Teeny tiny visitor

Yes, as you might have guessed, I'm slightly enamoured by the smaller forms of wildlife around me. Especially in the category of rodentia. I don't know why. If it's small, and furry and cute... Then I will probably adore it. I even like rats and mice. I think they're adorable. So imagine what happens when I glance out my office window and see this:




Please take note how teeny he is against the tire of the car. He'd probably fit in an Easter egg. Mind you, this is very unusual for this area... little chippers usually don't visit our little sanctuary here at the Environmental House. My co-worker is pretty adamant that I brought him down in my Jeep somehow, but I am still doubtful... I figure maybe he came from the creek area. I dunno. We think he's either a Yellow-Pine chimunk or a Least chipmunk. He's really small, WAY smaller than the Townsends Chipmunks that hulk around our house near the mountain. He's really bold, flicking his tail at birds even though he's just a tiny speck. He likes to climb around the undercarriage of my Jeep; which is why my co-worker thinks he came here by way of that very car

What I do know is that HE IS FREAKIN' ADORABLE OMG OMG I WANT ONE ALL MY OWN! My husband noted that he looked awfully cute sitting up like a groundhog. He spent most of Friday puttering around the squirrel feeder, ducking in to grab a sunflower seed here and there. I haven't seen him today (I took yesterday off). Anyway.... I simply had to share pictures of Mr. Chippy McDorable. I was so delighted to see him there. Simple things just float my boat.. especially tiny furry things with little people-hands. Call me silly, it's okay. ;) I just think these little guys are tiny miracles... little hearts beating, little lungs breathing, surviving against giant, stomping, chomping odds... There's something exceptional in every one of them (well, maybe not rats and mice, since they tend to have little trouble spreading and surviving anywhere). Anyway... that's my rave today.

The good things I will miss...

I've been dwelling too much on the negative things lately; harbouring my anger for all the injustices and the cruelties I've seen in the last few weeks. I've been forgetting the important things, the things that made things good... the things worth remembering... the things that I will miss most.

So I wrote them down to remind me... when I hear the cool cast of his voice, or I get an email that is particularly defensive and angry... I wrote them down so I can see him in a caring light, and keep him in my heart when everything seems so horrible.

• The “Just Because” flowers.
• The way he played with the dogs.
• The occasional bagel and tea on the counter in the morning.
• The smooch on the top of my head.
• His smile.
• The way he made me laugh like few other could.
• His laughter.
• His tenderness.
• His playfulness.
• His compassion.
• His meatloaf and potato salad.
• His soft-spot for animals.
• His robot dance.
• Long, lingering hugs.
• His face.
• His kiss.
• His friendship.
• The sound of his car coming up the driveway each night.
• The comfort of his warmth beside me.
• His gentleness.
• His soul.
• His goodness.
• His generosity.
• His sense of humour.

I realized that I am grieving him as if he has passed away. I feel as if he went away one day a few months ago, and he hasn’t returned; that some horrible trajedy occurred in the field, and that the person who came back is someone completely different; a stranger, who is cruel, and uncaring, and who looks at me with hard, cold eyes and speaks without warmth or compassion.

I feel like a widow.

The veil is parting...

It seems like the past few days have brought me a sense of peace and clarity. That weird, surreal veil that made me feel so detached and separated from reality is slowly blowing away, and leaving me something akin to normal. Luckily, I'm practiced at being alone; so the prospect of being so isn't quite so scary as it would normally be. I'm starting to creep back into my life, and to catch up on the etsy orders and the creativity that came to a screeching halt when things came to a head.

I've got my dogs to keep me going. And the job of course. And the discovery of frienships I really didn't realize I had. The wagons have circled, and even my dysfunction-junction of a family has been there for me. If there's any benefit to this craziness, it's finding out who your friends are.

Last weekend, I attended the Spring Debut Ball put together by my Number One, Thea Peck who is the fire behind the Eugene Chapter of the Oregon Regency Society. It's the first event where I actually had time to dance more than one or two dances. I overdid it actually. I went down after work on Friday and stayed at one of the loveliest B&Bs I've ever been to. The C'est La Vie Bed and Breakfast was really and truly amazing. Owned by a tiny Parisian lady named Anne Marie and her husband Jack, the house is BEAUTIFUL.

Fully restored, and done so with flawless care, this old victorian is hunkered in lovely neighborhood in Eugene, nested in a three-season garden that made me drool. Her eye for decor is incredible, and I was delighted to be around a francophone, so I spent the weekend tittering away in French; which was so nice after so little opportunity to use the language. I'm thinking because she was French, that she tends to attract French-speaking patrons because almost every guest that attended the B&B during the weekend spoke French at some level or other. Jack had the kindest eyes I've ever seen in a human being, and is the garden-master... He has a little railroad set up in one of the beds, and has spent hours and hours creating a tiny garden scaled for his miniatures. Anne Marie reminded me of some of the best aspects of my childhood. I didn't want to leave. It was like family.

I stayed in the "Gaugin" room; and enjoyed their wonderful breakfasts (an oatmeal soufflé that was to DIE for... Mmmmm...).

The ball was amazing; I am so proud of Thea. She did a lovely job and she keeps the vision of the ORS alive in everything she does. We all had such a lovely time.

Anyway... I drew something today. A trio of aloof rabbits. For some reason, I always draw rabbits as aloof and superior. Don't know why. I just see rabbits like that I suppose. I'm not a huge bunny-person. They're cute and all, but since I grew up in Europe, I sort of see them like chickens. As food. I know that's terrible, but it is what it is. It's hard to personify something you may want to eat.... in wine-sauce.

;)

See? Even my irreverent and weird sense of humour is slowly returning; even though it is a bit dark right now.

Duck Season.

"I say, this water looks rather cloudy. They've certainly slipped in their standard of service around here."

It's Duck Drama time again.

We have our first duck visitors this Spring; right now they are in quiet couple-mode. The violent bouts of duck-rape have yet to begin; and then we will wait for the mothers to arrive with their little broods sooner or later. It's a tender and yet bittersweet cycle we see here at the Environmental Department every year.

We spotted a mallard yesterday, but they never approached. So I put out some food and the requisite blue-bucket, which I filled with clean water. The ducks passed it up yesterday, but this morning, I noticed that the water in the bucket was turbid. A sign that ducks, the dirty little buggers, had come by.

Now, only ten minutes ago, this young couple arrived. I can tell they're young and new because they're extremely shy. Our regular visitors usually march right up to the front of the building and quack at my co-worker to let her know they're here and they want food.

"Do they actually expect us to eat this stuff right off the ground?"

You can also tell by how... pure the colours are on the male. He looks like a decoy he's so perfect; down to the tidy little curl on his tail. He's stunning; his emerald neck is flawless. She's also 'tender' looking; her feathers are unfrayed and perfect. Our older, familiar pairs of prior years looked more worn around the edges. "Nike" hasn't been back this year--I hope he will. So familiar, like an old friend, with the white 'swoosh' on his head.

They really are stunning creatures. He looks like a walking watercolour.

This young couple is very wary. They see me in the window and they're watching my every move, stepping back when I reach my hands towards the glass to take the picture. I hope they will relax enough to be like Nike and his wife; to come up to the door and demand their breakfast.

"Perhaps tomorrow they'll see fit to clean this place up. We'll come back then."

Little things make life interesting. Little things like yearly visits by waterfowl; taking care of them, watching them care for their little swarm of lemon-shaped fuzzballs.

Nothing better.

I Am Rain.

This just came over me about twenty minutes ago while getting ready to head home.
So I scanned it and posted it here.

Darcy's Gaze

This weekend, I had a friend come up and stay the night. We practiced some dances for a workshop on Saturday, and then we decided to pull out my much-played 1995 BBC version of Pride and Prejudice; initially to assure that we’d gotten the dance right, and then afterwards to fast-forward through most of the movie, stopping only to watch the bits with Colin Firth playing Darcy. We both sat there; both just slightly tipsy, and drank in with painful longing at the overwhelmingly disgusting, unrealistic romance that we both adore so much. It’s so beautiful it’s ridiculous. It’s almost physically painful.

We both wondered if we were completely deluded to want that kind of romance in our lives; and we both questioned if it at all existed to begin with. Was Jane Austen, a lady who refused to settle—even at the cost of becoming a burden on her family; and who died never experiencing the kind of requited love she gave her heroines, just feeding us all something wholly unreal? Are there really and truly any Darcys roaming the earth, profoundly tormented by their feelings; willing to sacrifice what they must and to fight to obtain or keep their woman’s affections? Or are we just idiots to desire that sort of passion and to let these stories lead us on?

I don’t know. In my heart, I believe that if someone writes about it, that it has to exist on some level. I have to hope it does. I have to believe that there is that broody, painful, longing, first-love kind of passion in this world that is requited for a change. I need to know that men are capable of that depth compassion and affection. I have to believe that there is a kind of love that would make even the most reprehensible soul be willing to change his or her ways for the sake of love—for someone to give up something astronomical to be with someone they adore.

As a mean, I cannot stomach chick-flicks. I really can’t. I despise sappy, saccharine romantic comedies, and predictable, formula flicks. But I can’t stop watching Jane Austen adaptations. I also am a sucker for Buffy—for that kind of crazy, irrational love like when Spike chose to torment himself for eternity by getting his soul back, simply to be worthy of Buffy (who in my mind, never deserved that dedication from him to begin with). That sort of sacrifice is mythical--to set aside your pride, and to subject yourself to the ill-perceptions of others, to open yourself to possible pain just to show that person you love that there is nothing in the world that would make you stop loving them. Nothing.

Am I deluded? Maybe.

Maybe after dealing with the pain of infidelity, the image of Colin Firth’s brooding eyes gazing lovingly at Lizzie makes my heart hurt more than usual. The idea of Spike making himself insane with guilt just so that Buffy could see that he had a soul makes me want to cry. Those stories kill me. They are so beautiful, it’s painful. Maybe it makes me want someone to look at me that way, and know that there’s no reason in the world, no possible hurt I could inflict on this man, to cause him to take that loving gaze away.

When I got married, I truly believed that it was there—in his gaze. I saw it when I reached him at the altar. I really believed that the unconditional dedication was reflected in both my heart and his. I called him my dedicated Colonel Brandon. I imagined that I’d waited this long to marry just because I was waiting for him. I truly believed that. I think that’s the worst part of all this… the infidelity itself, that’s not what ripped my heart out… the thing that is the most painful about this whole thing is the overwhelming, devastating disillusionment—the heart-wrenching discovery that the love in his gaze wasn’t unconditional, that it wasn’t whole—that the desire to fight and sacrifice wasn’t quite as mutual as I believed it to be, that is undying dedication was quite as undying as it appeared to be.

Now I live with the knowledge that if I can find it in me to trust him again, and to bring him back into my life; that the special, adoring gaze not only never was what it seemed, but in truth it will never really be like Mr. Darcy’s.

I’m Pushing 40. Am I beyond that kind of love now? I know idealistic ideas like this should be reserved for the young… and that the reality is marriage is a roller-coaster… relationships are a bear, but if it doesn’t work out, is there a chance that I’ll ever have that passion again? What if it does work out? I know it’s impossible to expect anyone to never disappoint you; we are all human after all—but even with that reality; there is always your capacity to rise above it, to see beyond the disappointment, and to see them as you did once before, with pure, truly unabashed love and adoration. I know I have that, I know it’s inside me, but I wonder if it’s in him. And I wonder if he’ll ever look at me that way again or will his eyes always be emanating his shame?

A Friday. Yay.

I've battened down the hatches, and retreated into the hold. I took the day off yesterday and did the things I like to do. I hadn't slept the night before, so I got to sleep in late, and then I got up and tidied a bit. I sewed a new Regency petticoat, I caught up on my DVRed Hell's Kitchen episodes and reveled in the delicious fury of Gordon Ramsay. I came into work feeling kind of refreshed. It's the first day off I've taken since the massive storm hit my life, and I've been trying to focus ever since then. Today, after my quiet retreat and retrenchment, I feel better. I feel fortified. I've been able to complete a task from start to finish and not stray into my own mental ruminations.

And it's Friday. That's always a plus; and probably a good part of why I'm in a good mood. I have a house-guest coming for the weekend plus an ORS activity planned. If there were no guest, or activities, I'd probably be doing a Buffython. Or a Jane-a-thon... both are equally as effective in the boosting of my morale. Angel, not so much... Oh, and Firefly... but most of the time, I end every Firefly marathon feeling angry that there are no more seasons to enjoy and pissed at how shortsighted and loserish network television can be. ::Grump::

I drew something! A real office special too; on real copy paper (although I used a graphic pen and not a sharpie to ink it in). I scanned it in B&W and coloured it on a cheap photo-editing software that I have here at work--I know the colouring sucks. But I do especially love the bird on this one, I confess.

Anyway... that's where I am I guess. ::sigh:: Have a good weekend.