I’m a finder of lost things and valuables that belong to others
And animals that are lost or hurt
I found her struggling on the sidewalk
I halted my walk in more ways than one
Scooped her up in my hands, and she desperately tried to fly
She had no visible injuries
Not to my eyes
I took her to my neighbor’s where I thought she might find some blooms
I offered her water from my tiny bottle cap
She did lap it up and for a moment, and I thought that was that
But she still could not fly
Even though she desperately tried
So I brought her home in a shoebox with some flowers
But that’s not the part I really want to talk about
I want to tell you how she recognized my voice and how her antennae responded when I talked to her kindly
I want to tell you she was perfect with not a spot on her to explain why she was dying
I pet her little body and talked to her sweetly
I told her she was beautiful, and although she couldn’t get to her destination
She would stay here with me
I hoped for a miracle overnight, but I knew better
At first light, I checked her shoe box and she was nearly dead, so weak she was, ants were crawling on her
I brought her in the house and showed her all the plants
I told her I loved her and would take care of her
I put her in a plastic bag and placed it in the freezer
(This is how to humanely euthanize butterflies when they are already dying)
I took her out twenty four hours later and laid her on the table. She looked the same, but her body wasn’t contorted anymore. Her antenna relaxed to a normal position rather than contracted in a sort of grimace
They say butterflies don’t feel pain. I don’t believe them.
I want to know why a beautiful, gentle creature meant to migrate thousands of miles only flew a few feet before starting to die
And other malevolent beings are granted the gift of a lengthy, destructive life
I want to know why
Regina trying to flyHer shoebox full of bloomsRegina I, Danaus plexippus
The ability to judge what is worth pondering or taking on. The insight and intuition to decide that something isn’t for you. The capability to decide that if something isn’t for you, you can leave it and go on about your day.
The wisdom to own your own shit and know that other peoples’ shit is not yours to own. To not give a fuck if people don’t like that you curse.
To determine it’s perfectly acceptable to water your plants wearing your bathrobe and your slippers. To go out in a very nice outfit, but not wear a stitch of makeup on your face. (This is closely related to wearing a bathrobe to water your plants.) Also, with age comes the knowledge and the understanding that what people see on the outside is not who you are on the inside. And who you are on the inside is much more important than what you look like.
My birthday is tomorrow. One more trip around the sun. Susie passed away in my lap this past Monday, and my best friend’s mother died about five hours later. It has been a difficult week, and I have scaled it alone, save for several good souls. And I have made it through. With age comes inner strength you didn’t know you had.
With age comes discernment. With age comes the knowledge that grief is love. You learn people can only ever treat you the way they feel about themselves. Sometimes you can do everything possible, but if you are misunderstood by others, it won’t make a difference. And you have to just let that shit go.
I have learned pets are a gift from above. Animals do not offer conditional love, theirs is only unconditional. They love simply because that’s what they do. For people who don’t know the love of a pet, or specifically a cat, I’m sorry. Your life has not been enriched in the way that mine has. Tiny humans grow up and they begin to place conditions on their love. It’s what the world does to us. But a pet never does. A 17-year-old cat still loves unconditionally, the same as when they were a tiny baby. My birthday wish is that humans may strive to be less conditional with their love, and be more like “animals.”
I found myself at the dollar store this week, and it’s a really nice one. By that, I mean they have notebooks. I go through notebooks like people go through tissues. That’s just how it works when I work. Now is the time to get the notebooks because now it is back to school season. They also have 2025 calendars out, and although all of these things used to be one dollar, now they range from $1.25 to $1.50. One cool thing I know about the dollar store is there’s a little section of hardback and paperback books. I don’t know where these books come from, but they’re not books I’ve ever heard of. Yet, sometimes, you can find a real gem. For $1.50, it’s worth the splurge. If you’ve been to the book section of the dollar store, you know you have to dig through all of the titles and there are numerous duplicates, so digging is mandatory. I know you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but I always do. If the cover is iffy, I read the title next. If I still can’t get a grasp, I open it up and read the first couple pages. That’s how I decide if I want to purchase a book or not, or even if I want to borrow one from the library. So here I am in the little bookshelf of the dollar store sifting through all of the books when I find one that raises my eyebrow. The cover is absolutely hilarious – Telenovela style. The title is even better – The Good Girl’s Guide to Rakes.
I’ll be honest, I didn’t even crack it open to see what it was about. It’s evident to me that it’s a users’ guide aimed at women who may not be familiar with garden shed tools. Sometimes people don’t know the difference between a rake and a hoe and it’s very important to be able to discern the difference. I decided this useful manual was necessary for purchase and plopped it into my cart.
See what I mean? How could I leave this – the only copy left – to sit on the shelf?
The second book didn’t have an impressive artistic cover, but it was hard back, which I always find curious. I always take off the jacket and look at the naked book. It’s red. I put on the jacket and read the synopsis. I read a few pages and decided it wasn’t really speaking to me, but for $1.50, what did I have to lose?
The second book. The most exciting thing about it is the book itself is red. I’ll give it a chance.
As I was rummaging through the rest of the books, I saw it. “Ooh la la!” I said in the aisle, but no one was around to care.
There it was, standing tall amongst the shorter books. The title got me: All Signs Point to Paris. Its dark navy paperback cover with slightly shiny copper type face and its deckled edge pages were not the usual find at the dollar store. I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath. Reading the synopsis wasn’t necessary, although I did it. Reading the first few pages wasn’t necessary, although I did it. It’s a memoir, somehow astrology is involved, destiny, Paris and some dude. Well, that’s my kind of book. Plopped it right into the cart and continued on my way.
The design of this book is very well done. Kudos to the designer. The original price was $19.99, and its publishing house is well known.
I returned home and sorted through all of my dollar store finds. That’s always the most fun part – picking each item out of the bag and saying to yourself, “I am so pleased I found a bundle of two rolls of Scotch tape for $1.50. Let them eat cake, I have name brand Scotch tape.”
I put the books aside for later because I wanted to pay extreme attention to every detail. I wanted to sniff them, look at their pages, read the publication details and all that fun stuff that book nerds do.
When I finally sat down with the three books, I saved the best for last. I already know the difference between rakes and hoes, and I’m not too keen on the second book, but I will give it a chance. There is a red book underneath that jacket, so maybe it’s more exciting than I think it will be.
I carefully opened the Paris book, making sure not to bend the cover or wrinkle the first few pages. Book nerds will know this ritual. I got a few pages in and found the most delightful surprise. A night sky with stars. Again, kudos to the designer as well as kudos to the publisher who spent a pretty penny on this book. Sidebar: I am not a fan of ereaders, and this is why. There’s nothing that can replace the tactile feeling of a book in your hand. And when it’s designed well, as this one is, there is absolutely no competition between this and an ereader. None.
Starry, starry night…
I started reading this after my jump rope session yesterday, which by the way is kicking my butt. But I sleep soundly afterwards, as if I’ve been at the beach all day, sleeping in the sun and frolicking in the ocean. Nevermind most of it consists of me trying to skip for more than 30 seconds at a time without crashing and cursing.
I’ve got some stuff to do today, so I will revisit the book later. As most of you know, I often write about Paris here on my blog. The Olympics are getting underway and I’m seeing all of these images of the Eiffel Tower lighting up at night, as well as the recent full moon captured in the Olympic circles on the Eiffel Tower. What perfect timing then, than to read this book?
Are there things you try to practice daily to live a more sustainable lifestyle?
I didn’t want to answer this prompt by saying, “I recycle, reuse and repurpose,” not because I don’t do those things (I do), but because I felt like it would be a common answer. After a bit of deliberation, I found my prompt answer in an unusual spot. It seems the mourning doves felt very comfortable and a bit frisky in the front flower bed this morning.
That got me thinking. I have noticed there are teenaged squirrels in the backyard and teenaged starlings at the birdbath.
Thus, my contribution to sustainability is providing a natural reproductive habitat for birds, rodents, insects, and possibly Toady McToaderson – if he can find his mate one of these nights. Poor Toady.
Do I answer this prompt? Are they data mining? Do they want to know if we’re using a certain brand of calcium to prevent bone breakage?
Yes, I’ve broken my tailbone, though I have no idea how. I may have broken a toe, but I never had an x-ray. Other than that, I don’t think so.
Have I broken my own heart? Several times. Will I try again to break it? Statistically, yes.
Let’s segue into my song lyrics for the day:
Don’t Get Me Wrong (2007 Remaster)
The Pretenders
Don’t get me wrong If I’m looking kind of dazzled I see neon lights Whenever you walk by
Don’t get me wrong If you say, “Hello”, and I take a ride Upon a sea where the mystic moon Is playing havoc with the tide Don’t get me wrong
Don’t get me wrong If I’m acting so distracted I’m thinking about the fireworks That go off when you smile
Don’t get me wrong If I split like light refracted I’m only off to wander Across a moonlit mile
Once in awhile Two people meet Seemingly for no reason They just pass on the street Suddenly thunder, showers everywhere Who can explain the thunder and rain But there’s something in the air
Don’t get me wrong If I come and go like fashion I might be great tomorrow But hopeless yesterday
Don’t get me wrong If I fall in the mode of passion It might be unbelievable But let’s not say, “So long” It might just be fantastic Don’t get me wrong
Share a story about someone who had a positive impact on your life.
Tiny Baby and Mommy
Once upon a time, in a land about thirty miles away from where your author sits at this very moment, a tiny baby was born. She was born five weeks early because her mother chased around a cat with a baby chicken in its mouth and as a result, broke her waters. The baby’s father was away at sea, working hard as a ship’s captain and unable to return in time for the imminent premature birth of the tiny baby.
The tiny baby’s mother had to go to the hospital because the tiny baby insisted on being born, regardless of where her daddy was. The tiny baby didn’t care about that, she was ready to enter the world of the oxygen breathers. The tiny baby’s big sister took their mother to the hospital and waited in the father’s waiting room with a room full of expectant dads (this is how it was back in the day – dads waited in a room). After some time, the tiny baby was born. The tiny baby’s mother and big sister rejoiced.
The tiny baby grew as babies do, and eventually became a grown-up. Many people helped the tiny baby along the way, but there were only two at the start of the tiny baby’s life as an oxygen breather: her mommy and her big sister.
I found this video of Bubba and his brother Rafa in my phone today. Bubba had the softest belly – his fur was like velvet, but his belly was like a fluffy cloud. Bubba was a laid-back cat and liked his belly rubbed. Rafa was ticklish on his belly and didn’t like it pet. Rafa was sassy and would always backtalk. The sound he makes in this video is his backtalk. Volume up for best purring listening experience. I miss them every day, especially Bubba, my cat soulmate. 🩶🖤
Although I do have many favorite quotes from Zora Neale Hurston, I’m going to try to follow the rules for this prompt. I know, you’re probably thinking, “Why start now?” It’s because I have a favorite quote that I really don’t think of that often but for this prompt, I thought of it.
Years ago, I bought this book:
Filled with requited and unrequited varieties
I don’t recall why I purchased the book, but if I had to venture a guess, it would be because the book is pink, has a heart on it (your girl is obsessed with hearts and collects them – not anatomical hearts, dear reader), and it also has a pink bookmark built right in.
The book contains different chapters, which delve into the many different types of love – requited, unrequited, grief, love for pets, etc. I’m not much of a romantic, but I am sentimental. So I tend towards more eccentric quotes about not just love, but everything.
I nudged this book off my shelf for this prompt and opened it up to the page with the pink bookmark. I never take this bookmark out of this page because this is my favorite quote in the whole book, and that’s not an easy feat to accomplish.
Without further adieu, Let me introduce you to my favorite quote:
When I read this the first time, I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it. Then I realized there were many ways to interpret it. In fact, I have a new interpretation as I write this.
What is a superstition? (We all know, because we all remember the daily prompt from not that long ago.) Examples of superstitions include walking under a ladder is considered bad luck, opening an umbrella in the house is bad luck, breaking a mirror will give you seven years of bad luck, black cats are bad luck, knocking on wood so whatever you’ve just said comes true or stays safe (depends on the situation), and many more. Superstitions are misunderstood, mysterious, used as protection. In my mind, I always think about superstitions as hovering in the air in a cloud. Superstitions are not part of reality, but they are still given deference and respect. They are very real to the person who believes.
Having said that, I believe Monsieur Baudelaire is speaking here of unrequited love, a love that to him is so precious, he keeps it in the clouds just out of reach. The image of his love stays in his mind, and in his heart is where the cherishing blooms, but his love is so much more than that. He seems to be under a spell. To say you are more than an image I dream about and cherish, you are my superstition, means to me, that you are the very thing that I believe in, the idea of which makes no sense, but I love you more than I could ever love anyone else. And yet, there is a mystery about you. Are you bad for me? If my love were requited, would it be a mistake? Would it ruin everything? Superstition has to stay in the clouds, just out of reach, and so does the love. Dream of it, cherish it, hold it in the highest regard. Be also aware of its mystery and respect the unknowingness of it.
Monsieur Baudelaire was a controversial poet in Paris in the 19th century. He was part of the Decadent era. Knowing a bit about poets myself, I’ve been thinking: is the superstition the muse? Oui.
“It's Amy,” I said. 