Surgery--Again

open, My windows are always open--24/7/365.

Roger, I hope Herbie has found himself a nice quiet abode with lots of chocolate (his favorite) and lots of books. Just as long as he doesn't come back here. I'd hate to have to off a literate mouse.

Just back from the hospital. Two new drawings. One a new self portrait. I love this art therapy. The other therapy is woiking too.

Sheila's coming by later. I'm gonna show her the old photo and see if she recognizes me.

Roberta - you sound so upbeat! I love it!

I'm kind of in love with Herbie.

I don't mind short men. I just hope he's REALLY hung, to make up for the size difference you know...

Oh yeah!!!

deb, Can't attest to Herbie's hungness, in a literal sense. However, in the figurative sense, he's a giant among mice. The guy's got balls. A trap snapped. I went running. There was Herbie next to the trap looking shaken (not stirred). I went to get the broom. He hadn't moved. I tried to get him with the broom. He resisted and ultimately ran away. What a guy.

k, I'm undergoing two kinds of therapy and taking antidepressants. I'm fortunate to have therapists who have helped me tremendously by steering me in the right direction. Combine this with not having a health issue hovering over me for the first time in many years, and you've got the Kvetch Queen sounding upbeat.

Sheila just left. We accomplished a great deal. No philodendrum, but she's not giving up on this. I showed her the 120+ year old photo. I asked her to look at everyone's face, and did she notice anything. She looked. She looked some more. Then she said, "Is this you? This looks like you from about ten years ago." "So I'm not hallucinating. It does look like me." She stared some more. "That's you."

The photo is now hanging on my bedroom wall above a shelf with photos of people and animals I have loved. Sheila couldn't help but notice that her kids' pictures are there. Next to my mother's family pic are hanging a photo of my father's mother and father.

Looks great. Feels good. We also hung some sconces in the living room. On top of each is a Chinese figurine I remember from my childhood. I've always had them. Love seeing them on display.

Two significant drawings today. The self portrait started off as a nothing. A few swirls. I said, "Hey, it looks like an ear." Next thing you know, I'm adding an earring, bright orange with a drop. The face evolved from there.

Self revelation. Self-discovery. Self-illumination. With an orange earring--maybe coral.

Wonderful!

If you have a Home Depot store anywhere near you, have Sheila check them out.

Here in New Mexico last week they were having a sale on 3 foot and 4 foot tall houseplants for $15 each. The plants included palms and philodendrons.

Large supermarket stores around here usually have the smaller table top sized plants in their florists or produce departments and can be bought for around for under $10.

If there is no philodendron by October I can see that my time in New York shall be dedicated to a search for this plant!


I love dat mouse more the more i hear about him!

I love dat mouse too..

Soon to be a book, a very small book,

The Mouse Story
Travels with Herbie

Or:

A blockbuster:

My Life With Boida, the Brightest, Funniest Woman in New York
I adored her, but she just wanted me dead.

You do, indeed, sound very upbeat, Roberta.

I'm really enjoying reading this!

Please continue!

Have you mentioned Herbie to your psychotherapist? I bet she'd be fascinated if you did. Haunted by threats many times his size, drawn into traps and escaping them with his life by a mouse hair's width, and attacked by the broomsticks of life, Herbie keeps soldiering on, kwetching to his peers behind Roberta's stove. After you finish your story, your therapist will wrinkle her forehead, nod with grave significance, and suggest that Herbie is---you. (Nobody but you has ever seen him, correct? He's obviously a projection.)

Ha ha ha ha ha...

Sheila did bring me a plant. A schefflera. Never hoid of it. Don't remember seeing one before. But it was three bucks. You can't beat that. Way, way too big for where I wanted it. It's now on the floor greening up a darkish corner. Looks fine. Sheila is still hunting for the philodendrum. We are both becoming increasingly convinced that they are now an endangered species.

As for Hoibie. Yes, Thomas, my therapist knows all about Herbie. She was a bit concerned that I named him. Frankly so was I, but this mouse has personality, noive, guts. and smarts. I'm still reluctant to believe that the book was his, but who the hell knows.

Three other voimin died under exactly the same circumstances that Herbie navigated like a champ. Poison? Don't be silly. I don't eat poison. Traps of two different varieties. Each kind snapped once. No Hoibie. Bait disappearing.

The noive of that guy. He would jump up on the couch while I was sitting on it. Sonumabitch. The only time he seemed intimidated was when I was standing--on the move. And with the damned broomstick.

I'm greatly relieved that he seems to be gone. I didn't wanna kill him, but I woulda (if I coulda). Hey, Hoibie. You know where the bathroom is. Use the goddamned thing. Droppings everywhere. Feh. Getting into my food. A bag of food with a hole gnawed in it. A piece of chocolate with the tinfoil partly removed and graw marks on the chocolate.

Thomas, I have taken to heart what you said about Herbie and me. Interesting analogy. I'll mention it to my therapist. But nutsy as I am, I ain't delusional. Herbie was real. Gray. Not especially cute. The hand-to-hand combat mouse was cuter.

A mousey nerd or a nerdy mouse. I admit I admired him.

Is there a story in Herbie? Mebbe. Gotta think about it.

osso, Sheila and I had osso buco last night for dinner. Tender, melt off the bone melt in your mouth good with a delicate yet distinct sauce. Slurp.

Mmmmmmmmm!

Another Twilight Zone moment. Oy.

I'm cleaning out the linen closet. I reach into the back and pull out a small package. What's in it?

Oy.

A small gray mouse in a artist's smock holding a paintbrush and dipping it in water colors.



Herbie c'est moi. Je suis Herbie--art therapy and all.

The water color box says, "Joy '94." Someone gave me a Christmas present in 1994, and I found it today?

Help.

Gaslight.

Hello You...

following on from the Mensch's lead... here's another theory to throw into that gold mixing pot...

mebbe Hoibie is now projecting a new chapter in the Hoibie Book yet to be written ...you've seen him, he is real, he's been and fortunately, is now gone... he's also one of those animals that you fear... he arrived at a hugely noivous and anxious time before the gamma'ing and all that - a bit like going into a garage with no lights and having to feel around and not knowing what you're gonna touch or find .... anyhoo...

Hoibie realised one of your biggest fears... he came before the gamma and focused your noives and attention on him, the little blighter...

since you had the gamma ... Hoibie has gone (yes)



the uncertainties of the past few weeks and months - that's gone now.... your fears are subsiding... and Hoibie is nowhere to be seen... he survived the traps... and the broom.

You're a survivor too. One whom we all admire and love here.



and now a Hoibie is painting in his smock...

well, you know me, I believe in signs... if that's not a good sign, I don't know what is. So there.


<Personally, I still reckon my black cat did a Puss in Floating Boots over to New Yawk and rid you of your little moinster... but hey>

mebbe we'll never know

hoping he will not return to you, hoping your fears will begone bygones... and no more mouse crahp thankee very much.



There's a swirly squirly Van Goigh loirking ...














then again, I talk a lot of poppycock and piffle...

love ya millions tho - that's fer sure!!!!!!!!!!
x

Izzie, Thou speakest of van Gogh?

When I hung up the ancient photos in the bedroom, I had to take down a painting. I did a copy of a van Gogh when I was taking my oil painting class. That's the painting that's now looking for a new home in the living room.

And, yes, Herbie was the focus of a great deal of my fears. There was a time when I was so insanely afraid of mice that I would have been jumping around on the furniture or out in the hall in my underwear. Just to get away. This time I stood up to the fears. Got my traps. Took action. Still afraid but not paralyzed. Not insanely in flight mode.

It's possible that when I got that little artist mouse in 1994, I was too uncomfortable about it to display it. Threw it in the linen closet. Now the mouse is sitting on a shelf. Two cats on one side and Bambi, Flower, and Thumper on the other.

Your poppycock and piffle are golden to me, kid.

Too many coincidences. Life is strange. Black cat was here. Herbie's gone. Little artist mouse on shelf. Van Gogh gonna be in the living room.

What can I tell ya?

This is a book waiting to be written, Roberta.

And you know it!

This is officially getting very fascinating.