Heidi in Real Life

When the sun was highest and there were no shadows noon on that June Michigan day, I went stomping through the field to pick flowers for my mother.  The daisies and dandelions I clutched were already bending over, wilting in my tight grasp, but my eyes were fixed on the blue cornflowers just beyond. I knelt on the hot ground and pulled on the weed, expecting it to relent to my little hands.   The stem was strong and stubborn.   I ended up stripping the stem of its leaves all the way up to the flower head, which popped off in my hand.   I regarded it for a moment in that bright sunshine and then let it drop.   I decimated 4 flowers before I finally gave up. In my little 5-year-old, not fully developed brain, I thought, “Me want flower.”   The consequences did not matter at all.   I did not mourn the flowerheads but kept trying until I learned that I was not strong enough to break them.   Now, as an adult with life experience, and a brain ...

Unplanned funerals suck.  Don’t blame the dead.   You, as the “still alive” need to prepare a suitable event …and they don’t just plan themselves.  Not unlike a wedding, you need a service complete with DJ (Death Jockey), food, and a venue.   Leaving things to chance or trusting friends and relatives will be the death of YOU!   Funeral Parlors do services all the time.  When you just “can’t”, let the professionals handle it.  These days, there are lots of options--forests, boats, even restaurants.  Funerals are for the living, so if you want a religious element, for God’s sakes, audition the clergy.  The pastor who did my mother’s funeral didn’t take very good notes, and on the day of, said her name wrong and made her sound like a very unfulfilled comptometer operator.  The minister at my father’s service, dressed in a cloak and hat-- a bit like Professor Snape.  At my friend’s recent funeral, at a restaurant, her sister-in...

Our hair flying, cheeks aching from laughter and screaming--the carnival operator with the greasy hair asks if we want to “go faster” and then throws it in reverse.  Life happened to us that way, both of us gripping the railing on a ride we were not in control of—together, shaken and wobbly sometimes, but stronger and wiser, somehow. Until you had to let go… way too soon.   Amy, you were joy.   You were bubbles and butterfly nets.   I can still see your big blue eyes at times wide with gentle apprehension and the next moment tenacious and spirited.   My children delighted in your kindness and confidence--always playful, always patient.   Their Amy snuggled with them, gave big warm hugs and made them feel loved and appreciated.   You wrapped presents in wads of tissue paper and covered the boxes completely with a thick, impenetrable layer of clear packaging tape.   But Amy-- you were the gift. Amy, you were music.   Singing in the car,...

Hello.   I’m a dignified 8-year-old Corgi named Freya.   I am Krista’s dog, and I adore her.   But on Fridays, Krista goes God-knows-where and leaves me home with “grandma” (her word, not mine).   Grandma calls it “Fridays with Freya” and it’s special spoiling time for the two of us.   Ugh. Grandma talks to me only in the world’s highest possible squeaky voice, asking me questions that I’m supposed to answer.   Here’s an example: “Who’s the best puppy? Say “I am!””   I’m especially annoyed when she asks me open-ended questions, like, “What do you think?”   I’m middle-aged, I don’t have time for this baby-talk nonsense.   There are times when Grandma leaves me alone at home.   I am totally fine with the peace and quiet of being alone (I’m very mature).   But, because I’m a rascal, I hang my head low when she comes back, and barely move.   She sits down with me, pets me and then I roll over for a belly rub.   If she tr...

The fur is really flying in Springfield, OH, as citizens, interested parties and especially pets of voters are enraged and taking it to the streets this election eve.   Many of the pets are out on the front lawn with signs: “The Haitians were GREETING us, not EATING us!” Haitian immigrants can be seen outside too, hugging the cats, dogs and hamsters… and not in a creepy way .    Pets of all size and shape think they can influence the outcome of this election.   Forget about Iowa, folks.     Where the atrocities of false rumors have been spread, they must be addressed and avenged.    “The Haitians have come here due to our low cost of living and plentiful jobs,” said Fido, a mutt, “and they’re friendly to us.   They eat mainly starch anyway, not meat.   Be afraid if you’re a navy bean!” “Yeah, I saw a bald eagle flying around the other day.   Now, they will eat us!” said Rufus the hedgehog, shivering. Donald Trump, lured...

Air- Sweet Air Losing weight rapidly on Mounjaro® has made it so I can finally breathe at night.  This is may be the best result of my weight loss journey.   6 months ago, I was struggling with breathing, mostly because my neck-fat and my large, floppy boobs were strangling me.  I can’t speak for other’s sleep disorders, but mine was completely fat-related.  In the back of my mind, I feared having to strap on a CPAP in the future. My ex-husband, Hyde, had a tiny, baby-sized mouth and the tongue of Jabba the Hutt .   I don’t know how he could even talk .   In 1993, when I started dating him, he had a Model A version of a CPAP.    Model A consisted of a thick, wide hose and a little hat (for his head) to keep the nose-hose in place.   In the shadows of the night, the hose looked like a long, flaccid proboscis that I was hoping was not meant for foreplay. “Hyde, can you take that thing off before we have sex?” “Haaaaaaaah.  Haaaaaa...