Art and the philosophy of life

Archive for the ‘family’ Category


White and Black Long Fur Cat

“Now I can breath easier.  There’s a new sheriff in town and we are no longer in an abusive relationship we couldn’t run from.  The whole country, except for republicans, is lighter and full of hope.  It’s a good day for my kittens.  It’s a good day for the world.”

Umit Ozbek

Family can be a beautiful thing…

Swans, Lake, Young Swans, Water, Birds

there are no
in the animal world
those kinds of cruel judgments
exist only
among humans



Picture:  Pixabay



Animal World, Monkey, Baboon, Family




A family photo…We all kind of look the same, don’t we? Parents…kids…all the same. Why don’t some people get that?

The family…

“I think Rita looks more like you.  Henry looks like me and Bertha, well, she looks like both of us.”

“Do you think so?” she asked, looking at their birdlings.

“Yes, Rita’s eyes are just like yours.”

“Henry has your beak and Bertha, does have a little of both of us,” she agreed.

“Funny how genetics work.”

“It’s just a blueprint, dear,” she said.

“Still, it’s interesting.  Now the humans are playing with that too.”

“Maybe we should make this the last of our children,” she said, smiling at the babies nestled at her feet.  “It’s too dangerous to have more.  I mean with the poison, the capturing and killing.  Besides, they’re taking our habitat, soon there won’t be a place for us to live.  Humans deserve to be by themselves.   Once all of us are gone, they’ll only have each other to kill.”

“They do that already,” he said. rubbing his beak against hers.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he admitted.

“But we were beautiful for the time we existed,”  she said softly.

“More beautiful than the moon and stars.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“Not until I met you,” he whispered.


“I think they’re hungry again.”

“You mean still, don’t you?” he said.

She laughed and said, “Yes.  We should enjoy them while we can.  Soon they’ll be gone, starting nests of their own.”

“I worry about that.”

“Maybe we can talk to them and they won’t lay any eggs.” she said, hopefully.

“We had them.”

“Yes,” she said, looking away.  “My mother told me not to bring them into this world but I didn’t listen.”

“No one listens.”

“They are so sweet,” she said, patting each one with her beak.  “So very sweet.”

“Humans don’t care about beauty or sweetness.  They only care about death.”

She nodded and watched him fly away to get dinner for their children.




Background, Christmas, Decoration

My cousin and I went out to play yesterday.  We had a blast.  She’s a great cousin and we like the same things, so it’s easy to be together.  We laugh a lot.  We bought goodies and had a fabulous lunch, finished off with some kind of molten lava cake that was so delicious I want to close my eyes right now, just thinking about it.  LOL

She pays attention to what’s going on and I don’t. I’m too busy watching a bird fly by or looking at something sparkly.  I think I drive her crazy and when we travel, she takes care of the money.  I’m really happy about that.  When I was in Paris without her I just handed homeless women whatever was in my pocket, having no idea how much the money was worth.  Must have been a lot because they were really happy.  I don’t know how to think about, or care about, things like that.  I just walk through life thinking everything will be fine and there’s always enough.  I believe in abundance and so far, abundance has always been there for me.

She’s the grounded steady one, so when she tells me something I listen. Like yesterday, when she said, “DON’T TURN THERE THE LANE IS BLOCKED WITH SNOW!”  LOLOL Poor thing.  I tend to terrify her at times and I don’t mean to, really, I don’t.  I’m just always thinking about a lot of things at the same time and I assumed the lane was open, because it always has been before.

Anyway, I trust her completely.   Her mom was my dad’s sister.  She got the best of that deal.  I adored her mother.  She was funny, kind and generous.  She was special to me, that’s for sure.

So, while we may not have had a great family, at least we have each other and that’s good enough for me.

Mom…a very belated thank you.

My mother was a wee thing.  She was about five feet three, maybe four inches tall and she was, um, compliant and a push over.  She did what she could to keep things calm and running as smoothly as possible, which wasn’t easy, since my Italian father was demanding and selfish and I was, to use her own words, “A brat.”  Anyway,  she fed my father, which did absolutely nothing to add a single pound to his lean frame, but it kept him sleepy and contained. Believe me when I say dinner was on the table the second the garage door went up.  He came in, washed his hands and sat down to eat.

My father never raised a hand to my mother.  I never saw him do anything to her that would even suggest violence. He wouldn’t think of hitting a woman, an animal, or child, other than me.  He went for me now and then, because I drove him insane, when he actually recognized that I was there, that is, but my tiny mother  (my father was six feet three inches tall), would jump in front of him, hold her arms out to the side, usually in a doorway, and say, “RUN.”  I ran.  So, he never got me.  Came close once, but my mother and his sister stopped him.  I stayed away from him, not because I was afraid of him, I wasn’t,  I stayed away from him because I couldn’t stand him and he knew it.

But I was cleaning today and thinking about all the women I know who were beaten and hurt by their fathers and I suddenly realized that my mother protected me with her entire being.  She never would have let him touch me.  She wasn’t afraid of him and she would have done anything to stop him from hitting me.  I never understood that.  She never stood up to him, never, even when I begged her to do so.  But for me, she put her body in front of him and said, “NO!”  How could I not have understood that before today?  She was so small, compared to him. I could see him standing over her, his face filled with anger, his hands balled into fists and she would not move. She knew he wouldn’t hit her, but it didn’t matter, not really, she would do anything to stop him from hitting me.  I never thanked her for that.  I just ran out of the house, or upstairs to my grandmother’s and locked the door, until he calmed down.  It didn’t happen often, maybe just a few times, over the years, because I wouldn’t even sit in the same room he was in, so I rarely saw him.   Yet every single morning, he came into my bedroom, while I was still asleep, and woke me when he kissed me on the cheek before he went to work.

My mother told me that he changed after I was born.  He didn’t like having her attention taken away from him, so basically, he was just jealous.  Whatever.

But my wee mom, standing in front of my furious father was really something to see, for the two seconds that I saw them, before I ran away.  I’ll thank her next time I see her and I’m sure we’ll both laugh about it, because it was funny, at least to me, and then she’ll be on her own, because if she ever comes back with him, I won’t be with her to see it.  I told him that when he was dying.  I know he heard me, even if he was unconscious.  Never coming back with him again.

Anyway, mom was tougher than I thought/remembered and now I see her wearing a superhero cape, pushing big guys around and saving the world.  Yeah, I think she could do that.  She could save the world.  You don’t have to be big to take a stand.  You just have to know the right thing to do and then do it.


Okay, so…

I was looking at flowerpots yesterday and met a woman doing the same thing.  We agreed that some of the pots were too heavy to even consider.  We ended up talking for an hour. She was a lot of fun and very interesting.  We agreed, not only on the weight of the flowerpots but on everything else.  When I asked if she had any kids she said, “Oh no.  I did that all my life.  I grew up changing diapers and taking care of my siblings.  I’ve had enough of that.”

She’s not the first woman I know who has had her childhood stolen by parents who use their kids as servants.  When I was growing up, the girl who lived kitty-corner from me could never do anything because she always had to take care of her sister.  We finally stopped asking her to join us.  She grew up being a servant, baby sitter and housecleaner. She didn’t have any friends because she was never able to go out.  That was her childhood. No fun, no friends, no anything, other than being a mini mom and housecleaner…and not by choice.  Kids are not servants.  Kids didn’t ask to be born and they aren’t there to do the job of adults.  So many children are forced to do things that take away their childhoods. What kind of life is that for a child?  Those will be my friend’s childhood memories for the rest of her life, dirty diapers, cleaning, and being old before her time.

The woman I was talking with had to give up her young life to do the job her mother, or father, should have been doing.   Some of these abused child caretakers never have children because they are sick of taking care of kids.  Their lives are altered by being forced to grow up and be mothers to kids that weren’t theirs.   It’s wrong for parents to steal young lives and use them for their own purposes.  I know so many cases like that.  Those years of growing up can never be replaced.  My memories are of fun things, great friends, swimming, playing and having a wonderful time.  Those things are unavailable to children who have to stand in for their parents. Those of us who were allowed to be children felt sorry for the girl across the street and then we just forgot about her because she was invisible…locked into a life she didn’t choose but was forced to live. Her memories were small and I know she wanted to be let out.  When I did see her she would ask what we were all doing.  As an adult I can understand that her mom needed help but that doesn’t take away the fact that she stole her daughter’s childhood and used her for her own purposes. At least she only had to care for one sib.  Some children are in charge of multiple sibs. Lots of responsibility for a child.

When you meet women who have been abused in this way, the second someone asks if they have kids, their faces get a certain look and they never hesitate…they just say, “NO.  I never wanted them.  Had them already.”  Lost childhoods.  Stolen by those who are supposed to care about the wellbeing of their children.  And yes, not all children who raise their siblings feel that way but I’ve met enough women who do.  They know what’s been taken from them.  They know they can never get it back.




America doesn’t do a single thing on this list…America is about profit at all costs.


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