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Las Vegas, Nevada, United States
"No, really!"

My Favorite Bit of Paper Cup Philosophy

The Way I See It #76

The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Photo credit: J. D. Morehouse

I featured a photo of my beautiful cat Dylan on my second blog post. I've wanted to show off the lovely Virginia Woolf, as well, but that has proved problematic. I have only a very pedestrian digital camera and am not a skilled photographer. Virginia Woolf is entirely shiny black with only the beautiful yellow-green eyes for contrast. All I can capture is an image of a black blob.

The Badger owns a stunning new camera and has the experience and skill to use it. I pressed for a session of shots of beloved Virginia Woolf. The Badger likes to aim his camera at all manner of subjects, so he generously agreed, but commented, "She won't cooperate." I replied, "No, she won't, but let's try it." A date was set.

At the appointed time, VW proved as difficult as predicted. The Badger finally had to photograph me holding her. It is a nice enough picture. We retired to the dining table for a meal and VW proceeded to jump onto pieces of furniture where she does not belong.

Badgers are not known to tolerate nonsense. He picked up his camera, strode to where Virginia Woolf was perched and got the lovely shot above. Then he snarled at her, "Cats aren't supposed to be up there," and snapped another photograph.

So who's afraid of Virginia Woolf? I guess anyone who clicks on the photo to the right. She didn't appreciate The Badger's remark, apparently. She looks like the cat from the evil place. Some camera!

In my ears right now: another Starbucks collection - Mile Marker 383. It's good. It features some artists I recognize and some I don't. I recommend it.

Something that charmed me today: VW's photo making her look like the cats on the greeting cards with the outrageous eyes.


  1. Ohhh I have a soft spot for black kitties. My sweet old girl, Kiki, died at the age of 17 a couple of years ago. I am home again, having taken a clumsy kick at the family elephant. Did you know that rotting elephants stink when disturbed??

  2. My cat who died at age 17 was Tyler, an orange tabby. I watched him be born. When we brought newborn Amber home from the hospital, Tyler was waiting in the bassinette. Ex was a little shirty about that. Said I, "Ex, we keep 5 cats. She's going to have to meet them sometime."

    I THINK I get your elephants reference. Here's mine. In my personal herd are a few elephants who are actually mouse-sized, now aging women. Put any two of them in a room and there is no oxygen left for anyone else. It reminds one that it is a GOOD thing to have one's own home to return to. I'm not sure how we survive, sometimes.

  3. The elephant is the issue we all tiptoe around and pretend we can't see or smell. Family rule: NEVER disturb the elephant!

  4. I made this mistake once in childhood: I asked why crazy old Uncle Bob walked down the streets backward in a lady's dress mumbling to himself. Never repeated that mistake.

    I made this mistake once in young adulthood: I asked why 57 members of a large extended family invested so much energy into pretending Uncle Bob DIDN'T walk down the streets backward in a lady's dress mumbling to himself. Never repeated that mistake either.

  5. Hi,

    I find your blog "ramblings" rather captivating. You certainly know how to spin a good story. I have harbored a life-long idea of creating a project involving recording oral histories of interesting women I know, which includes most of the women I know.. Your story of how you got where you are now, which you are sharing in bits and pieces in your tales of childhood, motherhood and now-hood, in descriptions of your daily events and your expressions of what is meaningful to you, remind me of what a great idea a women's oral history project is. Thanks, L.


  6. Hi, Terry. Thank you for your kind comments. People who write, of course, want reaction and feedback. I've had a really vivid life for a lot of reasons and I feel things very deeply - the feelings don't go away. Add that to an arbitrary thing - I'm pretty good with language arts . . . and the stories come out. The stories kind of demand to be let out. Your dreamed of project would be a noble, admirable undertaking because (sorry, home dudes) women are the most fascinating species. Thanks for taking a little ride on the bus!