.
I thought I'd try some reasoning
as I reached for seasoning
to add into my pot of beans--
"Jesus? I know you are there,
so listen to me please.
I cannot live with rodent hair
accumulating in my stove.
It's just not good for you or me--
and you know, the door's right there.
So spare us both the agony
and go back to your family."
Jesus didn't answer me.
So I shrugged it off.
Next day following I spied
Jesus brave enough to stay
in the midst of kitchen tile
as I brewed my morning juice
of "get up and go".
"This has gone on way too long--
look at YOU--you're spoiled and fat.
Some might take you for a slob--
you should at least look for a job
and go out on your own."
Jesus simply blinked at me.
I resolved to end this soon.
My daughter ran to me one day,
proclaiming most excitedly,
"I saw Jesus, way up CLOSE!"
She informed me he is cute.
I nodded, saying yes I knew.
But I know just what I know--
that Jesus has his followers...
Worried we'd be over-run,
I talked of poison packages
death without the blood.
Then my son did interject,
and pointed out the Judas fate,
and asked me most mischievious,
"Cooking a last supper, mom?"
I paled and thought, "not me."
So now I'm in this quandary
in need of some advice.
I thought I'd buy a trap humane
(knowing such does not exist)
'tween mice and men--
I realized that all is vast--
and yet I think
there's no small thing--
the sacred looms voluminous
by virtue of remaining hid.
* * *
Now please understand that I meant no offense to anyone's beliefs by the posting of my story, it just happened to be what happened. And I had to fill you in, because it leads to the recent offlines I have received from Mysteria/sharon that simply ask:
"Whatever happened to Jesus?"
Now Mysteria knows darned well the fate of the little mouse (who is brown by the way) and she once dared me to write a follow up poem revealing his fate to all. But I ain't in a poetical type mood--but I think I can now share with you all the end of the story.
Enough time has passed and enough things have changed.
If you've been following, then you know that my family is living in one house while renovating another. (Did I finally spell that right?)
It just so happened that the washer and the dryer here went kaput and we have been hauling laundry to the other house for about two years now.
And yes, let's just say since the other house was unoccupied, it was indeed used for storage. And some of those things stored were...well of questionable legality. *wince*
(a little pot, on a tray, under the couch)
It's gone folks, so don't go looking for it now.
* * *
Now I have a battled a few mice invasions in my time (every year we've lived here in fact--every fall the city cuts the field in the park behind our house, and yep, every winter the homeless former field mice come running for cover.)
So every fall, I go through the ritual of the poison packets.
(I know, I know, I don't like doing it, but hey? I don't go setting up camp in thier home, now do I?)
But I did know it was just a matter of time before we inadvertantly hauled one of our guests off to become a city mouse by virtue of the laundry hamper.
Sure enough, that's exactly what happened.
Not only did it happen that way, but in that amazing serenity synchronicity, I happened to be at the other house, doing laundry and telling an animal loving friend about my plight of mice, and how I accidently named my buddy Jesus, and what in heaven's name was I supposed to do about that?
Whereupon, he said, "Let me guess. This guy jesus? He's small, brown, furry, pink ears?"
"He just went THATTAWAY!"
And sure enough, I saw him skitter under the washer (that same washing machine formerly in the kitchen).
Now you'd think that would be enough of a story for anyone, right?
Keep in mind, this is my weird life, and it had to play out the quirks of Karenity. (Thanks for that tag, wranx--smooches)
But that night, Jesus got away, and we calmly did our laundry and went home, with our animal loving friend much amused as he disapproved strongly of my poison technique of rodent control.
* * *
The following evening, my husband phoned me from the "other" house--then our laundromat, saying:
"You're not going to believe this."
"Well," he said, "I was going to watch a dvd in the front room, and thought maybe I'd try some of that old imported tobacco we had left over."
"So I reached under the couch, and talk about 'freak me out'! The baggie MOVED!"
Yes. It's true. Inside the "glad" bag, was one brown mouse, quite docile and quite wasted. The husband informed me that the little mouse was in fact, so mellow, that he allowed my husband to pick him up without a struggle, whereupon he was released outside unharmed.
* * *
Now it's true, I can't be sure that it was my old stove mouse "Jesus", but I'd like to think that it was him.
So rest assured, those of you who worried--Jesus does live.
He got away!
He just got stoned first.
* * *
(And no offense meant, so I hope there is none taken.)
If there is, blame Mysteria.
She made me tell this one.
* * *
Here's hoping for a much needed smile for her on this day.
(She needs it today, folks.)
Lub ya canuck.