Stuff changes over time.  None of us is easy with it as it’s happening, but in the long run, usually it’s beneficial.  Two examples are: Tarot Cards and the game of Chess.

  The cards we call a “poker deck” evolved from the Tarot.  Only one of the Major Arcana remain, the joker.  He used to be The Fool.  The suits of the Minor Arcana are still pretty similar.  Hearts started off as cups, as in your cup runneth over;  emotion/hearts.  Swords turned into spades but they are still fairly blade-like.  Diamonds were originally Pentacles, which were originally platters; that which is of value, so it hasn’t changed too much.  Clubs too remain somewhat the same, they are now wands; many decks represent these staves as branches with new growth at the ends.

The game of chess has been traced to Persia/India/ancient Muslim lands.  In those countries they still don’t have a queen, that piece is represented as it was originally(around a thousand years ago), a vizier (instantly the Disney cartoon movie version of Aladdin jumps into my head here).  They had/have elephants instead of a bishop like we do, but the French have a jester.  They have a similarity in their look though, two tusks on the elephant, two balls on the jester hat, and two points on the cap of the bishop.  The original set had a horse, where we have a knight, mostly it’s just still a horse though.  The reason that the queen never made any head-way in the places where they still have a vizier is because of the ruler’s history of many wives; there never was one strong woman,  just an advisor, and many minor women in the courts.

Movement and change is just something we all have to live with.  I am personally never happy about this, but I have come to accept it, slowly, and painfully (okay, some of it).  As, I suppose, we all must.  (But we don’t have to do it with a smile.)

p.s. to all my wonderful friends and family, do you have a little spot next to where you submit comments that let’s you place a check mark there so you can receive e-mail updates when something new pops up here?  (COULD that have been a more complicated question in run-on sentence form?)

       The A part first

  You never know when Road Rage may occur, or who is behind the wheel of the car in front (or in back) of you.  Or how stable their mental is.  One local driver learned this lesson recently.  (A lesson I strive to instill in The Hurricane, who looses her temper periodically in traffic and randomly flips people off.) 

I was pulling out of a parking spot, slowly (and carefully, checking for on coming vehicles all around me, as was my ever-vigilant passenger).  I signaled my intent and proceeded into the lane of travel.  (The weather was typical for a January afternoon in this part of Oregon: dark and rainy, so of course I had my lights on.)  The sound of screeching brakes, tires skidding on wet pavement, and blaring horn were soon to follow.  Behind me (now and suddenly) was a small white car driven by a person that was apparently NOT as alert nor careful as I was.  In fact, they were outraged that I had magically appeared in front of them.

   Being the psycho nut case that I am, possessing little to no impulse control, I immediately stopped all forward momentum.  Yanking the emergency brake in to place and dropping my gear shift in to neutral, I popped open the door and nearly sprang from my seat.  It appears that all one needs to do in cases such as these is to show The Angry Mom Face and have the potential for violet confrontation.  Fortunately for the poor frightened individual behind me the light turned green and I returned to my original position.  For miles afterward this vehicle stayed behind me at a safe and prudent distance.  Never to risk the wrath of an unstable lunatic again.

Now for the W part.

   We live in a fairly wooded, albeit densely populated, section of town.  There is an expansive running path that borders our canal, and two lanes of travel on either side.  When we see the following signs in our area, we take them to be a clue that something is amis in the neighborhood:

lines of traffic cones re-directing traffic

men in orange vests wearing hard hats and raingear

large pieces of equipment, such as a backhoe with flashing amber caution lights

and a seven to eight foot high geyser of brown water shooting forcefully from an extremely large hole in the ground.

Now, obviously we need to make a sudden (but of course cautious and safe) U-turn so we can go back for a better view.  We made our second pass and maneuvered around for a third, phone camera at the ready.   It is clear to you all now that no helpful picture is accompanying this post, because when we drove by again, the only item visible, where a municipal version of Old Faithful had been, was a completely soaked-to-the-skin city employee (although only his head and a peek of his shoulders protruded from the ditch).

Once again, all was well with our part of the world.  Whatever had been the (oh so obvious to all) problem, seemed to now be solved.  We returned to our original route and headed home.  As we unloaded the groceries I was feeling very grateful for not being the wife of that worker (I’ve done my share of muddy, smelly laundry over the years), and I am pretty sure that Daniel was saying his own private thanks the he was not the wet guy from the hole who had to drive home in those damp cold clothes.

  Okay, first of all, I am SO not Ann Leary.  I can’t make a little link that sends you to the correct previous post immediately, like she can.  But if YOU can do that, please feel free, other wise those who don’t recall our adventures in the field of Korean BBQ will just have to bounce around in my archives and try to locate it.  (Yes, I am truly handicapped sometimes.)

     I really needed some Hibachi Salmon tonight, and have been wanting to get over there lately  anyway.  So, we walk in, and immediately the Mrs runs up and makes a scowling face at us, “I thought you were gone!”  Then she hugs us, we are obviously forgiven for having been away so long.  The Mr seats us in our normal and regular  spot.  I don’t need to even glance at the menu.  Dan orders something he hasn’t had yet, but it’s not too risky like the new specials that have showed up since we last visited: things with “variety veggis” or “variety sea food/fish in the noodle” (I love these folks, but I not going to risk it).  I ask for hot tea, and He Of The Stylin’ Sweater Vest gives me his standard response, “YES!”   Off he goes.

    Tea arrives, two large lovely china cups with lids.  I look at the decorations and see that Dan’s cup has a female figure on it and mine has a male (both dressed in some type of ancient traditional garb of the land), so I reach across the table and switch them.  When the Mr returns with my spoon (which he holds up in front of my face and asks “YES?”) he notices the move I’ve made.  He stops, stares, then waves his arms around, saying things we can not even begin to understand, then he lapses back in to his form of English and says, “You change! Go BACK!  GO BACK!”  I pointed to the little people on the cups and said, “but he had a girl.”  And Sweater Vest says, “YES!”  I move them back to their original owners and he points to mine, “hundred year, Korean gentleman.”  And then he smiles broadly.  Points to Dan’s and say, “and her.  Same.  See!”  We smile back and nod our heads until he finally leaves.  I rest my forehead on the table and laugh until I am nearly crying, “gawd, I am ALWAYS in trouble with these guys!”

(The little couple on the cups makes perfect sense since Cousin Dan researched the restaurant’s name, they are obviously supposed to be the sweethearts from the folk song.)

    Dinner was great, as it always is.  The entertainment is never ending (she took the fork out of my hand and moved my leftovers around in my to go box because I had apparently done it wrong).  He walked us to the door, making sure my wee car was there in the parking lot, then he saluted us as we drove off, with her peeking over his shoulder waving.  If the food was twice the price, it would still all be worth it.

   Here’s what I saw today from my wee car’s window:

~ a fabulous leather clad hippie driving his hippie wife in his motorcycle’s sidecar

~ one of my “special” friends from the pool (she was obeying all crosswalk rules and singing to herself, she’s adorable), I waved and called out her name, she was so happy to see me

~ an itchy man wearing three pairs of pants

~ a fire truck disgorging “heroes” like a clown car, only not nearly as quickly nor efficiently (they slowly parked it half in the road and half in the driveway of a building just one lot away from a huge intersection, the better to completely fuck up traffic in five directions)

~ a bearded and turbaned gentleman riding a Segway with earbuds dangling from his head, in front of a Jiffy Lube.

The Walnut of Death Adventures continue.  Daniel and I ran errands today.  We stopped for Fish ‘n Chips To Go (okay, I had fish ‘n shrimp, whatever).  After placing our order we took a pre-dinner constitutional around the block, as we are wont to do.  We like to look at historic buildings and always try to find something new or interesting or unexpected, and then speculate wildly about it.  But this time, the unexpected item we found was a person.  Truthfully, he found us.  If he were a seriously bad person (instead of just a dorky kid with teenaged Boy Brain suffering from the effects of a shallow parental gene pool) he would have peddled right on past, and we never would have known he was there.  But he’s a genuinely good person, albeit handicapped by bad mothering/fathering, and a complete deficit of motivation.  He rode right up to us, a large boy-child on a small undersized bicycle  (the type “kids now adays” seem to find perfect for hopping curbs and jumping cement dividers).

“Elliott!” I exclaimed.  Yes, my wayward nephew had appeared, seemingly out of the mists of time.  He looked as he had the last time I saw him (too many months ago) only maybe a bit fuller in the face, and both his ears were pierced although I only remember it being one.  Typical of him, he didn’t have a lot to say, except to scoff and snort at the mention of his father’s plan to live in a travel trailer (which I had heard about way back in October).  He pointed out the building he’s been attending school in, enrolled in an alternative program that I was only peripherally aware of.  I told him of my expectant wait for The Grand Opening of the downtown taco place we both enjoyed and he said that he would very much like to go with me, or possibly meet me there.

When we parted, he stood from his bike and hugged me warmly, allowing me to reach up and kiss his cheek, as he always has, repeating, as he always has, “I love you too” when I tell him the same.  He’s a pill, but I miss him.  This sighting made my day. 

(Dinner was good too.)

I have the pleasure, on occasion, of spending time with three young persons.  (Often on a daily basis.)  These adults used to be my children.  They were little (okay, one was more like Medium, never Small) and they were gifted to me.  How I ended up with them is still a mystery (I know how they were conceived, that point is  not in question).  They were charming and adorable babies, they were intelligent and delightful young kids, and somehow, with little or no input on my part, they grew in to wonderful, generous, well informed, and fascinating adults.  They hold me up when I am fragile (like tonight, just as one example), they ask my advice periodically (and yes, even accept it when given as well), they appreciate all their father has done and given them (which was basically his entire life after the age of 24), they visit their grandparents (without being asked, and belive me, THAT is quite a test in patience).  And like the piece I am reprinting below from Hanna’s blog, they have something worth while to say.

Thank you J.D., Emma, and our Hurricane.  It is my honor to be your mom.

 

Sorry I missed this. I’ve been working early and sleeping a lot.

Anyway, yesterday was Blog for Choice Day. Also, the anniversary of Roe V. Wade.

I’ve often said that you don’t have to be pro-abortion to be pro-choice.

This is true.

You don’t have to agree with abortion, or even have one if you’re in a situation where the choice is yours.

You just have to believe that the living woman has the right to live a life despite her body’s archaic desire to squeeze one out at every opportunity.

Pro-life is not in favor of the life of a woman. It’s idealistic, in favor of the life that may be led by what is, truthfully, an unwanted child. It’s born of the desire to have children, not raise children.

Pro-life is like “at hope.” It’s a game of language. It’s spin. It makes “family values” voters feel better.

So, here’s a little happy-dance for what we’ve still got.
For all the single ladies who didn’t like, didn’t feel the need to put a ring on it, and didn’t have to re-route their lives for someone else’s belief of conception.

For all the women who just don’t like children. For all the women who like children, but don’t have the money to raise them.

And, for all the pro-choice individuals who like children and adopt someone else’s, don’t just talk about the caring option.

And, here’s a big, huge middle-finger: to all the men, all those good-old-boys and churchgoers who love to keep women inside their marriage vows and hookers in their little Blackberries:

if you’re not going raise the crop, you don’t have a say in crop-rotation.

pro fucking choice.

hell yes.

(The above, in italics, was copied, without written consent, permission, nor knowledge, from cardboardsunshine.wordpress.com [otherwise known as "the recycling of twentysix familiar letters"] or Han’s blog.)

   It will shock no one tuning in today when I say that I read a lot.  Nor will the diversity of my choices come as a big surprise either.  What might not be commonly known is that I had intended to be a childless librarian.  That’s right, me, the person who became the epitome of SmotherMother, planned on being a spinster, with only her books to keep her company.  Somehow I veered off that original route (let’s blame Dan) and ended up having many kids (biological as well as informally adopted ones) and living in a house crammed full of books instead.

  I have just finished two really interesting selections that I must share.  They are amazingly different, and yet sort of alike.  One is called “The Island of Lost Maps: A True Story of Cartographic Crime” by Miles Harvey.  I loved it, thought it was fascinating and quite informative.   The other, “Pirate Latitudes” is by the late Michael Crichton, and it was recently published.  Apparently found amongst his belongings after he passed.  Worth looking into, either or both.   Happy reading.

But wait there’s more.  I forgot one. (How the hell did that happen?  I have been singing its praises for a week now.)  And it really needs to be mentioned.  It still sort of goes along with the other two, but it has the bonus of being written locally, by someone I actually know.  Bonnie Henderson’s “Strand: An Odyssey of Pacific Ocean Debris”  is a must read for anyone who has ever walked on a beach, and found things.  Like dead birds, or a bit of metal sticking out of the sand, or a shoe, or even (if you are astoundingly lucky) a glass fishing float.

     Endeavoring to support herself (and her little dog too) Empress has now become an Avon lady.  She processed her first order yesterday, made deliveries today, and is well on her way to financial independence (if you figure that a young woman can live on fifty dollars a month).  Okay, so she’s just starting out.  But it’s very exciting.  And she’s just like Reese Witherspoon!  A third generation Avon-er (Avon-ista?).  Her Granny did it, her mom (briefly in the early 1980’s) did it, and now it’s Em’s turn.  PLEASE order something!!!  Here’s how, you can e-mail her directly at   emma_d_olsen536@yahoo.com  

or you can go to the Avon website (and see what the product line looks like these days) and connect with her that way.  (Here’s my Angry Mom rant for the day:  someone spelled her name wrong when they set up her original account, but that someone has NOT fixed it yet, so she has to deal with the misspelling for an indefinite period of time.  Pay attention to the mistakes carefully so Empress can get the credit.)

www.youravon.com/emmaolson

Thank you all for your support.

 

  Our nemesis Mercury straightened it self out this morning at 8:52 (my time), and the dark moon was yesterday (some time after 11 pm, can’t recall exactly).  Which means….  yes, things are going to get worked out, filled up, and generally moving toward an improved nature.  Thankgawd!

ps to Teresa (my sainted sister-in-law) and Lynne ( my new best pal in Calgary)~ thank you both for making me smile too.  Yes T, you and I need to take a quick spin around town sometime, I can’t believe you have never taken a ride in my car.  Yes Lynne, the photo is now on my to-do list for next week (written on the back of a recycled envelope, so you know it’s practically carved in stone).

     As many of you know, I drive a very distinctive vehicle.  How we acquired it is a story unto itself, but not today’s story.  I zoom around town, on ridiculous errands many days of the week.  In the past three or four of those days this is what I saw from my wee car:

~An ancient gentleman entering a free way off-ramp, in the wrong direction.  (Fortunately only one slow moving car was coming at him, which apparently clued him in to his misdirection, so he oversteered and made a very unattractive U-turn, and got himself going right.)

~A deputy, whom I have met several times over the years, sitting in traffic at a busy intersection.  SEEING him wasn’t the entertaining part, WATCHING the reactions on his face truly was.  First it was the look of “ew” as though he smelled something very bad when he looked at my strange little car, quickly followed by the “ow” of fright, as he realized WHO was driving that strange little car.  Made me literally laugh out loud.

~A large white woman in a larger white car with a small gray kitten on her shoulder.  The kitten was looking directly at me, the woman was not.

(An aside here on the title of this post, that is what Daniel and J.D. have now named my car, since they have both had to ride shotgun in it recently.)