BlogOfParadox

“The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.”

- Rainer Maria Rilke

I wrote this more than two months before it was “due,” but it required some editing after this weekend.

It’s been three years since we were married, and about six since we started dating, or whatever it was we thought we were doing.  I have a husband who is often quite introspective, and often distractedly hyper-focused, but loves hugely. I am so full-heartedly grateful to have this wonderful partner, who grows with me and respects the things that nourish me.  I am so glad to have this man who keeps my crazy at bay with all of his reason, sensibility and compassion. I am so darned lucky to have someone who can make me laugh embarrassingly loudly at semi-inappropriate times; because one day when I am ancient and do not care at all what people think, I will still be laughing. I am so lucky to have a partner who has wholeheartedly embraced the furry clan I brought into our marriage, and doubly lucky to have married someone willing to medicate such a fearsome, toothsome beast as old man Jack (The Anniversary Miracle!)

You’re an inspiring, brilliant, thoughtful and loving man, and you make me strive to be a better person.

Happy Anniversary, one day late.

They were amazed to find him very stable, bright-eyed, grumpy and hungry this morning.

He goes back in for an EKG on Tuesday, he’s on diuretics and human hypertension meds, he’s shaved in two patches, but they let us bring him home.  He even has a very chic black wristband.

Keep him as stress-free as possible, they said.  Meanwhile, there are several men using nail guns and slamming things on top of our roof, sending our dogs into a frenzy. The roofers have already murdered my Blue Girl rose (Oh, Prince!  How will Appolonia thrive without you!?) and if they continue to slam things into our rooftop, it feels like a window could break.

If we didn’t NEEEEEEEEEEEED a roof, ZOMG liek NOWS, I would send them home.  They stress ME out.

And now, I go and pet Mister Cookie Paws.

Our distinguished gentleman, Mister Jack, is in bad shape.

To make a long story short, I noticed his breathing was rapid and shallow and erratic, and we took him to the vet immediately, which was a very good thing. They immediately put him on oxygen, drew a shitload of fluid from his lungs, and generally are trying to stabilize him.

It could be congestive heart failure. It could be fluid buildup from lymphoma or something at least as terrible. They had him in the swanky brushed steel and glass oxygen suite, so we couldn’t even pet him goodnight. That might’ve been a good thing, though, because he was surly and stink-eyed despite all infirmity.

All in all, it’s 90% pretty awful, and there’s not a great deal of hope of doing anything more than making him comfortable for long enough for him to forgive us.

He’s been with me since 1992, when I smuggled him out of my relatives’ house in my cleavage. He transformed from a fraidy-cat to a pimpin’ party-cat when he came to permanently live with me. He follows people like a dog, eats asparagus and wheatgrass and loves to bitebitebite string. He sometimes likes to walk on the dogs like they’re furniture, just to show them who’s boss. He’s a milk stealing, love/hate-biting, nad-stomping, hairball-horking, skirt-snagging, food-begging, cabinet-ruining, dog-tormenting very stylish babooshka hat prancing pony Houdini Cat, and he’s been with me the entirety of my adult life. I can’t contemplate a world without my Jack.

We go to see him at 8 a.m.

I know he’s sixteen and grumpy, and really miserable right now. I hope he has more good times left in him, but if he doesn’t make it, I hope he knows how many people love him, even though he’s a cantankerous, eight-toothed, quack-meowing, cookie-pawed coot.

The coolest thing just happened.

Erica text messaged me to say that a friend of hers had come into the tattoo shop, and was wearing a bird’s nest necklace. E. asked if it was one of mine, and the girl said she didn’t know who this Deirdra person was, but EVERYONE asks her that. She tells me what it looks like (goldy-bronze with weirdish pearls), but Oh! Her friend got it in North Carolina.

I check my records, and realize I’ve actually made a nest of that description and sent it to North Carolina.

I fire back, asking if she knows a woman named H. I made two nests for her, each going to women she loved wholeheartedly.

Bingo! The nest on the left went to the woman who is now H’s roommate.

So I once made a nest and sent it winging away to North Carolina, and now, it’s come back to roost.

I’d like to take this opportunity to say that this is a rare instance, and purchasing a nest will not force you to move to Mississippi or anything like that.

I’m taking a break from feeds, blogs, social networking, etc. until my life is less of an oily, hyper-caffeinated ferret (no offense, Mr. Ham).  I’ll be checking email often because my job warrants it, but less regularly than usual. I still need to write up my yoga stuff, but that’s not really blogging. That’s homework.

Feel free to contact me, though: just be forewarned I might be slow.  Locals take note: phoning/texting me might actually be more reliable than email for once.

Good Stuff

• Anusara Immersion: Bhagavad Gita studies, plus Tattvas next time around.
• Square Foot Garden: commence! I have 21 plots of forthcoming tastiness, including lots of basil, tomatoes, and chili peppers. Basils, tomatoes and chili peppers rule my summery world. I recently purchased some lovely heirloom tomatoes for eating, and I hoarded the seeds. Since I don’t know the varieties, I named them for fun: Rhumba Panties! Tangerine Coinpurse! Sneaky Stoplight!! I have crazy happy Rainbow Lights Chard, spicy Mesclun mix and wintry squash seeds for later. Loving husband wandered endlessly around stores at my whim, and then braved the sun while using power tools. Yay, loving husband!!
• Friday was fixed on, er, Friday. She has been extraordinarily sweet-natured to us since.
• Teaching Yoga: I taught my first studio class in a million years last Thursday. I’ve been meaning to post about it thoroughly, but I’m facing the sudden and pressing reality that I am teaching THREE classes in the first week of June. If you were coming to my class, what would you want to do?
• My sister‘s tenth birthday is in a week. We’re trying to make it pretty special for her. She’ll be spending the summer in Florida, and I hope it’ll be completely awesome.

Bad Stuff

• Steroid shot for crazy flare. Steroid + weekly immune suppressants = double suck.
• The dogs fought last Saturday, and Matthew and I were caught in the crossfire. M. got bitten once, and I got two nasty puncture wounds. We went ballistic and tried to cleanse the wounds of the contagion. Matthew’s was great!
• My left hand swelled up like a balloon. No, seriously. It was so bad that when I was sitting in the doctor’s office, I was quietly chanting Don’t pop… Don’t pop… Don’t pop…
• Antibiotics that make me delirious and sweaty + Antibiotic Shot + steroid shot + weekly immune suppressants = Ridiculous crazy quadruple suck.
• Friday has Evil Tail Syndrome.  Seriously.  I wish I was kidding, but for the last few months, at least daily, she freaks out, attacks her tail viciously, screams in pain and does it again.  It’s very disturbing. Anyone else out there with a completely neurotic animal who thinks its tail is out to do them harm?
• Yoga really sucks when you are having to hold awesome ever-improving alignment without using the two outer left ball mounts/fingers.

Sleep now.

Here’s a peek at some of my more recent work.

I need to get more pictures of it, but here’s the latest works.

Last night, I made a variation of Habeas Brulee‘s  Tea Cookies.  Instead of the oolong she used, I went with jasmine green tea.  I also used orange flower-scented sugar to coat the cookies, because I love flowers in food.  My miniature citrus plants are blooming for the very first time (they’re about four years old now!) and the smell is lovely.  The resulting cookies were well-balanced, not too sweet, and fragrant without any cloying overtones.  I’d love to make these with my Margo-inspired Madge Shelton tea (black tea spiked with rose, spearmint and pink peppercorn).

I’ll be taking a baker’s dozen to the Ink Spot this evening.  We’ll be working on the rose and the poppy this time, which will round out the largest components of the design.  The rose is a Handel, one of my mother’s favorite flowers.  She grew one next to our front door, untrellised, and the carnivorous beast used to demand blood toll from nearly every visitor.  I can’t tell you how many times that damned rose stabbed me in the left arm growing up, so this seems like fitting tribute.  I planted poppies in our garden when we were still considering a backyard wedding, hoping for a sea of orange and red.  They were a prominent motif on our wedblog (along with ginkgo), and I used them in my bouquet for our cheesy awesome Vegas wedding.

All of these pieces of my life are beautiful, especially together.

I have two more jewelry slots available before Mother’s Day.  If you’d like to commission some wearable art for your mom, hit me at inquiries@birdofparadox.com

Moms love nests filled with as many eggs as they have children!