Facebook Can Kiss My Ass

2015
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No, I’m not rage-quitting Facebook, but I am boycotting the whole “It’s been a great year! Thanks for being a part of it.” thing that keeps popping up on my feed. All apologies to anyone who has had a good year and created their own and shared it, but I just don’t care to relive my 2014.

Don’t get me wrong; I had some good moments.

But there was that horrible morning in July when we had to say good-bye to our sweet Domino, and I really didn’t get much time to grieve for her because Dad went into the hospital a couple of weeks later and passed away a few days after that.

On the one hand, I feel comforted by many thoughts. I imagine him in Heaven, in his cancer-free body, having tomato sandwiches with MaMa Grant. I am grateful to know that he never had to find out the cancer was back in his bone marrow, and I am thankful that he suffers no more. However, the pain from his absence makes even the best days bittersweet. There’s always this unpleasant aftertaste of what can’t be shared with him, and I don’t know if that will ever go away.

Grief sneaks up when you least expect it. It’s on a minivan on the road in front of you that’s decorated with “Happy birthday, Dad!” It’s the movie you didn’t explore enough to know about the lead character’s father having cancer and dying at the end. It’s the photo revealed in a stack of papers that you had forgotten existed.

Still, the Earth turns and revolves around the sun, and even if we wanted to stop moving, we couldn’t.

However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The faultfinder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poorhouse. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the alms house as brightly as from a rich man’s abode; the snow melts before its doors as early in the spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there, and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace.

— Henry David Thoreau

However, Thoreau doesn’t say anything about Facebook. Screw Zuckerberg and his attempts to pick out what the highlights were to my 2014. I pick my own AND set them to music — in this case, Emerson Hart’s “Green Hills of California.”

Here’s my 2014. It was… a year.

The word you’re looking for is ‘Rotten’

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I’m sending this pic to Webster’s to go beside the word in their next dictionary edition.

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A Farewell to the First-Born Fur Baby

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So I got up here. Now how do I get down?

So I got up here. Now how do I get down?

She was born on Christmas Day 2000, one of six puppies from Momma Dog’s second litter. When the first litter was born six months earlier, The Husband and I lived in an apartment that didn’t allow pets, so we told his youngest brother (main caretaker of the dogs) that if she had another litter and we were somewhere where we could have a dog, we would take one. By that Christmas, we were renting a house from a friend who let us have pets, so we had to live up to our agreement.

Five weeks after she gave birth to the puppies, Momma Dog (a collie mix) had had enough of nursing. Appalling behavior for humans, but perfectly acceptable for dogs — go figure. It was time for me and The Husband to go pick out our puppy. We drove over on a Saturday afternoon and walked up to the outdoor pen where The Husband’s grandfather, Papa, had built for the pups. I knelt down in front of the little bundles of fur that clamored for my attention, but before I could get to any of them, a fawn-colored bounded over all of them and started licking my hand. Later I would learn that I had picked the alpha female.

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Second-Choice Saturday Snuggle

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Snuggle Saturday copy

 

A little more than seven years ago, this cream-colored, flame-point, blue-eyed cat scampered out of a bush and up The Husband’s leg. When The Husband is home, this guy is never far from him, but when I’m the only human in the house, he supposes I’ll have to do. Hashtag: chopped liver

This Time of Year

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Door photos

Domino and Loki love the times of year when it’s warm/cool enough to open the sliding glass door and they can lounge while looking over the land that they both believe they rule. Unfortunately, their barely tolerable relationship is tested even further by the fact that they have to share this small patch of carpet.

Many more of these fur-flying disputes and I’m gonna have to create a schedule to post on the refrigerator denoting when they can have time at the door.

When The Husband’s Away

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Mom?

Mom?

Dad’s not here. Are you up?

Wake up…

No, actually, I don’t know what an alarm clock is.

Wordless Wednesday: Happy

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