Her Name is Janet

...Or Smartass, if you were to ever ask my mom. If only she'd had the foresight.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Is She Dead? Or Just Feverish? On The Lam Again?

Let's go with the last one...for the intrigue. It's better than the truth, which is, I kind of forgot that I had a website. While tooling around other websites I follow I was like "Oh yeah...I've got one of these!"

I feel like I'm running out of fodder. I can't think of any good stories to share, and the ones I can think of take too much time to organize into any sort of coherent structure. There are a bunch of partial posts in my head...like Words That Aren't, But Should Be. But I could only come up with two: plasticate (as in, "are you going to plasticate the leftovers?" and flappity ("her cape was like a matador's, all red and flappity"). Or maybe a post about childhood antics, like the time I lined up a bunch of grapes on the bed, behind my sleeping mother's back, so when she rolled over she squashed them. Or how much fun it was for her to find all her cigarettes unwrapped...a neat pile of butts on the left, a large mound of tabacco on the right, shreds of white cigarette paper sprinkled liberally over the floor. Or how about the time I almost got her arrested and wound up in a foster home? Good times. Except for my mom, who had to explain that she wasn't abusive, her toddler was just obnoxious creative.

And if you really want to know, we were going through the checkout line when I smiled at the cashier and said that my mommy gave me a black eye (a total lie).

So there's the latest. Have anything you want to share? Maybe it will spark my interest.

Friday, November 25, 2005

Count Your Many Blessings,
Name Them One By One

This title comes from another website, and it rambles through my head often. I hope it sticks in your head too.

Here's my list. Short, but for me, profound.

--I've got a good mother, and it is her voice is that keeps me here.

--The people who are significant in my life. For the first time ever, this list is long. You heal my heart in ways you may never know.

--A God with more grace, humility, patience and love than I will ever comprehend.


Thank you.
.
.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Something Wicked This Way Comes


DSC_00500507
Originally uploaded by janet_s_sherman.

Be grateful you don't have smell-net.


Oh sure, she's cute and all, but what eminates from that right there is mighty unsavory.


Thankfully, the breath happens to be packaged up in a very cute container. And she is sweet beyond sweetness. And with these babies, sometimes she even picks up a signal from Minsk.





Friday, November 18, 2005

Weekend To Do List

-- Add hot fudge, where ever possible.

-- Pack the get-away vehicle.

-- Pretend to be a 1950's house wife a la Donna Reed, vacuuming in highheels.

-- Make dinner in the same fashion, embedding the entire meal in aspic.

-- Shave legs (the cat's, not mine)

-- Do his tail too, if he's up for it.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

An Exercise in Good Judgement


The good ol' days
Originally uploaded by janet_s_sherman.
I know this is an old photo, but it just makes me smile. I enjoy nothing better than getting all liquored up then donning heavy tanks, that are all dial-y and meter-y with hoses and whooz-its and whatchamacallits attached. Whoozits which require precise monitoring while under water, I might add. And nothing makes me more precise than a nice cold brew.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Perilous Ground

God of love, God of peace. God of justice and light, hope and mercy. God of the strong and of the weak. God of earth and heaven above. God of wrath.

****************

Frida Kahlo painted selfportraits. In one of them, Broken Column, she stands in a barren Mexican landscape. Where her spine should be, her chest is ripped open to expose a fractured Grecian column. She stands stoically as silent tears course down her cheeks and iron nails embed into her skin.

I understand. I stare in, blinded by tears of my own. Replace her spine with my heart, then I can crawl inside this painting and unpack my belongings. Stay for awhile? Of course. I recognize this place and can make myself right at home.

I grapple with why we’re here. What our purpose is, and just what the fuck’s the point. I have yet to be offered a sufficient explanation that will make being here worth it. Is God bigger than the suffering? Bigger than earthquakes, than holocausts? Bigger than a mother’s grief as she rocks her dead child? My silent and desperate response has only ever been “He’d better be.”

If it’s because He wants us to choose to love Him, then it isn’t a choice I want to be offered. I want the decision made for me, so that I bear no responsibility. I can’t be trusted with it, and the stakes are too high for the gamble.

Occasionally I stop and take a breath in. It gives me the pause necessary to wonder whether I am so consumed by shouting “WHY?” that I drown out the answer. But I have lain down and pressed my face to His ground in surrender. I have submitted to His will, trusting that He will show me a better way. And instead of relief I found more despair, almost more than I can bear. And then my feelings of suffering, which grasped at a thread of hope, turned to betrayal. So this God of mercy, God of justice, He can have my awe and He can have my obedience, but my trust? Not anymore. Bigger than my anguish? I lift my eyes to His sky and in anger and arrogance plead “Prove it.”

Thursday, November 10, 2005

I haven't updated this site in a few days, mostly because the cable is out at home. And somehow, posting at work just seems so unethical. You're surprised I have a problem with that, aren't you? Rest assured, no one is more surprised than me. And sometimes there just isn't much funny to write about. The same little amusing world I inhabited last week now seems lacking and stark and lonely.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Just Say No

By far the most compelling reason to "say no to drugs" has always been witnessing the students who choose to get high and then get their "groove on" in the middle of the diag. Particularly when the chosen "groove" is intrepretive dance.

I'd almost rather witness a lewd act or violence.

I certainly felt violated, my poor little eyeballs assaulted by the disjointed knees and elbows all a-knockin' and a-swayin' in ill-time to the cacophanous tempo.

Granted, tempo is hard to keep when it's a trumpet, trombone and tambourine medley. Although not a musician, I can recognize that musical advances are made through experimentation. But seriously? The trumpet and tambourine? Together? Nice people don't inflict that on other nice people. They keep it where it belongs: at home, underwraps, like a well-kept secret.

I've always encouraged others to abstain from drug use, and my reasoning is far more likely to garner support than Nancy Reagan's ever was. Choosing to say no should be considered a public service, particularly in the public areas that I frequent.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

When They Say "Apple Picking"...


I didn't realize that it meant off the ground...


We arrived a little late in the season.