cereal mean stupidity

Some people act mean. Not only do they act mean but they are cereally mean. They are mean about cheerios, about count chocula, about granola, about oatmeal.

Not only do they act mean, and cereally mean, but stupidly mean.

They are stupidly mean because they heard that you like cheerios. It doesn’t matter if you actually do or don’t like cheerios. Someone told them that you like cheerios, they think cereal is sinful and you are LABELLED. They have you labelled as liking cheerios and you are a sinner.

And it doesn’t matter what you say or do. You can say “I don’t like cheerios.” Yeah, they don’t believe you. They think that maybe YOU EAT CHEERIOS when no one is looking, behind curtains, in the basement. They did a search on the internet and you bought Cheerios in 1997. You are a sinner.

You can show photos of your breakfast. “Look! Yohgurt and raspberries!” Doesn’t matter. They whisper, she eats cheerios in secret. You are still a sinner and you are a sinner and a liar.

You can be an upright citizen for years, join the Rotary, volunteer, donate money. Doesn’t matter. The whispers circle back to you: cereal.

So finally you figure it out: fungk them. You do not have time in your life for cereal mean stupidity. You put those people on ignore and leave them there. You cheerfully help if they have a flat tire or appendicitis. You commiserate when they complain that they are miserable. Well, actually, fungk that. Your goal if they call is: get off the phone. “I got a pan burning on the stove, I gotta go to the bathroom, I gotta trim my nosehairs…” Anything but talk to one of them. Because your life is a lot of fun, once you stop trying to change their minds.

And it doesn’t have to be cereal. It can be bipolar disorder or race or politics or the country you are from. Cereal mean stupidity is rather rampant. We have the choice to ignore it and live with more joy than ever.

Peace out.

Pandas and the toughest yarn

After my sister died, I eventually got a box from her home.

People were cleaning it out. My cousin Ko, my friend Caroline, other friends.

Among other things, they sent part of her yarn stash.

What they sent me was the very very fine yarn and the fuzzy yarn. The mohair.

Oh gosh, I thought, they sent me the toughest yarn.

Well, as part of the dealing with the ADHD/OCD antibody annoyance, which makes me wired while the OTHER antibodies make me physically not able to do much, what am I doing?

Sorting my yarn stash, for one. I have a LOT of that lovely fuzzy soft superfine mohair and other superfine yarns. It is tricky to work with because the fine needles are hard on the hands and because if you screw up, it’s hard to take it out. I know some of the tricks: freezing the sweater is one. It makes it easier for the fibers to untangle.

I’ve also been sorting the knitting books and magazines. I have more books. My mother gave me a whole hardcover book on edges and casting on. I’ve used it twice so far. But now I am home, buzzing with antibodies (yeah, sometimes it feels like ants or bees or pins. On the inside.) and so: knit.

And lo, I find this book. Fine knitting. It even has a mohair t-shirt pattern! Awesome, I am going to be knitting up some of my sister’s mohair. Wonderful. I think she’d approve. Also, I plan to be just as glam and sultry as the woman on the cover, heh.

I think I’ll submit this to the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Country Comfort.

Bad Pig

This is Bad Pig. She is helping with the computer.

Bad Pig was born, or made, in 1982 or 1983. I made her in college. She is constructed of a coat hanger, a cardboard tube and some stuffing and then I found fabric to cover her. I used post earrings for eyes, because that is what I had on hand. They are rather nice earrings. Her tail curls around so that she can sit on your shoulder like Anne McCaffrey’s fire lizards. I made her for a convention of some sort. Fantasy, I think.

Anyhow, I gave Bad Pig to my sister Chris. She was not named Bad Pig at that time. I don’t know what Chris named her. But she continued with Chris through multiple moves. When my sister was in hospice, I asked if I could take Bad Pig back home with me. Chris said yes. Later Chris asked me to keep the bad pigs from harming anyone else. I was not exactly sure what she meant, but I said yes.

On the way home, I named the dragon Bad Pig and explained that I didn’t want her to harm anyone. Let the past be the past and bygones be bygones. I am not sure exactly what the details of Bad Pigdom were, but it’s the future I am concerned with.

Bad Pig has been in the living room on the book shelf since coming back to Washington. Currently she is helping out with the computer. I tell her when the computer is considering being unhelpful and Bad Pig then considers breathing fire on it. However, the computer straightens up at that point, so she doesn’t have to.

My sister was born in the Chinese year of the dragon. In hospice she said, “How will I find you?”

I said, “You are a dragon. You are letting me take the dragon I made you home. You will be able to fly. All you have to do is find the dragon and you will find me.”

So it is very comforting to have her so close.

My father’s mother’s father

The eldest gentleman in this picture is Fred Bayers, my father’s mother’s father. And his family.

My father’s mother’s mother is present as well. Let me not overlook the women.
Gertrude Bayers.

My father is there and his two sisters. Their spouses and children are present.

My mother is there. My father’s mother and my grandfather and my grandmother’s siblings are present.

I am there. So is my little sister.

Look at all the love there. We need our families so much during this pandemic.

Sending love out.

All love comes back to me.

I hope it comes back to you too.

Juxtaposition

The photograph in my Quimper Family Medicine home clinic and guest room is of my grandmother and my daughter, in 1988. I took the picture. My grandmother is Evelyn Ottaway. The other picture is one of my mother/baby or parent/child pictures. I like the juxtaposition.

It’s not just parent/child that is important. It is parent/child, grandparent/child, great grandparent/child.

I am reading a book that appeared in my little free library box, about grandmothering skills. It’s got some very interesting ideas and I am enjoying it! Radical, man.

My grandmother had amazing organizational skills. I think that my daughter got them from her.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Radical.