Life is seldom fair

I've a good friend. Everyone else in her family drinks, smokes or both, but not her. She's done a good job of taking care of herself over the years.

She's married to a great guy. They have two wonderful kids. They lead a simple life, but they are happy, and I must say, it shows.

A few months ago, she noticed something was wrong. A lump. Small little thing, but it was enough to concern her.

On Thursday, she was admitted to the hospital. She has stage four breast cancer, which has spread to her liver. The pain was too much for her to bear any longer. They've admitted her for observation.

I just finished talking to her husband on the phone. He said that everyone in her family has said "why her". I find myself asking that self-same question. Why her?

Of course, when he called to tell me about what happened, his first question was about how My Kid was doing. He knows she's got problems, and showed just how great a guy he was by checking in on The Kid before telling me about his own problem.

I've been praying for them both. I hope she pulls through.

If Sunday is a day of rest...

...why did I spend it busting my butt?

Let's see...

* Up early this morning to take The Kid to church, come home, get a shower and then back over there to pick her up.
* Out for breakfast, full tank of gas, and then grocery shopping.
* Back home, put away the groceries, read the Sunday paper.
* Go out back and wash and wax the car.

While I'm watching the car (and The Kid's sitting on the back porch watching), we get a visitor in the form of a cat that's been roaming around the neighborhood for the last few weeks.

This cat is extremely friendly. My neighbor believes that it belonged to someone who moved away and didn't bother to take the cat. The cat just wandered around, between me and The Kid, getting love and attention (and a wee bit of milk).

When I finished with the car and came in for lunch, the cat stuck around, sleeping in the sun on the chair on the back porch. My Kid went to put the paper in the recycle bin on the porch, and didn't see the cat sneak past her into the house.

I'm sitting in the living room, in a chair, half watching the baseball game and half falling asleep, when the cat comes walking in as if it owned the place. As soon as it sees me, it jumps right into my lap!

I call The Kid...she's out on the porch chatting with the neighbor...and she comes in and says "what". I say "look at this. Takes her eyes a moment to focus, but she sees the cat on my lap.

:/

I get the cat back outside. It wasn't too happy about that, and it's been hanging out on the porch and "mrrows" every once in awhile.

Now the Pirates, who were winning 3-2, are going into the top of the ninth, losing 4-3. After the game's over, it's out to dinner, sneaking past one unhappy cat in the process no doubt.

So...I wonder what I'll have for dinner...

Why?

Why can't people grow old gracefully?
Why must the elderly suffer so?
Why can't the golden years be truly golden?

The parent becomes the child, and the child becomes parent.
In that sense, I understand what other parents go through when they see their child suffer.
It's a feeling that hurts you to your core, to your soul.

And we know that it'll never get any better.

Bloody hot as Hell...

At one point earlier today, Weather Underground said the temperature for my area was 97.3 degrees with 100 percent humidity. The dewpoint was in the 90s and the heat index was 187 degrees.

While I think the last couple stats might be incorrect, it was hot as Hell today.

I hate the heat.

And they say only rock stars get the groupies...

Moochers!

Neighbors are wonderful things. They help out when you need them, watch the place, and generally make a neighborhood a better place.

Until they start to become pests. Constantly stopping over when you're in the middle of something else, waking you up too early when you're trying to sleep in, and always wanting more.

Mind you, I'm not talking about my human neighbors. I'm referring to the other animals: Birds, Squirrels and the whatnot.

What did you think I was talking about?

We have a couple bluejays in the area, and they have the most beautiful song...when they want to sing it. However, they also have this...squawk...that sounds like it's coming from something five times its size. Lately, it's figured out that it can squawk and we'll toss peanuts out to it. I'm not sure who's been trained to that Pavlovian response: Me or the bluejay.

This morning, my one morning to sleep in, I heard it out there squawking...at 5:30 in the morning. I rolled over, mumbled something about the lines of "forget about it you crazy bird" and went back to sleep.

And then there are the squirrels...or as my friend Gabbie would call them...the Twits.

They come around my back porch like little beggars looking for peanuts. Mind you, they're somewhat used to me now. I can open the back screen door a crack and offer them a peanut, and if I get low enough, they will take it from me. (I do keep my fingers well away from their teeth...I ain't that dumb.)

This morning, I was out of peanuts. I didn't pick them up at the store the other day, and this one was hanging around waiting for peanuts. The Kid made popcorn (with light butter and salt) for the birds earlier, and saved a couple pieces for The Twit. He wouldn't eat it. Tossed 'im out a cracker: He wouldn't touch it. I kept telling him I didn't have anything (yes, I talked to the squirrel...and no, I'm not sure who's the bigger twit) but he didn't move.

Finally, I hit upon inspiration. I took another cracker and put a little peanut butter on it. Opened the door, he came over, sniffed it, and went to town!

So, I go back and sit down to finish my breakfast (interruptions...sigh...), when I hear a "skritching" on the back screen door. It was the squirrel...climbing on the new screen, looking inside the house! I grabbed the camcorder (thankfully, the battery hadn't totally run down) and took a short video of him on the screen. It's a new mesh: His claws won't scratch or rip it. I got the heavy-duty screen material. I know the neighbors. ;)

For his performance, he earned a peanut-butter cracker. He took it from my hands, ate on the porch, and then scampered right off.

Maybe I was wrong about neighbors who overstay their welcome... :)

One of these days...

...I am so gonna get my butt kicked.

As I was leaving the parking garage tonight, after a long day of work, I realized that the idiot behind me decided to cruise through the barrier while on my tail. That way, he didn't have to pay for parking.

I sat in my car at the light and yelled at him, cursed him out like you wouldn't believe.

I pay $80 a month to park in that garage, and this jackass is sneaking out for free! And this isn't the first time he's done it. I've seen him do it at least three times before.

Next time, I swear, if he does it to me again, I'll put the car in park, call the campus police and have them ticket his ass. I don't care if they site me for obstruction. He tries anything, I've his license place. Anything happens to my car, I'll find him and blame him for everything.

Man, that pisses me off.

Should I? Shouldn't I?

One thing about me...I'll never be a good capitalist. I've tried...Lord knows I've tried.

I've helped folks out with major, complex computer problems, and all I've ever asked for, in return, was maybe a bottle of water, if that. I'm just not good at putting a price on my work.

For years, folks have been suggesting I sell some of my pictures. The concept seems foreign to me. How can I put a price on them? They're just pictures. Granted, some of them seem better than others I've taken, but I can't put a price on them.

I've talked at length with a friend of mine who runs a successful flower shop. She's offered to sell some of my pics through her shop and help me with setting prices and the like. She's said there's a market for some of my prints, especially there, where it's harder to buy gifts for husbands, fathers, and boyfriends.

Case in point...



I'm especially proud of this picture, taken last night at the baseball park. It's rare for me to get a GOOD night picture, and this is one of the best (in my not-so-humble opinion) that I've taken. I've added the watermark and the text, and I've printed an 8x10 here at home that I'm going to try and sell...but there's this nagging little voice in the back of my head telling me not to.

It's not saying that the shot is not good enough...my ego is stronger than that...it's telling me Who the Hell do you think you are to try and sell a picture? You're no Ansel Adams...you don't even call yourself a photographer. You're just some schmuck who took a good picture. Get over yourself!

Tell me, then, you who view this journal, and be honest. Is the picture good? Should I see if I can sell it? Would it be worth it for me to try and market my pictures? And, most importantly, do I have the right to do so?

'Cause I sure don't know...