I think we can all agree with this.

I followed a link to Susie Bright’s journal, a page of quotations, and found this;

Our children do not belong to us, as tempting as that may be to believe. Our memory that they came out of us is misleading. They are not our words, our thoughts, our waste. They have their own imaginations which we can neither create nor undo; they may live in our house but they have their own world. We can respect and admire their world by giving them privacy, tolerance, an appreciation for their own bodies, and a great feeling of love beyond possession.

It strikes me periodically that I am missing so much by not being able to see the world through Daughter’s eyes. She doesn’t have the greys, the subtle shadings. She has flame and black and a flaring white, big bold blocks of everything. And sometimes she shies away; wouldn’t you if the world was that large, that wild, that strong and moving? But she turns, and goes out again.

Thankful?

Glad about? Thankful sounds odd to me. Maybe I’m over-defining stuff.

So I’m whatever the emotion is called about:

Daughter. Nobody ever told me what having a grown-up Daughter would be like.

Coming home and looking out into the bay. Pale silvery-brown and a murky blue-green today.

My ex-husband getting help. It’s been nice, to be able to talk to the person I used to know. Plus, it makes me feel less stupid – I didn’t marry a complete jerk.

My happy light, which helps make me capable of being glad.

The world, turning. Watching the clouds, and thinking about how we live under – not water, but not something as formless? gormless? as air.

And remembering how to cook, in fits and starts. That’s one of those things that tells me I’m not so depressed any more. Now, if I ever get my act together and get the house clean, I’ll either be a Stepford wife or healed.

Slip time.

Daughter and I have a relationship. It’s funny, a surprise, a revelation. We spend a lot of time together, we feed each other’s “things,” or “specialty areas,” or whatever vaguely condescending name you want to splash onto that slap of curiosity that drags us out of bed and down the street to the library to go further down some overgrown trail that makes a lot of people stop and look at us like we’re the ones who are strange.

Anyway. Sideshow linked to Dark Roasted Blend, which linked to these photos of a Russian plane that looks like “Serenity.” The world is a mysterious place, if you keep your eyes open.

A long time ago I read the “Red Mars” trilogy by Kim Stanley Robinson. Scientists colonize Mars, yadayada. On my list of favorite all-time books, etc. etc. The scientists are sort-of staying on Earth-time, but Mars’s day is an hour longer, so they’re trying to figure this out, what to call it. They decide to not mark it, make it just “the slip time,” or something like that. Keep it out of the hurdy-gurdy of a working day. An hour-long vacation.

A month or so ago, we were wandering around the grocery store, and Daughter wasn’t looking, and I slipped a package of “Pillsbury’s Orange Sweet Rolls” into the cart. Her eyes lit up like the Fourth of July as she said, “You DO love me!”

Now, Sunday mornings are set. This Sunday morning I’m sending her links to the “Serenity” look-alike, and baking sweet rolls, and it occurs to me that Sunday mornings are our slip-time; computers and links and no-effort sweet rolls, and nothing else coming in.

I hope your morning is quiet, too.

Health Care Reform.

I’ve figured out some of the reasons I’m having so much trouble reading political stuff these days, but I’ll only talk about the one.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a poor person. And chronically ill. In August, the state set up insurance for poor people, so Daughter and I signed up.

If I buy them, my prescriptions run between $600 and $700 a month. One I still get through the pharmaceutical company’s program, but the others I can now get down at my local drugstore, for a fin a shot. Rather than hoping that the paperwork didn’t get screwed up, and that it didn’t get lost in the mail, and the clerk at the doctor’s office didn’t put it someplace (true story – twice! some people DO NOT learn, even when you tell them they are idiots – I’m still ashamed of that day), and that I can get to the post office before it closes, I can call in the order to the local pharmacy and pick it up the next day. This might not sound like a big deal, but when you’re working with an illness that gets stirred up like the coals in a banked fire by stress, it is a big deal. Huge.

And I’ve been sick. Had a cold, saw the nurse practitioner, got antibiotics, felt great. Got sick again, went to the emergency room, saw a doctor, had a chest x-ray, had a nebulizer treatment, was handed prescriptions, had them filled. Went to urgent care the next day, had a nebulizer treatment, got samples and a machine and more prescriptions, went home. Cost? There might be a $50 co-pay for the emergency room visit. I think I spent $20 dollars on prescriptions.

Long story short? I didn’t wait to get treatment, which would have forced a hospital stay, which would have pushed me into bankruptcy. I can still afford Thanksgiving dinner. I got to dance around in my living room last night.

I panic when I read about Health Care Reform, because I am afraid it will take away what I have now. I feel guilty, because I can go to a doctor. I worry about looking for a different job, because what if I make too much? What if they offer me health insurance? Stupid, stupid, stupid shit.

So, I’m disengaging from obsessively following the national scene, and thinking more local. I invited a friend to dinner Thursday, a friend who is treasurer of the next-county-down’s Democratic party. Little steps. Little dance steps, that is.

Because. “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be part of your revolution.”

I know what my tombstone should say.

“Whoa! I didn’t think I was that sick.”

I have issues with this whole chronically ill thing. But hey, when you can make the Urgent Care Nurse Practitioner laugh by telling her you don’t want to do something because you’re a cowgirl, well, I guess it’s all right. It has also occurred to me that I probably should apply for SSDI, and get off the merry-go-round. I’ve missed a week’s worth of work out of the last three. Oops.

Anyway. Then Stupidhead moved out of state, putting an end to the circus. To celebrate, Daughter and I watched “Gross Pointe Blank,” and I danced around the living room to the ending credits. Sometimes it occurs to me that there isn’t a lot of room in our lives for anyone else. I wish there was room for more bookshelves, though, and maybe a sofa.

I did get pictures this morning.

Some of us are already thinking of spring.

Reasons I’m not posting.

I’m sick! Whine! Again!

We’re in some odd doldrumy weather, that went from two weeks of sun and blue sky and no wind to four days of heavy overcast. It was windy yesterday, and there was light rain last night and fog this morning, but really – it’s dull.

Nothing much is going on.

I so miss being on the road at sunrise. I long for that drive. I miss the mountains and the moon and the movement. I miss watching the world’s dark corners fill with light.

I haven’t been taking many pictures.

Nothing is happening, in that calendar of events sort of way. Things are happening, but they are mostly shifts in perception, or that sudden realization that there has been no crisis for several days. Or more correctly, that I seem to be able to talk myself out of even climbing up towards whatever high ledge is inviting me to jump. Dudes, I am calm.

The biggest thing that has happened here is that Stupidhead got it into his head that he really, truly had to burn some leaves. It is shockingly not necessarily illegal here. I know, because he checked with the chief over at the local fire station, who said that nobody has ever felt it was important enough to run a test case on whether leaves are considered rubbish or lawn debris. Of course, I later realized how stupid I was, being as how I rent from the city and now have this yard-in-diameter burn in my backyard. So we raked more leaves over it to cover, and will wait for the grass to grow in next spring, or maybe this fall still since we seem to have reverted to September weather.

So that was what it was, out in a beautiful night just past sunset, with the last blue holding in the west as we watched the white smoke billow up, sparks flying up to answer the stars.

A calm hand.

I’m reading “How To See Yourself As You Truly Are,” by his holiness the Dalai Lama. It’s a good thing to be reminded of such simple things.

If at the beginning and end of our lives we are dependent on the kindness of others, why in the middle of our lives should we not act kindly toward them? It is the pragmatic choice.

And the next page;

Violence does not accord with our basic human nature, which may lead you to wonder why all sorts of violence become news but compassionate acts seldom do. The reason is that violence is shocking and not in conformity with our basic human nature, whereas we take compassionate acts for granted because they are closer to our nature.

So. Another one of those things. That person over there is essentially compassionate. You. Me. Essentially compassionate. Born that way.

Something to take out into the world.

And holding.

Yesterday was sunny. Friday was too. For some reason I decided this was the new weather trend, and blew off responsibilities and went out and took pictures. And took a nap.

Today, in comparison, sucks. Cold and grey, but not windy. I have about three inches of maple leaves in my yard that I should attend to, plus those putting-away-the-garden things that still need to be done. Whatever.

I’m working hard on not reading political blogs. I still open them, but it seems like I get through two posts and I flinch and turn away. I tried to find information on my county’s Democratic Party, but I couldn’t. I tried to find out about the county’s board of supervisors, but there was nothing there. I think I might have found something to work on locally.

In my flu update; the county only has the live vaccine that is being used for small children and pregnant women. There is no word on the other vaccine coming. And, as predicted here!, the students on campus are not reporting to the nurse because they don’t want to be frog-marched into isolation. So, instead, they’re wandering around coughing. I’m sure I’ve been exposed. I’m kinda sure that that’s what I had last weekend. Regardless, I still kinda hate Goldman-Sacs et. al. for getting their vaccines delivered to them on a golden platter. Heads had better roll.

Stupidhead promised me his printer when he leaves, so I’m waiting for him to leave. I’ve worked up a new resume, and I want to start getting it out. Plus, I’m just generally waiting for him to leave. The benefits are greatly outweighed by the negatives. Greatly.

Fridays are good.

Daughter and I had a minor book party this afternoon. We went to the college library, and picked up our community member library cards.

For a few short months, I was cleaning the library – with no library card. Just think about that, me wandering around dusting, and all these books, and I couldn’t do anything about it. So, today, I got to look around in the card catalog, and then go down into the main shelves, and pick out books. Deep, organized, deep, beautiful shelves. A mass of books about the same size as the house I live in. When we were done at the college, we went to the town library and picked up books we’d ordered online.

Anyway. I got (among others) a great book on Thirties political prints. I hope to scan or copy or somehow steal some of the images and show them to you. And yes, we are re-living our own history – one I thought we’d had drilled into our heads well enough.

Until then, I have a question. Why is it that, with the Borg as a recurring threat, the Enterprise didn’t start carrying just plain old guns with bullets? And what happened to the Red Shirt thing?

Season’s Greetings.

Updated to add; We only had maybe 20-30 kids come to the door. More for us! Yay!