It's Their Sandbox

I love my little playground and I presume my friends and family love their sandboxes, too. So they can have their sandbox and I won't tromp on the grass in their playground. But I wasn't friends with my mother until I was 46 years old and I think Judi is right, it was that magic age that I began to understand my mother and where she was coming from all those years. That being said, I may have a problem with boundaries. That's been brought up by a rather abusive therapist many years ago, and she didn't have any answers other than I have a problem with boundaries, never mind the delusions and obsessions I was trying to discuss.

But I see my new psych tomorrow for assessment and if I'm given a chance to raise my own issues at this initial appointment I'll ask her about boundaries. A valuable lesson one of my family has taught me if that's the case, and I'm beginning to suspect it is.

I was talking about animals with someone today at my community service work, and he used to have a pet raccoon. Somebody shot the raccoon by mistake because he was too tame and didn't run away, like Bambi's mom, a very sad story but all too common with wildlife who are made into pets. This guy wanted a cougar (mountain lion or puma) for a pet, and I know they're an endangered species, also dangerous but I did watch Born Free with Elsa and she was a lion. Sometimes a wild predator or other wild thing will turn on their captors, though; for example as a child a neighbor had a deer he had "tamed" in an enclosure in his yard and the deer grew magnificent antlers - he was a buck or stag - and in rutting season one year the neighbor ventured into the enclosure and was found dead by friends later that day. The deer had run him through. But who knows, maybe he was teasing the pore thing...or you know, as my mother always said about the wildlife, they were here first. We're invading their territory.

OMG, my mother was right about EVERYTHING!!!