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The Same River Twice

2/18/2026

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Heraclitus once said, «Κανένας άνθρωπος δεν πατάει ποτέ στο ίδιο ποτάμι δύο φορές, γιατί δεν είναι το ίδιο ποτάμι και δεν είναι ο ίδιος άνθρωπος.»* Let me try that again: "No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he's not the same man."**

That saying has been rattling around in my head for the past few days. An outlet offered to get me credentialed. After thinking about it, the appropriate answer seems to be, "No."  I'm overhauling my studio, contemplating another degree, writing a book, considering a possible arts internship, writing a play, and resolving to have more fun.  Did I mention I have a cello, a sword for Tai Chi and more drums than an adult should own?  Yeah, there's that.  No.  YOU grow up! 

Writing about hockey is fun again.  I'm taking the Olympic break to think about this. Sitting in the best seat ever with a lap full of smolcat who watches the puck is far more conducive to having things to say than having to duck into the Zamboni hut just to get warm enough to operate my camera.  Also, no bullies, no gropers, no idiot freak stalkers who threatened to have me removed because they didn't like my politics or religion.  Since going into the ministry is still on the table, I won't employ the language a former player used when I explained why I didn't want to go back. 

"Is it really going back? Things change." This is from a colleague.  He's being all wise and making sense and he needs to stop. I remind him that Saint Hunter S. Thompson held out for a Sunday Ticket subscription to cover NFL late in his career.  He barely wrote a word about football.  

I would be under no such constraints.  My streaming sub affords me oodles of sports and if I decide to get all twee and cover, say, cricket, it's there.  There's the added feature of all the Marvel and Star Wars material I could ever want to see and Only Murders in the Building. Better living through recreational chemicals is not a want or need. Droids and SportsCenter?  Let's talk. 

I might also decide one week to write about music.  Or gnocchi.  Life is short. Take the cannoli.  



Squeak!
Churchmouse




*Yeah, yeah, yeah.  That's modern Greek. I don't have the font or the patience to parse it out in the Classical Greek I learned at -say it with me- Memphis State University. Dad used to say I learned more creative ways to waste time at MSU.  

**And another thing.  I thought this was from Confucius.  没有人会两次踏入同一条河,因为不是同一条河,他们不是同一个人。

1. Don't be impressed.  I used Google Translate.
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God Give Me Patience, NOW!

2/12/2026

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​The past few days, I've been wobbly, sleep deprived, and not very nice. Attempts at trying to pat down my raised neck ruff were met with growls.  Depending on who you ask, they might have been cute growls.  Rodents are not known for being particularly imposing when we're put out. 

My late, lamented guinea pig, Minnie the Guinea Queen of the Sows, was a growler who was a fierce legend in her own tiny little head.  One afternoon the family dog, a Great Dane who was not known for cerebral wattage, noticed there was a small furry loaf in the cage in my room. He stuck his nose against the wires, Minnie growled and then clamped down on him through the bars.  The poor dog didn't know what to make of any of it.  He looked over at me as if to say, "Please get this mean biscuit offa mah nose!"  I gently removed Miss Piggy, who waggled her tiny feet and let me know how offended she was as the poor pup ran to another part of the house where weird decor wouldn't bite him. 

So I was emitting similar rodent-like grumbling and occasionally squeaking at offenders.  I should have been minding my manners, but no.  Offended and inconvenienced me had to let the world know I was offended and inconvenienced.  You'd think I was raised in a barn. 

Yesterday I met my new endocrinologist.  She.  listened. She got me.  I feel like we're moving forward and I'm a little more at home in my body, something I have been trying to achieve for the last six years. My A1C is down five points from what it was in November.  Numbers are moving the right direction. I'm not there yet, but all signs point to me getting healthier.

I don't deserve any of this. 

This especially true becausr I keep sending these pestering prayers: "Why am I here?  What is my purpose? No place inthis world u is evident.  If I'm continuing to live, what do you want me to do, God? 

What I'm missing is the hrace I am being shown. What God is modelng to me is what I should be extending to others. It's a hard, mean world right now is a pretty accurate assessment of the state of things. Using that as an excuse for closing my heart and mind is a copout.  

What does God want me to do?  It's right there in black and white (or maybe red depending on your Bible.)

I give you a new commandment: Love each other . Just as I have loved you, so you also must love each other. This is how everyone will know you are my disciples, when you love each other. 
​                                                                     John 13: 34-35


There it is.  My mission for right now should I choose to accept it.  Time to sign off and go into the world, this tinme with a greater purpose.


Squeak!
Churchmouse
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Confessions of an Ugly Female

2/9/2026

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All of us have those pieces of advice we tell ourselves we will always follow... util we don't.  Last night was one of those times I should have listened to my own advice about reliving the past, especially memories that aren't so good.

Here's the thing, when I was a kid, if someone said something demeaning to me, I would try to soldier past it. The problem was even though I knew I was under no obligation to care what anyone thought of me, their words, sometimes the memories of their words and actions cause an avalanche of memories of other times when I felt nothing I did could overcome my face. If I can put the brakes on, it might stop at the guy I encountered last year who asked the nurse standing with me at one of the walkways at VUMC if she was "walking the dog."  Maybe I can skid to a stop at working on my invisibility skills when I was a credentialed reporter at Bridgestone. If I don't get on top of it, there are the boys who used to follow me down the hall at Antioch High School screaming "Kill the monster!" and sometimes all the way back to fifth grade when I was told I couldn't sit at the girls' art table because I was too ugly and had to go sit by myself. I know all of this is stupid.

As petty as any of this may sound, the result is I feel sick and tense and my response is to try to distract myself with mental noise and deep breathing. Right now, I am reading Christian mystics (The Cloud of Unknowing by Anonymous and Revelations of Divine Love by Julian of Norwich) and teaching myself music theory, German, and Cherokee.  I used to think this was an attempt to escape what other people say and do.  I realized last night when I felt all of those incidents and more come tumbling out of my anxiety closet,* that it was a way to escape the ugly little girl grown into the ugly woman I see in the mirror. 

My agent is on to me. She has asked me to get a professional head shot. So far, I have been able to put her off for six years.  She is very patient.  This may be because I'm funny.  Being a good writer and artist can aid in the forgiveness of sins up to a point. I have offered to take a picture of my cat or hire a model to pretend to be me. She's not having it. 

I just had to do a few minutes of deep breathing. I'm better now. 

In the grand scheme of things, struggling with being that ugly person you ridicule to make your friends laugh seems like a first world problem. Nobody has an obligation to carry the weight of how their words and actions make me feel.  That's on me. It can serve as a reminder to use my powers for good and ask people to be kind.  Still, there's the fact that beyond my bubble of life, it seems like we've gotten meaner. Maybe if we can learn to be kind about the little stuff, solutions to some of our bigger problems would come into view. 


It's Monday.  Time to leather up and deal. Everybody have a good one! 


Squeak!
Churchmouse



*Stick taps to Berke Breathed and Milo for that one.

​one.
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It's Thursday Already And One Day To The Winter Olympics

2/5/2026

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I meant to finish a writeup of last night's DET@UTA match. I will do that later today. Getting my sports chops back feels good. However, a conversation with MouseMom made me realize the need to address a serious issue that has been weighing on a lot of good people.

The essay is called "The Kids Are Not Alright." It comes from decades of working with kids in crisis. Sometimes we forget our grownup problems filter down to the very people we sometimes try to shield from life's harsh realities. This serves as a reminder that the images and discourse are sometimes as inescapable to them as it is to us. 




​
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