Sometimes my days feel just like this squirrel - hanging on and trying to blend in.
As I sit waiting for my General Tsao Tofu to cool and hoping that my wine doesn't get warm in exhange, I have to think again about the whirl-bout this life of mine has taken.
I do a lot of Live Journal as part of a Parkinson's Filter. Not to hide, but rather to protect the feelings of my lovely and quite guiltridden husband who feels I got the short end of the stick in this marriage.
No - if anyone got the short end it was him when he threw caution into the winds and chose me. All I can say in my behalf is at least I'm adaptable.
I wonder if Mom's first husband will call this weekend in a desperate attempt to keep her alive while speaking with me. Much like me, he is not only without Mom but also apparently quite alone. Being a surrogate nearly-everything from Grandmother to caregiver to sister, I find myself in the role as surrogate daughter. Odd legacy that Mom (still known in many parts as The Wild Granny) has left me. Diamond earrings and a first husband who never attained closure.
I wonder if I will hear from my wayward youngest child who still has yet to accept responsibilities for his actions. When I put up the hard-line, he chose a geographical cure and moved with his father. His father, not being one to deal with angst well, gave in and now wayward child has decamped on yet another geographical cure. Little does he realize that I only wish him well and happy. Perhaps one day, he will.
I wonder if I will find an impromptu party has cropped up next door with my resident drag-queens (their choice of title) and if it's a slumber party like last years blizzard was...and if so, if I need to find more appropriate slumber gear as to not be underdressed with my lack of sequins and fringe.
I wonder most of all how I will ever find the patience to keep going though somehow it happens. Somehow the sun returns each morning and the sun leaves each evening. As such, I shall continue.
I took the photo above in summer 2007 in Washington DC. Don't pet the squirrels -- they're bold brave creatures who are not above biting if the hand they investigate holds nothing but a camera.
2 comments:
There was one of those esoteric questions in college philosophy that dealt with a squirrel such as yours. If the squirrel, maintaining its same relationship with the tree, always moved so that while you circled the tree it was always on the other side was it indeed circling the tree because its stomach was always against the trunk.
We could debate that for hours especially when drunk or stoned. I don't know that I remember the answer if their was indeed one but I saw it as a metaphor of life. It is not always clear where we are or exactly what our movement is - if any - but sometimes just clinging to the tree is enough.
I have an ex-husband that never quite got closure on our marriage or his first which is why he remarried her as his third and made me a sandwich wife. Don't you love that term. He calls in cycles and tells me how much he loves me and asks if he gets rid of 1/3 will I be 2/4. I ponder from time to time what he does not understand about NO.
But I am pretty sure that maintaining a friendship with him is not working for me just now. I think it was Iris Murdock that wrote so often about muddles with her characters.
Life is a muddle more often than not. What I wouldn't give for stark clarity but it probably only happens in microseconds.
Our Philosophy classes were never that much fun. On a good day, I was told I was going straight to hell about 5 times. Most people in the class never did figure out my personal beliefs, nor did I divulge them. I just sat with the one Muslim, the one Jew, and the 2 Wiccans (one of which was a full blood Sioux). We were the decided minority in Bible Belt Philosophy. The only time we were safe from imminent hell and damnation was during the few weeks we spent on Winnie The Pooh.
I like the concept of the squirrel. They adapt when it suits them, they blend in when it doesn't, and piss them off and they BITE. Oh that I could manage my life so effectively.
I don't know what it is about men and closure. My first husband spend ages trying to convince me for try #2 (he wasn't sober then). Since he needed someone to tell him what to do, when to do it, and who to blame if it didn't work out, I wasn't the best choice. I wanted someone to be strong when all I could think was WTF just happened. Took 3 tries but thankfully I've found that. He supports me even when he suspects I might be wrong, and validates my reasoning as, well valid, even when he doesn't agree. So what's a little deal like Parkinsons amongst friends, compatriots and lovers eh?
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