Our Velveteens

Despite the title I have given this post, it seems I ought to mention that I have never actually read The Velveteen Rabbit. I felt like I had a vague notion of what it was about, but to be certain, I was just sitting here googling "synopsis of The Velveteen Rabbit" and then also peeking at the frequently asked questions like "What is the problem in The Velveteen Rabbit?" to make sure I was on the right path. I obviously need to get myself a copy of this book pronto, as well as perhaps a box of tissues and larger than acceptable bag of m&m's. I cannot go any further down that rabbit hole right this minute though (yeah, I went there) as finding the photos I wanted for this nearly used up all of my steam. The idea for this post has been peeking out from various corners of my mind for well over a year now, and I'm not positive that I have truly figured out yet what I wanted to say. I'm hoping we can get through it together.

First, maybe some introductions? I know they've made a brief appearance before, but I will save you the trouble of clicking a link, and deprive myself the opportunity to procrastinate by looking for the post. These are our "friends" as they appear today...

...they have very clever names: Mouse, Lambie, and The Airps. Mouse is mine, and those are his/her/their third set of eyes. The armpit hair on display there is all original. In looking for photos of mouse from the early days, I ran across another old friend. The top two photos are my monkey friend Horace and me. I refuse to go off on a creepy monkey tangent here, or to sully Horace's name by associating him with such. He was a good friend, willing to share a sandwich or get dragged in the sand for the sake of this little girl's happiness. I don't know where Horace went, and cannot think about it anymore right now.

Back to mouse with original eyes on the left and alarming baby blues on the right.

Next up are the Airps. When it became evident that our son was taking Airp under his wing (oh dear), we asked the person who did the gifting if she could grab another in case he was ever lost. At some point the second coming entered the fray in hopes of keeping the wear and tear to a minimum. It was only a matter of time before worlds collided and our son realized there were two...and of course, then had to have both. Airp had those ribbon feeling types of tags that the boy would hold onto just so, like in that bottom left photo. Look how spry the fly guys look in that five year portrait, and then trying to hold themselves together in 2016 to comfort their boy after surgery when he broke his leg.

And then there's Lambie, who belongs to our daughter. He earned his own page, shown below, in her graduation scrapbook. I can only think of three times when he was lost outside of this house, which I suppose is sort of remarkable considering how often he left. The girl only sucked her thumb when she had Lambie in her hand, and she had to have him positioned a certain way.

That's the gang! I am sure to some, they appear a bit ragged, perhaps they even conjure thoughts of germs. I can assure you that they have been washed numerous times, with many fingers crossed tightly that they'd survive the spin cycle. They literally were worn down by the love they were given, had the stuffing squeezed out of them. (Mouse's physique was not quite as easy to squish, and I'm pretty sure they had some botox over the years.) The Airps were brought out on Christmas Eve a few times asking for patches to mend their wear. The elves did not disappoint, and eventually it was realized that while some beliefs changed, the mending would still happen.

He is more patch than plush these days, and very modest as airplanes go...

Lambie was most recently presented with a couple of holes that did not have much actual fabric to stitch them back together with. 

We are not sure how he keeps weathering despite his place of honor as more of a dream overseer, nearby but not handled. We got some fabric to make him some pants. Is it ridiculous at our ages? Well of course it is, and I know that, but when you go through the motions as some metaphor for life, it became something else for me. A moment to talk about something simple like fabric when I was not sure what other topics might be off limits or awkward. A chance to try to fix this one thing knowing there were countless other things about growing up that I certainly cannot touch. Assuring each other that this one thing would be okay, and sitting side by side, many others could be as well. And laughter at the finished product.

The kids do not take kindly to any teasing I may do about the current status of their "friends", which I know translates to more than thread and cotton. I asked my son if he could put into words what his deal was and he responded that they just looked so weak, so different, but it would be worse to not have them. I am struggling to find the right words for what I think this all means without putting the wrong words in anyone's mouth or going off some psychobabble deep end. I just feel like there is something there in the stitches telling its own tale, so maybe I should just leave it here for you? In the meantime I guess I will read The Velveteen Rabbit and report back.

Did you have a lovey or blankie? (Nope, I don't know what happened to my yellow ribboned wonder either.) This is my cousin on his wedding day in 2016 with his childhood bear, Buddy, who my aunt dressed for the occasion.

Let's. Do. This.

Is this thing on? Do I remember how to make this happen? (Based on how long it took and how much trouble I had loading the photos, the smart money says no, no I do not.) It's seemed a little lame lately to tell people "I have a blog", and then add "but I haven't written anything in awhile." Sure there were some fits and starts earlier in the year, and sure I can say this time will be different, but why would I set us up like that. Let's just see what happens and hope for the best (whatever that may be). 

It's less daunting to just shake out some random, so here goes! Since we were together last, the girl earned her undergraduate degree...

...and will work on honing her champagne spray photo op technique, or at the very least wear safety goggles, for when she completes her doctorate in physical therapy in 2024. Barbie obviously taught her that she could be anything...

...while she didn't opt for rhythmic gymnast or pet photographer, we're still proud.

The boy had a birthday that seemed to be an alarming number to me...

...just keep baking...and eating candy! And while these...

...were the m&m's I was looking for...

...they were really not the m&m's we were looking for. Tasted like equal parts disappointment and sadness.

How about that swamp ass heat we had?

Friends don't let friends grocery shop when there is a situation,  but strangers apparently don't really know what to do aside from documenting the occurrence. I know I needed some personal space during those ninety degree days...

...and this seems like the perfect way to tell people to get the hell away from you without saying "get the hell away from me". Then I saw a portal to serenity...

...you guys, A PORTAL TO SERENITY!!!!! Get my credit card, let's order several! Um...It is a LITTERBOX! Go get me my screen pod!

Or maybe we all just need to share our life jackets! And snacks, we most definitely need more snacks. Perhaps something healthy this time...

...what in the fresh produce hell?!

A less offensive, but also slightly less amusing, angle. How about a chip...

...posing as a crab shell? (And my thumb nails weren't appetizing either.)

Back when my siblings were little, they would put Dixie cups over crickets found inside until an adult  arrived on the scene to release them back into the wild. I was reminded of those sweet days when I came across this scene in the bathroom upstairs...

...that was being shared by three people over the age of twenty...and the bug under it was dead...and apparently had already expired when cup was placed! Somebody told me it was "too early in the day" to deal with such a thing.

This struck me when I went to retrieve Marlene's chair from the nursing home...

...as if she'd just stepped out and they kept her seat labeled in the kindergarten circle.

Ok folks, we did it. It might not have been pretty, but it was something. A valiant attempt to right the ship. For the first time since 2019 I made the jam...

...made the salsa...

...made the pickles...

...and of course, wore the onion goggles (and yes, they work)! I wonder why I'm trying to keep busy...

I've been seeing the facebook posts of parents bringing their kids to college, and had such empathy for them. Then I remembered that our daughter is leaving again. This is the eighth year in a row I am sending someone off, but last year was a bit of a whirlwind because she was never really home for the summer, and the year before that was 2020...'nuff said, as I was just grateful somebody in this house was returning to some semblance of normal. I guess what I'm saying is that, while I don't think I have gotten used to the departures, I do recall how I try to handle them - Keep busy! Do. The. Things. DO ALL THE THINGS! And fercryingoutloud don't just have a blog...write a blog!!! 

Thank you so very much for being here!

Hello…

 …anybody out there?

Reflex

Sooooo...when you go so long without writing, and then find yourself finally flexing that muscle in order to write an obituary, maybe it's time to sort some things out. I realize that opener deserves a little more information in the who, what, when, where department, so we can start there. Marlene peacefully left this world, 13 days after the doctor gave her 48 hours to live, the day he told me her blood work numbers were "not compatible with sustaining life" and the fact that she was still speaking was baffling. Maybe he just didn't know Marlene well enough. 

The first day, a couple of Jeff's friends and I went to visit her in her new "end of life" state, she was sitting in her wheelchair in the lounge of the nursing home. The three of us exchanged sideways glances, as I swore the word I received made it sound as though we should get to her promptly. I had been told that Marlene elected to refuse a blood transfusion and that she understood what this meant for her prognosis. We didn't want our visit to be all gloom and doom, but we did want to make sure her decision made sense to her, or that she even remembered what she had been told. The first inkling I got that she understood our sudden presence was when she asked me if I had purchased the two new pairs of jeans she had requested, and when I responded that I had not, she said "Well, I probably only need one now." Subtle, but effective.

We helped her sort through photos and chose one for her obituary. Up until that moment it had seemed like I had all of the information I would need to try to help usher Marlene into the next phase, but I suddenly felt like I most certainly did not. Part of the problem was trying to entertain what she felt was important - how much money was in her bank account, having a ring made for one of her granddaughters, versus what I thought was important - who to call, what her favorite flowers were. 

This was my second go around as a health care proxy, so I understood the nuts and bolts. However, those nuts and bolts, while essentially holding everything together, weren't providing the finishing touches. I could read the checklist of what loved ones wanted with regards to resuscitation, heroic measures, feeding tubes, and so on. The reality in both cases was that I never had to actually have any crummy powers appointed because both of my loved ones remained alert and conscious to make their wishes known. 

With every inquisitive/informative phone call, I confirmed that I was not calling the shots, but rather just being kept in the loop. The whole business of death is awkward and uncomfortable as an idea, as well as literally, I am sure, for the one actually experiencing it. Trying to honor the wishes of the dying, while managing the "needs" of the living. When Jeff was reaching the end of his time with us, I became the bitch gatekeeper responsible for limiting/monitoring the flow of visitors, as that was something we thankfully had discussed. Marlene and I hadn't really had such discussions, and I was not comfortable stepping as hard on her family's toes this time. I had to recognize their grief, and put aside any personal feelings about how some of them had carried themselves up until that point. It was their prerogative to play the part.

So what's to sort out? Well, I know a lot of people journal and am impressed by the merits of such a task to work things out. For me? This. This right here is my journal. You see, if I tried to write for myself, I am fairly certain the entry would say "I'm sad." I wouldn't bother trying to complete the thought, but since the five of you are kind enough to read whatever verbal diarrhea I leak here (one of my more flowery analogies, sorry), the least I can do is try to have it make sense. Sometimes I get really crazy ideas like "what if it isn't just me and something I have to say gives a new angle to something you're feeling." 

Marlene and Jeff's passings both left me feeling like I could have done better. I think ultimately it may have to do with the fact that both cases ended with them leaving this world. It was no big surprise on paper either time, but I think hope carried me through my effort to support each time. Maybe I lost sight of what I was actually assisting with. The other day a friend gave me some input, as I tried to process my thoughts on the losing battle of jumping on a sinking ship. She said that my swimming out to that sinking ship to try to help was the important part. I took what she said and tried to reconcile it with my usual exhaustion from feeling like I am treading water while others look like these graceful Olympic swimmers. She told me not everyone swims out to the sinking ship, so I started to think that maybe my splashing about frantically wasn't a complete failure.

I let myself get bogged down in the things I couldn't do for Marlene...get the right doctor to get the right meds to ease her Parkinson's symptoms, make the nursing home feel more cozy or serve better food, visit enough to make up for the hours she spent lonely, bring back her son or any other part of the incredible life she once lived. I wanted evidence of the mark I was leaving with her, beyond the bank statements showing that her bills had been paid. I felt like an imposter when people thanked me for all I'd done because, as mentioned, the ship still sunk. 

I am grateful to have people willing to tolerate my insecurities and throw me a life jacket, those who told me that what I did gave her security, friendship and love. Those are not insignificant things, I suppose.

Random reviews

I was feeling rather unaccomplished, thinking the week had just flown by, when I realized today is only Tuesday! I hadn't even missed a chance to unload a little random. Let's throw a quick callback to the last post and give this pizza I made some support...

...because she clearly needs it! And just as an update, my new undergarments remain comfortable, despite a few quick "hey how ya doin?" right cup peek overs...kind of like Tim's neighbor, Wilson, on Home Improvement.

That homemade pizza was good despite lacking...

...Two and a half feet of hot, melty cheese?!?!?! I swear I think my colon seized when I read that. (Not my groceries.) They somehow managed to make the thought of gooey cheese unappetizing. In other relatively unappealing vittles, I have seen these at two stores now...

...and cannot seem to grasp the thrill of eating like Fred Flintstone, let alone the logistics of actually cooking that shape/size.

We are in our third week here of winter acting like winter with some snow to make the cold temperatures feel worthwhile! Snowshoeing and cross country skiing and sparkly fresh air! This was one of several of these signs at one of the beaches we went to.

If I could just sit in this seat and supervise the beach on this kind of day, I'd apply!

Is it just me who thinks there is a slight disconnect between these two brands?

And has anybody been on pins and needles waiting for the Gap to have home products?

I was shopping in a search of "Valentine board books for toddlers" for my nephew's book of the month selection and once again allowed myself the pleasure of reading a few reviews. I don't want to dissuade you from any titles that you may be inclined to shop for, and it truly is irrelevant which books these first few reviews are for now that you know what my search parameters were. This one...

...I just keep cracking up trying to fathom the struggle going on in that household to "understand" Valentine's Day. The plot of the book as best I could tell was woodland critter makes valentine cards for friends. If that concept could not be laid out without a best selling children's author, there are some rough roads ahead. Now this next review is for the same book...

...so now we are going to judge the illustrated clothing on a cartoon animal? The "reading it without being able to read" just slays me because her daughter could have made up an elaborate story having nothing to do with the text to begin with. Having a thought obviously is one thing, but deciding you need to write an amazon review goes a bit beyond. Here we have another book that has disappointed someone who my friend said either "takes a lot of uppers or has no one in their life that they love"...

...has she ever seen how rough waves in the ocean can be? I just can't with her! Obviously Harvey here has some real issues...

...and as if the book alone didn't crack me up with his green clouds...

...I was so glad Harvey found someone who thoroughly enjoyed what he had to say, but did it have to be Christine with her extreme fart aversion? And her false claim that she does not fart?! Girl, you're gonna burst! (Side note: There was a girl I graduated high school with who claimed she never farted. Our human anatomy teacher, upon hearing us discuss her gastric prowess, asked if she ever slept. Hopefully nobody records Christine at night!)

Getting ready for another blast of snow here in Central New York...I hope I have enough snacks!

Fit to be Tried

One would think that these awkward introductory paragraphs where I try to acknowledge my blogging absence, while never really explaining it, because there is never really a concise reason to give, would keep me driven to charge the chromebook and tap out a few lines on a more regular basis. One may also note that simply because I enjoy both the writing piece, as well as the interacting with you piece, there would be enough motivation to put down the handful of candy long enough to let my fingers dance across the keyboard to tell you all about said candy. Apparently one would be wrong. I spend far more time on the daily thinking, or lamenting about this little old blog space than it would take to just put some words out there. I did get to a point where the thought just stopped in its tracks every time it tried to dance on by, "Maybe we should blog today?" "Nope." and that was that. No pondering what topic to muse upon, no trying out sentences. More of a stop before this can even get started sort of thing.

Finally the other morning while I was lying in bed, which I seem to "like" to do now between 5:00 and 7:00, I let some bloggy thoughts in. I'm not exactly sure what they were now, as once the door opened, all sorts of debris flew in! "Simmer down folks, take a number and we'll try to get to you in an orderly fashion despite how disorderly it appears."After a couple of days trying to sort that out, I still didn't know where to start. Several days of stomping around in the snow, mixed with an unflattering view in the Target fitting room, and I knew who I was again.

I'm the lady with the ill-fitting bra.

Perhaps you recall the some of the trial and tribulations? If not, you can reacquaint yourself here, here, here, and even back here in 2012 for starters.

I cannot confirm that I spent any quality time trying on the last two bras I have been making do with before purchasing them. Let's face it though, sometimes the level of dressing room calisthenics I am wiling to partake in is not going to be an accurate measure anyway. A post purchase stretch in my bathroom mirror once revealed that the girls were playing peek-a-boo out the bottom, so I was happy to have a shirt to hide what my undergarments apparently did not. A more recent glamour don't was a side gap situation that was also luckily hidden by clothing. Neither of these specific problems, nor general discomfort sent me spiraling down to that dark place of flipping through hangers again though, so you may wonder what it took to send me shopping? Slipping. Straps.

No, no, NO! I cannot stand having straps slipping off my shoulders. I am not sure I even understand the logistics of how that happens under a not exactly loose fitting long sleeved shirt under a winter coat. I kept having to reach in the neck of my shirt to retrieve the offenders. Ugh! I had to resort to the uniboob sports bras that have been hanging around here waiting to be sporty because I was not going to perform a strap rescue mission while bundled up for snowshoeing (and yes, that is passing as sporty).

Target was my destination because I certainly did not want to pay a lot of money for lingerie destined to do me wrong. Moreover, if the situation became dire, there would be plenty of options there to soothe me in the book or candy aisles. Did I spend as much time investigating options as I could, and perhaps should, have? Of course not. Was I momentarily hypnotized by words like "wirefree" and "no slip" and "comfort"? 

You know I was! Plus a two-pack that eliminated the need to decide how many or what colors, despite not being clear if they were both functional colors? Sign me up! While the temptation to grab a size that seemed familiar to purchase and try on in the discomfort of my own home, I have met myself and know that the chances of an ill-fitting bra being returned are questionable at best. I took TWO sizes and marched off to the ill-fitting room. Yes, it should have been like the scene in Officer and a Gentleman where he carries her away. I could hear the clapping, feel the pride, as I had arrived.

I looked at my reflection in that large mirror in the unforgiving light. "You've got this." I threw my coat on the bench, did some deep breathing and got to it, just to wrestle the non-sliding straps off the hanger and...

...what the actual hell? I was going to have to try on a bra hooked to another bra? Perfect. Nobody was harmed or hanged and decisions were made. I donned my new purchase when I got home, and may have wondered for a split second how my body shape could have shifted in such a short span of time, but a little reorganizing sorted things out. I may also have been reminded why I recalled telling myself not to buy wireless bras anymore, but it's winter and I have layers to work with. I'll tell you this though-the straps don't move, and I wrote this blog post, so I am calling it a win for now! Celebrate the small victories with me and get yourself a piece of candy! 

'Tis the season to be random

The snowfall last night made this morning feel magical! It really is that time of year again!

Seems like a fitting time for a little Christmas miracle, like blowing some dust off my keyboard and dumping some photos of my phone that I've been saving just for you. Let's start with a couple of signs that the holidays are most certainly upon us...

...whoah, that seems kind of aggressive as far as baked goods go, as well as gross as far as carbonated beverages go. Now prepare to be overwhelmed with the joy this guy has to bring...

...Santa meets elf meets, um, merman? The island of misfit toys has nothing on this situation, and I certainly don't need visions of this dancing in my head. The threat to my tastebuds and then this attack to my vision were not my only senses to be assaulted. This?

Oh, this candle's "aroma" made me throw up a little in my mouth! 

Let's move on to a few things I've learned other than to use better judgement when sniffing wax in jars...

...First, am I to presume that there are people who need serving suggestions for coffee pods? If you are one of them, you're welcome. Second, there is an appropriate tool for every job...

...and I believe, more often than not, it's chocolate. Third, somebody should really check on Alice...

...she is clearly a mess! And last, but not least...

...cats need privacy.

Before we go, here is just a little something from the land of Instacart that amused me. Shoppers have to scan each item's UPC code, which is typically just a regular old rectangle shaped set of bars. Some companies have jazzed up their codes though, and it's just a little bit of pizzazz I keep on the look out for (and yes, that is about as exhilarating as it sounds). Coffee creamer in a mug...

...yogurt in a spoon...

...a barn for the cheese from dairy cows...

...and for lactation cookie bites?

Wow...

...just wow.