Pollyanna is not politically correct

Lyda here.

A decree came down from management that we cannot celebrate Halloween in the office any more. Apparently Halloween is not politically correct.

Geez, lighten up, people.

I’d cast a turning-them-into-bats spell, but I suspect that’s not PC either.

Anyway, I could not dress up as a zombie this year, but I’m not taking the little green witch off my desk.

In other news, I’m considering writing a country song titled “I’m turning blue from missing you, or maybe it’s because of my new jeans.”



Pollyanna versus the Ancient Judgements of Doom

Lyda here.

This week, someone I know put pesticide on their lawn to get rid of the bugs. They used a mild, pet- and child-safe spray to get rid of bugs that were biting the pets and children.

Who knew that this small thing would trigger such big stuff within me?

(My teachers. Because they are wise, they know stuff comes up, and because they are amazing, they gave me tools to deal with it. Seriously, y’all, go to USM.)

See, this is the story.

When I was young, our dog Happy ate some grass in someone else’s yard.

This was the sixties. No one in our little Iowa town had fences in their yards. Pets and children were free to roam about the neighborhood. But I digress…

Unfortunately, Happy chose a yard that had just had pesticide sprayed on it. She died of poisoning.

I don’t tell you this to bum you out.

I tell you this because, when my friend sprayed their grass, that day that my dog died came back to me, all the feelings and judgements as clear and powerful as I had felt them 45 years ago.

I remember searching with my little brother, and singing “Where oh where has our little dog gone?” as we looked. I hated myself for that, after our dog died.

I remember crying as I stood with my dad and watched the vet put our dog in the back of his station wagon and drive away. I remember she was panting really heavily, and I remember being sure that my dad and the vet could make her all better. And being furious that they didn’t.

I remember the man watching this, and saying something about spraying his yard to my dad. I hated the man for killing our dog. And my hatred scared me.

Today I realized that I was still carrying all of these emotions inside me.

All the powerful feelings and ancient judgements made by a child who did not understand why she was losing her dog.

Today I realized that I could let it all go.

Judgements and anger directed at this man who accidentally killed our dog. Judgements of the vet and my parents, who could not save her. Judgements of myself and my brother for making a game of it and singing as we searched.

I feel compassion for those adults, who watched the grief of small children and the suffering of a good dog, and who knew they were helpless to change the outcome. How hard it must have been to do the right thing, to put the dog out of her suffering, and to know that the children could not understand.

I feel compassion for those small children, facing death and not understanding. And compassion for those children who innocently made a game of looking for their dog, and who later hated themselves for it.

I forgive myself for all the judgements, misunderstandings, and misinterpretations of reality connected to this. And I forgive myself for judging myself for holding on to all of this for so long.

Rest in peace, Happy.


Pollyanna gets some perspective

Lyda here.

Check out this, which puts time into perspective in a graphic way.

By the way the “wait but why” blog is a very cool place to spend some time. Look at the creepy kids in vintage ads. Scary!

So, suddenly and without warning, I took a blog-writing break. What can I say? Stuff happened. It’s still happening. The kind of stuff that is happening is going to continue happening for a while. Not the I’m-so-happy-I-don’t-have-time-to-blog stuff. The icky kind of stuff.

And I got down, and I did what I tend to do when I’m down, which is pull even farther into my shell. Even though I know that what I really need is to reach out. Hey, I never claimed to be logical.

So, anyway, last night I was feeling so sad that I cried on the way home. So sad that I actually texted two of my favorite people. Miraculously, they both texted back within seconds.

And – without either of them knowing how much I needed it, because they didn’t know I needed cheering, because I did not reveal how I was feeling – they cheered me up enormously.

Just by being there.

Just by being.

And that is perspective too.

Pollyanna tries to keep up

Lyda here.

I’ve been having trouble keeping up, and now I see why:  being a nerd is harder than I thought.

Just keeping up with my favorite little pockets of nerd-dom is more than I can do.

For example:

Read all five of the “Songs of Fire and Ice” books published so far? Check. Watch seasons 1 & 2 of “Game of Thrones“? Check.

Wait, they finished season 3? But we can’t buy it until February.

Oh man. I’m behind again.

All this doesn’t even include mega-fan stuff like the fan websites or “Winter is Coming” t-shirts or the comics. And what? Now there’s a cookbook?

This is just an example of one tiny piece of my own nerdy, geeky interests. Urban dictionary definitions: nerd and geek. The Pollyannas often use these words interchangeably when speaking of themselves.

There is so much sci-fi and other stuff out there that I love. So many books. And movies. And TV. And blogs.

And of course, there are always the zombies.

It’s exhausting being Pollyanna, y’all.

Pollyanna be talkin’ like a pirate, maties

This be Captain Lyda.

The seas be stormy, lads, and there be much swabbing of decks. Ye soggy friends in Colorado and New Mexico be in our thoughts. Be brave, me hearties!

And today we be talkin’ like pirates, which be worthy of a tankard of grog.

And there be good news – the bees be sailin’ back!

Avast! There be white-bottom bees in yon forest!

Once common, but today very rare, Western bumblebees like this one were found on Mount Hood. (Times file photo)