Oh Bodies

On Friday, I hate pizza for lunch and pizza for dinner, and then was surprised when my period started that night.

I feel like this is a metaphor for life–all these not-so-subtle clues strewn out before you and you’re just skipping merrily along the path without noticing a one until, bam, there’s blood.

And by you, I mean me.sticky

The older I get, the more I think that the most important story we will kids is Little Red Riding Hood. Look! Is that really your grandma in the bed? How can you believe that the wolf who walks with you means you no great harm? Did you not see how he licked his chops when he looked at you?

I had to give blood at the doctor’s last week and I don’t know what kind of bandaid the tech used, but I can’t get the sticky off. Rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, very old nail polish remover, and, in desperation, mouthwash. All no good. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve completely killed the sticky facing out, but obviously, the sticky that is attaching the stickiness is doing a great job of holding up.

One of my friends with a baby said I should try baby oil, which I don’t have at the house. And, though she had a baby, who was with us, it didn’t occur to me to ask her if she had any on her. And so I am still inadvertently conducting an experiment in how long the sticky can last.

Though how well my phone photographed my arm freckles does make me wonder if I can get a picture of one of my reverse freckles. Let me see.

Yes! apparently my ancient iPhone is perfect for taking pictures of reverse freckles!

reverse freckle

I May Have Learned Something about the Crows in my Neighborhood

My walk. Oh, fuck how I loath saying that. I went for my walk this morning. Going for a walk with a dog is among the most extraordinary simple pleasures you can take in life. Going for a walk by yourself is just fucking exercise. Oh, I guess I’d better go cart this fucking sack of blood and puss and shit around for a little while so that it continues to move that blood and puss and shit through the sack of flesh a little while longer. It’s disgusting. Walking by yourself.

But I do it because it’s still beautiful out there and because I do feel better when I move around some.

Anyway, I think I’ve figured out something about the crows. The dude who goes “caw, caw, caw”–which may not always be the same bird, I mean, probably isn’t–is a bird who is moving around. “Caw caw caw” from the AT&T yard. “Caw caw caw” from the trees by the creek. “Caw caw caw” as its flying overhead toward the far pasture. Always three long caws, and the bird who’s making them is moving around.

So, that bird–which I’m thinking of as the patrol bird, who’s out seeing what’s going on in the neighborhood–does its three long caws and then it is quiet for a second. It is sometimes answered by a series of shorter, higher pitched caws. I counted these and there are anywhere from six to nine more like “ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca” noises and they usually come from the same spot. Like this bird is more stationary–maybe eating, maybe hanging out with the kids, who knows.

But I definitely hear the “caw caw caws” from all over the neighborhood and the “ca-ca-ca-ca-ca”s from one spot–though that spot changes from day to day or even during the day, I guess depending on whether there’s a more interesting spot in the neighborhood to sit.

I’m going to have to listen more carefully for this, but I think that more than three long “caws” in a row is an alarm.

So “caw caw caw” is like “I’m out here and I’m looking around and everything seems fine” and “ca-ca-ca-ca-ca” could be “cool, all is well back here where we’re just chilling.” And “caw caw caw caw caw caw” is “Holy shit, look out!”

Which means, I think, that when I answered the “caw caw caw” dude the other day with “caw caw caw,” the reason he was so silent was to listen to see if my flock would answer me. Were they nearby just chilling or had I wandered too far from the group?