Sometimes I just can not find the words.
Actually I take that back. I can always find words. Words are always a constant. I should more aptly say; Sometimes I can not find the right words. Saying stuff is easy. Saying the right stuff at the right time is actually really quite difficult.
Here lately I have been full of the wrong words. There have been plenty of things flying from my fingertips, and yet no content being generated. I will sit and write and write until I am satisfied that I have written all there is for the moment, but when I look back on the words I deflate. These are not the words I wanted to write.
I think in the last week I have deleted four completed blog posts. I have written everything from lists of random personal facts, to stories from my youth, to talking about current injuries. Every one of them fell flat. I felt nothing for what I had written. If I can't get behind reading it how can I expect anyone else to?
It isn't just here in my little blog either. I have been doing the same for my stories for a while now. I will write pages of content on a story and in the end have nothing to show for it. I think that I can always go back and edit it and change it if it sucks. Then I go back and re read it and realize that 'editing' in this case would be 'deleting and rewriting' because it doesn't even begin to resemble what the story needs.
I don't know what I am doing wrong. I don't know that I am doing anything wrong. I can't say I am lacking in inspiration or missing my muse, because that isn't it. I know what I want to write. I know what I want to say. I even know I want to do it. It just isn't working out that way.
I am doing the one thing I know I should do. I am writing. I sit down and put my fingers on the keyboard or a pen to paper, and I just write. I write until I am done and hope that what I have put down is worth something. I write in hopes that even if it is worthless in content that it will push me through to writing what needs to be done.
I just have to keep searching for my words.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Beylit and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day
Do you ever have one of those days where absolutely nothing seems to go right? One of those days where everything you do is wrong and everything around you just seems to fall apart. One of those days where things break in a way that there is no fixing anything leaving you to just sit around and hope nothing else screws up. Yea that was yesterday for me.
I had such a lovely weekend. The husbeast and I went on a mini vacation to Shreveport to the boats. We have both been under a lot of stress and with faire starting for us this week we desperately needed a little down time before we give up all our free time until June. A little lighthearted gambling was just what we needed.
We came home Sunday night relaxed and content. By 7:30am Monday morning any calm I had achieved was totally gone. That has to be some sort of record considering I only woke up at 7am. All of it gone out the window with one simple text letting me know that there was a crisis waiting for me at work. That is the way I love to start my day.
I wish I could say that work was the only thing troubling me, but alas that would have just made it a typical Monday, and not a day really worth complaining about. No on top of work pretty much remaining at the halt it has been at for over a week, add into that a nice fight with my mortgage company. It is the same fight I have to have with them every year at this time when the magically lose our flood insurance and start suddenly charging us an extra $500 a month for their own lender placed policy.
I also came across a startling and upsetting realization that I completely screwed up while trying to rebook our reservations for the hotel last weekend. In the end instead of having a free nights stay I actually cost us $30. I know it is not much, but in my head it is more like $170 and still incredibly stupid. I hate wasting money.
By lunch I was so agitated and cranky I decided to run across the street and work out for a bit to try and work off some of the anger. That is a healthy way to channel my angst. Before I even left the office though I realized I couldn't find my headphones anywhere. My moderately expensive and comfortable headphones of joy had apparently fallen out of my purse at the hotel. I had to borrow ear buds from my friend in the office. I discovered to my dismay that ear buds (because my head phones go over my ears not in them) cause me to be able to hear my own heartbeat and breathing when working out. Both are incredibly distracting.
Still I went and worked out. It was the right thing to do. No good deed goes unpunished though. I was rewarded by this positive activity by limping back into the office with a pulled calf muscle and still being every bit as cranky as I was when I headed to the gym.
Then I discovered that I didn't have the microwave lunch in my cupboard at work like I thought I did, so the main component of my lunch was non existent. I ended up eating all my sides and my yogurt that was supposed to be a snack for lunch, and later having to eat a pack of peanuts out of my purse to keep from stabbing anyone from hunger rage.
I managed to get through the grocery store after work without incident, and was really just ready for the day to end. I just wanted to make dinner and then sit on the couch watching TV for the rest of the night. I started prepping the pork chops to cook, and realized only a moment too late that I had not grabbed the pepper can out of the spice cabinet. I sat there staring down at the thick brownish red coating on my pork chop inhaling the sweet smell of cinnamon and began cursing so loud I scared the cat that was napping at my feet.
I managed to wash most of the cinnamon off, and thankfully the mild cinnamon flavor that infected the meat was mostly complimentary. If the husbeast did not like it he was wise enough not to comment on the flavor after I admitted my mistake to him. I couldn't avoid it, he could smell the cinnamon in the air when he walked in the door.
By the time dinner was done I was really ready to just curl up on the couch with an entire carton of ice cream and a spoon. I sort of wanted to drown out the day in empty calories and tell the world where they could shove it. Instead I had a salad. It wasn't as satisfying but at least I wasn't having to deal with guilt over my bad coping habits.
Thankfully today things seem to be better. I can't recover monies lost, I can't actually fix work, the battle with the mortgage company is ongoing, I am suffering with ear buds in my ears until I can afford new headphones, my calf hurts like hell anytime I walk, but that is not stopping my day from being better than yesterday.
Today I have my lunch of tasty leftovers. Today I have something to occupy my work day. Today my office smells like freshly baking cookies. Today is game day so I can let my leg rest and not feel guilty about not working out. Today things are getting done.
It is a damn good thing yesterdays don't stick around to todays.
I had such a lovely weekend. The husbeast and I went on a mini vacation to Shreveport to the boats. We have both been under a lot of stress and with faire starting for us this week we desperately needed a little down time before we give up all our free time until June. A little lighthearted gambling was just what we needed.
We came home Sunday night relaxed and content. By 7:30am Monday morning any calm I had achieved was totally gone. That has to be some sort of record considering I only woke up at 7am. All of it gone out the window with one simple text letting me know that there was a crisis waiting for me at work. That is the way I love to start my day.
I wish I could say that work was the only thing troubling me, but alas that would have just made it a typical Monday, and not a day really worth complaining about. No on top of work pretty much remaining at the halt it has been at for over a week, add into that a nice fight with my mortgage company. It is the same fight I have to have with them every year at this time when the magically lose our flood insurance and start suddenly charging us an extra $500 a month for their own lender placed policy.
I also came across a startling and upsetting realization that I completely screwed up while trying to rebook our reservations for the hotel last weekend. In the end instead of having a free nights stay I actually cost us $30. I know it is not much, but in my head it is more like $170 and still incredibly stupid. I hate wasting money.
By lunch I was so agitated and cranky I decided to run across the street and work out for a bit to try and work off some of the anger. That is a healthy way to channel my angst. Before I even left the office though I realized I couldn't find my headphones anywhere. My moderately expensive and comfortable headphones of joy had apparently fallen out of my purse at the hotel. I had to borrow ear buds from my friend in the office. I discovered to my dismay that ear buds (because my head phones go over my ears not in them) cause me to be able to hear my own heartbeat and breathing when working out. Both are incredibly distracting.
Still I went and worked out. It was the right thing to do. No good deed goes unpunished though. I was rewarded by this positive activity by limping back into the office with a pulled calf muscle and still being every bit as cranky as I was when I headed to the gym.
Then I discovered that I didn't have the microwave lunch in my cupboard at work like I thought I did, so the main component of my lunch was non existent. I ended up eating all my sides and my yogurt that was supposed to be a snack for lunch, and later having to eat a pack of peanuts out of my purse to keep from stabbing anyone from hunger rage.
I managed to get through the grocery store after work without incident, and was really just ready for the day to end. I just wanted to make dinner and then sit on the couch watching TV for the rest of the night. I started prepping the pork chops to cook, and realized only a moment too late that I had not grabbed the pepper can out of the spice cabinet. I sat there staring down at the thick brownish red coating on my pork chop inhaling the sweet smell of cinnamon and began cursing so loud I scared the cat that was napping at my feet.
I managed to wash most of the cinnamon off, and thankfully the mild cinnamon flavor that infected the meat was mostly complimentary. If the husbeast did not like it he was wise enough not to comment on the flavor after I admitted my mistake to him. I couldn't avoid it, he could smell the cinnamon in the air when he walked in the door.
By the time dinner was done I was really ready to just curl up on the couch with an entire carton of ice cream and a spoon. I sort of wanted to drown out the day in empty calories and tell the world where they could shove it. Instead I had a salad. It wasn't as satisfying but at least I wasn't having to deal with guilt over my bad coping habits.
Thankfully today things seem to be better. I can't recover monies lost, I can't actually fix work, the battle with the mortgage company is ongoing, I am suffering with ear buds in my ears until I can afford new headphones, my calf hurts like hell anytime I walk, but that is not stopping my day from being better than yesterday.
Today I have my lunch of tasty leftovers. Today I have something to occupy my work day. Today my office smells like freshly baking cookies. Today is game day so I can let my leg rest and not feel guilty about not working out. Today things are getting done.
It is a damn good thing yesterdays don't stick around to todays.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Down with Nimh
I have a very particular, and not particularly popular amongst my friends, view on vermin. I think they should all die. I don't believe in catch and release, I believe in using lethal force whether by way of traps or poison. I want them dead and gone.
When I say vermin I am really not limiting myself to the field mice and rats that like to take up residency in my house during the winter months. We live on a golf course and it is pretty much an unavoidable reality. It gets cold and the rats move in.
When I say vermin I actually include racoons and opossums in that list as well. You might think that they look all cute and what not, but have you ever seen what one of those things will do to your dog if they catch them? They are mean and very often diseased.
I get the whole argument that we have invaded their territory and we should try and live with them or at least not kill them. I understand why you would say that, and I would love to go with you on that. I really would like to be that soft hearted and good. Only I am not.
I have seen the damage that they can do. I have seen a dog mauled by a rabid coon. I have seen what a coon in your attic will do to your insulation and wiring. I don't have enough good in my heart to give the critter a pass because my house and his territory transect. My wallet isn't that well padded.
We had a gnarled old raccoon come into the yard a few years ago. My poor dog was having fits over it. When we finally caught sight of it the husbeast and I knew that it had to go. The thing was as big as our dog and it showed signs of having fought many battles and had lived to tell the tale. We were worried for our very timid dogs safety.
What came about after that was a very comical evening of the husbeast and the kid in the backyard with a boar spear (what you don't have a boar spear laying around your house?) trying to kill the raccoon. Unfortunately we have very tall dense oak trees and they were unable to reach to intruder. As much as they tried the raccoon lived on to terrorize our dog.
After a few weeks we realized we hadn't seen the raccoon again. We mostly thought that it had just moved on after all the hub bub. It wasn't like we were making this a quiet and inviting new home for it. Plus there was that pesky dog.
This is when we discovered that while our dog is very much an omega around people, in the yard she is the great huntress. We discovered one day on our porch a single raccoon paw that had been gnawed upon greatly. We never found the rest of the body and there was not a single mark on the dog. Either that thing died of a heart attack or she got the jump on it. Either way it was dead, and I didn't care.
Right now I have two exterminators in my attic laying snap traps and spreading poison. Hopefully in a few days the rat problem will once again be dealt with, and by dealt with I mean dead. I know they aren't anything as large as coons, but if it were raccoons in my attic, I would be saying the same thing.
When I say vermin I am really not limiting myself to the field mice and rats that like to take up residency in my house during the winter months. We live on a golf course and it is pretty much an unavoidable reality. It gets cold and the rats move in.
When I say vermin I actually include racoons and opossums in that list as well. You might think that they look all cute and what not, but have you ever seen what one of those things will do to your dog if they catch them? They are mean and very often diseased.
I get the whole argument that we have invaded their territory and we should try and live with them or at least not kill them. I understand why you would say that, and I would love to go with you on that. I really would like to be that soft hearted and good. Only I am not.
I have seen the damage that they can do. I have seen a dog mauled by a rabid coon. I have seen what a coon in your attic will do to your insulation and wiring. I don't have enough good in my heart to give the critter a pass because my house and his territory transect. My wallet isn't that well padded.
We had a gnarled old raccoon come into the yard a few years ago. My poor dog was having fits over it. When we finally caught sight of it the husbeast and I knew that it had to go. The thing was as big as our dog and it showed signs of having fought many battles and had lived to tell the tale. We were worried for our very timid dogs safety.
What came about after that was a very comical evening of the husbeast and the kid in the backyard with a boar spear (what you don't have a boar spear laying around your house?) trying to kill the raccoon. Unfortunately we have very tall dense oak trees and they were unable to reach to intruder. As much as they tried the raccoon lived on to terrorize our dog.
After a few weeks we realized we hadn't seen the raccoon again. We mostly thought that it had just moved on after all the hub bub. It wasn't like we were making this a quiet and inviting new home for it. Plus there was that pesky dog.
This is when we discovered that while our dog is very much an omega around people, in the yard she is the great huntress. We discovered one day on our porch a single raccoon paw that had been gnawed upon greatly. We never found the rest of the body and there was not a single mark on the dog. Either that thing died of a heart attack or she got the jump on it. Either way it was dead, and I didn't care.
Right now I have two exterminators in my attic laying snap traps and spreading poison. Hopefully in a few days the rat problem will once again be dealt with, and by dealt with I mean dead. I know they aren't anything as large as coons, but if it were raccoons in my attic, I would be saying the same thing.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Lost: Sleep. Please return if found
I have been having trouble sleeping lately. Part of me hopes that it is just a result of stress, but the more rational part of me knows this is another bout of insomnia starting. I cringe to think of how long it will last this time around. Sometimes it is a few days or weeks, sometimes it is much much longer.
One of the hardest parts of insomnia is becoming accustomed to the exhaustion again. It is strange to think that I can be functional while not sleeping at night. Reason dictates that this is not actually possible. Reason I have discovered has very little to do with reality.
Every time I talk about being a functional insomniac I think in my head that it sounds like I am comparing myself to a functional alcoholic. In some ways I think that might be an accurate comparison. I mean it is an unfortunate and potentially dangerous condition on both sides of the coin. Also being exhausted can feel like being mildly drunk, so I think the analogy stand. Then again that could be the lack of sleep talking.
The first week or so is always the hardest. While my body can sort of kick into automatic and drag me through the day, my mind is not quite as willing and able. My reaction times are slower and trying to do any sort of advanced thinking is sort of out of the question. Using my memory is also an issue, I can hardly recall anything without a good amount of effort.
I know though that in a week or so, while I will be exhausted still, my brain will be compensating for the lack of sleep. Soon the only way you will know I am not sleeping is the ever growing dark circles under my eyes. I suppose this means I should go buy new concealer.
In the meantime I am going to sit and stare blankly into space or engage in activities that don't really require much thought on my behalf, like my daily work. So if I seem a little slow to respond, or say anything that doesn't particularly make sense, or seem a little short with you, remember it is not your fault. It is in fact the fault of that damned dirty lazy ass sandman for skipping me on his nightly route again. Bastard!
One of the hardest parts of insomnia is becoming accustomed to the exhaustion again. It is strange to think that I can be functional while not sleeping at night. Reason dictates that this is not actually possible. Reason I have discovered has very little to do with reality.
Every time I talk about being a functional insomniac I think in my head that it sounds like I am comparing myself to a functional alcoholic. In some ways I think that might be an accurate comparison. I mean it is an unfortunate and potentially dangerous condition on both sides of the coin. Also being exhausted can feel like being mildly drunk, so I think the analogy stand. Then again that could be the lack of sleep talking.
The first week or so is always the hardest. While my body can sort of kick into automatic and drag me through the day, my mind is not quite as willing and able. My reaction times are slower and trying to do any sort of advanced thinking is sort of out of the question. Using my memory is also an issue, I can hardly recall anything without a good amount of effort.
I know though that in a week or so, while I will be exhausted still, my brain will be compensating for the lack of sleep. Soon the only way you will know I am not sleeping is the ever growing dark circles under my eyes. I suppose this means I should go buy new concealer.
In the meantime I am going to sit and stare blankly into space or engage in activities that don't really require much thought on my behalf, like my daily work. So if I seem a little slow to respond, or say anything that doesn't particularly make sense, or seem a little short with you, remember it is not your fault. It is in fact the fault of that damned dirty lazy ass sandman for skipping me on his nightly route again. Bastard!
Monday, January 28, 2013
I will never fall in love again
What is it about romantic movies and love stories that is so incredibly likeable? Why is it that I can't just stop watching those really cheesy romantic comedies? Why do I let myself get all gushy when I watch (voluntarily) a Nicholas Sparks movie? Why the hell did I even watch it in the first place? I mean there has to be better things out there to watch and to read than stories that center around love.
Hell it is hard to find anything that doesn't have at least some element of a love story involved. It doesn't have to be based on a Nicholas Sparks book or star some doe eyed blonde opposite some young guy with unrealistic abs to be a romance. I mean even the Transporter movies have an element of romance in them, and really those movies are just about Jason Statham beating people up, which I would be totally cool with that being the extent of the movie. Yet there is that romantic element lingering in the back ground.
Why is that? Why can't we have a story that is just devoid of romance? I am sure the stories are out there, but they are pretty few and far between. From what I can tell, no one seems to care. That vaguest element of romance lingering in the background seems to be part of a good story.
I have to admit that even in my own writing, I love writing romances. I love having two characters fall in love. I love those awkward first kisses, and those clumsy conversations, and the growing realization of their feelings inside. I love everything about it. I can't say I have ever written anything that didn't have at least some sort of romantic storyline involved.
So I have been asking myself for a while now, what is it about romance that I love so much? I think I have come to the conclusion that I like it because I am never going to fall in love again. Barring some horrible incident in which I no longer have my husbeast, that whole falling in love thing is over for me. I fell in love. I have my love. I already won in that arena. I now get to enjoy that love forever and I am perfectly happy with that.
At the same time though, falling in love is a big deal. Most people search their entire lives for love. We spend our youth going from partner to partner looking for that perfect someone. Some of us are more lucky than others to find that person quickly, or even at all. Still the simple act of searching and finding love is exhilarating.
I will never have another first kiss. I have had my fair share of first kisses in my life; some of them were amazing, some of them were terrible. When I say terrible I mean really awful like kissing a dead fish or like kissing a slobbering mastiff. Still that first kiss, that moment before your lips meet, the anticipation, the desire, the uncertainty, all of it building up for that moment of contact, is so amazing and something that you can never recapture with the same person.
The husbeast was my last first kiss. In case you were wondering if he was one of the terrible ones. It was an amazing one that I will have to share at some point in another post. Still it was the last first kiss I will ever receive. While I am more than happy to give him all my kisses for the rest of time, there will always be that part of me that will miss that thrill of the new.
Which is where romances come in. With those cheesy romantic comedies and love stories, I can live vicariously through the character and have those first kisses all over again. I can read a love story in a book and fall in love with the characters. I can go on that journey over and over again, and never stop falling in love.
Romance stories appeal to that desire we have to fall in love. Whether we are still waiting to fall in love, or if we have our love securely at our side, we always have those stories to keep us going. We can have as many first kisses as we want. We can have that thrill and anxiety of saying I love you for the first time over and over again.
I have found my one true love. I will just fall in love through characters from now on, and I am totally alright with that.
Hell it is hard to find anything that doesn't have at least some element of a love story involved. It doesn't have to be based on a Nicholas Sparks book or star some doe eyed blonde opposite some young guy with unrealistic abs to be a romance. I mean even the Transporter movies have an element of romance in them, and really those movies are just about Jason Statham beating people up, which I would be totally cool with that being the extent of the movie. Yet there is that romantic element lingering in the back ground.
Why is that? Why can't we have a story that is just devoid of romance? I am sure the stories are out there, but they are pretty few and far between. From what I can tell, no one seems to care. That vaguest element of romance lingering in the background seems to be part of a good story.
I have to admit that even in my own writing, I love writing romances. I love having two characters fall in love. I love those awkward first kisses, and those clumsy conversations, and the growing realization of their feelings inside. I love everything about it. I can't say I have ever written anything that didn't have at least some sort of romantic storyline involved.
So I have been asking myself for a while now, what is it about romance that I love so much? I think I have come to the conclusion that I like it because I am never going to fall in love again. Barring some horrible incident in which I no longer have my husbeast, that whole falling in love thing is over for me. I fell in love. I have my love. I already won in that arena. I now get to enjoy that love forever and I am perfectly happy with that.
At the same time though, falling in love is a big deal. Most people search their entire lives for love. We spend our youth going from partner to partner looking for that perfect someone. Some of us are more lucky than others to find that person quickly, or even at all. Still the simple act of searching and finding love is exhilarating.
I will never have another first kiss. I have had my fair share of first kisses in my life; some of them were amazing, some of them were terrible. When I say terrible I mean really awful like kissing a dead fish or like kissing a slobbering mastiff. Still that first kiss, that moment before your lips meet, the anticipation, the desire, the uncertainty, all of it building up for that moment of contact, is so amazing and something that you can never recapture with the same person.
The husbeast was my last first kiss. In case you were wondering if he was one of the terrible ones. It was an amazing one that I will have to share at some point in another post. Still it was the last first kiss I will ever receive. While I am more than happy to give him all my kisses for the rest of time, there will always be that part of me that will miss that thrill of the new.
Which is where romances come in. With those cheesy romantic comedies and love stories, I can live vicariously through the character and have those first kisses all over again. I can read a love story in a book and fall in love with the characters. I can go on that journey over and over again, and never stop falling in love.
Romance stories appeal to that desire we have to fall in love. Whether we are still waiting to fall in love, or if we have our love securely at our side, we always have those stories to keep us going. We can have as many first kisses as we want. We can have that thrill and anxiety of saying I love you for the first time over and over again.
I have found my one true love. I will just fall in love through characters from now on, and I am totally alright with that.
Friday, January 25, 2013
The post that wasn't
I haven't posted much this week because I have been torn on whether or not to write the post that is germinating in the back of my head. It is occupying my mind enough that every time I try and write something else, it inadvertently becomes that post. It is like this thought has taken my writing brain hostage, but I don't negotiate with terrorists, so the post still isn't going to get written. Unfortunately nothing else is being written in the mean time.
I know at this point you are asking why I don't just write this post since it is obviously something I want to write. Here is the thing; I don't want to write this post. I mean yes, I want to write it, but at the exact same time it is really not something I want to put out there in the universe. The post is probably going to come out far more negative than I like things and is way more controversial that I am comfortable with here in this blog.
I talked it out with some friends over lunch the other day and they pretty much agreed with me that this post would do nothing but stir a pot that doesn't need stirring. The subject is sensitive and personal, and in the end it is one that would very easily be misconstrued. I would come off looking like a bit of a hater, and that is not the truth at all.
Even after our talk I find that it is still nagging at me. It turns out I am really kind of worked up over this thought. I tried writing the post out just to get it out of my system, but it turned into this sort of jumbled rant. It wasn't even coherent. I came off sounding a bit like a loon and very intolerant. Anyone who knows me can tell you I am incredibly tolerant, though I am a bit of a loon.
I have come to the conclusion that my instinct to not write this post is correct, even if the topic is going to linger and fester in my mind a lot longer. None of you will have to be subject to my rants or rash opinions. You can go on enjoying content as usual here in the land of minions. Of course first I have to rescue my brain from myself.
I know at this point you are asking why I don't just write this post since it is obviously something I want to write. Here is the thing; I don't want to write this post. I mean yes, I want to write it, but at the exact same time it is really not something I want to put out there in the universe. The post is probably going to come out far more negative than I like things and is way more controversial that I am comfortable with here in this blog.
I talked it out with some friends over lunch the other day and they pretty much agreed with me that this post would do nothing but stir a pot that doesn't need stirring. The subject is sensitive and personal, and in the end it is one that would very easily be misconstrued. I would come off looking like a bit of a hater, and that is not the truth at all.
Even after our talk I find that it is still nagging at me. It turns out I am really kind of worked up over this thought. I tried writing the post out just to get it out of my system, but it turned into this sort of jumbled rant. It wasn't even coherent. I came off sounding a bit like a loon and very intolerant. Anyone who knows me can tell you I am incredibly tolerant, though I am a bit of a loon.
I have come to the conclusion that my instinct to not write this post is correct, even if the topic is going to linger and fester in my mind a lot longer. None of you will have to be subject to my rants or rash opinions. You can go on enjoying content as usual here in the land of minions. Of course first I have to rescue my brain from myself.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Duck, duck, goose!
Superstitions are very interesting things. It is something you see in pretty much every culture in the world. Every society thinks that some particular action or event will cause bad or good luck to occur. We see it everywhere from people not opening umbrellas indoors, avoiding walking under ladders, throwing spilled salt over their left shoulder, and avoiding black cats.
Not all superstitions are common though. There are some that are a bit obscure. One superstition that I always found to be less well known says that if a bird flies into your window that it is bad luck. I have always thought it was certainly bad luck for the birds, since most of the time when this happens they break their necks.
The first time I ever heard this one I was in 6th grade, so I was about 11. We were at my soon to be step fathers house for the weekend. My mom was watching his two young daughters while he was at work. His house was out in the hill country of central Texas and was surrounded by nothing but trees. In fact the house sat atop a large hill and the only road up was a barely paved goat path. The only other houses on the hill belonged to a couple of his brothers.
As we were watching TV that morning a bird slammed into the sliding glass doors in the living room. We were all pretty well startled by the event, but it was my mother who uttered the superstition aloud. At the time I didn't really think anything of it. Mom was always saying things like that.
Now a couple of hours later, as we were rushing my soon to be step sister to the hospital after a large metal crate had toppled onto her while we were playing and snapped her leg into several pieces, I sort of gave the superstition a second thought. We certainly were visited by bad luck on that day.
I am a superstitious person. Enough so that from that day on I get a little twitchy when birds start flying headlong into my windows. Mostly the only bad luck I have observed is that of the birds dying. Our dog loves it when they hit the window because it means a snack for her.
So yesterday morning I was sitting on my couch being all sickly. I was sitting there in the morning quiet when I heard the distinct sound of a goose honking. The noise was coming from the backyard and was getting louder. This is not too uncommon since we have a lot of birds living on the golf course. Normally though the large birds just fly over our house.
This time though as the sound got louder I realized I could see the goose through the back picture window, and it was not veering up at all. I think the bird only realized the problem a few feet from the window. The honking was cut short by the smacking sound of the goose flying right into the window.
Now like I said, the bird had realized its error in judgement before it hit the glass. These few moments of realization kept it from doing damage to my window or to itself. By the time I got up from the couch it had already flown off back towards the golf course.
It was by far one of the strangest things I have ever seen. Still I could not help but to sit there thinking about the old superstition. I am left to wonder if the size of the bird makes any difference in the amount of bad luck you receive. If it does, and a sparrow snapped my 5 year old sisters leg, what kind of doom awaits me from a full grown goose flying into my window?
Not all superstitions are common though. There are some that are a bit obscure. One superstition that I always found to be less well known says that if a bird flies into your window that it is bad luck. I have always thought it was certainly bad luck for the birds, since most of the time when this happens they break their necks.
The first time I ever heard this one I was in 6th grade, so I was about 11. We were at my soon to be step fathers house for the weekend. My mom was watching his two young daughters while he was at work. His house was out in the hill country of central Texas and was surrounded by nothing but trees. In fact the house sat atop a large hill and the only road up was a barely paved goat path. The only other houses on the hill belonged to a couple of his brothers.
As we were watching TV that morning a bird slammed into the sliding glass doors in the living room. We were all pretty well startled by the event, but it was my mother who uttered the superstition aloud. At the time I didn't really think anything of it. Mom was always saying things like that.
Now a couple of hours later, as we were rushing my soon to be step sister to the hospital after a large metal crate had toppled onto her while we were playing and snapped her leg into several pieces, I sort of gave the superstition a second thought. We certainly were visited by bad luck on that day.
I am a superstitious person. Enough so that from that day on I get a little twitchy when birds start flying headlong into my windows. Mostly the only bad luck I have observed is that of the birds dying. Our dog loves it when they hit the window because it means a snack for her.
So yesterday morning I was sitting on my couch being all sickly. I was sitting there in the morning quiet when I heard the distinct sound of a goose honking. The noise was coming from the backyard and was getting louder. This is not too uncommon since we have a lot of birds living on the golf course. Normally though the large birds just fly over our house.
This time though as the sound got louder I realized I could see the goose through the back picture window, and it was not veering up at all. I think the bird only realized the problem a few feet from the window. The honking was cut short by the smacking sound of the goose flying right into the window.
Now like I said, the bird had realized its error in judgement before it hit the glass. These few moments of realization kept it from doing damage to my window or to itself. By the time I got up from the couch it had already flown off back towards the golf course.
It was by far one of the strangest things I have ever seen. Still I could not help but to sit there thinking about the old superstition. I am left to wonder if the size of the bird makes any difference in the amount of bad luck you receive. If it does, and a sparrow snapped my 5 year old sisters leg, what kind of doom awaits me from a full grown goose flying into my window?
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