Shade and Sweetwater

Happy Birthday, K2!!

2012-02-02T04:35:00.002-05:00

So, yeah, happy birthday to K2, sister of my heart, who is 13 days older than me, so for the next two weeks I can tease her mercilessly about how she's forty and I'm not. Yeah...

Also, happy Imbolc - the sun's visiby growing stronger, the god is thriving, the goddess is happy, and Spring is showing signs of emerging from winter's rest. Yay!

What're y'all up to?

Three Things

2012-02-01T04:27:00.003-05:00

Three names people call me: I'm guessing nice ones are in order so...hmm...Kyd, Flower, and Mommy.

Three places I've lived: Misery, Confusion...oh, wait...Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and Florida

Three places I have worked: Work? Me? Hmm...At a Montessori school (teacher), Michael's (framer), and Denny's (world's worst Denny's waitress).

Three shows I love to watch: No TV right now, but I WAS fond of Man vs Food, Dirty Jobs, and Any of the Blue Planet/Planet Earth type shows on Discovery.

Three places I have been: Hell (and back). Okay, really...hmm...Bunker Hill, Kennesaw Mountain, and Normandy.

Three things I love to eat: Food, food, and more food. What??

Three things I look forward to: Having the Internet back some day, being able to pay bills without wondering if it means going without toilet paper, shampoo, or cat food.

Three people I get regular e-mails from: Mum, Kerri, and Rachel.

Three places I want to go: Australia, Ireland, and Hawaii.

Feel free to take a turn...

What Say You?

2012-01-31T02:29:00.000-05:00

Who Wants Music on Monday?

2012-01-30T02:14:00.001-05:00

Hey, don't get excited (or horrified), I'm just pre-posting some things so I don't feel like it's all echo-y and tumble-weed-y in here.

Some day I wanna sing with this woman...

If I can Keep From Killing Anyone, It'll Be A Miracle!

2012-01-27T01:20:00.002-05:00

With the Internet on endless hiatus at Casa de Crazy, phone service on permanent vacation, and the satellite service gone the way of the Dodo bird, we're on the road a little more, visiting friends, visiting Mum, visiting anyone or anywhere that may have wifi I can hunker down on and use for a few minutes.

On the road means dealing with other motorists and their...erm...foibles.

I am fascinated by the habits of the modern motorist - it's like this vast, diverse tribe wherein the only commonality is a propensity for rudeness and inattention.

A motor vehicle is a ton or more of metal, plastic, fuel, and trouble. Why don't people drive as if they know that??

There's the fellow who never uses the blinker. Never. Ever. It's like he was bitten by the blinker wand as a child and now bears severe emotional scarring from the incident. He just changes lanes without letting anyone know he's going to, but we should all be tolerant because he's got that blinker-trauma going on. The rest of us, however, better not try the same thing on him, or there will be hell to pay. Hell, I tell you!!

There's the gal who can't let anyone pass her. She's going ten under the limit until someone tries to get by her - then she's Mrs. Mario Andretti, Jr. Try to ease past just a few MPH faster than she? No way, pal - she'll edge up and block you. Try to kick it up a little more? Sorry, buster, not gonna happen today! Slow down and she'll pace you. If you think you'll get ahead of her because she's approaching slower traffic, think again - she'll hit the gas, jump in front of you, and then slow down again. Life's a race, and if she can keep you from finishing before her, so much the better.

There's the woman who's texting, reading a catalog, and eating at the same time. No, really - I saw her. Luckily, I made it past without incident, but it was a near thing. She doesn't much care about the safety of the people around her - her car is like her house, she can do what she likes and no one has any say in it because this is a free country and fuck you if you think she's not allowed to swing wildly from lane to lane because she's trying to find the umlaut on her Blackberry.

There's the kid who only wants to drive fast, faster, fastest. He'll run right up your tailpipe, honk his horn, flash his lights, drop back and run up on you again. He thinks you're a Water Buffalo in the Cheetah lane, and nothing pisses him off like not being able to go Mach seven at will - never mind that you're in the left lane because you're going fifteen over the limit and passing right-laners like they're parked over there. Junior thinks you're a tortoise and he's about to run you down.

Let's not forget the motorcycles. Crotch rockets. Death on two wheels. Lest you get your knickers in a bind, I know many responsible riders who don't countenance shenanigans on the highway. I'm not talking about that kind of rider. I'm talking about the short-sleeved, short-pantsed, weaving-in-and-out-of-traffic, riding between the lanes, no-turn-signal-using, engine revving, helmet-scorning, no-mirror-using, speed-limits-are-for-chumps, let's race through rush hour traffic kind of rider. The kind of rider who bitches because people in cars don't make way for them or anticipate their every move, who wind up with head injuries and extensive road-rash scarring and mended bones (if they survive), the kind who cause others to have accidents and keep right on their merry way without concern for the mayhem they've wrought.

And finally (for now), the big trucks. Tractor trailers. Usually, I adore these guys. If I'm on a long haul, I'll tuck in with one going my speed and draft a little, let him clear the way for me. If I am in gnarly traffic, maybe four lanes going down to one because of construction or an incident, I will make a truck-sized space for them to get over - especially if they are using their considerable bulk to block the closing lanes and keep assholes from running all the way up to the head of the line and jumping over. Still, there are a few out there who need a bit of...help. Swaying from lane to lane is bad enough in a Nissan - that Peterbilt scares the crap out of me when it starts rocking over into the space my Astro is trying to occupy. Sudden lane jumps are not fun, either. It is especially frustrating when a truck leaps into the left lane like the driver was bitten, only to slow down to a crawl while attempting to pass the truck in the right lane that's moving only slightly faster than Congress passing a tax cut.

Share the road, people. We all want to get there as quickly as possible. We all want to get there alive. Driving is not, contrary to what people seem to believe, is not a right. It's a privilege. Act like you give a damn about that privilege before you kill someone. Or at least, before I finally go entirely off the deep end and decide to defend my piece of road with vigor and possibly a 12 gauge Mossberg. Fair warning.

One Year? Really??

2012-01-25T00:03:00.000-05:00

One year ago, there was this:

Today, there is this:

Holy carp!!

She's one today...wow...

A Letter

2012-01-18T14:09:00.003-05:00

Dear AT&T,

A long while ago I had an account with your competitor, a carrier that was well known for having excellent customer service and competitive rates. I was happy with my cell phone company.

As with all good things, though, it came to an end when you bought them out. I was not delighted.

I stuck with you, although it was more from habit than from any sort of desire to be loyal. Honestly, it felt more like deciding the least horrid of the lot.

I will admit that you have surprised me over the years - your customer service and tech support people have gone above and beyond on many occasions...once I could reach them. May I suggest that you market your automated phone system to Guantanamo Bay and other places where prisoners of war are being tortured? It believe it would be most effective. Or, if that does not appeal, you could use it as a sort of psychological test. I am certain many interesting things can be revealed about one's personality if you recorded one as they spoke to the recordings. Or am I the only one who talks back to the computer?

May I also note the irony of telling a customer they can look up and/or deal with their bill online when they cannot, in fact, get online to begin with and that's why they are calling? Also, I am aware that I have called AT&T - never once have I suddenly cried out "Oh, my goodness, I thought I was holding for the Lottery Commission! How silly I feel!!" I don't need reminding every few seconds. Neither do I need to hear you tell me my call will be answered in the order it was received. I've always wondered why companies feel the need to tell us this - is there a company out there that is answering calls randomly, then?

I have had wonderful experiences in your stores, too, although I must say I get little frowny lines on my face when I am told I must pay an extra fee for using that archaic cash to pay bills. Cash is instant, hard currency, irreversible, unarguable - unlike a credit card on which charges can be argued for years before payment (if any) is finally made. So why penalize me for using it??

Lately, you have turned off my cell phone and Internet*. I don't blame you - you do actually expect to be paid occasionally for your service and I didn't keep up my end of that bargain (silly me - how could I think toilet paper and cat food were more important than my beloved Blue Nowhere??), so I understand completely your sudden cessation of service.

That said, I do wonder what you were thinking when you called me last night.

Really, AT&T, you want me to sign up for DSL? I was under the impression that I was not at all a desirable customer, but your employee (if her bruised, battered, broken, thoroughly demoralized English was to be understood) said otherwise. She exhorted me to sign up for DSL...or maybe she was telling me to go to Hell. Or perhaps she was saying I should ring a bell. Or that her feet were starting to swell. I'm not certain - I don't know that she actually knew what she was saying. I am half convinced she was reading something phonetically for two cents an hour and all the Aloo Kachori** she can stomach.

Here's a hint - if you really want me to to purchase a product or service, try making certain that the person selling it speaks the same language that I do. I can muddle along in a few languages, especially if I use them all together in one sentence, but I am primarily an English speaker. Yes, yes, insert your favorite elitist jokes here, but the truth is, there are what? thousands? millions? of languages in the world (including dialects and patois)? Is it really reasonable to expect that I speak/comprehend more than four or five at once? And you called me, after all - so it would behoove you to do me the simple courtesy of attempting to fleece me in my language of origin. For the record, I am fluent in both English and Bad English, with fair vocabularies in Slang, Typo, and Gibberish as well.

In addition, given the state of the economy and my distinct lack of employment (despite a shocking amount of effort on my part...although, if I am being honest, ANY effort on my part is a shock to those who know me, because I haven't worked in some 20 years for one reason or another, and am not terribly good at being employed anyway), having someone who is clearly not working inside the boundaries of the nation (let alone state) in which I reside, call me to sell me something displays a lack of wisdom on your part. Outsourcing is not MY friend, as I am not share holder in your company, and I am disinclined to reward it with my custom.

Clearly one branch of your company is not aware of how the other branches are bending in the breeze...and you a communications company! Save yourself two cents and a bowl of curry and quit calling customers that you've cut off in the first place.

Thank you - and by the way, it will be a minute before I can pay what I owe you, but I fully intend to as soon as I sell one of T's kidneys when he's not looking.

Cheers!

* Which is why I am once again borrowing Mum's.

**I am not bashing anyone, here...just playing on the fact that the woman was quite obviously Indian, and, at the same time, enthusiastically unable to speak even basic English but delighted to be giving it the old college try all the same.

In Brief

2012-01-16T19:15:00.003-05:00

I am at a friend's house, borrowing a few inches of Internet to do some writing for her and to catch up a little on my electronic life. Funny how one doesn't think about how much the Internet is woven through one's life until one cannot use it.

Sprout turns one in a week-and-a-half. Holy crap. She is walking, trying to climb everything, rolls and bounces a rubber ball with great vigor and glee, and has several "words" with distinct meaning - "Daaaaaaaa" is for cat, "Da, da, da" is for bounce , and "Eh, eh, eh, eh" means pick me up and feed me or I will commence to make your life a living hell. Wordy, is our Sprout!

The Evil Genius just turned nine. Nine!! That means that next year he will be in the double digits, and soon after a teen. Oh, my aching head. He is so tall, now, and riding his bike with confidence (all over the neighborhood, which sometimes scares me, but I won't clip his wings) that amazes me. He is a great help with his sister, often playing with her for an hour or more so I can get some housework done - she is a social critter and won't be left alone.

I feel steam-rolled, aching from keeping up with the baby, climbing the various fences and gates that keep her from rolling down the stairs or getting into places we don't want her, holding and rocking her to sleep (which is bending my spine into all sorts of nifty ways), bending over to clean up her toys or wash the poor, abused floor. Whew.

I'm looking for work, but it's a wash so far. After twenty years out of the employment scene, it seems I'm not a desirable employee. Sigh.

We have managed to help curtail the kitty population thanks to Mum, who payed to spay two females, then gave one of them a home. I'll miss the springtime fuzz balls, but it's for the best.

I do not know when we will have phones and Net back - it depends on what kind of income I can manage and whether T can find the resources he needs to pay his bills AND child support (he is in arrears, but there's little I can do about that - can't squeeze blood from a turnip, and he's in much the same boat we are). I'm hoping we won't have to go past February...I know the Net is a luxury to many folks, but it's what we use to find work, advertise services, keep up with family, and even sell artwork and freelance writing, so it is a useful tool around the Casa.

Meanwhile, I am gypsying around from WiFi to Wifi, leaning on friends and family for bits and pieces of Internet access. My friend K2 is being terribly sweet, allowing myself and the kids to invade at least once a week, as is Mum. Thanks!!

See y'all soon - tell me how you're doing in the comments!

Speak Your Piece

2012-01-06T04:28:00.000-05:00

I believe in freedom of speech. I believe that one should be free to say what one thinks or feels without fear or repression, opression, or cencorship. Though I may not always like what another has to say, I will stand up for their right to say it.

Sometimes I will say things that annoy, distress, or anger others. Sometimes I may say things that offend. Sometimes others annoy, distress, or anger me, and I don't always like what they say or how they say it...but never would I tell them they cannot speak their mind. It's counter to my very core, to the basic idea of freedom that I hold dear.

Why bring this up, you ask?

It would seem that there are many folks in the world who would very much like to silence the voices they don't like.

Whether it's a song, a poem, a book, a political point, radio talk show, blog, or other means of expression, if someone finds it disagreeeable they begin to whinge about it being offensive, or hateful and mean, or encouraging "wrong" thinking, and try to shut it down.

Listen.

Hear that silence?

That's the sound of voices quashed, keyboards gone doormant, music muted and hampered by the wet woolen blanket of "for the public good".

I am not a white supremecist. I can't stand 'em, actually. I think they're crazier than shithouse rats and often question the hatred so frequntly spewed forth by their front men/women. Try telling hem they can't have or express their opinions, though, and I will, I must, defend them. Please don't make me do that.

Even if it's abhorrent to me, I will not seek to silence another's voice.

I don't mind telling someone "Hey, I find that offensive" or "I disagree", but that's a far cry from telling them they can't have their say.

It's freedom OF. folks, not freedom FROM.

Away, Away, For a Year and a Day

2012-01-04T17:14:00.000-05:00

Well...I hope it isn't that long!

Alas, despite my hope to start daily blogging again in 2012, I am thwarted by the mighty dollar...or, rather, by the lack thereof. The Internet and phones are shut off until further notice at Casa de Crazy, which makes it bloody difficult to blog! I'll be back and blogging daily when I can pay these unreasonable people - imagine, demanding money for their service! The unadulterated gall!

I miss you folks...I miss the Blue Nowhere...and I hope you won't all drift away while I'm floundering here in reality. I may have access once in a while when I am visiting Mum (like I am now), but it'll be sporadic at best.

See you again soon...I hope...

Soup, Why Not?

2011-12-29T19:21:00.004-05:00

I woke up yesterday with a hankerin' for soup. I winged it. Didn't turn out too bad, at all.

The players:
1 lb Great Northern Beans
1 lb Chourico (spicy Portuguese sausage)
1 Medium Onion
8 - 10 Baby Carrots
2 Stalks Celery
4 Cloves Garlic
Liquid/Stock of your choice

Begin by soaking the beans overnight, or by quick-soaking (place them in a pot with 8 cups of water, bringing to a boil, boil for 2 minutes, turn off the heat and let sit for an hour before draining and rinsing). I quick-soaked this time because it was a last-minute souping.

Drain and rinse the beans. Set aside.

Chop onion, carrots, celery, garlic, and sausage.

Heat some olive oil and butter in a pot. Saute onion/sausage mix until onions are softened.

Mix in the beans, then cover the lot with liquid - I used a mix of chicken stock and water, enough to cover the solids plus an inch or so over. Shake in a little cumin - maybe 1/4 teaspoon or so.

Cover. Bring to a boil, then simmer for several hours or until beans are cooked.

You can healthy it up a little by adding spinach, Kale, or cabbage at the last minute if you want.

Salt and pepper to taste. I served with corn bread. It was nicely spicy and flavorful, and hearty enough that I only ate one bowl.

Yule

2011-12-22T00:01:00.000-05:00

Annual re-post freshened up with current info.
~~~~~
Happy Yule, y'all!

Wait, what? Yule - you know...Yule? The holiday that some people celebrated waaayyy before that poor wee baby was born in a pile of hay? Evergreens ring a bell? Holly? Ivy? Mistletoe??

OK, go get a snack and a nice beverage (eggnog on the right, pink punch in the center, pick a bottle from the high chair to spike it with)(yes, the high chair is our bar - the Evil Genius doesn't need it any more, Sprout is getting a new one that's a little more stable and able to handle her wiggling without that alarming creaking noise, and it's an heirloom that I want to keep on display - so why not??) and get comfy. All set?

Yule, or Winter Solstice, is a celebration of the returning light.

Yep, it's that simple.

The God is reborn today, and the days will lengthen with his growth, into the fullness of Summer. In some villages, way back in the past, hearth fires would be extinguished (a brave thing when you didn't have Zippos or matches or even two sticks to rub together). They would be relit from brands taken from a community balefire, lit by the sun himself with a little help from some glass (or a hidden coal or two - c'mon, we weren't above a little showmanship, back then), thereby bringing the sun (and, one hoped, his blessings) into the home. It also kept the community united, because everyone shared the same fire, the same light and heat. Cool, huh? Gotta love a religion that encourages playing with fire. Ahem.

The fir tree was (and is) a symbol of life lasting even through death, the promise of life and light renewed, and a reminder that beneath the snow, the Earth-heart beats on. Holly and Ivy were green, too, but they were also symbols of the Green Man, the Forest Lord, Jack o' the Green - the God primeval. The Holly King and the Ivy King, the old and the young, the constant, changing balance. Deep stuff, yo.

Mistletoe is still used in a fairly traditional way, although it wasn't always just kissing done under the stuff. I still use the leaves and occasional berry when I make love bundles for people (Note - a love bundle isn't a love spell, it is meant to strengthen what is already there, not coerce or sublimate the free will of another. I don't DO love spells, so don't even ask.)(I mean it.), and it's a terrific symbol. It was also a fertility and aphrodisiac herb, but only symbolically - even wigged out Druids knew the stuff was toxic!

We light a yule log, in our house one that's cut from the trunk of last year's tree (the rest of which is providing habitat and nutrients in the woods out back). Old tales say if it lights on the first try and burns for twelve hours, we'll have good luck...this year, I'm soaking one end in water, first. What? We need all the good fortune we can get...don't you??

This year we are spending Yule at Mum's, lighting the burn pile, celebrating the returning light with a little spark of our own. We'll collect some of the ash and bring it home to add to the ash jar and sprinkle around the foundation for a blessing.

Sometimes a group of us will get together and just spend a quiet day nibbling snacks, enjoying each other's company, and taking a break from the holiday insanity out there among the English. If we exchange gifts, we try to make them ourselves, or give things that encourage and nurture our spiritual or creative selves. Things will be a little sparse this year, and Someone and I have agreed not to exchange anything...we want the kids to have a nice holiday, although Sprout wouldn't know or care if she got a gift as long as there was a box and some ribbon to play with.

But mostly, it's a celebration of the returning sun, the waxing light, the cycle renewed.

Happy Yule - When the days be cold, may your hearth be warm. When the nights be long, may your fire burn bright. When the wind blows, may you find snug shelter. When tree and field are bare, may your larder be full. May you never know Winter's chill a moment longer than you care to, nor hunger nor want, and should you find you have all that you need and a bit more besides, may you find someone who will gladly take what you offer and live better for the receiving. Blessed be.

Let the Caterwauling Commence!

2011-12-20T22:04:00.000-05:00

Since we're so close to Yule, I thought I'd be ridiculous and re-post some videos of Yule caroling. They aren't top quality, but they're what I have - between cats meyowling along because they thought I might be injured, the clock bonging away, the TV randomly coming on, the Evil Genius randomly wandering through, and the phone ringing, I had to reshoot a number of times, and my voice went away after an hour or so.

Anyway, here are three for your amusement.

If you want the lyrics, I'll e-mail 'em to ya. As always, I shot these with my trusty Kodak Easy Share CX7525 (now with a new! rechargeable! battery!!). Kodak doesn't know I exist, do for FTC purposes, I ain't disclaiming anything.

Pimpin' My Pal

2011-12-11T22:45:00.003-05:00

Well hey there!

Ohmuhgoodness, look at the dust in here! I don't know what just brushed my face - it was either a cobweb or a gauze curtain.

Cough.

Is anyone still here? Looks like my little shanty in Blogopolis has been abandoned.

Is that...wildlife...I see creeping in the corners? Augh!

I need to get this place back in order, huh? M'kay - while I'm out renting a Blue Nowhere rated wet-dry vac, how about I give you a link to follow?

Trust me, this is a good link. I don't share it with just anybody. No - you're special!

Looking for a holiday/birthday/special occasion/no reason at all gift? Go see my friend, sister of my heart, and a talented-as-heck artist K2: Unleash the Goddess. She makes beautiful, unique, wearable art - and sometimes she lets me play with her glass.

Glass, people, glass!! Geeze...

Meanwhile, I am going to find an air filter and a giant incense stick - this blog smells stale...

I'll be back soon, just in case you have missed me...

In case you were wondering...

2011-12-07T09:41:00.002-05:00

...Bob the Wonder Computer has a full memory and can't get online. A friend has offered to try and help clear the hard drive, but until that happens I have limited online access, so not much blogging is going on around here. I miss the Blue Nowhere and y'all...

Just Hear Me Out

2011-11-29T13:19:00.003-05:00

I am thinking about forgoing holiday decorations this year.

Trees are expensive. We have cats who view ornaments as their personal playthings, and a baby who will be eleven months old when the holidays roll ~~over us~~ in on us, and she's very...umm...grabby. And Put-it-in-my-mouth-y. There will be a tree and decorations at Mum's for Yule, and a tree and decorations at T's mother's house where the Evil Genius will celebrate Christmas. The Evil Genius will not miss out on sparkly wonderment just because there isn't any all up in our house. Sprout will not notice or remember - I love her and think her the cleverest Sprout ever, but right now she has the attention span/memory of a goldfish.

Half my lights, decorations, garland and bows for the outside of the house are trashed and I can't fix or replace 'em with wishful thinking. Wal Mart is so unreasonable - they actually want me to pay for that stuff. Imagine, a business wanting to make a profit - the nerve!

And, if I'm being honest? I ain't feelin' it. Usually, I have stuff started by now, if not done. Usually, I am feelin' it.

If I were to tart Casa de Crazy up to match my mood these days, I'd need an accelerant and an ignition source. Or a manure spreader.

Since I'm the one who puts up/takes down all that happy crap, I figure it'll keep until next year, or whenever I feel like dealing with it.

So general "poor me, I'm feeling sorry for myself" tuff aside, I can skip it, right? Does anyone really care??

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T00:42:00.000-05:00

Thankful

2011-11-23T00:07:00.001-05:00

I have a few traditions on this day. Not many - the menu, recording the Macy's parade so I can watch it and fast-forward through all the crappy pop music, commercials, and talking heads to see the twenty minutes of balloons, floats and high school bands I'm interested in hidden among all that junk, and my list of some things for which I am thankful, in no particular order and in no way complete:

The house in which I live
The Evil Genius

Mum
Someone
Sprout
Gypsy, K, Kit, Sam-I-Am, PJ, Mizz Beth, and all of my friends who put up with me when I am most myself and therefor least likable. They are the net beneath me when I fly and fall.
Bread
The scent of leaf loam and woodsmoke in the crisp autumn air
Books, music, and art
Clean, plentiful water
Clean air
Clean clothes
Freedom
Nature and the way she finds to show me something new of herself every day
Words
Song
Dance
Adversity, that joy is all the sweeter
Every creature and plant that I consume to sustain myself, because without the life I take, there would be no life to live
Love - that it exists at all is a wonder, and I feel blessed to know it in many forms
Chocolate, gift from the Gods (yes, even the perversion called "candy bar") (Mmm...candy bar...)
Strong hands
Strong spirit
Strong will
Laughter
Cussed determination not to curl up and die just because life can sometimes be a succession of truly awful, bleak, and desolate days...but sometimes it isn't.
The Internet
You

I hope you have a blessed day, and that you the things you're thankful for outweighing the things for which you're not.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all, from us at Casa de Crazy to you out in the Blue Nowhere and beyond

There's An Art to This

2011-11-20T09:34:00.005-05:00

I know it's probably not as interesting to y'all who aren't in the mix, but I'm writing about the poly thing again.

Someone is learning that being poly doesn't mean a relationship and some extra nookie on the side - it's work that grows exponentially with every new facet added to the stone.

I am learning that each time there is a new interest, there's some adjusting to do. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not like there are new interests every day; so far, there are two besides me who have found a place into Someone's heart, and one of them is so new they've only met in person once. They don't know what their relationship is, yet, besides nascent.

You know how new love/attraction is, right? All that anxiety, all that drive to be together all the time, the drive to attract and hold the other - songs, flowers, poetry, prose, the showing off of one's best self.

The trouble with that is the attention and effort going into the new love/interest is time and effort NOT going into what's already there, and that can hurt.

I am woman enough to admit that, yeah, I want that kind of attention, too. I want songs carefully chosen for how they speak of the interest/attraction someone feels for me. I want e-mails or Facebook posts of flower photos gleaned from the Internet just because they're my favorite kind, or because they remind someone of me. I want the sweet words of longing, the poetic phrases the tell me how he sees me (which is always so much nicer than how I see myself).

It's not that I am not loved, or even loved the less because there's another woman catching Someone's eyes...it's that I am a known quantity. I am home, I am comfortable, I am the warm presence that never leaves him, wherever he may be. When he is hurt, it's I who gets the call or holds him close. When he's lost, it is I who he calls to guide him where he needs to be - usually home. If pressed to choose, there would not be a moment's though - he would choose me above all others. The others know this...not because they need to be "put in their place", but because it is the truth...just as we all know that if Lady R was made to choose between her J and our Someone, she would not think twice - it would be her J, hands down.

While I'm being honest, I wouldn't mind if I didn't have to be the one to deal with the meltdowns, the fugues, when his other loves don't call, write, message, or otherwise communicate with him when they say they will...or when they don't respond when he reaches out for them. Their silence always leads to the worst conclusions in his mind, and he is anguished, which turns to anger, guilt, and self-hatred, and those things are abundant enough in this house without others' carelessness adding to them.

So Someone had this new interest. I shall call her Lily, as that's her flower of choice and how he refers to her online.

I don't know her well enough to say if I like her or not, but I am leaning towards interest in finding out more about her, intrigue at her life and personality - she must be special to have caught his eye - and curiosity about her ethics, her ethos, who she is when no one's looking.

They can only communicate via Facebook right now as she is in an untenable domestic situation and can't openly have a love/lover, a complication that I don't like one bit because it violates our first rule of open, honest communications at all times. I understand her need for discretion, given her situation, but I am troubled by this lack of honesty that is mandated by her situation.

Through Facebook, they send each other songs all day long, songs of love and longing. They post photographs and artwork meant to express their yearning to be together. They send messages that keep the fires burning.

I was hurt by this. Was. I've had time to think about my response, and it's not that I grudge her the sweetness...it's that I grudge the loss of effort on my behalf. More than me, though, Lady R is hurting over this, and for much the same reason - all the effort he puts into Lily is effort we don't get. I hurt for Lady R...I have already been through this when she and Someone met...but she's not experienced what it's like for her lover to be interested elsewhere like this, yet.

Last night we were discussing Lady R and her pain (if I were to tally the hours spent discussing relationships, I think most of them would be dedicated to Lady R and her J, or Lady R and Someone, and lately, to Lily and her place in this puzzle, something both of us know we need to remedy - we have to work on US, too), and I told him my thoughts on all this mushy Facebook stuff: He thought he was making an effort for Lady R, but I pointed out that he's posting messages of love for all three of us at once (say, one photo addressing all of us in the post), but not individually. Individually, for every song he sends Lady R, he sends six to Lily. . For every picture of a certain color rose (Lady R's flower) he finds and posts online, he finds and posts a handful more lilies for Lily. Since we share so much music and art here in person, I am trying not to have ruffled feathers over the scarcity of such things on my behalf, but as I'm fighting social conditioning, I occasionally have a little sniff, snuffle, whimper myself.

I can't grudge them what little they get of Someone - after all, he is HERE, with ME, and happily so - but I DO think it's important to work equally at maintaining the established and the new.

It's a work in progress, this picture we're painting - sometimes, it feels like we're choosing colors in the dark, brushing them on blindly and hoping for the best.

There Is No Prince Charming

2011-11-17T10:49:00.002-05:00

I know, the song doesn't match the blog title...but it's the closest match I could find, and it may be apropos after all.

I can't speak for other cultures, or even for the male half of this one, but little girls in this country are raised to believe in a myth that (I believe) can be devastating - the myth of Prince Charming.

We are given frilly little dresses and shiny shoes and taught to dress up and pretend.

We are taught that our very own Prince Charming will one day sweep us off our feet, best any dragons, ogres, or sorceresses we face, and give us our happily ever after.

If we aren't popular, it's okay - Prince Charming will be along and all will be well.

If we are the girl in the corner, the one in the shadows, the one who is not invited to dances or parties, the one who is awkward or not as pretty as the others, the overlooked one, the shy one, the fat one, the gawky one, the tomboy, the one the boys walk past to get to her friend or the girl beside/behind her, it's okay - Prince Charming will see us and in his eyes we will be beautiful, wonderful, perfect.

So we wait for him. We sit in our corners, watch from a distance as others laugh and love, smile when the man we were interested in walks past us to get to another, try not to show our hurt when he doesn't even see us there, and we cling to the idea that our very own Prince Charming will soon be along and we'll get our day in the sun.

What we aren't taught is that we don't need Prince Charming to rescue us and the idea of happily ever after is a fairy tale, nothing more. Don't get me wrong - I believe that we can be happy in our lives, but forever? In that storied kind of way? No...no I don't.

We also aren't taught that sometimes Prince Charming doesn't come along...or that he, too, will pass us over...or that he's gay. We aren't taught that love comes along every day, in many ways...aren't taught how to recognize and honor it. We don't know what to do when we get older and older and our own Prince Charming is nowhere to be seen...so we sit and wait to be rescued and flounder in our lives and wonder what's wrong with us...why does everyone else have what we long for...when will we be seen?

I will not be teaching Sprout about Prince Charming. I will, instead, teach her that princesses (and Sprouts) can damn well rescue themselves. I will (I hope) raise her not to depend on some mythical One True Love, but rather to take joy and pleasure in even the smallest loves. I hope she will learn that she is visible, even if she's hiding in the shadows, and that it's okay to be seen and be different, to be her wonderful self without worrying about whether or not someone - male or female - comes along to notice her. I hope that she will believe that she doesn't have to have a partner, lover, husband, or wife to be fulfilled, that as long as she is living the life she loves, society's definition of happiness is moot.

If I can teach her those things, maybe I will come to believe them myself - but as for Prince Charming...I'm done believing in/hoping for him; I love and most of the time even manage to believe that I am loved, and that's more than enough for me.

Thank You

2011-11-11T00:01:00.001-05:00

Work

2011-11-10T13:55:00.003-05:00

These relationship things are work, I tell ya.

When you open them up to polyamory, it raises the stakes, and the workload, considerably.

This is why we need communication, even when we'd really like to crawl in a hole and lick our wounds. Silence fosters negative thoughts - it's the perfect growing medium for fear and doubt, kind of like the jack-o-lanterns on our steps are for growing funky red mold.

Add to that the fact that it is sometimes difficult to separate where we have issues - it it because of a new/other relationship, or is it something internal? And can we really separate them, after all? Is the issue mine, yours, or someone else's? If it's someone else's, are they working with us to find a resolution, or just dumping it on our laps and letting us do the work?

Sigh.

Open, honest communications at all time and with all involved. Not negotiable.

Part of what has caused some hurt around here in the last few days is a lack of communication, complicated by a veil of misunderstanding and hurt that alters everything we hear and experience. Because Someone and I both have quite a bit of negative history from before we met, we have to be aware of this filter and work extra hard not to take things at their worst. Most of the time, we do fine...but now and then one, or the other, or both of us, will be in a bad headspace and take everything wrong. It all becomes a judgement of how worthless we are.

We've had a sort of perfect storm of that kind of thing here at the Casa. We're recovering, but only because neither of us is willing to let anger or hurt break us. We're still a little prickly, a little sensitive, but we're getting better by the minute.

Even when we want to hide from it, even when we really don't want to get into the murky darkness and feel around for what's really hurting us, we put our big-kid panties on, hitch up our britches, and (eventually) wade in...because yeah, it's work, sometimes nasty work, but it's absolutely worth it to know that there is nothing left to question, that we know where we stand - side by side.

There Are Not Words

2011-11-09T21:25:00.004-05:00

I wish I had the words. I just don't. I'm out of words. They have proven useless, anyway, impotent. The words that were once valued, prized, lauded, are now ashes and dust to be swept away, unheeded. I wish I could convince you that I am honest, and true, that I do love you and that I am happy that you love - me, other women, our daughter. I wish you believed in me.

What hurts is not that you love others. Polyamory isn't the issue. I like Lady R, and I am sure that, given time and opportunity, I will like H as well. I don't think one should limit love, and I won't ask anyone to pretend that they can just because my feathers are ruffled.

What hurts is not that you seem to save your anger for me. I get it - I am safe, the one person who will face it, absorb it, stand toe to toe with you, show you your anger and what it does, and won't throw you out, throw you away, because you are feeling what you feel.

What hurts is not that the sweetness, the softness, are reserved for others, but not for me.

What hurts is something that comes from within me...from a place of envy, of wishing that I was the one who inspired the search for the right picture to post, for the right song to share, for the sweet words to flow. I wish I was the source for the anticipation, the giddiness, the excitement, the laughter and delight. I wish I was the one you were trying so very hard to make smile, that you so wanted to touch, taste, smell, be with. I wish I didn't feel as though all I have left is this tired old love that doesn't shine any more, but is staid and dependable and...boring.

And sometimes...if I am being honest (which I strive to do, even when it hurts and costs me dearly), sometimes I wish there was someone who looked forward to seeing me, speaking to me, the way you used to...the way you do with the new ones, but not, it seems, me any more. There isn't anyone else, though, and I don't believe there ever will be.

This is the down side to polyamory. The new beginnings that sometimes...okay, usually...leave me feeling left behind, dusty and dull and unwanted. I have no new beginnings. No one looks twice at me. Why should they when there are so many brighter blossoms to pluck?

It passes, this wistfulness. It passes when I remember that as often as you may take wing, fly away from me, you always come back...so there must be something worth coming back to. Maybe I am not exciting in that shiny, new way, but I'm where you want to be or you wouldn't return. If I can't have that new-love feeling, that bonfire conflagration, I have the long, slow heat of the hearth to call my own.

I Used to Believe That Could Be Me

2011-11-09T21:05:00.003-05:00

I once posted this song with the admonition that one should not play it unless they meant it.

I used to hope that one day, someone would hear it and think that's how they felt about me...as if my dreams not only had meaning, but were inportant to themselves as well.

I believed. I thought music had power and meaning to it.

I loved this song...loved playing it, singing along, and I never once played it for anyone without meaning it - that I would be here, helping them reach for (and hopefully achieve) their dreams.

I still mean it...I am still striving to find ways to help people with their dreams.

I just don't think it's meant for me. I don't believe, any more, that my dreams matter. I don't believe, any more, that anything I do matters. I don't believe that anything I say matters. I truly believe, here in this moment, that what I feel absolutely doesn't matter in the slightest.

Such a happy place.

Pennies

2011-11-09T10:34:00.002-05:00

I am sitting on the floor, surrounded by patina-ed copper circles. They click as I move them about. I am watching for any that may roll from the depressingly small heap - this is where the baby plays, and she thinks the world is something to savor in a literal sense. Choking hazard aside, I can't help thinking these little metal discs are crawling with who-knows-what kind of copper fed super germs.

Carefully I count them out, making rows of five piles of five. They're slippery in my fingers. Sometimes I drop one or two. See them fall? They land flat, or on edge. They thud, or plunk, or clack. They land back in the pile or they knock themselves into my neat rows and scatter my patient work.

They aren't all mine; I've had to raid my son's piggy bank, too. I asked him, first. He knows we're cash strapped, and we need things like nappies, wipes, toilet paper, and dish soap. He doesn't know what a maxi-pad is, but he knows Mommy needs some of those, too, because she can't quite make it through the week with six of 'em.

As I count, stack, and roll them, my fingers take on a grey tinge. I can taste copper in my mouth. It is an unpleasant tang on the edges of my tongue, and I imagine for the moment it's the taste of failure, of disappointment. It will linger long after the little rolls are spent, a reminder.

I remember when I was a little girl, going down the stairs into the living room of the town house in Florida (3522-B, Gardens East Drive, Palm Beach Gardens, Fl, I have never forgotten that address, place of so many experiences) and sitting at the low coffee table, helping Mum count, pile, and roll coins. I was in awe of her ability - she could scoop up the right number of pennies in her hand and slide them right into the roller, seemingly without effort. I couldn't manage it, and had to put one coin at a time in the paper sleeve. She always had to fold the ends, because I'd end up dropping all the pennies out one side while trying to fold the other.

I thought it was fun. I imagine she was hoping it was enough.

I love rolling change - it appeals to my inner accountant...or banker...or whatever it is that likes rolling change. I also hate it, because these days it means we're down to the wire, or well past it, and have no hope of paper money coming our way in the near future, or at least the near enough future.

So I am on the living room floor, wondering how much lower I will be sinking before I find "up" again, wishing I could just keep sinking down below ground where no one can see me or my shame at the rolled up currency that will make the cashier sigh, brighten her smile a little, and start weighing (they weigh the rolls to be certain they're right, no faith in my damned OCD and inability to mis-roll change. I've never had a short roll, ever) and cause the customer behind me to groan, sigh, shuffle their feet, glare, mumble, mutter, and give me the stink-eye because I'm slowing them down with my archaic method of payment.

The US Mint will be glad to have all those old copper pennies back, I'm sure. I hate giving them up...the new coins are not as nice, don't have the same weight or feel to them. They roll just fine, though.

Bye-bye, pennies. The jar is empty again. Time to wash my hands, try and brush the taste of this unhappy pastime from my mouth.

*In the end, I had enough fro nappies and wipes. I will have to improvise for the rest. Mother of invention, right?

Time Travellers

2011-11-06T08:53:00.002-05:00

We are all of us travelling through time. Generally, we're doing it in an orderly, forward fashion, although some folks manage to go backwards on occasion.

Waking from a long coma must feel like having jumped through a time portal. How strange to wake up and find everything different, including one's body, when one's mind is still stuck in a time long past.

It's a human construct, this "time" thing. I don't much like it.

Then there's this clock thing, this daylight savings thing.

I never have gotten it, not really. Oh, I understand the history of it, have heard the reasoning behind it, but...nope, don't get it. If people are so concerned about using daylight, then why can't we just adjust schedules instead of mucking with clocks? Don't want to miss out on afternoon daylight? Instead of working from 8 - 5, work from 6 - 3. Whadaya mean that's not practical? And changing clocks will-he-nill-he, is?

Tell the sun what time he's rising and see if he complies. Tell the moon when she may sail through the stars and hold your breath until she minds you. You look good in blue.

Babies don't know about time in the same way we do. Babies and animals have "now". There is no tomorrow, and yesterday is some kind of hazy memory that isn't the present.

I like the book Einstein's Dreams. It's a lovely little fictional exploration of time. My favorite piece is about how there are two ways to live in time - one may abide by the clock, each day regimented into hours, each hours with its appointed purpose, or one may wake when one wakes, eat when one is hungry, love when one loves, sleep when one is tired, abiding by the more fluid time of one's own rhythm. It postulates that the two cannot ever really meet - I disagree a little, because I try to live a timeless life but I have clocks and calendars to help me when I must take part in this odd fracturing of the day called "hours" and "minutes".

We took a little jump in time this morning, didn't we? Setting clocks back, we got an hour to re-live. Here at Casa de Crazy, we set the clocks before bed (because who wants to get up at two in the morning, bleary-eyed, to set a bunch of clocks, all of which have different means of setting?), so our "gained" hour was used for sleeping.

What if we could bank this "savings"? What if we could deposit it, earn interest on it maybe, spend it when we wanted. How much would you save? What would you spend it on? Would you use it in minutes here and there, stretch out a deadline maybe, or a special moment? Or a big chunk, a sort of vacation or addition to the end times? Could you borrow against it in some way, maybe make mid-life longer so you can enjoy it more?

Could you bank more, maybe take time away from unpleasant things like illness, sorrow, or incarceration, and shorten that experience, add the time to happier things?

Often, when people ask me if there's anything I need, I answer "a winning lottery ticket", but sometimes I say "more time".

How curious it would be if we could reach in out pockets, fish out a few spare minutes or seconds, and drop them in the hat of the man on the street corner who is staring at his end and hoping to stave it off a little longer.

So tell me - how do you feel about this DST thing, and time in general?

Samhain

2011-10-31T15:10:00.003-04:00

Partial reprint with some new stuff mixed in, just to keep you on your toes.
~~~~~
Samhain. All Hallows Eve. Hallowe'en. Halloween.

While little (and not so little) people are out extorting candy from strangers (On the one night a year Mum and Dad aren't telling them NOT to take candy from strangers, and isn't that a mixed message?)(And if you don't think it's extortion, think about it - "Give me a treat or I'll play a prank on you" is exactly that - extortion), more than a few pagans are spending the evening in an entirely different fashion.

Samhain (pronounced "sawin") is sometimes called the Witches' New Year. It's thought to be the time of year when the veil between the worlds is thinnest, and so best suited for speaking with our dead, with those who passed on in the previous year.

On Samhain, our living God dies, and until he is born again on Yule the Goddess and all the world mourns him. Poor Goddess, carrying her child alone for the next two months - throughout eternity she must suffer this loss before she can know her joy once more. Don't worry if you don't get it - it's a cyclic thing, a nature thing, and a deeply, weirdly Pagan thing.

Some will have large meetings, solemnly chant and circle the fire, call upon the gods of old. Some will dance wildly around bonfires, drumming, singing, shrieking, leaping the flames, looking for all the world like the imps and devils we were once purported to be. Some will just hand out candy and let the night pass, and some will put out the lights, draw the blinds, and pretend not to be home. A few (Pagan and non) will look for and find trouble. Many will feast, drink, and hold the dumb supper - the meal placed out for the those who've gone through the veil - whether alone or in numbers. These days, none who are truly Pagan will sacrifice anything more than a glass of wine and/or a plate of food to the fire, the earth, the old gods.

This year it's just us Casa de Crazians. T will come get Bird after the boy makes the rounds in this neighborhood, and they'll go raid another neighborhood or two. We've carved pumpkins, one for each of us.

Of course we'll roast the pumpkin seeds because I adore them.

At dusk, we'll light the jack-o-lanterns and take the kids (or the kid, anyway) out for their bit of begging. If the night is fine, we may fire up the outdoor fireplace and sit out on the drive reminiscing about the past, about family and friends long gone but not forgotten. I may or may not mull some cider and have some cups to ladle out portions for the adults trailing the kids who will start coming around soon. Heh - come and drink my Witch's Brew - you won't fly or turn into a newt, but it'll take the chill off. I may or may not have a bit of whisky or rum to add medicinal value to the drink.

I will make a special dinner for Samhain night. I don't have anything traditional - this year it's spaghetti and meatballs, salad, and garlic bread. I try to make something that my ancestors or anyone I've lost in the previous year would like to eat. The first portion of each item is carefully plated and placed at the head of the table or on the altar. A bit of whatever's to drink will be placed with the laden plate).

Later tonight, after we've eaten, handed out candy, taken the kids out for some socially sanctioned begging, we'll take food and drink down to the woods and leave the contents for our ancestors. We may or may not name them. We may or may not sing a song for them. We will honor them, wish them well, and remember. We will ask their blessing in the coming year. It will be short, but heartfelt - we don't need a lot of ritual, these days, just a few quiet minutes with our Gods.

It's an odd hodgepodge of a night - some modern traditions that were founded in the old, and some straight from the days (and nights) when our people could be openly themselves, could worship the gods of field and wood, river and rock, without fear of censure or death.

Blessed be those who have gone before; blessed be those who live now; blessed be those who will follow after. The wheel turns once more, and blessed are we who turn with it. Blessed be.

This year, I celebrate: two years year ago, Someone made his first visit to Casa de Crazy, began the process of coming Home.

This year I honor: my friend Lo, who passed through the veil last November, and my friend Jenny, his wife, who passed through the veil this past June on the day we were to honor Lo and place his ashes; my grandfather, who passed many years ago but whom I still miss.

Shaving the Stove

2011-10-28T06:56:00.002-04:00

I? Am sore. My arms ache, my elbows tingle when I straighten my arms up, my wrists are creaking, and my hands are alternately cramping, burning, and throbbing. My poor fingers...they may never be the same.

It's all because of shaving the stove.

Gripping a razor blade can play hell on the fingers, even when it's not a double-edged blade. After a while, it plain hurts, especially with the constant pressure and scraping. Shaving a stove requires a little brute strength.

Yes, I said "shaving the stove".

If you have been reading for any length of time, you know that this past Spring we had a tragic death here at Casa de Crazy - the drop-in stove/oven appliance gave its last gasp just as I was attempting to bake some brownies. After I drove like a loony to K2's house to borrow her oven, I had to figure out how the hell we were going to cook stuff here at the Casa.

Mum heroically offered to buy a new one, but that didn't sit right - we had a stove/oven in the garage acting as a shelf, one Someone earned with sweat equity when he helped K2' family move into their new digs. A perfectly nice ceramic top, in fact. Why couldn't we use that?

Well, because it was a slide-in, not a drop-in, and those are two different critters.

Luckily we had a friend (Handy Joe) who sweat, bled a little, finagled some wiring and a saw, and got her done.

The stove was a used one, but in fairly good nick...it just had some...er...schmutz around the two left burners. A bit of elbow grease would deal with that. Or would it?

Apparently, not so much.

For months, I have waged war on the stove top, scrubbing until I hurt, and the schmutz remained undaunted, unimpressed, and un-removed.

I remembered, finally, that Mum had a ceramic top stove, and she had a razor thingy with which she scraped it from time to time.

I have no razor thingy, but thanks to the card-making and photo-mounting I do, I have razor blades.

I grabbed one and set to, and wouldn't you know it? The schmutz came off. It came off in large, cone-shaped curls. It came off in powdery poofs. It came off as crispy flakes. It came off!

I spent a fair bit of time yesterday shaving the stove, and it is almost done.

As soon as I can feel my fingers again, I'm going to finish the job.

Thoughtfetti

2011-10-27T12:39:00.003-04:00

Someone was gone for nine days. I didn't get a lot done because one parent, two kids? not conducive to online productivity.
~~~~~
Sprout has a tooth, in case I haven't mentioned. Just one, but it's a mighty tooth.
~~~~~
I am doing battle with a raging case of the beiges. Since it hasn't managed to off me yet, I am winning. Baby love and Little Dude love are good stuff and help immensely.
~~~~~
AT&T charges an extra fee for paying at the store with cash. Using a credit card is free. I call bullshit!
~~~~~
I owe the bank a pantload of money (made a mistake, got overdrawn, whoopsie) so I have to use cash until I can pay back what I owe in fees and whatnot. Guess I'll have to suck up AT&T's little love bite. Sigh.
~~~~~
Sprout refuses to eat baby food. Baby food is for chumps with no tooth, she claims. She has a tooth, therefor she demands steak and lobster tail...or at least chunks of stuff she can pick up her own self. Corned been, loaded potato soup, helpless fruits and veggies that didn't flee fast enough...all fodder for the Mighty Toof!
~~~~~
There's been some bullying going on in the neighborhood. Little Dude is the prime target. The parents and I are working on it...peacefully. Little Dude is philosophical about it all, mostly, I think, because I am backing him all the way and he sees me working with the parents of the other boy. We'll see how this goes...I'm hoping for a positive outcome.
~~~~~
Spout has also decided that napping is for chumps. Sigh. I'm trying to convince her otherwise. Losing battle.
~~~~~
What's happening in your world?

It's Not Exactly In the Oxford Unabridged, Now, Is It?

2011-10-24T22:21:00.003-04:00

Got this from a friend:

Ineptocracy(in-ep-toc�-ra-cy) - a system of government where the least capable to lead are elected by the least capable of producing, and where the members of society least likely to sustain themselves or succeed, are rewarded with goods and services paid for by the confiscated wealth of a diminishing number of producers.

Whatcha think?

But I'm Perfectly Me

2011-10-17T21:14:00.003-04:00

I yelled at the baby last night. She was fussing and struggling, tired and fighting sleep, whining and making that half-cry of hers that just drives to the center of my brain, so I yelled at her. She stopped, stilled, stared at me with huge, wet eyes, and then her face crumpled up and she cried in earnest, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and onto my shirt.

Eventually I rocked her to sleep, and wondered what the hell was wrong with me that I would yell at a baby.

Yeah, I'm tired. Yeah, I'm stressed. Yeah, I'm struggling. Yeah, I haven't slept well the last couple of nights. Yeah, I have been a single parent since last Thursday morning (last Monday if you figure Someone was busy packing and getting ready for his trip), and yeah, I have been trying to catch up with housework that has been left undone for far too long (and is easier to do when no one else is home, like mopping the floors).

So what?

She's a baby. She laughs, she cries, she occasionally shrieks with fury or delight. She can't tell me she's hungry, or uncomfortable, or tired; it's a guessing game. She resents falling asleep. She fights it until the last moment, struggling until she drops off, suddenly limp and warm against me, and that's some of the best stuff right there.

So I yelled at her.

And I felt like crap for it, and cried right along with her.

I held her while she slept that deep, profound sleep that only babies know, and reminded myself that she will not remember, that she will not be scarred for life. When she woke up at three in the morning and wouldn't let me put her down, I carried her into my room and let her cuddle up to me until she dozed off and then woke again at eight. Much of that time, I was only half asleep, aware of the little girl next to me, aware of her breath on my neck, aware of her soft little sighs, aware of her warmth and weight...aware, and grateful.

I do my best, and I am so very aware of how often it is barely, or not quite, enough.

My poor kids...I'm not perfect...

Black and White Soup

2011-10-13T08:45:00.001-04:00

Back when I was single and had spending money, I would occasionally have a meal at The Bridgetown Grill. My favorite thing on the menu was their Black and White Soup, a combination of black bean and white cheese soups, served in a single bowl. They would make a Yin-Yang pattern out of the soups and add a dollop of sour cream topped with a sprinkle of fresh salsa.

I haven't had it in a while, and I've missed it. Lately, it's been on my mind, so I finally decided to have a bash at replicating it at home.

It's not exactly the same, and there's some tweaking to do, but I do believe I have the gist of it. Someone liked it three bowl's worth, anyway!

Want to try it? Okay.

The players:

Black Bean Soup

1 pound dry black beans, soaked overnight

4 teaspoons diced jalapeno peppers
6 cups chicken broth

1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
3/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon hot pepper sauce

Drain black beans, and rinse.

Combine beans, jalapenos, and chicken broth in a slow cooker. Season with garlic powder, chili powder, cumin, cayenne, pepper, and hot pepper sauce.

Cook on High for 4 hours. Reduce heat to Low, and continue cooking for 2 hours, or until you are ready to eat. For black and white soup, blend before serving. I wish I had an immersion blender for this; the regular blender worked fine, but it was more to wash up.

White Cheddar Cheese Soup

1/4 cup butter
1 cup onion, diced small
1/2 cup celery, diced small
1 teaspoon garlic, minced
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons dry mustard
1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground white pepper
1/2 cup dry white wine
1-1/2 cups chicken broth
1-1/2 cups whole milk
1-1/2 cups heavy cream
4 cups good quality sharp, white Cheddar cheese, grated (12 oz.)

Sauté onion and celery in butter in a large pot over medium-low heat.

Cook for 10 minutes; add garlic and sauté 1 minute more.

Stir in flour, dry mustard, salt and white pepper. Stir constantly for 2 minutes to prevent scorching.

Whisk in wine; the mixture will be thick..

Whisk in broth, milk and cream, scraping the bottom of the pot. Bring soup to a boil, reduce heat and simmer 15 minutes.Remove from heat and stir in cheese. Continue stirring until cheese is completely melted.

Ladle equal parts of each soup into a bowl. Garnish with a dollop of sour cream and a bit of salsa. Yum!

Unless you serve this at a party or have a large, soup-hungry family, you may have a lot of leftovers. I imagine if you blend the two together, it will freeze just fine.

Let me know if your try it, and how it turns out for you!

Aural Stimulation

2011-10-11T10:51:00.004-04:00

I am far too busy to blog, really. There's the laundry (always the laundry) and the dishes (so many dishes) and the groceries and cooking to take care of for Someone's looming journey to our spiritual home in Ohio. There's flooring to clean, and there are cat boxes to clean, and counters to clean, and if I'm naming things I should clean but am slack about, there are a LOT of windows here at the Casa, and they would all like a good washing, thank you very much.

Instead I am blogging, because of sound.

Auditory input.

Beautiful noise.

Last night, it was the baby laughing. She was watching Maya climb the cat tree, and giggling at the kitty looking down at her from so high up. She loves to watch their tails swish, twitching back and forth, and her giggles rolls around the house and bumble into us from around corners, eliciting smiles as they go.

There was a light rain all yesterday afternoon and evening, getting heavier towards dawn. We've got windows open to let in the good, fresh air, and the soft, pattering whisper of the falling drops is pervasive, the pianissimo background song of Autumn.

There were coyotes singing last night. A few ridges away, over by the farm where the wild geese sometimes nest. There won't be any geese there now - our lot have flown to their fall nesting grounds and our winter lot have not yet arrived. The coyotes will run along the ridge lines, playing call-and-repeat until the wee hours. Last night was just singing. By their song, we can tell if they are playing, hunting, or have cornered their prey. Heralding Autumn this time, I should think, a few last choruses before high-tailing it to winter quarters.

The small breeze makes a counterpoint to the rain, causing the trees to shake their heads at this modern music - who can understand it? The leaves know what it all means, and they sigh and let go of their grip on what is, spinning and falling in graceful arcs towards what will be.

The Casa is humming - occasional heat flicking on, not cold enough for full-on rush, just enough to take the edge off early morning and late night.

More laughter as the Evil Genius dons his guise of Super Brother and distracts Sprout from parental absence - we're trying to get things done around here, a challenge when the baby wants company all the time. The Evil Genius likes to play with Sprout, and she adores her Big Brudder, and they laugh a lot as she scrambles to keep up with him with her crab-crawl.

The cacophony of her musical toys is silenced now, and the song of the Casa is down to the tapping of two keyboards and her soft breaths on my shoulder as she naps limp and warm in my arms.

How is your day sounding?

Thoughtfetti

2011-10-09T11:53:00.003-04:00

We had a visitor over the weekend - Someone's mom came for a couple of days. It was good to see her again, and we had, overall, a nice time. I was not online much - novel!!
~~~~~
There's a chill in the air and the sky's a little grey - soup season!! I am attempting to mimic a soup recipe from a restaurant. I adore this soup, and hope it comes out reasonable. It's called Black and White Soup. If it isn't horrid, I will post a recipe.
~~~~~
Broken people have to work hard not to break the people around them. Sometimes it's exhausting. Two broken people trying to sort themselves out can make for some awfully hard days. Not-broken people have no idea, and while that can be annoying sometimes, it's just fine by me...there are enough broken people in the world...
~~~~~
Sprout ate broccoli for the first time yesterday. The results today are...erm...festive. Still, she loves her veggies. Heck, like both her parents, she loves just about everything we put in front of her. I hope she stays that way.
~~~~~
Why do we celebrate Columbus Day? He didn't discover the new world; there were already people living here. Shouldn't we be celebrating Migratory Indigenous Tribal Persons Day instead?? Or, if we're going to be excited about Europeans tromping about the globe, perhaps Lief Ericson Day? Oh, wait...that's today. Well...at least it's in the right order - Lief Ericson ran into North America before Columbus, it makes sense his day comes first
~~~~~
If grilled cheese isn't on the top-ten list of comfort foods, I don't know what's wrong with the world.
~~~~~
Casa de Crazy will be a wee bit less Crazy for a few days - Someone is heading to Ohio for a festival, a bit of camping with his girlfriend, and some quiet time in the woods. I'll miss him, but at the same time, it will be good for us both to have a bit of time when we're not all up in each other's business. The next few days will pack in the madness, though, because we have a lot to do to get him ready for the trip.
~~~~~
You know the season's turning cold - I am practically wearing the cats around the house. I can't sit or lie down without being nested on by at least three of them.
~~~~~
What's a ghost's favorite food? Halloweenies.

And Miss Out On This??

2011-10-05T18:52:00.006-04:00

I logged on to check e-mail and was smacked in the eye by some headlines.

First there was the woman who tried to sell her newborn for fifteen-grand o she could go to Disney with her other two kids. Oh, man, if I was Disney, she'd be banned for life.

Then the man who killed his pregnant wife.

And finally the guy who broke his girlfriend's baby's legs.

Y'all, sometimes I miss my time, sleeping in, independence, and sanity. Sometimes I get tired of the whining, crying, constant demands for my attention, laundry, and the smell of poop, pee, and other effluvia. Sometimes, I would give just about anything for some peace, to sleep late, eat something hot or cold rather than tepid. But if I had to trade in one of my children?

No way.

There's nothing on this Earth worth this*:

Or this**:

How 'bout you?

*I practically had to beg him to stand still for a picture. Suddenly he's camera shy. Oy.

**If you look carefully, you can almost see the vestiges of her tooth on the lower left center of her gums.

Underneath

2011-10-03T19:13:00.003-04:00

"Thanks for your help. Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?"

"Nope, I'm good thanks." On the surface.

Or "Sure - I could use a half-million dollars or a winning lottery ticket I'm not picky."

Or "A clone could be useful."

But never "Yes, in fact, I could use my phone bill paid, or the trash bill, or even some nappies or cat food or toilet paper would be nice. Or a new mop head so I can clean my floor without having to use a sponge. I could also use some winter clothing for the kids, but I don't have the money for any of that right now."

And certianly not "Sure - I'd like it if I felt like someone, anyone, gave a crap about my dreams and actualy listened when I spoke of them, listened without wondering when I would shut up or they coul start telling me what they are thinking because I'm so very boring and really, who cares?"

And never "I need some time for myself, time when I know the children are looked after so I don't spend it worrying whether the children are looked after, time when I can write freely, time when I can just...breathe...without someone making a demand for my attention."

And not "I'm trying to figure out how to make sure the van's in good shape and there's money for Someone to take it to Ohio in two weeks."

And never "My computer is crapping out a little at a time and I can't repair or replace it, and my dvd player has frozen and I can't get it to turn on or eject the dvd in there, and every sink in the house has some kind of malfunction and so do all the tub drains. Also, the lights in the kitchen go through bulbs like the Evil Genius goes through gum and the downstairs fan makes the whole living room vibrate, and my camera is failing alongside the computer, and I can't get any of it repaired."

And never, ever "Lately I've been thinking it would be awfully nice if a truck crossed the center line and hit my van head on, as long a the kids aren't with me. I'd really like to think I have a life worth living, but while my external life is a good one and I know it, my internal self feels battered, bruised, and bleeding and I don't think it is ever going to heal and I'm tired, so tired, of the constant hurting."

No. No, better to say "I'm fine, thanks, have a good one" and leave the enquirer their illusions.

Whew

2011-10-03T09:33:00.005-04:00

The race is over. I have no idea who won, or who even finished, or how many laps under yellow there were...but I can tell you within a few digits how many apples and bananas we went through, how many bratwursts and burgers, how many subs we put together, how many meals and drinks delivered, and how many tickets I signed away.

The tickets are my particular department - I sign in all of the volunteers workers (corner marshalls, timing and scoring, start, pit, and grid, tech, and race chair) and their guests. Each worker is given one guest pass, ostensibly so that a spouse or child over twelve can come watch. Not all the workers use their guest passes, so they usually let me give them to someone else who has more then one guest. I have to keep track of who's who, which can get complicated by Saturday.

In between registering, I made coffee, got breakfast out, helped with lunches and dinners, and tidies up the tent a bit. I had a lot of help, particularly from the Nut Brothers (one left nut, one right nut, both of 'em wing nuts) and Neal B. A lot of old friends were there, people I worked with back when I first started. It was good to see them, catch up, reminisce about friends who have passed away or gone away from racing.

I'm not a car gal, but the people? I love them, and will always do my best to make at least this one race as easy and enjoyable as possible for them.

Yesterday, there was no racing, just recovering from a long week. Sprout let me sleep until eight-thirty, which felt later because I've been getting up at five every morning. Speaking of Sprout, she cut her first tooth this week. It started showing under the gum on Wednesday, came through on Thursday. Now when she noms on my finger, it hurts - sharp toof!!

This morning, I gave her scrambled egg to eat along with the usual cereal and fruit. She ate the first bit of egg, blinked three times in slow succession, then grinned and grabbed for more. I told her when she has more teeth I'll make pancakes.

Someone had a nice time, too - a couple of times he came over and helped run the grill or fryer and get meals ready, and he got to watch some racing and meet some new friends. He heard a few old stories on Saturday night as the last handful of us, not ready for the event to be over, lingered in the tent sipping Laphroaig and taking turns telling tales and looking at old photos.

It was fun...ad I'm glad it's only once a year.

How was your week?

Petit

2011-09-26T12:24:00.003-04:00

I haven't been writing much of anything lately. That's not going to change this week - I'm running worker registration for the Petit Le Mans all week, which means early mornings, late nights, a lot of cheerful grumpiness, and not much blogging.

If you're into racing, they broadcast bits of the Petit on ABC, ESPN, and ESPN2, as well (I think) as online. You won't see me, but if you look for the people in white on the corners, the ones with flags, radios, and who respond to incidents (there are no accidents at a race, only incidents), I'm related to some of 'em and know all of them by name, having worked that job for nearly 20 years before finally giving it up due to health and performance concerns (mine - they'd still have me out there if I'd consent to work turns again). Those are the folks I'm registering, making sure they get the passes they need to get where they have to go. I'll also be helping make sure they're fed and have drinks and maybe snacks during the week.

Sprout and the Evil Genius will be coming over in the afternoons to help me hold down the fort. It's Sprout's first venture into the racing world, and I hope she digs it as much as the Little Dude does.

Y'all have a good week, and let me know if you watch any of the racing.

I Don't Blame Her

2011-09-18T20:51:00.002-04:00

Lately, Sprout has taken to crying in the night. Sometimes an hour or so after I've put her down, and every hour or so after for a while. Sometimes she sleeps for a few hours and then starts the cycle. Sometimes she'll wake once and then sleep the rest of the night.

Waking is too strong a word, really. She doesn't actually wake up. Not all the way. Her eyes are usually closed, and she'll settle right down as soon as her Papa or I pick her up and rock her a little.

Now and then, she'll be sitting up when we go on to her, but still seemingly mostly asleep.

As soon as I pick her up, she snuggles in to my shoulder, sighs, and settles into deeper sleep. A minute or two of rocking and she'll go down again.

I have wondered why she's going through this half-waking. It could be she's cold, or hot, or the light and noise of a household that continues functioning long after she's a-bed bother her, or perhaps she's dreaming and learning how to process it all.

Sometimes I wonder if it's just that, even in her sleep, she needs to be reminded that she's loved, protected, and cherished. Maybe she just needs to be held a minute. Maybe she just wants that warm comfort.

Don't we all.

Yay, Big Brudder!

2011-09-16T08:23:00.002-04:00

Hi there. Sprout, here. Big Brudder had a earache an' waked Mama up a bunch last night, so she's tired. I blog post!

I got two big brudders. I gots Big Big Brudder, who I never met yet and neither has Mama, he lives in Texas and is all growed up; an' I gots Little Big Brudder who I just call "Big Brudder" 'cause he is, an' he live with us here.

I love my big brudder.

He makes funny faces at me, an' pushes me inna grocery cart and makes me laugh. Inna car onna long trip, he tried to help me be a good girl an' not cry an' fuss, which is hard 'cause I don' like bein' innat travelin' chair for a long time 'cause I can't wriggle, an' I love to wriggle.

At home, Big Brudder will climb inna cage with me an' play. I like to watch him, and chase him around, 'specially when he is zooming cars, even though he don't never let me catch them. I like when he talks funny to me, too, an' sometimes we watch Phineas and Ferb togedder, an' that's good, too.

Sometimes Mama lets Big Brudder feed me. He likes to gimme a bottle, but he's not as good at it. Mama says it's 'cause he hasn't had practice.

Yesterday we went to the grocery store, an' Big Brudder pushed the cart and let me crunkle his face with my toes, even though sometimes he said my toenails were sharp and a couple times I kicked him by accident. When we was waitin' to check out, he danced and made silly faces and noises so I wouldn't cry, which was nice because I was tired of bein' inna travelin' seat and it was nap time but who can nap inna grocery store with all the lights an' noise an' big people sayin' I's cute an' stuff.

Last night, I didn' go to sleep very well, so Big Brudder hadda be quiet, which is hard for him 'cause usually Mama doesn't quiet the house for me to sleep. But Last night I was grumpy, an' woked up an' cried.

An' then Big Brudder woked Mama up a couple times, too, 'cause his ear hurted, an' Mama hadda get a warm cloth an' hold it o his ear an' I heard her say maybe we would have to go to the ER, which I don't what that is, or the doctor if we could wait until morning, an' she gived Big Brudder somethin' to make the ouchie go away an' he finally went to sleep, an' then it was time for me to wake up, so Mama's going to have a tired day but I hope Big Brudder is okay an' will come play with me some more, 'cause I love my Big Brudder, an' when he plays with me, I say "Yay, Big Brudder!" an' throw my arms up inna air an' smile.

Mama's comin' outta the kitchen, now - she made me a nice warm bottle 'cause it's a little cool in here an' I'm hungry an' maybe I'll be nice an' eat it all up an' then sleep on Mama 'til Big Brudder wakes up and comes out to play.

Bye!

Vocabulary

2011-09-14T08:00:00.000-04:00

kleptocracy
PRONUNCIATION: (klep-TOK-ruh-see)
MEANING: noun: A government by the corrupt in which rulers use their official positions for personal gain

So...yeah...

Soft He Creeps

2011-09-12T18:12:00.003-04:00

Autumn began making his stealthy way across Summer's boundaries a few weeks ago. Barely there, he changed the light a little, casting shadows differently, gilding the edges of the evening.

Lately, he has gone deeper into the bones of the world, splaying chilly fingers out across the wide earth. Windows open, we let him into the house; here he scrubs clean the air even as he makes us shiver a little before the sun rises and sends him scurrying back to the cob-webby shadows in the corner to await shorter days, longer nights, and his time - the time between summer's passion and winter's cold shoulder.

Edging leaves with color in the night, he spends his days contemplating how he will paint the world during his brief span. His flamboyance is well known in Northern climes - people flock to see his spectacle, cluttering the highways with their cars and their litter, marring the very beauty they seek to witness.

Weary from his swift journey Southward, here in our part of the world he is more somber; his palette of vibrance spent, he switches to strokes of ochre, rust, and sienna spattered with occasional garnet and gold.

Of all the seasons, Autumn is the one I like best. I have endured the sweat-drenched heat of Summer, survived another season of stifling, breath-stealing days and dense, humid nights. I have endured the house holding in all the scents of people and animals, of cooking and waste, windows shut tight to hold in the paltry trickle of air conditioning and keep out the hard, stabbing rays of the bullying sun. Now, for a few days, a few weeks, for an all too brief span, I can throw open the windows, the doors, and let outdoors and indoors mingle freely. I can walk about the neighborhood and breathe a sigh of relief.

While some find this a season of darkness and depression, I find it freshening. I am alive in Autumn as in no other season. When he traces his fingers across the land and she shivers, I know just how she feels...

Solace

2011-09-11T20:41:00.002-04:00

I'm holding my sleeping daughter, playing a hidden-object game with my son. I'm feeling rather beige just now.

I didn't write a 9/11 post because why? Who cares what I was doing that day? I wasn't in a plane or one of the towers, anyway.

Plenty of beautiful, stirring posts have been written, if you want one. I don't have one in me.

My children are a comfort, which is one hell of a burden on them. I hope they'll forgive me.

How're y'all doing?

Slow Down!

2011-09-10T13:36:00.002-04:00

We've gone from this:

To this:

In seven months.

Whoa.

Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam...

2011-09-09T12:34:00.002-04:00

...Spamity Spam, wonderful Spaaaaaam...

Ahem.

We were out of town for Labor Day. Lots of fun, terrific drumming, wet pack-out, long drive, just now getting to the blog.

While I was away my Spambox (kind of like a boombox, but more Spammy) partied on without me. I returned home to discover that:

-My credit score is being updated - from abysmal to dismal.
-I can grow six inched bigger with an herbal supplement, which would make me 6', 4" and mean I would not need the chair to get the crock pot down, so I'm giving it some thought. Whadaya mean, they don't mean that kind of growth?
-I can make my penis harder for longer. Hmm...I have a penis? Won't Someone be surprised?!?
-A hitherto unknown relative of indeterminate gender in a country from which none of my ancestors hailed has died horribly and left me his/her fortune. All I have to do to collect is send my name, address, social, and bank account numbers to a Mr. Alphabet-Soup-for-a-Name and I'm rich! I'll get right on that...
-If I vote for a certain politician, all the world's ills will be cured, whereas if I vote for the other fellow, Fenris will swallow the sun and it's sackcloth and ashes all around...but no pressure or anything.
-The Popcorn Factory wants to be my BFF. Why else would they e-mail me so often??

Well...looks like I've got quit a a busy day ahead of me, huh?

What's your spambox doing?

Ready, Set, Go, Go, Go!!

2011-08-29T22:57:00.003-04:00

About six weeks or so ago, a friend asked me if Someone and/or I would be willing to go to Wisteria for an event, help her set up her booth. Usually her daughter would hep, but her daughter's in school and can't...so my friend thought of us. She knows we love the venue and are delighted to be there as much as possible.

She offered us our gate and space to vend with her.

How could we refuse?

We've spent some time since then trying to get ready - usually I have a year to prepare for my one event at Wisteria. This is a bonus, and I only had a few weeks...eek!

We leave on Wednesday morning at Ohgod:30 in the morning, and I AM NOT READY! I am not packed, the laundry is not all done, I do not have all the groceries, I have not cleaned out the van or loaded the trailer...halp!

Before you ask, Someone is busting his butt, too...sorting through all our gear is a full-time job, especially as we decided to leave some things behind that we didn't use...which means going through boxes and removing the unwanted items. He has also cleaned the garage so we can actually move around in there, which will make loading the trailer worlds easier.

I HAVE pre-cooked and frozen the things I needed to, and MOST of the laundry is done and just wants folding or packing, which I will do some of tonight and the rest of tomorrow. Bird has offered to help clean the van. Someone and I can crank out the trailer in short order once we put our minds to it.

Meanwhile, the baby needs feeding and loving and playing with, Bird needs much of the same, the garden need watering, the house tending, groceries need shopping, the cats reassuring (one of the cats, Ki, tends to meow plaintively when she sees the suitcases - it's kind of funny and sad at the same time), and at some point I will have to get some sleep because twelve hours is a long drive and only gets longer on short sleep - last time I did it, I drank a ton of coffee and my stomach gave me hell for it.

We'll be gone until Monday night/Tuesday morning. A wonderful friend is coming by to water the waterables, harvest the harvestables, and tell the cats they are marvelous. We're going to have a lovely time, even though I KNOW I'll forget something...

What's your Labor Day looking like?

What A Day

2011-08-28T06:11:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I set up at the flea market. I was disinclined to do so, but decided to go ahead and show my support for the nice folks who are trying to make it a going concern - they are busting their butts, and it's not easy to run a flea market when your vendors flake and don't bother to call, or show up once and don't come back. It takes a minute to get a loyal customer base, you know? And part of that is having more than one vendor show up each week.

So I hauled my tired, sorry ass out there and set up.

Of course, the EZ-Up wouldn't open. I set it up by myself all the time, but it wasn't having any of it. After twenty minutes, I finally asked for help. Ugh, I loathe having to do that.

There was a good lot of vendors for a change, and a few customers. I didn't make much of anything (certainly not what I needed to make, nowhere close), but Sprout and I did our best.

I was invaded by small children whose mother apparently decided it was okay to let them run wild while she sat in the shade and ignored them. They wanted to see the baby and play with her toys, and it was all I could do not to lose my shit with them because they were filthy, snatching toys out of Sprout's hands, kept coming by and wanting to wake her up while she was napping, and said "her" instead of "she", as in "Is her awake now? Why is her awake? Her likes that toy, huh?" These are public school kids, by the way. You tax dollars at work. Were I you, I'd ask for a refund...

Towards closing time, one of the other vendors damn near scalped himself on the edge of a car port roof - the people running the market have a couple of metal-roofed, open-sided car port thingies for people who don't have canopies. He was ducking under the side and didn't duck quite low enough. It was a nasty scrape, peeling back a fair chunk of skin. Lucky he was bald. Sprout was sleeping in the back of the van, so I went for my first aid kit...and snagged my shirt on the rear door of the van, tearing a nice hole in it. Dang.

I cleaned and bandaged the fella's head and told him he would probably be okay, but that maybe he should go see his doc and have the skin flap taped, stitched, or removed so it didn't heal all funny and leave a nasty scar.

A little while later, Someone came over to pick up Sprout and bring her home. It's easier to pack up without her. Just as I was about to drop the canopy, an errant gust nabbed it. I grabbed the edge of the frame, but couldn't hold it...it was like hanging on to a huge kite!

Over it went, knocking down my tables and boxes, scattering clothing and sundry items in the dirt before landing upside down on a wooden table and a rusty metal stanchion, tearing several large holes in the roof and snapping the roof struts like matchsticks. The side rails were bent a bit as well. One EZ-Up, down the drain...and at what they cost to replace, we'll be shy one for a long while. Damn.

I wrenched my shoulders, neck, and wrist and offended my spine trying to keep the thing from going over. Sigh.

At least Sprout wasn't there - she and Someone had left a few minutes before.

And at least I was out on a clear, breezy day and not hunkered down awaiting a hurricane. So I'm a little achy - the roof I lost wasn't on Casa de Crazy, and we've about decided that we can use what's left of the frame for a trellis in next year's garden, so I call it even.

How was your Saturday?

Good Night, Irene

2011-08-26T14:00:00.000-04:00

There's a storm a-comin'.

Meet Irene:

She's a beauty, big, bold, sassy, and ful of spunk. She's eyeballing the eastern US as a likely vacation spot, a popular choice as summer draws to a close. She's had a long journey, so it's no wonder she'd like to linger along the easterm seaboard.

It seems she's not terribly welcome, though - folks are abandoning the coast in droves. I guess they aren't interested in the kind of fireworks she's bringing with her. Huh.

We here in Redneck Central won't get much, if anything, of Iren's party - she isn't interested in our boring inland burgh. She want surf 'n' turf, man. We may get some rain, if we're lucky, but not much else.

If you're in the storm's area of influence, I hope you weather it well...and I'm wondering - will you stay or get out of Dodge??

Preppies

2011-08-24T19:57:00.002-04:00

No, wait, that should be "Preppers", shouldn't it?

Eh.

When I met Someone (goodness, it's only been a little over two years since we "met" online and then in person...wowzers), he was into something called "prepping". I'd never heard of it, but it turns out I was doing it a little bit, any way.

Preppers, to varying degrees, store essential items against future need. They store food, water, non-food but useful things, and even weapons and ammunition. Me? At the time I had a case or two of water around and I always like to keep canned, dry, and frozen foods on hand, enough for a month or so. That behavior was a throwback to two things - when I lived where snow could make going anywhere a non-starter, and when I was working sporadically and didn't really know if there would be steady pay...and I have this silly habit of eating every day, sometimes more than once a day. I know, I know...

Since I wasn't a gadget gal and really don't care about clothing, makeup, shoes, purses, or other money-sucks, I bought foodstuffs.

Thanks to Someone and his uncle and a few other folks in the Blue Nowhere, I learned about prepping. Seem like quite a few people think life is going to get ugly very soon in this old nation of ours, and they want to be ready, so they're acting accordingly. Sometimes I agree, sometimes I don't, but I see the sense in having a good stock of food and whatnot on hand just in case.

Several time I've been glad for my small buffer, using it when the money ran low or ran out, or giving it to a friend who was broke with an empty cupboard. It's not the fanciest of eats, but when you are looking at hunger from a very close angle, a can of beans sounds just fine!

So I'm building up our preps, lately. Someone put some shelves in a closet for me - originally, we had things in bins with inventory lists, in case we had to grab and go, but the bins were getting in the way, and hopefully if the end of the world as we know it comes along, we'll have a minute or three to box our life and haul it up to Mum's (where we hope to move before the world ends, anyway).

When looking at this idea of preparedness from the outside, it looks weird. When stepping into the mindset, it feels overwhelming - where does one start?? With an empty box or closet, honestly. Then...fill it.

But with what?

Oh, hell, don't look at me for that - I am trying to buy extras of whatever goods I usually use, and sometimes grabbing things I don't use, like, or particularly want but may come in handy or be good for trade if we enter into a new Dark Ages. I have some cast iron pans, a few sewing supplies (because I will use them), some tools, games, seeds, first aid kits, and of course, food. As I shop, I put new items in the preps closet and pull old things out to use, keeping our stock as current as I can. Can...hah!

I've been reading up and taking notes and have a list of things to add to the closet as I can.

So my questions for you are: If you are a prepper or were to begin stocking and storing for a questionable future, what sorts of things, food or non, would you have? What is essential? What extravagances would you include? Would you prep for bad weather, rough finances, or the end of things as we know them? Would you prep for a community, or more as a hermit? Would you include family, friends, trade goods? Would/do you prep for complete self-reliance? And for how long? Days, weeks, months?

Tell me...

Sleeeeeeeeep...

2011-08-20T09:44:00.003-04:00

So the baby has a new game.

It's called "Let's give Mama sleep deprivation!"

Here's how she plays: She goes to sleep and sleeps soundly for a few hours, usually right up until I go to bed. Then she wakes up and fusses until I hold her, rock her back to sleep. Then she sleeps until I am just about good and asleep myself, and she repeats the process. Sometimes for fun she'll wake up as soon as I put her down. Then she'll sleep for a few hours and start fussing in her sleep (because she is THAT talented, y'all), so I will get up and rock her some more. Finally, she'll sleep a few more hours and then it's time to start the day.

What's that? She's a baby, you say? Well, yes...and I agree that babies aren't notorious for sleeping through the night...but THIS baby has been sleeping through the night since she was a few weeks old, dang it.

I think she gets chilly in her sleep and wakes up just enough to complain about it.

I cover her with a blanket, but she wriggles out from under it. I've never seen a baby move around so much in its sleep - she's wriggling a freaking marathon, I swear - so the blanket winds up shoved to the side or the end of the crib, where a cat can get the benefit of it but Sprout? Who is at the other end of the crib, shoving herself into the bars and occasionally managing to turn on the musical aquarium thingy (which, by the way, has Rook bumfuzzled - she can't figure out how to get to the fish in there!) with a well placed flail? Not so much.

To add to the fun, Sprout doesn't play every night - only on the nights when I'm up late and/or need to be up early. I don't know how she knows, she just...knows. And if Mama and Papa want a little...umm...personal time? Forget about it.

I fooled her, though. Last night I decided that I wasn't doing the flea market today. Too tired, too much to do, not enough time to get it all done.

Thank goodness for naps. Now, if only I could train the phone not to ring when we're snoozing...

Meanwhile, when I went in to get her this morning, she was sitting up in her crib! Holy cats, what's next, mountain climbing??

Check out her picture in the sidebar - Someone has an Armenian Yard Long cucumber vine (it's trying to eat the house), and he got one from it a few days ago. He had to cut it into sections just to get it into the fridge. Yesterday, he gave Sprout a section to gum, and she loved it - nommed on it all day. No worries - since she doesn't have any teeth, she can't bite off a chunk and choke, and the seeds are such that she can't get them out, so it was just a big, tasty teether as far as she was concerned.

Today I am determined to get a few things done, small things that have languished for too long. There will be some housework and some baking and some sewing, punctuated with a modicum of napping.

What's your Saturday looking like?

Growin' Like A...

2011-08-16T12:35:00.003-04:00

...well...like a Sprout!

Hey, Sprout here - Mama's tired an' have a headache so I blogging!!

I doctor today. They weigh an' measure me, an' admire my legs. I gots chunky legs wif good muscles in 'em 'cause I bouncy a lot in the day. Yay, bouncy!!

I like a bouncy.

Also, I like a roll around onna floor. Mama an' Papa call me Squidgie 'cause I roll around a bunch an' I like a wriggle. Mama say is hard to type when she holds me (I like when Mama or Papa holds me, an' I can kick and wriggle an' tell 'em what I'm thinkin', but they don't always unnerstan' so good what I say...somethin' wrong wif their ears, I guess).

So I 16 pounds, three ounces, an' I 27 inches long, and my punkin is more than 16 inches around, an' Mama says that means I'm tall an' maybe a little skinny an' I must have a strong neck.

I shots today, too. Big Brudder came wif us, an' he tol' me shots aren't very nice but they're better than gettin' even more ouchie an' sick later. I love my Big Brudder. I don' like a shots. I three shots, but it felt like forever, 'cause I only know right now, and they hurt! Big ones, inna legs! I try to tell the nurse "Ow, cut it out!!" but she didn' unnerstan' me at all, even when I said it louder.

Now I home an' Papa kiss and cuddle me, an' Mama made me a bottle an' some peas - I like a peas, Mama make 'em wif turkey stock an' carrots an' onions an' garlic an' she mashes 'em all up smooth for me, and I like a peas. I bouncy a little, then I eat, an' then maybe I take a nap wif Mama and make her head feel better. Poor Mama. I don't like a headache for her.

Whatchoo doin'??

The More Things Change...

2011-08-15T14:04:00.007-04:00

...the more they stay the same.

Ready for a bit of irony? Here we are in the first post since my little Facebook rant, and what am I doing? Posting a video that my Aunt posted on Facebook. Hah!! I hope the folks who made it don't mind too much...I felt compelled to nab it because they filmed it where I grew up, rode my bike, bought lobster rolls and coffee frappes (pronounced "frap", not "frappay"), and got half-eaten by mosquitoes and deer flies. Ah, good times.

So, take a look while I blather on down below:

I was watching this and thinking about how very long ago I was back there, in those woods, biking those same roads, past those same stone walls. I was thinking about a time when I could look at the future and feel a sense of wonder, of optimism, that anything was possible.

And then I realized that yeah, I never felt much optimism about my future. I was too busy believing the people who raised me when they told me, directly and indirectly, that I was stupid and useless because I could never quite manage to live up to what they wanted me to be - the best I could manage was to be myself, and that just wasn't enough.

As with the town where I grew up, not much has changed in my internal landscape; the feelings are the same, I'm just living somewhere else among different people now. Still being made to feel I'm not wanted, and stupid, and useless...just by a different cast of characters.

Right now, today, in this moment, I am thinking I'm done answering anything but "fine" when anyone asks how I am. Right now, today, in this moment, I am thinking that it would be best for me to say "nothing at all" when asked what's on my mind. It seems like anything other than "Everything's wonderful"is something of an imposition. I already feel like a useless time/energy/resource suck - I don't need to feel it any deeper. Right now, today, in this moment, I am wishing that I could somehow manage to cease existing, cease being worthless and unwanted in my own life, cease being such a fucking burden on everyone around me. Right now, today, in this moment, I am wishing I didn't feel like a fat, feckless, pointless waste if matter who just does everything wrong and gets in the way.

This is not about you, it's about me and my stupid misfiring neurons, the mental illness that never gives me a moment's peace (like my children, but far less cute and cuddly than they are).

If I made you feel bad, sorry - go watch the video again, it'll make you smile. Anyway, it made ME smile...

Status: Quo

2011-08-12T06:55:00.000-04:00

Dear Fellow Facebook User,

Hi, how ya doin'?? Enjoying that Farmville, are ya? Judging by the number of game updates scrolling up my screen, you're rolling in rutabagas right now. Congratulations on the birth of that green glowing cow - have you checked your water supply? Your new barn looks fabulous. No, I haven't built one. I know, I know, all I have to do is pester everyone I know on Facebook a few hundred times to send me weird parts so I can build my very own barn, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm lazy - three clicks per person is just too many.

About that Pot Farm game - it's just a game. Chill. Un-pucker your bits. I like watching my Hippie Farmer avatar run around harvesting stuff. Run, Hippie, run!! I am not attempting, via cartoon plants on a Facebook game, to make "connections" and build my own green, grassy cartel in Redneck Central. Relax, yo.

I see your Mafia Wars family is growing. Well done, you. Sorry I haven't been helping you knock over fruit stands, rip off drug dealers, or ice anyone. I haven't been playing in a while. This thing called "real life" keeps popping up in front of my screen. Tch, it's such a nuisance!

So hey, we need to talk a minute, Fellow Facebook User. I'm thinking about blocking you from posting on my wall. Now, don't cry - it's not you, honest! It's me - I just don't have the time to read all those game updates and quirky news stories, or watch all the videos of kitties and puppies and children doing Fun! Amazing! Things!! I know they're all fabulous, but they interfere with my ability to see what's going on with the handful of people on my friends list that I actually know, you know, in the real world.

What's the real world?

Umm...it's the place that starts to smell bad when you're on Facebook too long, cross-posting on Twitter when you have a minute. You know, where the pizza guy actually comes to your door and that big light in the sky keeps coming on, going off, coming on, going off at regular intervals. The place we're all trying to avoid because it is currently sucking. Yeah, the real world.

So, anyway...the thing is, I could probably handle the videos, the game updates, the links, and the weird "Post your shoe size as inches and a sad face but don't tell anyone why and hilarity will ensue" status games, but I just can't take any more of those chain-letter "post this if you love me/I'm sure no one likes me and won't re post/you're an asshole if you don't re post/you hate puppies and kittens and fluffy bunnies if you don't re post/you are Satan's sweaty armpit washrag if you don't re post/you're not a real Ahmuricun if you don't re post/you launch RPGs at soldiers if you don't re post/if you don't re post then you must want the baby Jesus to cry/if you don't vote left, right, or centrist, you clearly want the nation to fail and crumble into a communist, socialist, Zoroastrian* mess/re post if you think cancer sucks otherwise you must love it and want to have its babies/re post or you suck sweaty donkey balls/if you don't re post then an orphan in Somalia will be fed to a starving lion" status updates.

See, I don't do causes just because someone's trying to guilt me. I have no social conscience, in that sense. I do causes that I feel are actually worth my time/thought/effort/money, and I support them in person. I don't show my love by copy-and-pasting on Facebook. I show it by acting like I love people (you know, like not farting in bed and holding their head under the covers), and writing them, you know, personal messages rather than blindly pasting some anonymous, poorly spelled, poorly typed, nondescript status update that will quickly be lost among the newest cause-celebres. Causes-celebres? Umm...you know...fads.

So, dear Fellow Facebook User, I am giving serious thought to blocking wall access to anyone who bombards me with these pseudo-psychological, religious, guilt-inducing, manipulative, chain-letter statuses. I hope you understand...and if you don't repost this as your status then you don't grok where I'm coming from, and you suck**.

*No Zoroastrians were harmed in the typing of this post, and no aspersions were meant to be cast - Zoroastrians are lovely folks and don't deserve to be maligned in any way, I just think it's fun to say "Zoroastrian". Go on, try it. See? Fun!

**You do't really suck - that there was just a bit of ironic license.

Hot, Hotter, Hottest

2011-08-10T10:34:00.003-04:00

Holy cats, it's hot around here.

No kidding, I think the driveway is melting a little, and the corners and sharp angles of the Casa are softening a bit. I tried to fry an egg on the stoop, but it was cooked before I could crack the shell!

We could water the garden four times a day and it wouldn't be enough - the cukes, tomatoes, and eggplants are all petering out, producing fewer, smaller fruits. The okra are going great guns, though, and we'll have a fair bit over the winter. I may even have a bash at pickling some! Umm...does anyone like pickled okra? 'Cause I'll make it, but eat it? Thank you, no.

The thermometer and the weather dude say it's only in the nineties during the day. They lie. Cats don't ooze with that lethargic, boneless, graceless slink when it's only in the nineties. I think their paws have been sticking to the pavement. We're getting well into the one-hundreds around here, especially with the heat index. If the humidity is 99%, shouldn't it be raining?? Walking outside is like being full-body smacked by a steaming sponge and then trying to breathe through it.

The air conditioner is trying, bless its mechanical heart, to help us out, but it's too small for the house and is struggling mightily to keep us at eighty-one degrees, running all day and well into the night without stop. Believe it or not, eighty-one feels just fine after a minute outside.

Meanwhile, there's another plant doing well out there in the garden...the Thai Insanity Pepper, after a spindly and questionable start (grower error, not congenital defect), decided that Redneck Central is just fine, thankee, and decided to give the okra a run for its money.

Check this out:

This one's going to be a seed pod:

I've only harvested three so far...while Phelan told me they're edible at any stage, I want them to get all red and tear-inducing. Someone ate the least ripe of the three and pronounced it hot but not unpleasant, good flavor, nice spreading heat with a little ring of fire that traveled from lips to the back of the throat. His face flushed a little, but he didn't cry or burst into flames. I'm thinking of making pepper sauce with 'em - he likes pepper sauce, and I'll use a wee bit on eggs sometimes...I wonder if Tabasco would give me their recipe...?

How're you making out with the heat?

Questions, Questions...

2011-08-08T09:52:00.003-04:00

Thank you for weighing in on the homes schooling issue - y'all are terrific!

Meanwhile, I have some questions. I must own up to no small amount of ignorance regarding the national debt issue. I have plenty of debt issues of my own to deal with, and all I understand about the whole national scene is that it would suck if the US didn't pay the water bill because turning Niagara Falls off means a huge deposit and it's a bitch to turn back on again - the valve gets stuck. Don't talk to me about the power bill...if we turn the national a/c to a warmer temperature, I'm pretty sure Kansas will burst into flames.

So...

Why did it take so long for Congress to figure out we have a debt and that it was reaching critical mass?

Why, when we have this monstrous debt, is Congress still worried about spending money on frivolous shit?

Why, when we have this monstrous debt, is Congress still getting raises?

Why is S&P to blame for saying our credit is somewhat less marvelous than it used to be? Isn't it? And what's the big deal about going from a AAA to a AA+ rating? I mean, it's not like they downgraded us to a Z- or something.

Is Congress unaware than when one spends more than one earns, one accrues debt? Because I'm a fiscal idiot, and I know that...

Shouldn't Congress be less concerned with the S&P rating and more concerned about this massive monkey in the room? Are they really mad that S&P simply pointed out that the Emperor's new clothes are somewhat less than the sartorial splendor we're supposed to see?

Why are we happy that China is buying our debt? Shouldn't we be worried? Also, shouldn't we be focusing on paying down our debt and not on whether China will keep buying it?

Why is Congress spending money like a broken water main gushing H2O when the rest of the nation is awfully thirsty??

Is China buying our debt different from making us a loan? It seems like it would be...

Or is it more like when you don't pay a credit card bill and the company sells your debt to a collection agency, and the agency can come after you for debt plus interest, or threaten to send Guido and Nunzio (or Cho Phan and Su Li, whatever) after you with a baseball bat/giant chop stick?

This whole thing seems stupid-simple to me - we owe money, so maybe we should quit spending it on crap we don't need until we can stand on our good credit again. Alas, the people in Washington forgot they were voted in and are actually supposed to represent us and not their bank accounts, which bank accounts are supported by lobbies, special interests, and the votes they buy with social programs funded by Somebody Else.

Can someone explain this to me, using small words and simple phrases??

Hypothetically Speaking, Of Course

2011-08-07T08:19:00.002-04:00

I have a friend.

This friend is divorced.

This friend home schools her son.

This friend's ex's girlfriend is, according to witnesses and the child, scoffing at home schooling, denigrating the friend's performance as a home schooler, and telling the child that he'd be much smarter if he went to a traditional school.

The girlfriend believes that my friend is doing a bad job because the child doesn't have a traditional store of knowledge learned on a regular timeline - they're schooling tends to be in clusters, beginning with a subject of interest and following it along different pathways.

The ex reinforces the girlfriend's opinion, echoing it as often as he can to the boy even as he's telling my friend that he's all for home schooling.

People constantly tell my friend how smart, polite, and well spoken the boy is. They marvel that he's only eight. They remark upon his maturity.

The boy is now asking to go to regular school because he doesn't want to be stupid. If he goes to regular school, it will be a public school, and he will likely be forced to take medication to keep him calm as he's used to freely moving and speaking his mind (so very NOT accepted in a traditional classroom), and does not do well when made to focus on one subject at a time for hours on end - the traditional school model for education.

So.

What would you do? Hypothetically speaking, of course?

Thoughtfetti From A Long Drive

2011-08-04T16:45:00.003-04:00

I had occasion to haul the kids and myself down towards the Big City today, a drive that should have been an hour or so in fair conditions. Conditions being far from fair, it took two hours, plenty of time to ponder this 'n' that.

Here, then, are a few of the things I pondered:

WWJD? Hang up and drive, likely, and probably use his turn signal, too. I bet he wouldn't cut people off, either, and I'm fairly certain he wouldn't be flailing around the back seat trying to beat the child/ren and/or dog or throwing his cigarette leavings/fast food wrappers out the window. I am certain he would not be flipping anyone the bird or driving right up onto their back bumper and flashing his lights/honking his horn to make them go faster rather than simply passing on the left.

How come every highway or road I try to use is pretending to be a parking lot?

The "Don't text while driving" and No Cell Phone (red circle with red diagonal line through it over a cell) stickers would be much more effective if the driver wasn't going twenty below the limit, swerving into other lanes, while texting on their cell.

I want sushi.

When the baby laughs like that, and I can't see her, I worry. What's she doing back there?

I wonder if a chiropractor would be willing to barter.

If there are only a few drops, does it still count as rain?

If you're driving a Prius with recycle symbols on the rear, you sort of lose all credibility when you throw a plastic bottle out the window.

Why do people feel the need to lie? Especially about stupid shit. What's wrong with simply owning who we are and what we do/think/believe/want/need?

How can a person say "I love you" with one breath but with the next complain about all of the things they wish they could change about the one they "love"?

How exactly does the government think it has the right to mandate that insurance companies pay entirely for birth control? Isn't insurance a private business? And shouldn't private business be, I dunno, private? Shouldn't the consumer be the one to demand products and services and shape said products and services with their purchases? If the government wants birth control to be free, how 'bout the government give it out? Or is it afraid that people will be pissed about the whole meddling with reproductive rights thing? Do we even have reproductive rights? Or did some church/state decide we can't make those decisions for ourselves?

I wonder why the state chose now, the busiest vacation/drive time of the summer, to turn all the major roadways into one-lane nightmares?

If a semi pulls through a light, but the space available wouldn't hold a bug, is it reasonable to give the driver the stink-eye as I miss my turn because his trailer is blocking the intersection?

I wonder why someone would go twenty-five mph in the left lane when the speed limit is sixty-five and most traffic is going seventy-five...

I laughed out loud at the "My ADHD kid can run circles around your honor student" sticker.

I really want sushi.

I'll spare you the rest of the drivel.

And In the End, It's Never Enough

2011-08-04T00:06:00.003-04:00

Trying to solve troubles blind, dizzy, and hurting

Trying to find the way down a narrow, winding way

In darkness, unbalanced

Feeling the fall that waits

Waits

For one misstep

What's the point, except something to crash down onto

Some jagged thing

Made of up indifference

Greed

Selfishness

Petulance

Worthless dreams

Stupid things

Meaningless

And I the fool for having believed.

Never again.

I'm done trying.

Go away, stupid dreams

Go away and pester someone else

Who can give you what you want

What you deserve

Quit trying to shape me into your realization.

I've given over everything of myself

My health

My heart

My mind

Everything

And still you clamor for more

Never seeing that you have taken what little of the best there is

Used it all up

And hate what's left.

Lammas

2011-08-01T21:15:00.002-04:00

Today I was busy with vague, time-devouring stuff and didn't post this in a timely fashion. Whoopsie. Anyway, it's Lammas and I've recycled a post below. Meanwhile, to celebrate the day, I baked bread, and for dinner we had BLTs made with that bread and tomatoes from the garden...loverly...
~~~

Happy Lammas, y'all!

Wait, you don't know what Lammas is?

Well, you've come to the right place!

Loaf Mass, it was called long ago, a day to celebrate the first of the grain harvested and ground to flour. It's a day for baking, for sharing the bounty of the field with family and friends, for celebrating the hope of a Winter without starvation and the renewing of the cycle in the Spring.

Sharing bread is old, a tradition rooted back beyond religion to something so primal it didn't even have a name. Bread is life. Bread is a blessing. The wedding cake we have today began as loaves that were broken and crumbled over the bride's head for luck and fortune, fertility and abundance.

When you greet new neighbors, if you follow old traditions, you bring them bread or some other baked good. Houses aren't warmed until bread has been baked, or at least served in them. There are bread traditions in almost every faith.

One of the oldest forms of hospitality is to offer bread and salt - representatives of the elements, the sacred things. To offer them is to offer a place in the home to one's guest, to make them welcome like family, to offer not just food and hearth, but protection as well. To accept them is to promise not to break the peace of the home, to honor the family, the traditions, to do no harm.

Lammas, Loaf Mass, a day to bake, to break bread with friends and celebrate the wonder of grain and all its goodness.

It's also a day for beer and ale, if you're into those sorts of things.

Celebrate the harvest with me today. Take a bite of toast, or a sweet, tart, crisp apple, or a sun-warmed tomato fresh from the vine, or anything that smacks of "harvest", and savor it. The taste, the texture, the hours of sunlight and gallons of rain that went into the making of it. Taste of the wind and the earth, as well. Whatever you've planted, I hope it comes to fruition and will sustain you through leaner times, as the grain from the field carries us all through Winter.

Blessed be, y'all, and happy Lammas.

Catharsis

2011-07-29T22:30:00.000-04:00

Dear Low Rent, Water Buffalo, Horse Teeth, 666,

As I held my daughter in my arms, rocking her to sleep tonight, I thought about you.

I wondered if your mother, your father, if anyone at all ever held you and felt such love, ever rocked you and crooned gently as you slipped from wakefulness to warm, limp, innocent sleep. I wondered if anyone ever felt protective of you, looked at you and felt hope, dreamed of your future, seeing it as a terrific brightness, a huge, happy maybe.

I wonder if that was absent, if perhaps the way you behave now is rooted in the lack of strong arms holding you while you wept and wailed and wriggled against inevitable sleep. I felt pity, imagining an infant unloved, perhaps unwanted, left to her own devices to grow into a woman.

Until, that is, I thought about who you are, what you do, all these many years later. Perhaps your roots are sunk deep into a dark history, but you are long past the days when you can claim ignorance or injury as excuse for the hurt you cause others.

I could have forgiven that you knowingly sought out my Someone and offered him what must have seemed like a haven at the time. I could have easily understood and gotten past the idea that you were both acting on the need of the moment, fully conscious of your actions and willing to accept such consequences as there were. He and I have an understanding, have an open, polyamourous relationship with a few simple rules. You were aware of that. You may not claim ignorance, because we discussed it openly and at length when you found out, to assuage your curiosity.

While I may question the depth of your intellect, I am not so uncertain of your ability to think, to process information, that I can believe you didn't understand the small, concise words I used to describe what our particular polyamourous relationship was like.

While some others may say you're brain damaged, that your intellect suffers from old injuries, I have seen the cunning, the sly calculation, in your eye, and I know better. You knew and understood what you were doing, and you chose to do it anyway.

Fair enough - Someone and I had some angry words and he convinced himself that I didn't want him to return to camp, to our shared bed, that night (perhaps ever). His other love was not there to offer succor (she had wounds of her own to tend to), and so he was, he thought, alone. Alone and hungry for touch, for sensation. You moved in, seeking to gain for yourself what I and Lady R had...and he, in a drunken, angry, hurt state, he responded.

Did you think I would not find out? When the community saw you, the community of which I am a part (albeit minuscule)? Though many saw, it was Someone himself who confirmed that you had spent the night together. We talked long and hard about it, about why, about the many things in our hearts and minds that led up to and followed that night. Perhaps you didn't think that would happen. I wonder if you are capable of even imagining a relationship in which there is such openness, such honesty.

So two people were left stung but still standing, both hoping, both trying to understand and to heal ourselves and each other. There was still anger, but it was simmering, cooling, becoming something Other. Our relationship took a direct hit and did not crumble.

But two people weren't enough, were they? You had to seek out Lady R and tell her all about your night's pleasure, about how wonderful it was and how you were going to have a relationship with Someone. You did so pretending you didn't know who she was, but again, I know better. I know better because I had introduced you to her at one point, mentioning casually that she was the Other in our poly relationship, and that we are friends. You knew that your words, your actions would wound, and you made your choice.

Someone spent much of the day looking for Lady R to tell her what had happened - his sense of honor dictated that he not hide, not shirk. He sought you, too, for a conversation of a different sort, but you ran like the low cur you are, hiding yourself from the consequences of your actions, from the light of day, from truth.

And so came night again, and Lady R and I had both spoken to Someone, who was willing to take his licks because he knew he'd broken our rules, knew he'd hurt us both, and was remorseful and determined never to do so again.

Lady R and I had occasion to pass by you in the night as we walked from one place to another. Had you not been rubbing yourself against her Primary, her man, her Husband J, we might have kept on. Indeed, we might have kept on, anyway, but you had to stop me to talk, to spin lies, to gouge deeper and create greater separation so you could...what? I think you actually believed that Someone would choose you, would bring you home and send me away, because you have no concept of Home, do you, nor that I am his Home as surely as J is Lady R's home?

You spoke like a victim, as though you did not know that we were together (despite the fact that we have a daughter, sleep in the same bed, share a house, a yard, four cats, and dreams), as if he'd said it was OK and that I wouldn't care (in a sense, that was right...although not as you meant it), as if he'd sought to be mean-spirited by making it clear he was in your tent in the cruelest way he could think of. You plead that you told him you were my friend (how could you be my friend? We'd only met two days prior...hardly time for acquaintanceship, let alone friendship, to flourish) and didn't want to hurt me, that you didn't want to go with him if I would be unhappy, and that he said he didn't care, that I didn't matter, that we were through. You told me that you'd made it clear to him that it was over between you. "It"? What "it"?? There was no "it". You were someone to touch, to fuck, when he needed contact and release. You weren't a person, you were a receptacle.

Lies, and more lies.

Even when I told you "We've spoken, and we're good", you kept trying. Fool.

You asked me how you could make it right. I told you "The next time you have a chance to go with someone who has an Other, you make certain the Other is OK with it. Ask them. If it takes three days for you to have the opportunity to speak to the Other, you wait until they tell you, themselves, that it's alright."

Three times, I told you that. Three times, as Lady R was talking to J, arranging to meet with him later, I told you that.

Later, when Lady R and I were walking back to her camp, you and J were gone, and we knew what was happening. They did not meet later.

The next day, as Lady R and I were spending time together again, J came to her. He was ashamed...and Lady R could not ask, so I did. "J, I am asking this from love...did you sleep with...?" Yes, he had.

You told him that you and Lady R were bosom friends...that Lady R said she didn't love him anymore, and that Lady R wanted to come and live with me and Someone. You told him that you knew all about polyamoury (funny, I had to explain it to you that first night we discussed it), and that Lady R was fine with you and J being together. You spoke poisonous words with a honeyed tongue and he lapped them up in his pain and confusion.

We talked, did J, Lady R, and I...we talked, and sought to be honest and true,...and Lady R was doubly wounded because with Someone, it could have been a mistake, but that you went after J, too? No, that was no mistake...that was calculation, pure and simple. You clearly thought us blind, or foolish...and you were wrong.

When neither Someone nor J professed their undying love for you, you found another couple having difficulties and enticed the man into your bed, this time a man who was not in a poly relationship (and you knew it).

Throughout all of this, you continued to make yourself out to be the victim, the innocent, the one who was hurt because you didn't know.

Bullshit.

Later, you told anyone who would listen that Lady R and I both decided we didn't want our men and were going to join you as lesbian lovers.

Should I ever choose to go with the Taco and not the Sausage, rest assured I will choose one that is not rotten, rancid, and ridden harder than Seattle Slew.

I have droned on with history because I want you to know, even if it's only in spirit because you will never read this blog (and if you do you will never recognize yourself because you can't bear to look that deeply into the mirror), that I know what you are and am not afraid to name it.

Now comes the part where I tell you what I think of you. I refrained in person because I didn't want to bring more drama into that community. Here, though? In my minuscule part of Blogopolis, far out on the edges? In this tiny little corner of the Blue Nowhere? Here, I will speak my mind openly, knowing full well that I am showing myself to be unkind, petty, mean-spirited myself. That's life, sugar. I can own what I am.

You are an odious toad. You are a liar, a disease, a blight. Where others seek to build, you seek to tear down. Where others seek to achieve, you seek to loot and destroy. You are rotten to the core, and more, you delight in your rot and seek to spread its filth as far and wide as you can. Your body, as well as your spirit, is an ulceration, a suppurating wound oozing infection on all you touch. You hide behind a veil of weakness, but no one is fooled for long, and so you must move on to prey on the next weak, blind fool until his eyes are clear of alcohol's fog (for only drunken men in a place of hurt or confusion go with you, and only after you have touched, rubbed, encouraged, and enticed them). You are toxic in every way, foul and vulgar. You are a thief, seeking to cast your thievery as need, and if others have and you need, they should give unto you, and if they won't give unto you, you have every right to take because otherwise it's not fair.

You demand your fair share of love, refusing to believe, to accept, that sometimes sex is just sex, desperately adhering to the idea that sex means undying love. When that love is not given, when they recoil in horror over what they've done, you tell all who will listen that you are a victim, that you were led astray.

Not content to rend individuals or couples, you attempt to divide entire communities.

In the past, you've had a measure of success, leaving a trail of devastation and mourning behind you.

Not this time.

This time, you fucked with community, and community will fuck (is fucking) back. You cast your malevolence into the water, and the ripples are spreading.

You are lucky that I and a few others who love her kept Lady R from killing you, or at least doing you great harm. You are lucky that I refrained from delighting in some petty meanness of my own because I had wit enough to know that small vengeance would feel good in the moment, but the consequences were lifelong.

You are a lesson that I am done learning. After this, I will give you nothing more of me. You are nothing, and will always be nothing, to me. Should we chance to meet again, I will give you what you are to me...nothing. Believe this: You do not matter. Your lies do not matter. I do not care. You are not welcome in my camp, nor will I ever offer you shelter, food, fire, or water. I do not give Hospitality to nothing.

I wonder...what would that oh-so-long-ago person who held you, rocked you, loved you, what would they think of the person you have become today?

I believe I hear weeping...

Whatta Weekend

2011-07-28T22:06:00.002-04:00

I find myself wondering how I'm going to feel on Monday.

I am setting up to sell at a flea market Friday. Friday afternoon, when I'm don, I will be going to K2's house to do some sewing.

Saturday, it's back to the flea market, setting up at 6:30 (the morning one).

Sunday we need to try and go up to Mum's - her yard needs mowing in a bad way, and the garden need some love. I'll be nice and let Someone deal with that while I nap and fix dinner, if we go and stay the night. Hey, I'm thoughtful that way!

What's your weekend looking like?

In Fact, I Can!

2011-07-26T12:35:00.004-04:00

Look what I did last night:

Thanks to some friendly guidance from SciFi Chick, Casa de Crazy now has nine jars of home grown tomatoes - two with herbs, one with herbs and pepper flakes - for our stores. There would be ten, but one jar got a little excited and blew out its bottom. Dang.

Next up? As soon as the yard-longs start producing, I'm going to have a bash at pickles.

I am going to need some bigger jars...

Give

2011-07-24T23:22:00.005-04:00

I'm not inclined to give up on things. To WANT to give up? Certainly. Even when I WANT very much to just let go, give up, give in...even when I think I must be fucking pathetic for hanging in, hanging on, for facing the wind with my teeth bared and daring it to blow, for shaking my fist at the sun and daring it to burn...even then, I'm still in it.

Y'all, I'm tired of turning in circles, of feeling hammered by futility, of feeling like no matter what I do, what I give, what I make, what I am...it will never be enough, never be even adequate.

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum...and at the same time, nemo me impune lacessit....or some junk.

You ever have days like that?

I Need Shin Guards

2011-07-24T12:11:00.006-04:00

I've had a knock-around kind of life. When I was a kid I swam in the sea, climbed rocks, trees, and mountains, sailed, biked everywhere, fell off of and into things. I played soccer and went skiing, rode horses and rambled in the woods.

There were bound to be some scrapes along the way, a few bruises and breaks.

I know they hurt in the moment, but I also know that I had (still have) a high threshold for pain. I always healed fairly quickly, too.

Lately, though...I don't know what the hell is going on with my body...but I don't like it. Check this out:

Sorry...I guess I could have warned you that I was about to show you a furry length of cream-cheese-white, caveman-club-shaped getaway stick. Oh, well, too late now.

The smallest of the three ouchies happened one night last week as I was trying to quiet a fussy Sprout - I knew the box was in the hall, and I knew where it was...so I stepped around it, but it wasn't where I'd left it and so I wound up actually stumbling into it. Hurt like a bitch, and I couldn't get a good cuss in because I didn't want to wake the baby. Dang. Then, Friday, I had a job and was getting ready to go. In order to close the garage, I had to move the Evil Genius's bike. It resented my interruption of its sunning and promptly fell over, causing the other two ouchies. Again, hurt like a bitch, but I needed to get going so I slapped a bandage over it and headed out.

Yesterday it hurt. Last night it hurt. I had to take my jeans off and wear a skirt all evening because the jeans rubbed (through the bandage, even) and irritated it. This morning it hurt. I couldn't even walk without wincing. I even gasped twice when I forgot to be careful and tried to move normally. What the...?? That's not like me at all, honest!

I finally decided to do a bit of home medical care, and turned to that old stand-by, peroxide. Am I the only one who digs watching that stuff fizz? Miracle fluid, that peroxide - it'll cure just about anything on the outside of the skin.

Check it out:

That was this morning, after I defuzzed the area around the ouch (because you know what exacerbates the ow factor? Bandages yanking out hairs, that's what), and then peroxided it a few times.

And doesn't it just figure that these ouchies are at the exact perfect height for everything. in. the world. to hit them?? Cats seeking affection by rubbing against a leg, Sprout kicking and wriggling on the floor, laundry baskets, chupa cabras...

Well, maybe not that last one, but if there WAS a chupa cabra and it WAS inside Casa de Crazy, I bet it would be shin height and I would bump into it.

I hope the peroxide did the trick because I don't want to have to resort to scrubbing the area and dousing it with disinfectant. You'll know if I do...you'll hear me holler...

Want To Do Some Good?

2011-07-22T21:52:00.002-04:00

If you have a child or children, hug 'em.

Then go read this story.

Give 'em hell, Leah. Don't take no for an answer, don't give up, don't listen to anyone who tells you it's impossible. And mostly? Live.

Thanks for the headds up, Blogger Dad.

What About Bob*?

2011-07-21T00:49:00.004-04:00

Somalia has is officially experiencing a famine.

We're giving more than $400,000,000 in aid to the area, and Hillary Clinton says it's not enough, that we have to give more.

Umm...

'Kay...

But...

Pardon me while I pitch a tiny little fit over here in the corner.

What the hell are you thinking, woman?? Where the hell do you think the money's going to come from?

And while I'm having my hissy...what about the people with no food, no shelter, no medicine, right here in THIS freakin' country? Oh, wait, they don't count because...umm...you know? I'm not sure why they don't count...no one has yet satisfied my curiosity in the matter. All I know is, from where I'm sittin', the people who have basic needs going unmet in this country mean exactly bupkus to our nation's so-called leaders and that alleged bastion of compassion, the UN.

There's a record drought going on right smack in the middle of our nation. People, livestock, and crops are dropping dead in Kansas, Texas, Oklahoma, as far north as Michigan and down into the Carolinas. At the current rate, in a few months you'll be paying a whole lot more for a bucket of the Colonel's extra crispy, or a pound of beef, or your Thanksgiving bird, if you can afford 'em at all. Corn? Tomatoes? Wheat? Ouch... The economy has tanked enough that people can't afford seeds for a garden to raise their own food, let alone being able to donate money to feed others. What does Clinton propose we do? Squeeze a little more out of the people who don't have anything left to give, I imagine...she's a politician, and that's how they roll. Considering what she makes in a year, she can reach into her own danged pocket and leave the rest of us alone.

It's not that I'm lacking in compassion...I hurt for the children who don't make it, for the people who wonder if there will be water, or food, this week. Please believe that if I could, I would feed 'em all. I can't, though...and while I feel deeply wounded that anyone, anywhere is hungry, and while I would feed them if they were in my house even though it meant going hungry myself (because that's how I roll), I also feel that it's crucial to take care of the people in our own back yard before we go looking around the globe for places to dump resources.

I will spare you my thoughts on indiscriminate breeding among humans, about reproductive rights and education and social programs that do more harm than good...they're skewed at best and more than a little likely to piss people off.

Right now all I can see, all I can wonder is why, why, why are we supposed to carry other nations when we can't even carry ourselves (questions the woman who has to be carried most of the time, herself, but that's a whole other kettle)???

I wish Somalia luck...but for now they're going to have to right themselves without my help...I'm worried about Treesong, Scifi Chick, Phelan, the Hermit, and scores of other folks right here at home who are facing hot, dry, and hungry times ahead without benefit of the UN or their own representatives giving a rat's patootie whether they make it.

*Who's Bob? No one. Everyone. The guy or gal who is struggling to get through today, tomorrow, the next day...you know...Bob...

Quite Simply Mac and Cheese

2011-07-19T17:22:00.004-04:00

I made homemade mac and cheese for the first time last night. Whoa. Holy carp. I had to refrain from eating all of it. I may never buy the blue box or that frozen stuff again (especially since the homemade can be portioned out and frozen)!

I used to be intimidated by the homemade stuff...cheese sauce can be tricky...but I got a burr under my saddle about making it. I'm glad I did.

Here, then, is a very basic, easy-peasy recipe:

The Players:
8 oz uncooked macaroni, or any pasta that has nooks, crannies, or hollows where cheesy goodness can nestle
3 Tablespoons butter
3 Tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon mustard powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
Paprika
Season Salt
2 cups whole milk
3 cups plus a handful of freshly shredded cheese (I used a combination of sharp yellow and white Cheddars and Monterrey Jack, this time)
1/2 cup minced onion

Ready? Go!

Combine flour, salt, pepper, and mustard powder in a dish. Sprinkle some paprika (or not) and season salt (or not) in - how much depends on you, and you don't need them if you don't want them.

Boil the pasta in salted water until not quite done...al dente is as cooked as you want it. Drain and rinse with cold water. Drain thoroughly.

In a saucepan, melt butter, then add dry mixture. Cook over medium heat until slightly bubbly. Add milk, a little at a time, stirring thoroughly to prevent lumps. Cook until thick, about the consistency of gravy.

Mix in the three cups cheese, about a cup at a time, stirring constantly to keep it smooooth. By the way, you can use this sauce on veggies, or mix it with rice for a casserole, too...it's versatile!

Put the noodles back into their now-dry cooking pot, add the onions, then pour the sauce it all. Mix. Dump the mac and cheese into a baking dish and cover with the handful of cheese (or more if you like it gooey), then bake at 375 for 20 minutes or until it's all golden and bubbly.

Mmmm...

For some variety you could...

...add steamed broccoli
...add cooked ham
...mix in some Boursin or Allouette style cheese
...crumble some bleu cheese into it (bleh)(but hey, to each his own)
...caramelize the onions before mixing them in
...saute a few mushrooms in butter and garlic, then toss 'em in the mix
...add fresh, steamed peas
...add crab meat (I plan to try this very soon)
...add fresh steamed asparagus and shredded prosciutto
...add fried pancetta
...throw some fresh spinach in
...use a bit of shredded Parmesan
...add some sauteed squash and/or zucchini
...try some Gruyere, Asiago, Asadero, Fontina, or Romano for a different flavor
...stir in a can of tomatoes and chilies, drained
...add corn
...toss in some chunks of cooked turkey or chicken
...stir in some ground beef
...top with bread crumbs browned in butter
...use your imagination

Some recipes call for tempering in an egg before you sauce the noodles. Those recipes scare me - we often lose our temper around here, and broken or curdled sauces make me sad. If you really want to, go right ahead, but it's all you, baby.

If you want to double it up, go right ahead. If you want to freeze it, do so after adding the cheese sauce but before baking. When you want to nom, simply defrost and bake.

Trust me - I am not into difficult, fiddly recipes. This is a bit more advanced than, say, making toast, but it's no more challenging than that blue box stuff and it tastes soooo much better!

What do you like with your mac and cheese?

Lookie, Lookie!

2011-07-18T22:06:00.003-04:00

We had company over the weekend.

No, not these guys...
Handy J and his wife The Divine Mizz M came for a visit. Handy J is ~~a glutton for punishment~~ a nice fellow who wanted to help us with a few projects here at ~~the Vortex of Doom~~ Casa de Crazy, and his wife tagged along because who doesn't want to fall victim to the Evil Genius and his relentles quest for attention and someone to play with??

The Divine Mizz M accompanied Sprout, the Evil Genius and I to a drum circle on Friday. Sprout thought the tambourine shaker was tasty.

Sunday, Mum brought me some shirts that needed altering, and a prezzy:

Got any nice, easy dill pickle recipes??

I made macaroni and cheese tonight. From scratch. I've never done it before. Holy Hannah...the recipe will be up in the next day or so, as soon as I recover...

How was your weekend??

Simple Economics

2011-07-14T13:19:00.003-04:00

A package of seeds costs a whole dollar at the evil empire. Yeah, yeah, but any seed is better than no seed at all.

Hot house cucumbers are up to $1.49 at the market right now.

If we can get one seed to grow into one plant and produce one cucumber, we're up $.49.

We have several vines of several varieties growing, mostly heirloom/open polinated types. We still have plenty of seeds, too. It's a small saving, but the small savings add up. Not buying cukes means I can put that money towards meat for the winter.

At $2 - $5 a jar for pickles, I need to learn how to make my own...save more at the market, never mind that home grown/homemade is usually superior.

Tomatoes at the market ("vine"ripe my fat fanny) are upwards of $3 a pound. One plant producing one tomato would set me ahead almost a buck. We have a dozen or so, a mix of types, and they are loaded. Again with needing to learn how to can - water bath method as I don't have and cannot afford a presure canner at this time. I really should learn how to use the dehydrator to full advantage, as well - did some blueberries, but they went a bit long and are more crispy than raisinish...oh,well...

We haven't yet purchased okra at the market - no need.

Eggplant, onions, peppers, potatoes, squash, melons, beans, peas, lettuce, cabage, strawberries, blueberries, assorted herbs...on and on...it all adds up.

Considering today's economy, you can hardly go wrong investing a buck or two...

How does your garden grow?

Wanted: $250,000

2011-07-09T18:56:00.003-04:00

How much does a dream cost?

I have a dream.

Ok, so I have a few dreams...but most of them are small things, or day dreams that are more "Wouldn't it be nice...?" and less the kind of longing, yearning, hopeful things that make one sigh wistfully in quiet moments.

But this one dream? It's kind of a big one...and it's not just mine - Mum and Someone share it, too.

I want to move.

I want to move out of Casa de Crazy and up to Mum's place - Dragon's Rest. In a perfect world, we would build a house up there, one all of us would share. In my mind, I call it the Phoenix Nest; we are trying to rise from the ashes of our former selves, constantly reinventing who we are, adjusting our sights to new highs, new lows, new unattainable distances. We burn so beautifully - why not a Phoenix?

That's such a diaphanous dream, though...so difficult to grasp, so easily rent and ravelled...

Easier, though only relatively so, is the dream of buying her neighbors place, the land adjacent to Mum's. It already has a house, a barn, and some really fine garden space. There are woods, and the house is within sight of Mum's if you know where to look.

It happens to be the place I pick blueberries every year, because her neighbor is a very nice lady.

It also happens to be off the market at the moment - she had it listed for a while,but there were no takers at the asking price...and as it was going for a song, I don't blame her for declining the low ball offers people made.

Given the right offer by the right people, though...maybe she would sell.

I suspect I'm the right people. She seems to like me. If I had the dosh, I would make an offer of exactly what she wants on the place.

I don't have the dosh, though.

I think about it every time we go up to, or come home from, Mum's. I'd like "go home" to mean a short walk down a hill rather than an hour in the van. I would like to have dinner with Mum more than once or twice a month, would like to share family time with her, would like to have a conversation with her that does not require a phone or computer, would like to be there when the day comes (and it will come) when she needs someone tohelp her with the little things, the big things, with moving into age and eventually beyond this life. I would like to be the one she calls to drive her to the ER when she gets crazy with the sledgehammer, the maul, or sharp objects (you'd be surprised how common that is...no, really, ask her).

I need a best seller, or sugar-daddy, or a patron, or a lottery win. They're all equally likely.

So, my fellow denizens of Blogopolis, my fellow floaters in the Blue Nowhere...anyone have some cash to lend? I'd pay it back...eventually...maybe in bits and pieces, maybe in chunks, but all of it and then some.

Wanted: $250,000.

What's your dream? What do you need to attain it?

Surprised? Hardly. Dismayed? You Could Call It That...

2011-07-08T07:53:00.004-04:00

...but outraged would be a better description.

Gettin' a little political, here...

Y'all, I don't want to appear to be beating a dead horse...and I don't want anyone thinking I am against government or all about lawlessness, anarchy, and other social bugaboos...but if this shit keeps happening, how the heck can we call ourselves a nation of laws?

Go read the story...I'll wait.

Don't want to link-hop? Skip to mah loo (or to the summary below).

You may find it helpful to go read the original story if you don't want my hashed-up retelling...again, I'll wait...

OK, here's the summary: A man is sleeping in his home in a not-as-nice-as-he'd-like-it-to-be neighborhood. His wife and one of their young sons are at home as well. His wife cries out that they are being invaded by armed men. Home invasions are not uncommon. The man is an ex-Marine, trained to think and act quickly in combat/tense situations. Intent on protecting his family, he gets his (legally owned) weapon. The safety is on. He never fires a shot. The men breaking into his home fire a collective 70 times. He is left for more than an hour in his home, bleeding to death, his wife and child held outside and unable to offer comfort or say farewell, while the men who shot him will not permit paramedics to attend to him and possibly (although probably not) save his life. A man who served his nation and sought only to keep his family safe dies alone in his own home.

Had this been a movie, the men who broke into the house would be Bad Guys, and Bruce Willis would kick their collective asses for two hours, with a grand finale of several explosions and at least one gruesome but totally karmic impalement.

Instead, it had a rather different ending.

The SWAT team was exonerated of any wrongdoing. Never mind they lied about him firing the first shot (the safety was engaged, remember) or that they found absolutely nothing in his home to indicate drugs, home invasions, or any of their other cocked-up bullshit about why this man's home needed breaking into. Never mind that they let a man bleed to death alone, unsuccored, for over an hour. Never mind that they sealed records after the fact to keep the public from learning about what happened, and almost immediately started a smear campaign to villainize the victim. Never mind that they didn't even know his child was in the home and entered with guns blazing. Never mind that not one person has owned up to what really happened to an innocent man, the participants instead seeking to justify or shift blame rather than face the consequences of their actions. They were exonerated.

Again, I pose the question - is it any wonder that the majority of the people living in this country either distrust, dislike, or outright hate law enforcement? How can we trust law enforcement to self-regulate, when it is the norm to say that they are not to blame for raiding the wrong home, for destroying property and lives, that there is no accountability?

Who watches the watchers??

To paraphrase Goldie Hawn in Protocol...I'm watching...like a hawk...

And one day? The governed will no longer consent to give these people their just powers...and then what?

I Am From

2011-07-07T13:09:00.005-04:00

I am from blue jeans worn thin at the knees, ragged at the cuffs, dirt and grass stained, faded from indigo to near-grey, from Marshmallow Fluff and peanut butter sandwiches and long summer days at the beach beneath the hammered-bronze sun.

I am from the woods and shores of New England, clammy, foggy mornings redolent of salt and seaweed.

I am from the beach plum in hidden places, the sugar maple's blazing Autumn glory.

I am from lobstering and clam boils, stubbornness and fire, from Papa and Mum, Spousie and Dad, madness (Mary Todd Lincoln) and prose (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow).

I am from sailors and lawyers, artists and musicians.

From "Sit up straight!" and "Suck in your gut".

I am from "God is a nameless stranger in the sky who we pay lip service to a few times a year" and "If you don't donate money, you're not a good Christian" and "There is no God" and much later "the Earth is my religion, my church".

I'm from many places, from Lloyd, Mason, and McRae, from swordfish and Jell-O.

From landing on Watupa Pond and losing a pilot's license, burning down the yacht club, and feeding a pig Ex-Lax before releasing it in a spiteful woman's house while she was away. I am from sailing ships, the Coast Guard, the Air Force, from sailors, fishermen, a silversmith, wealth and poverty.

I am from stairwells hung with massive oil paintings, stern faces watching up,down, transitory wanderings, from sun-filled niches and pastel softness, slight smiles and a face the was my great-aunt, but not, cheap silver frames around fading copies of old black-and-white prints and square photos turning sepia in forgotten albums. I am from attics and shoe boxes and the brass bed that has dulled with time but shines in memory.

I am from Zippo lighters, fine china, sterling silver, and champagne, from horses and tennis and sailing, from bologna and Kraft dinners and throw-the-leftovers-in-the-crock-pot, from fishing for crab, digging clams, shucking corn, digging potatoes, gleaning peas from their pods and moldy cheese. I am from England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, from the United States of America, from places long gone save for my recollection of them, from nobility, statesmen, Gypsies, horse thieves.

I am the sum my ancestry, from long lines dating back to the beginning, diverging, rejoining, from past, present future. I am from primordial ooze and the song of the stars. I am from here and now...and I am where tomorrow comes from...
~~~~~
I found this exercise/Meme at Mizz Magpie's...

Where are you from?

How Sprout Grows

2011-07-05T21:38:00.003-04:00

Boring baby-stuff post ahead...fair warning!
~~~~~
Just after her fourth month, Sprout had her first "solid" food - rice cereal. She took to it like a Swan to water, and it's been go for solids ever since.

Now, at five-and-one-half months, she is not satisfied with mere bottle feeding. Solids twice a day? I think not. We're up to four time a day. I am introducing new foods slowly, making them here rather than buying jars of flavorless paste at the store.

So far, she has tried and liked: rice cereal, oatmeal, banana, apples with cinnamon and ginger, and sweet potato.

She has tried and not very much liked: avocado. On the advice of a friend, I will try mixing some avocado with banana.

Next up: mashed turnips and carrots - if she won't eat 'em, I will. Lentils. Peas. Pears. Squash. Blueberries (bonus, I picked them last summer, so I know where they came from and they are definitely organic!), and spinach.

That should get us through the next couple of months, when I will introduce her to the wonders of yoghurt.

As soon as she has teeth...oy...I imagine I'll be busy in the kitchen, trying to keep up with her.

In a few weeks, we'll have her six month check-up, and we'll see how all this new found eating has treated our Sprout...but judging by the ache in my arms, back, and shoulders, she's growing like a weed!

Independence Day

2011-07-04T00:01:00.000-04:00

Yep, this is a repost, but why re-write what already suits??
~~~~~
In writing the Declaration of Independence, in ratifying it, in signing their names to it, the men named at the bottom risked the very things they hoped to secure for themselves and for future generations. They were performing an act of treason, and by putting their names to it they made of themselves targets for the man, for the nation, they accused. They fought for the principles they named, fought for their families, for their lives, and for the burgeoning life of the tender new nation they hoped to nurture into a great place, a free place, a place where anyone could hope to not just survive, but thrive - a place where anyone willing to put their all into it, to do their very best, could find success, no matter what their gods, their nation of origin.

Since that time, people have tried to follow their lead, standing up and making their voices heard to help secure their rights, the rights of future generations. They have added color and sex to the list of things that cannot determine success, cannot be used as an excuse to deny equal opportunity.

You do the same when you vote. You do it when you attend council meetings, board meetings, town hall meetings, and speak your piece; when you ask the hard questions, protest with signs, songs, shouts; when you show people who think they own this nation to the exclusion of others, people who think they have the right to amend your rights to suit them, that you are watching them, that you SEE them, that you know better.

You do it when you tell our armed forces "Thank you for your service" whether you agree with whatever conflicts we're embroiled in or not - because they are standing up for our liberty doing a hard, dirty, often thankless job - and they are there, ultimately, to preserve our nation and its principles (As an aside - thank you, men and women of the armed forces. Thank you, and blessed be, and come home safe to the families who love you, miss you, and hope only for your swift return.).

You do it when you teach the children in your life what it means to be free - freedom to fly means freedom to fall, and freedom to rise up again; freedom to succeed means freedom to fail, and to try once more; freedom to speak means freedom for dissenting opinions to be heard; freedom is not comfortable - at times, it is downright terrifying...but it is necessary to the human spirit.

Given a choice to be cold, hungry, ragged, poor, weary, worn and free, or to be clothed, fed, housed, succored, safe and bound - I will be free. Do not make the mistake of giving up your freedom for the illusion of safety - you will one day wake to find you have nothing left but the yoke you bound yourself to.

I could go on, but to what purpose? You understand or you don't - and my little rant won't sway anyone, I fear.

Here, then, is a transcript of our most essential document, the one that began it all, the one that first gave shape to our name, to our identity as a nation. Read, if nothing else, the first two paragraphs. They are as stirring, heartfelt, and powerful now as when they were first written.
~~~~~

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.
He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

The 56 signatures on the Declaration appear in the positions indicated:
Column 1 - Georgia: Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton

Column 2 - North Carolina: William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn South Carolina: Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton

Column 3 - Massachusetts: John Hancock Maryland: Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton Virginia: George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton

Column 4 - Pennsylvania: Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross Delaware: Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean

Column 5 - New York: William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris New Jersey: Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark

Column 6 - New Hampshire: Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple Massachusetts: Samuel Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry Rhode Island: Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery Connecticut: Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott New Hampshire: Matthew Thornton
~~~
If you've made it this far, thank you. To support out troops, go visit Any Soldier or Troop BeBop (I know this woman - she's a force of nature!). I wish you a safe, joyous, and happy Independence Day

Just Then

2011-07-01T08:05:00.004-04:00

There was sunlight, warm honey pouring through the window, spreading across the floor. There were motes of dust caught in the sticky heat, glinting, winking, semaphore reminders of housekeepery undone. There were beads of amber catching the light, upping the ante with their stillness. There was the baby, frenetic motion shattering the Zen, beads clacking as they flew through the air.

Among the fey we drummed and sang "Fuck you, fuck you...", only she didn't, she stared up at the trees, green against sky, and softly babbled my secret thoughts to the unseen. She didn't mind that some of those thoughts included rocks and possibilities and finality. She was caught up in the trek of the transparent wee snail inching its way along her arm. I was caught up in promises and the way the sun shone on the blue stones.

I wonder if she knew, when she babbled and wriggled and snuggled in and slept deep and hard and limp in Jenny's arms, I wonder if she knew that it was the only, the last, time, that in a few hours Jenny would carry the memory of her weight and warmth beyond life and into what follows.

It's all now. There's no yesterday, no tomorrow. All she has is now...hungry now, wet now, tired now. She moans, whimpers, whines, eh-heh-heh-heh, until I find the thing that now demands.

The cat curled at her feet, but she slept on against me and I dozed wrapped in the coolth of cotton sheets and the warmth of content in cat form, both of us lulled by the quartet of purrs and little mewlings.

What Happened To Compassion?

2011-06-30T09:40:00.003-04:00

I read a story this morning about how the budget shortfalls in Illinois are causing some issues in an interesting area - it seems prisoners are having to wear soiled, worn clothing, with laundry done only twice a week.

The story itself was not remarkable, really...it's hardly a surprise that the state will cut funding anywhere it can, and prisons are an easy mark because the people inside are either employed there and can leave or are lumped under the heading of "If you're there you must deserve to be so suck it up".

What struck me was the tone of the responses to the story. The comments left were horrid, to say the least, full of smug self-righteousness and ignorance. They ranged from"Who cares?" to "They deserve to suffer."

Excuse me??

People are wrongly convicted every day. Not everyone in prison is evil. People go to prison for having the wrong kind of herbal entertainment in their pockets. They go to prison for defending themselves. They go to prison because they made a mistake and society wants to punish them soundly.

Whatever the reason, and whether they are nice, stupid, evil, intelligent, kind, guilty, or innocent, they are still people. To try and deny them their humanity is a mistake. To treat them as less than human is to take away the one thing that connects them to society and helps them change for (one hopes) the better.

Forcing people to wear filthy, worn clothing while living in crowded conditions is unhealthy, to say the least.

Saying "Oh, well,they can wash them in the sink" would make sense...unless you know how unrealistic that is. Prisoners don't get full bars of soap. They often get tiny bits, smaller than those motel soaps. It's hardly enough to wash a body, let alone laundry.

Asking why they need underwear at all is just plain stupid. While not everyone wants underthings, a prison environment is hardly the place to make someone...erm...freeball, as it were. Think, people.

The comments about how the vicitims suffered, so should the criminals? How do two wrongs become a right?

And before you jump all over me for being all soft or whatever...I havebeen the victim of crimes, with the perpetrators unpunished. Were they in prison, I would not want them to be treated inhumanely...I would want them to come to understand how they did me (and others) harm, to change and grow, and to emerge better people. Naive, yes, but there you are.

I wonder what those hateful commenters would think if it was their son, husband, brother, sister, mother, daughter, or friend? What if they, themselves, were the prisoner being made to wear dirty, threadbare clothing?

Prison itself is the punishment...being locked away from the clear sky, the freshening wind, the gentle rain, the sun, moon, and stars...to be locked away from friend, family, kind words and soft touch...that's the punishment. Fer cryin' out loud, clean skivvies are hardly a luxury...or at least, they shouldn't be.

If Illinois needs to cut their budget, perhaps they should consider trimming from some truly inhuman sources - perhaps a few politicians could use a paycut. I'm sure the bribes will more than make up for it.

But We Made It

2011-06-28T10:55:00.003-04:00

We left Casa de Crazy on the 17'th. I drove, because while I'd only slept 2 1/2 hours the night before, Someone had even less.

The Evil Genius watched movies on the portable player (thanks for the loan, Mum) and Sprout alternated sleeping, playing, and bitching about being stuck in the car seat. In Virginia, we were stuck in traffic for several hours because of construction in or near one of the tunnels through the mountains. Sprout did not approve. By the timewe got through that mess, we werevery low on fuel and patience, but we managed not to run out.

What is normally a nine hour drive took fourteen.

Domino's Pizza in Pomeroy is wonderful -despite my calling just after they closed, they delivered dinner to our motel, saving me unhitching the trailer and finding something to eat that didn't come out of our cooler or a plastic package.

Saturday, we drove to the site and set up. We managed to get the canopies up before it rained...it was nice being able to unload trailer and van under cover. As soon as we got there, the Evil Genius shucked his clothes and ran to find his Wisteria friends. For the rest of the week, we saw him for a few minutes a day, usually when he was hungry or ready to go to bed. We will be washing the mud off of him for a month.

Sunday was more setting up and fluffing the camp, Jenny got there. She snagged Sprout and ran off with her for a few hours. Later that evening, we gossiped while Sprout drooled on her. We talked about Lo (her man), about his death last year and her new life.

Monday morning, Jenny died.

Typing that hurt.

Monday evening, we held Lo's memorial anyway.

You know what? I was going to write in detail aboutthe rest of the week...but I'm tired. Here's a nutshell:

Someone's girlfriend and her boyfriend came by, and we did some serious talking about our relationships. It was not always an easy conversation. It rained all week. I didn't sell much of anything, just about enough to cover the cost of ice and an unplanned motel stay on the way home -thank goodness for shitbag motels with cheap rooms! My relationship with Someone took a serious hit mid week, but we managed not to crash and burn and are continuingto work on it because we're not going to give up. I'm not a violent woman, but I will admit to wanting to perpetrate some ugliness on another person who will have her comeuppance, and I hope I'm there to see it beause I try to be all Zen, but sometimes I can't let go as easily as I'd like. Someone's girlfriend and I got a chance to hang out without our respective men about, and that was full of the awesome. I like her. All of us had some serious thinking/healing to do. Someone drummed every night, usually not getting back until after sunrise. It was good for him. I made it to the drumming once...it's difficult to go down to the fire when I have kids in camp-I won't leave them alone, sothatpretty much ties me to our campsite unless someone is available to watch them. I wasn't missed. The one night I went, I took Sprout with me - she loved it, and she was a rock star, collecting love and cuddles from a hundred different people. She likes fire, drumming, and glow sticks. I made it to the fairy shrine for the first time, and told the little batards to fuck themselves. It was cathartic. They gave me a blue stone, so I guess we're good. The woman who angered me beyond reason managed to compound my pissivity by hurting Someone's other girlfriend, too. Evil thoughts abounded, and Lady R and I have a common target for our ire. Low Rent (our name for the woman) is going to learn that when you fuck with community, community fucks back. Also, I learned that there are a lot of folks there who give a damn about me, about Someone, about our family and well-being...and there's nothing like the grapevine, is there?? It rained rather a lot during pack-out, so everything in the trailer is wet and will need washing/drying in the next few days. I didn't get stuck, though, so that was nice. On the way home Sunday night, I blew a tire on the trailer. It tore off the fender and shorted my dash display lights. It was my first blowout/flat ever. Welimped down the shoulder on the rim until we could find a gas station to drop the trailer at, then got a room - at midnight, there's not much more one can do. Monday morning was a flurry of finding a tire/wheel for the trailer(we got two - thanks, Mum, for saving our bacon...again...and again...and again...) and getting them replaced, then getting our butts home. After unloading a bit, I went to pick up something for dinner and ran out of fuel - the first time I've ever done so.

Someone is taking a long, hard look at himself and doesn't like what he sees. I am hurting for him and because of him. I want to be here for him, but Idon't know what to do to help...so I'm just here, hoping (believing) we can make it through this very bad place and back onto Tera Firma.

Despite everything, it was a good trip, and I want to go back next year. Strike that. I WILL go back next year.

Today is laundry and unpacking, and (if I canmanage to) napping.

How was your week?

Home.

2011-06-28T09:57:00.001-04:00

Got home yesterday evening.

Tired.

Unpacking.

Rough, amazing week.

More later.

Learn To Be Still

2011-06-17T05:37:00.000-04:00

Thank you, baby girl.

Last night, in the midst of frantic oh-my-gods-I-still-have-so-much-to-pack-and-sew-and-where-is-it-all-going-to-go-and-what-about-dinner-and-I'm-hot-and-tired-and-light-headed-and-there's-no-tme-to-rest-or-breathe-or-pant-pant...

In the midst of that, you needed to bechanged, fed, and be cuddled until you went to sleep in Mama's arms, and so Mama had to sit. Still.

Everything had to wait a precious few minutes.

Thank you for reminding me to breathe.

Almost

2011-06-16T12:23:00.003-04:00

We are almost ready to head out on our annual Solstice trip - nine days camping in Ohio at a campground that's a reclaimed strip mine.

We have almost finished packing the trailer.

We have almost finished packing our clothes, the kids' clothes, and all the attendant crap that goes with taking children camping (especially as I camp comfortable).

We have almost all of our groceries.

We are almost done sewing.

I almost feel ready...but...not quite...

Ready or not, Casa de Crazy goes mobile tomorrow at six. The morning one. I have not pre-posted anything, and probably won't - everything takes longer when the baby is in a "hold me" mood, and it's difficult enough to type one-handed, let alone when the dang space bar still doesn't work correctly! We'll be home by the 27'th - if I don't see you before then, have a good week and happy Solstice!

No Way

2011-06-13T21:02:00.003-04:00

I was coming back in from the garage and opened a box on a whim.

Me: "Oh. My. God."

Someone: "No way. You're kidding."

Me: "I'm so not..."

And into the house I came, because...yeah...

See that box?

The grey one, there?

Yeah, that one.

Guess what's in it?

Go on, guess.

No, not a body. I'd hide it better.

This box we looked through several times, each of us. While he was looking, Someone carefully emptied each box to thoroughly search it.

So how come we found this?:

Let me help you out, a little.

Here would be the coffee pot and the one-burner:

And here would be my beloved nesting pots:

There were other things, but those were the main missing items.

Damn faeries...must have heard me thinking about hiring an exterminator and hosing the Casa down with faerie repellent.

Oh, well...at least now we can make coffee. I wonder if they realized they went too far, stealing Someone's Java supplies. Some things a man won't take lying down.

I AM glad they returned everything....before I had the trailer packed, even.

How was your day?

Damn Faeries

2011-06-12T15:12:00.003-04:00

Casa de Crazy is lousy with faeries.

Not the Disney kind that laugh and frolic and twinkle and occasionally save our bacon from disaster - no we have mean-spirited little fuckers, trickster-faeries who hide things or steal them outright, often returning them only when we've gone halfway to insane looking for whatever we know, damn it, KNOW, was right there THREE MINUTES AGO!!!

They mostly pick on poor Someone, who isn't used to having so much house to hunt through for things he can't find where he last left them. I think they like to hear him swear ans watch him turn red, see the thunderclouds build over his head, listen to him mutter. They love to steal his lighter, his socks, and especially his tools.

We have witnesses, by the way, to our tricksters' antics. Several visitors have seen Someone open a cupboard to get something to find said something not there. A twenty-minute search ensues, after which Someone will open the same cupboard, look in the same spot, and there the something is, right up front, right where he looked before.

Once, when our friend Handy J was here, he watched Someone go through the search, then witnessed as Someone called me to ask where the item he was searching for would be - when I told him, he went and looked, and there they were. Handy J was insistent that they'd both looked in that very spot...

Of course.

Usually, if Someone finally enlists my aid, I'll either walk right to what he's looking for or be able to tell him where it is...or, it'll reappear where he knows it should be and he finds it soon after.

The trickster-faeries don't like to mess with me too much. I'm a finder-of-things. It's difficult to hide stuff from a finder-of-things. Not impossible - they've zinged me a few times - but difficult.

I've been told I should give them milk. Bah. They don't care for dairy products. They don't want baked goods. They are not traditional faeries. Offerings of whiskey, wine, or beer seem to please them a little, as well as rib bones, Quahog and scallop shells, Oreo cookies, and shiny, shiny things. We have even built them their own little shrine in the woods, loaded with the things they seem to like. Nothing keeps them entirely at bay, though.

Right now, we are trying to get a lot of work done in a short amount of time - we have, realistically, three days to finish sorting, packing, sewing, cooking, and loading. We don't have time for trickster-faeries...which is why, of course, they are more than happy to make time for us.

This morning, while sorting through camping gear, I noticed some things missing. It made sense that they weren't in their regular box - Someone took them with him last Autumn when he was helping a friend with her business, travelling to shows and vending with her. They were in a different box, a smaller, more portable box. THAT box, however, was nowhere to be found.

Both Someone and I clearly recall washing things, putting them in the box, and putting the box in the trailer for the winter...but it's not among the things we unloaded...and we looked into every. single. box. twice.

I would shrug and say "Oh, well..." but I can't - what the little fuckers stole this time is a handful of items we need for our trip but cannot afford to just replace (coffee pot, nesting pots, Coleman one-burner, and all our fuel ) and I don't have time to play their games and hunt high and low for stuff.

I am...irked...dismayed...frustrated...and irked.

I hope they return our things before we have to leave...because camping with Someone when there's no way to make coffee? Daunting doesn't begin to describe the prospect...

Lots to Do

2011-06-10T11:27:00.002-04:00

We're going up to Ohio for Solstice in a week. Between now and then, we need to:

Move the trailer, empty it, patch the holes that the neighbor's tree made in the roof and side, sort out what we're bringing and what's staying here, and re-pack it.

Pre-cook and freeze all the veggies and sides for ten day's worth of dinners for five people.

Wash, fold and pack clothing for the whole fam-damily.

Clean the van.

Sew shirts to sell.

Cut wood blanks to make into jewelry.

Buy last-minute groceries.

Figure out a watering schedule for the gardens (thanks, Gypsy!!).

Arrange and implement visitation for the Evil Genius and his father so the boy doesn't have to wait until July to see his dad.

A myriad of other small things that add up a very busy week. What are you up to?

The Spam Knows

2011-06-07T09:30:00.003-04:00

Rough night.

Feh, not rough, plain awful. Never mind. Let's look at The All Knowing Box O' Spam to see what kind of day it'll be, shall we?

Hmm.

I can earn up to $87 an hour, and apparently a hitherto unknown relative in the EU died and left me a fortune. There are two offers for the quick, free delivery of pills of unspecified origins or type.

Woo-hoo, party at the Casa!! One way or another, our cares are over!

The Things About A Baby Is...

2011-06-06T08:05:00.003-04:00

...just when I think I'm hitting my stride, that we have a pattern to our day...she up and changes things.

Sprout's eating a bit of cereal twice a day. She had her four-month check-up last week - at 25.5 inches and 13+ pounds, she has nearly doubled in size.

She does not approve of shots, but recovers from her ire quickly enough. Yes,we immunize,and yes,we've read reports and personal anecdotes and considered the possible repercussions...and we've decided that we'd rather have some of the immunizations and chance the possibilities than have a baby or child die or be disfigured or come to harm from a completely preventable childhood illness.

She's trying to figure out how to roll over, getting closer every day.

She loves the bath - now, she likes to watch the water dribble from the little cup we rinse her with.

Look:

She thinks it's amazing.

Nap times are ever-changing. I try to get at least a little sleep-time with her every day,but some days we're too busy.

Speaking of busy...it's time for me to pack up these kids and hit the road...we have errands to run, and Someone could use a few minutes of quiet after his weekend of solo parenting.

What's new in your world?

I'm Here...

2011-06-05T21:15:00.003-04:00

...but not entirely...heh...

I the chance to work this weekend and I took it. I'm tired - going to take a bath and go to bed. See you tomorrow.

How was your weekend?

Thoughtfetti

2011-06-01T08:22:00.002-04:00

I have a "new" oven/stove thanks to a friend, Someone, some sweat, the loan of a circular saw, and a bitof wiring. I'm very happy, both to have saved Mum the cost of a new one (thanks anyway, Mum) and to have a working oven again.
~~~~~
The space bar on Bob the Wonder Computer is still only working intermittently. Fun.
~~~~~
The same evening that Someone and our friend Handy J replaced the oven/stove, we had a big storm. Lots of wind. The neighbor's tree fell on my utility trailer. The utility trailer I need to use in two-and-one-half weeks. The one we'll be living in when we head to Ohio for our annual Solstice camp out. It has two holes in the roof. Someone and Handy J both assure me they can repair the trailer, make it waterproof again...just as soon as we get the tree off it.
~~~~~
The same tree took out our satellite dish. With some more sweat, some creative language, and a dollop of determination, Someone got the dish back into place. The tree that came down had been partially blocking our signal. Now that it's down, we can watch hockey again. Silver lining.
~~~~~
I had to make a choice...pay the phone bill or buy nappies and formula. If you don't see me around for a bit, it's not 'cause I don't love you.
~~~~~
How're you doing?

I Will Remember

2011-05-30T00:01:00.001-04:00

Photo found here and copied entirely without permission but not without respect.

Many of my family have served their country in the various branches. My brother was in the Army, but thankfully got out when yet another gopher hole tried to eat his ankle. Don't ask. My Uncle was in the Air Force, even flying Air Force Two for a while. My Grandfather was in the Coast Guard during World War II. I have a cousin in the Air Force. I believe he flies Airforce somethingorother from time to time. I have a friend who was in the Army during the Vietnam War (conflict, my ass!) - I never once resented the calls at three-o'clock in the morning; nightmares shy away from friendly voices, from reason and reassurance. Another friend was in the Army until it broke his back - literally. He survived, but not his plans for a lifetime in the military - they don't want broken people, no matter how useful or clever they are. Someone's family is jam-packed with folks who've served - mostly Navy, I believe - and deserve some respect and thanks. So...thanks.

For a history of this day, go here. Or here. Or here. In a nutshell, Memorial Day is for remembering the fallen. Veteran's Day is for honoring the living. That's why they get two days, and so they should. Men and women stand up and make targets of themselves to maintain our freedoms every day of the year, so the least we can do is take two days to tell them "Thanks. Thanks for acting against human nature and protecting me and mine. Thanks for losing an arm, a leg, a life so that I don't have to."

It's not about the politics. I'm non-violent. I don't think war is ever a reasonable response to conflict. I won't forget, though, that people have laid down their lives so that I may stand on a street corner protesting (I never would) them, or denigrating (never, ever!) them for their service.

Perhaps one day, we won't have any new graves to decorate. Until then, I remember and (as best I can) I honor.

While She Sleeps

2011-05-29T09:53:00.003-04:00

I love to hold her while she sleeps, soft, limp, warm baby girl.

I love her sighs, little murmurs, tiny twitches, when she nestles a little closer.

I love to watch her wake, stretching, eyes opening, looking around,thousand-watt smile blazingonto her face.

Holding her is a reminder that despite my numerous flaws and failures, sometimes I do get it right.

She's a great comfort.

I love to hold her while she sleeps.

But You Can't Hide

2011-05-25T07:37:00.003-04:00

From time to time I am nearly overcome with the desire...the need...to run away.

Run away from home, friends, family, this life I'm living.

Run away from the bills I can't pay, the house I can't keep clean, the broken things I can't fix or replace, the inevitable, resigned disappointment of those around me when I fail...again...

That's the fuel - that disappointment. It hurts.

I daydream about taking the kids and starting over where no one knows me.

But I know it won't make a difference. You can run...

One of THOSE Days...er...Weeks...

2011-05-23T17:46:00.004-04:00

Aaaaaarrrrrrghhhhhhh!

Pant, pant.

Ahem.

Aaaaaarrrgggghhhhhhhhh!!

Pant, pant, pant.

Hrrrrhhemmm.

One more...

Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrghhhhhhhhh!!!

Pant, pant...pant...

Whew.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way...

I realize that I am Entropy's bitch. It doesn't have to keep driving the point home. And Murphy really doesn't need to chime his ass in, either.

My oven is kaput. Whaydaya mean, I can't bake??

The last bulb in the how-the-heck-do-you-change-the-bulbs-in-this-thing-? foyer light blew.

The dryer doesn't care to, at the moment.

The left "Shift" Key fell off of Bob the Wonder Computer.

I got it back on, but now the space bar isn't. Spacing. I have to keep striking it until it feels space-y again, which is about one-third of the time...this post took half of forever to type.

The trash company didn't pick ours up this week...probably because I haven't paid them. Unreasonable people.

The Blue Nowhere was just the Nowhere today at the Casa de Crazy - again with the whole paying the bill thing. Sigh. I need a patron. Or a lottery win.

Sprout decided that 4:30 was exactly the right time to get up for the day and naps are for chumps.

There's more, but between the space bar that isn't and the baby that thinks blogging, like naps, is for chumps, I need to be done. How's your life goin'?

Live and Let Live...Just Not Next Door (SO Series)

2011-05-22T00:05:00.002-04:00

Imagine, dear reader, that you are looking for a home.

No problem, right? There are plenty of free publications offering rentals and homes for sale in every neck of the woods and at every price level

But wait.

You can't move in any old where.

You have limitations.

You can't live near a school. Hmm...OK...not too difficult, plenty of places not near schools, although that makes getting the kids to and from a bit more of a challenge.

Oh, wait...you also can't live near a daycare. Oh...OK...so any neighborhood with a home daycare or a daycare center is out

Whoopsie, forgot...no church, either. Huh...there are some parts of the country where that's just not possible. Heck, here in Redneck Central you can't spit without hitting a Baptist something or other.

Also, no playgrounds, parks, or places where children congregate. No YMCA, public swimming pool, or mall with a playground or skate park.

You need to search carefully around your prospective new home, because if you don't locate every one of the above and make certain it's more than 1,000 feet from where you'll be living?

Jail. Possibly for life.

Imagine being told you cannot visit your parents, or any of your family. If you do?

Jail. Possibly for life.

Imagine, dear reader, that the same applies for place of employment, or educational facility.

Imagine that you must find a way to support your family while living within these edicts. Imagine, if you can, your spouse being fired because you're married to him/her. Imagine your children relentlessly bullied at school, at church, at soccer/football/baseball because they're yours. Imagine people coming to your house and threatening you, threatening your family.

Imagine law enforcement providing your address to anyone who wants it, because it's the law.

Imagine not being able to travel for any length of time without first getting permission.

Imagine having to turn over every phone number, every e-mail or online account with passwords so that someone may, at any time, log on and see what you are doing...and if they don't approve?

Jail. Possibly for life.

Imagine having to go every year (in some place more often) to a dark, dreary office and proclaim your presence in the area, give your address and fingerprints, and wait for someone to come and confirm that you live there. Imagine having to move because someone opens a childcare, a church, a park within the thousand feet (unless you're lucky enough to live somewhere that has grandfather clauses).

Imagine having to wear an ankle bracelet, never to be removed, that has a GPS device, and if you stray into a no-no area (inadvertent though it may be)?

Jail. Possibly for life.

Imagine never being able to see your child's school play or recital, never attending a scouting camp out or overnight function, never serving as a classroom parent or chaperon, never taking your child to an amusement or water park, never going to the beach.

Imagine being afraid to change your daughter's diaper, wipe your son's bottom, give your child a bath.

Imagine having to worry about all of that for the rest of your life...all of that and more. Imagine people treating you as pariah because you've been labelled, and that label doesn't differentiate the severity of your act.

Imagine being eighteen and thrown into a cold, callous, uncaring system, knowing that the rest of your days you will be called "Sex Offender" and will carry the burden of that label until you die. No one will hire you, no one wants you living near them, no one cares that the girl* you "offended" was your girlfriend, that she consented, that she was three days from her seventeenth birthday. Or perhaps she lied and told you she was seventeen when she was not, that she has done this before, that she likes to toy with older boys, or perhaps she's looking to score, to gain merit in the eyes of her peers (if you think that doesn't happen, you're wrong - it happens every day, girls and boys both). Her consent, her deceit, do not matter. The fault is yours and yours alone.

No one cares - all they see is the label.

They see a pedophile. They do not look, do not want to look, beyond their own presumption of guilt

*I say "girl", but this applies equally to the males of the species. Please don't get your knickers in a twist because of my gender bias - I don't care to type "girl/boy", "his/her", or "they/their" all the time. I'm lazy.

At Mum's

2011-05-20T21:48:00.002-04:00

There are worse place to spend one's last day, should it prove the Rapture is a-comin'.

Not that it applies to me - I'm not Christian, nor am I descended (spiritually speaking) from the first two (who couldn't be Christian because Christ wasn't born then, so how could they follow his teachings?)(not that following his teachings make a Christian, because if it did there'd be a whole lot of empty churches around where I live, and no one would have to worry about whether they had a place in heaven after the Rapture). Being Pagan, I get to sit back and watch, then go looting.

Oh, c'mon, tell me you wouldn't go picking through all the nifty stuff left behind. I really could use a recliner, and an oven that, oh, I dunno, actually works (ours died its final death a few nights ago...now I can't bake anything, and that's like not being able to go to therapy...ack!!). They can't take it with 'em, so why shouldn't I make use of what's there?

Still, if I was Christian, and if I did believe that the end is not only nigh, it's breathing down our necks and crowding us at the checkout, I think this would qualify as a most satisfactory last day.

We're up at Mum's. Lately, we're up here about once a week - Someone does yard work and I keep Sprout and the Evil Genius from taking over the world. Also, I cook breakfast and dinner, because Mum could use the break and shouldn't have to fix meals for all of us, and because I'm a better cook. OK, not really that last one, but Mum reads this blog and I have to get a dig in somewhere.

Today started early for me - 5 am - but it wasn't too bad. Nice sunrise, and Sprout cuddled up and dozed on me for a couple of hours, so I didn't have to walk her around or worry about her cries waking anyone else up. A nice leisurely breakfast, then I got a pot roast started for dinner while Mum and Bird played on the Wii for a bit. After they were done, Sprout and I snoozed on the recliner (I can't loot this one after the Rapture, because Mum's not Christian either, and she might get mad if her chair goes missing) while Mum and Someone finished erecting the deer fence. It looks good. A nice dinner, and then Sprout and I made use of the porch swing as evening finished falling (but not on our heads).

Listening to the birds, the pip-pip-pip of the humming birds chastising us for being too close to their evening snack spot, the humming of the bees coming in to the home they've made in one of Mum's bird houses, the frogs singing out in their chorus, swinging in the lovely coolth...it was peaceful in a way we cannot manage at Casa de Crazy.

Now there's hockey on, and since we're at Mum's it's a clear signal, no pixelating (like everything else at the Casa, the satellite isn't working right...ugh...), so Someone won't miss a goal or some other crucial play (I'll know it's really the end when things work they way they should at Casa de Crazy).

We'll be home again tomorrow, and the world will crowd in on us once more. I'll have to pick up the small stresses that I leave behind whenever we come up here, the little worries and cares that weigh on me at Casa de Crazy but have no meaning at Mum's - Rapture or not, bills need paying, laundry needs doing, there's sewing to finish and more to begin, the house needs cleaning...I'm too busy for the end of the world as we know it, thanks.

What're you up to?

There Is No Title

2011-05-18T08:42:00.004-04:00

I have a recurring dream.

Actually, I have several recurring dreams, my psyche's own little video library, but I'll spare you most of them for the moment.

This one particular dream, I've had quite often, of late.

The colors are dark - greys, blues, purples, colors of night. I'm in a forest. There are hunters. They are not after me. I am gliding from shadow to shadow, sliding across frozen puddles of moonlight, seeking the hunters' prey.

He's there in the wood. I can hear him, soft though he treads; his heartbeat thunders in my mind.

I find him in a tiny clearing, illuminated. He is waiting for me, silver in the night. Just as I reach him, the hunters break through. He snarls. I place myself between him and the people who would kill him, though I am armed only with wit and will.

No words are spoken, but our intents are clear - the wolf will be the wolf, himself always, never tame, never docile, he will tolerate his chosen few but never bend himself to another's will. The hunters will destroy him if they can...all they see is his danger. And me? I will split wide the earth, call down the gale, loose the conflagration, summon the rushing waters, fight tooth and toenail to protect him. Whatever the cost, I will not let them destroy this wild, beautiful thing. In my dream, I am more than equal to these fluttering, ineffectual fools. All they have are weapons of metal and wood - I have Nature's fury with which to do battle.

Within the dream, I fear only that I will be too late. Once I've found him, that fear passes - I am absolutely confident that I will prevail. I will not make the first move, but I will not hesitate to defend him against all comers, and they will fail.

Sometimes the dream ends there - hunters circling, wolf growling, teeth bared, my hands raised, face set in stony determination.

Sometimes it ends in the midst of the melee, slain and wounded hunters scattered around us, more coming at us, wolf exuding primal rage, myself drawing on my cold anger to fuel the arts with which I do battle.

Sometimes it ends with the wolf and I walking through the silent forest, untouched, moonlight marking our path.

What have you been dreaming of?

Kick-Ass Pasta Salad

2011-05-15T20:58:00.003-04:00

The Evil Genius spent the weekend with his dad, and Someone, Sprout and I went up to Mum's to get some garden-type things done there.It's slow going, because when we go up there it either rains or we discover that we need a tool or some other supplies to get a job done, or (as happened earlier this week) a piece of equipment craps out and we need to get it fixed (thank goodness for friends who are handy and kind-hearted - hopefully the mower will be up and running again very soon).

I made a pasta salad for lunch that was freakin' amazing. I have no photographs and no measurements, but I had to share the basic recipe with you because I am mighty chuffed about it.

The players:
Tortellini, any kind you like ( I used chicken and herb this time)
Pesto
Mayonnaise
Lemon Juice
Cabbage
Carrots
Celery
Salt
Pepper
Parmesan Cheese

Action:
Cook the tortellini until al dente. How much? Umm...how much pasta salad do you want?

While the pasta is cooking, thinly slice or shred some cabbage. How much? Again, it depends on how much salad you want, but I didn't use a lot - just enough to add a little texture to the finished product. Shred some carrots. See cabbage for amounts. Chop a stalk or two of celery.

In a separate bowl, mix two parts mayo to one part pesto. You can use more pesto if you want - I didn't have a lot of it, but may bump up the green stuff next time I make this, because I love me some pesto. Mix in some Parmesan, salt and pepper, and a few squeezes of lemon juice.

Toss the shredded cabbage, carrots, and chopped celery in a large bowl. Add half the mayo mixture.

When the pasta is cooked, drain and chill it. Once chilled, toss it into the cabbage mixture. Add the rest of the mayo mixture a little at a time until the salad is sauced to your liking. Chill. Nom. nom, nom.

What I didn't have but plan to use next time, maybe:
Green Onions
Artichoke Hearts
Fresh Peas

Lemme know if you make it, whether you add your own touches, and how you like it

Thoughtfetti

2011-05-14T10:29:00.003-04:00

Sprout's morning playlist (she likes music, go figure) contains Flogging Molly, Godsmack, Natalie Imbruglia, Cheryl Crow, Slipknot, Great Big Sea, Eric Church, Jeannie C Riley, Pearl Jam, Coyote Run, and Nickel Creek. Wonder what she'll listen to when she's older...
~~~~~
I cut the catnip with the special Kitty Claw Trimmers o' Doom. I like the symmetry...
~~~~~
The last few nights, I've had troubling dreams, unpleasant subjects leaving me feeling worried and stressed, but they've been lovely because they're in water colors. If only I could paint as well as my mind...
~~~~~
I may have lucked into getting my little trio of childrens' stories published. We'll see...
~~~~~
Where does Sprout put all the formula she's drinking? Four ounces every hour or two, good grief...I think there's a portable hole in her stomach, and it's all flowing into another dimension.
~~~~~
The Thai Insanity Pepper sprout has its second set of leaves and is beginning the third...I may grow one, yet!
~~~~~
Is it too late for me to learn how to play the fiddle?
~~~~~
Someone tell me why I'm paying so much for the world's largest 3G network when I can't access it anywhere because either my phone or the system is buggy...
~~~~~
Bird brought home a bible and a book of bible stories from his last visit with his father. He's been reading the stories to me, and we discuss them. He didn't know I knew the bible fairly well. I don't mind - I want him to learn that there are many religions, philosophies, and spiritual paths, and I don't think any one is the only one...but I do wish they weren't the Jehova's Witness versions of the books...oy... Guess I'll have to go down in to the library and find my old Children's Bible (the one I had when I was a kid).
~~~~~
Spell Check doesn't like "Jehova". Huh.
~~~~~
The Evil Genius is with his dad for the weekend, and Someone and I are taking Sprout up to Mum's to install deer fence around the garden (it's a project, lemme tell you). What're your weekend plans?

Short Stories (SO Series)

2011-05-13T13:13:00.003-04:00

These are all true - they happened, either to me or to people I knew. I'm telling these stories because they illustrate (I hope) that there are many facets to this issue.

One facet - I was ten years old when a neighbor decided I was old enough to touch his penis, to stroke him and felate him until he ejaculated. I learned to keep a Kleenex handy to wipe the weird white stuff of of my mother's couch. He opined that I would soon be old enough for him to put it inside me, and that it would feel so good. Eventually he and his family moved away. I never told anyone about our after-school "dates", for fear I'd get into trouble.

D was fourteen when she agreed to go into the barn with T. He wanted more than she did. He was nineteen, and stronger than she, and he got what he wanted. It wasn't the first time he'd talked a younger girl into the barn, nor the last. Going into the barn with T gave a girl cachet, even if she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it...and at that time, at that age, status was everything.

P was six when she went to live with her father. She was a teen when her mother finally got her back. Her father taught her many things which no child should know.

Another facet - S was fifteen when she met B. He was in his twenties, in the Navy. They were in love. They had sex. She got pregnant. They married. Several decades and two more kids later, they're still married.

K was a young teen when she met B. Still in high school while he was well out and making his way in the world (in his twenties). They dated with the consent of her parents. They married, and several decades and three sons later, they're still married.

And a third facet - S was nineteen when he met L at a party. In college, studying for his future, he was taking a rare break. She told him she was eighteen, in nursing school. They dated, had sex...and her mother found out. L's mother pressed charges, despite L's insistence that she'd consented, that she'd lied about her age (she was fifteen). He went to prison for several years.

J was in his twenties when he met X at the park. They talked on the phone a few times, and then she asked him over to her place. They fooled around a bit - no sex, just petting. Her father found out. J went to prison for twelve years. Turns out, X wasn't seventeen, as she'd said.

T was a middle-school teacher. He liked to go to the beach on the weekend, enjoy sun, surf, and sand. One day, he and a friend went to a nude beach, curious about it. They thought it would be nice to sun themselves without bathing suits. The beach was empty, so they shucked their clothing and commenced to enjoying a sunny day on the shore. The police explained, while arresting them, that the nude beach was actually several hundred yards along.

There are more stories to tell, but these should suffice. Which of the above are predators? Which are rapists? Which pedophiles? And which ones were the victims of their own misunderstanding or of another's misdirection? The law makes no distinction. The law says they are all criminals of the same class. This is wrong. They are not all the same - the young man who believes a girl when she says she's old enough is not the same as the middle-aged man who preys on his neighbor's ten-year old daughter (knowing full well her age). The man who unwittingly exposed himself to an empty beach is not the same as the one who coerced girls on the floor of a barn. They should not be treated as like...but they are. How is that just?

Vocabulary (SO Series)

2011-05-11T09:31:00.002-04:00

I've had something on my mind for a long while now. About a decade, in fact. It is a knotty issue, one that won't easily, if ever, be unknotted. It's the kind of issue on which one generally remains silent unless one wishes to lose friends, whatever side one stands on.

My feelings on the matter stem from my own experiences in life, and from the experiences of a number of people in my life. My opinion has been shaped by laws and their implementation, and by my views of justice, of what is just.

I am not saying I'm right, or wrong, or anything but one woman who has had occasion to form an opinion regarding a particular facet of our society and its views.

The subject?

Sex offender laws.

It's too big for one, or even two posts, so I'm going to write a series of however many it takes to satisfy me that I've articulated whatever it is I'm trying to articulate.

So, to begin, let's have a bit of vocabulary, shall we?

Sex Offender (Dictionary.com)
noun
someone who has been convicted of a sex crime

Sexual Predator (Wikipedia.com)
A sexual predator is...a person who habitually seeks out sexual situations that are deemed exploitative...

Pedophile(Dictionary.com)
noun
an adult who is sexually attracted to young children.

Rape (Dictionary.com)
verb
any act of sexual intercourse that is forced upon a person.

Rapist (Dictionary.com)
noun
a person who commits rape

And one thing that is not a definition, but rather a parameter:
Age of consent in USA: 16 - 18, varying by state

One last thing - as I am certain I will write about other things (like Life, the Universe, and Everything), I will try to remember to add "SO Series" to any post title regarding this topic so you can skip the posts if you prefer. Just because I feel the need to express myself on the matter doesn't mean you should have to read about it.

Consider

2011-05-10T20:18:00.004-04:00

Sex Offender.

What does that mean to you?

Fasten your seatbelts, this blog's going on a bumpy ride.

Mother's Day

2011-05-09T19:57:00.003-04:00

I didn't post yesterday because I was busy being a mom.

The denizens of Casa de Crazy (the human ones, anyway) went up to Mum's place on Saturday night, and Someone and Mum spent most of yesterday prepping and installing the deer fence. They didn't finish, but they got a lot done, and should be able to finish it next time we're up.

This fence is an oddity to me - it's not very tall, which is counter to what I know about fencing out deer...and it's invisible. Anyway, it's invisible to the deer. I suppose it's meant to confuse them - can't jump over what you can't see. A friend of Mum's swears by it, so we'll see...if it works, we'll have more than quadrupled the garden potential for our family.

I spent yesterday hanging out in the cabin with the kids, swinging on the porch swing listening to Mum and Someone as they began fence assembly, and managing to score a nap. Not a bad day, all told.

I hope you had a pleasant Mother's Day, whether because you're a mom or because you were celebrating with one.