I haven’t really seen that many Disney movies. I don’t even know the words to The Circle of Life. (I admit that I know a lot of the words, but not all, to Let It Go, but i have a 9 year old daughter. It is not by choice.)
1. Scooters
2. Heat
3. Food
4. Mickey to Mickey
5. Princesses
6. Scheduled to death.
7. The rooms.
8. The people that work there. They won’t break.
9. The rides – Just not that good
10. Buy buy buy – lightupflashy things
11. Football
Since I was a little girl, I’ve always been fascinated by historic tomboys and wild girls: 15-year old Annie Oakley beating men at shooting contests.
The outlaw Belle Star (“That ain’t no lady, that’s Belle Starr!)
wild girl Calamity Jane (best nickname ever?)
Sacagawea
Laura Ingalls Wilder
Harriet Tubman
Belle Boyd
Nancy Hart
Annie Taylor
It’s the birds that get me.
Don’t Look Back, by Erik Johansson
You can see this one full size (and other really cool ones) on erikjohanssonphoto.com.
Good things that happened this week.
I cried less than last week.
Tiller, who is in 3rd grade, used the term Venn Diagram when talking about her science project. I did not teach her that. In fact, I do not think i knew what a Venn Diagram was until college. So, you know, humans are evolving, maybe.
I colored. With crayons. A lot. With Tiller. It was the most relaxing thing I’d done in ages.
Tiller and I played soccer at the school one warm afternoon.
I caught up on Parenthood. (Crying during Parenthood was not enumerated with the crying amounts for the week.)
I found some new happy songs. (I also learned about some really crappy happy songs.)
For winter’s rains and ruins are over,
And all the seasons of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
— Algernon Charles Swinburne, “Atalanta in Calydon”
Here’s the thing that all the “angry Black people know”, and no “calmly debating White people” want to admit: The entire discussion of race in America centers around the protection of White feelings.
Source: I, Racist | John Metta
You wish your father “Happy Father’s Day” even if you felt like he was never proud of you, that you were never good enough. Even though he talks down to your mother. Even though you end most family dinners in tears or embarrassed at his behavior towards restaurant employees. Even though, deep down, you know at heart he is a complete narcissist, racist dickhead. You love him anyway, and you post about it.
My earlie
Looks like I’m going to need to update my blog with a new cover photo. The Lake is going away.
There. Said aloud.
It’s gone now. As of two weeks ago tomorrow. I knew it was happening that day, and I finally sent my family a message to let me know it was gone. It was just like asking if a person I loved had passed on to the other side. When they said, “yes” I sat down and sobbed like a little girl. I haven’t cried that hard in years. And I’ve been doing a lot of crying lately.
I know it sounds overly dramatic, getting so upset over a piece of property.
My parents are not dead. They are alive. But it feels like they are dead. The people they used to be are not there anymore. They have been ravaged by pain, bitterness, regret. Their minds are destroyed by the pain medications meant to relieve their suffering. I can’t have a sane conversation with my own parents anymore. I can barely remember what it was that we laughed so hard about for so many years. They do nothing but sit in front of the tv watching Fox News. They are miserable, they are scared and paranoid, and they think the world is ending.
They feel dead. I miss them.